An extremely perceptive post by Curt over at Selling Waves:

Which brings me to the thrust of things. Philip Roth has just published some correspondence with Saul Bellow in the New Yorker in which Bellow describes mainly the genesis of The Adventures of Augie March, his first major success. He was living in Paris when the inspiration came to him; I find many parallels between his situation and my own, and not only on that account. He felt, as I often do here, “that Europe was defying me to do something about it” and was consequently terribly depressed. And then, ah! inspiration, “I discovered that I could write whatever I wished…I did not have to kill myself in the service of art.” It seems that this disburdening is not purely personal, but also has larger cultural overtones, for, as he says, “That “Augie March” happened in dismal postwar Europe (knowledge of the Holocaust was slowly coming to us back then) is evidence of an independent move of the mind, a decision not to surrender to horror. I discovered that I no longer wanted to be put upon by art seriousness.” This moment of inspiration at the end of a downcast sojourn in Paris seems to symbolically indicate, then, a break with an exhausted and morbid European culture, a discovery of an artistic vitality native to America and the English language. And there you have it: Bellow had discovered a new free language and mode of expression which was also implicitly an assertion of freedom, a step forward and away from the onerous legacy that extinguishes everything in Perec and so many others’ writings and thoughts. It would no doubt be a great over-simplification to say that Europe has followed the cultural path of Perec and America of Bellow, but it is comforting to find a soul from my culture that, in contrast to much of Europe’s (and possibly America’s) cultural élite, understands that Adorno’s belief that poetry after Auschwitz is barbaric is a “surrender to horror” and, more importantly, actually discovered a vital form of expression that could resist it, and resist it sensibly and animatedly, not tragically and despairingly. And this has made him practically the founder of postwar American literature

“Why, I am a sort of Columbus of those near-at-hand and believe you can come to them in this immediate terra incognita that spreads out in every gaze. I may well be a flop at this line of endeavor. Columbus too thought he was a flop, probably because they sent him back in chains. Which didn’t prove there was no America.” - from The Adventures of Augie March by Saul Bellow

The Old Country

In that darkness there could be no hope—
Not merely light withdrawn but light refused.
The ashen trees had dropped, not lost, their leaves,
That green a smothering burden they abhorred.
The people in that place were all too old,
The children most of all, who wore their youth
As if it were a costume to be shed.
The willow was counted wisest of the trees.
There were no separate clouds. The sky was gray.
Nothing and no one waited for anything,
But all attention leaned back toward the past.
The wind, when it spoke at all, said simply, “Once.”

Matthew Boudway

Here in the declining days of April, having, along with the rest of the mass of thralls, recently sent off a yearly accounting of my life to the bastards in DC, I see that the tax protesters have come out of the woodwork.

And I don’t mean the children of Thoreau, the “this rotten government can kiss my ass” tax protestors. I have respect for those individuals that choose to pursue their own ends in the face of government dictat.

I’m speaking instead of the people that examine arcane legal documents, claiming to have found some nugget of detail therein that exempts them (and everyone else) from a legal obligation to pay taxes.

Like the folks referenced here.

What does someone say when they claim that the Constitution doesn’t authorize income taxes, and therefore the IRS is in the wrong for collecting them? They’re saying that if the Constitution in fact authorized income taxes, then you’d be in the wrong for not paying them. To put it more plainly, if the Constitution authorized you to beat the shit out of Mexicans, would that make it right?

Yes, or no?

Because those are the only two choices on the table, here: either government law is in fact the arbiter of right and wrong, or it is not. If it is, then the government of the United States can rightfully pack up every person it wants to into cattle cars and stuff them into the ovens — as long as the paperwork is correct. If government law isn’t the arbiter of right and wrong, then the arguments about what “the law” purports to authorize are meaningless for determining what ought to be done.

This line of thinking is often dismissed as being impractical. Me, I’m wondering just what it is that people who endorse government are in fact attempting to practice.

The most charitable explanation is that they don’t know, either.

Now, some of the folks in the tax-protest movement admit that their endorsement of government isn’t honest, but claim that it’s merely a means to an end. Most people can’t or won’t understand the moral arguments, they say, so they feel that they need to lie in order to spread their ideas. They don’t call it lying, of course, they call it “making arguments”. But calling a tail a leg doesn’t make it so: words do in fact have meanings.

Look: anyone that can be convinced by rational arguments is best served by being presented with those arguments, which in this case consist of “My stuff! Mine!”. As for those that can’t be convinced by reason, what are the tax protestors offering? They’re offering a lie. But their opponents are offering better lies: free stuff on everyone else’s dime. Sure you pay a little in taxes, but Senator Fatbottom’s getting Frogdick County twenty million bucks in Federal grants because of it! What, you wanna get rid of all the things that the government gives you?

It’s transparent nonsense, but unlike the transparent nonsense the fringe-flaggers are offering, it’s attractive nonsense. Consumers of nonsense will take attractive nonsense over unattractive nonsense, the proof of that is as close as the last election you care to examine.

If the tax-protest movement were serious about attracting people who can’t process rational arguments, they’d adopt tactics from other purveyors of foolishness. Why not claim a religious vision about the issue? That works very well for attracting hordes of people who aren’t inclined to think too much about the matter in front of them. Why not find some celebrity to endorse their cause? Courtney Love yelling “Taxes fucking suck!” at a concert would garner more attention and thus more unthinking converts than the tax protest movement has achieved to date.

The answer is of course that they aren’t interested in either making good arguments or in gaining support for their cause, they’re interested in eating their cake and then getting to have it, too: they want to feel like they’re making some sort of moral argument while at the same time feeding appealing lies to the masses.

The end result of that, as always, is that they’re left with neither principles nor appeal.

Political movements lead to exactly nowhere for principled individualists, because mass politics require the suppression of individuals in favor of the collective. Honest individualists recognize this and abandon mass politics for the pursuit of their own values. Opportunistic collectivists realize this and exploit mass politics for their own ends. Movement types, well, they play-act at principles while they analyze what the fringe around the American flag really means.

It’s up to you what you want to be: Henry David Thoreau marching to the beat of his own drummer, Bill Clinton eagerly fleecing the masses, or some pitiful myope dropping his shovel and petitioning his masters because they aren’t whipping him according to regulation.

From Russia:

The collapse of the Soviet Union was “the greatest political catastrophe of the last century,” Russian president Vladimir Putin said Monday as he delivered his annual state of the nation address.

The “old ideals” were sadly destroyed by the implosion of the USSR, you see.

I’ve often wondered if, one day, we’ll wake up one morning to find that the Russians have abandoned this “freedom” thing and simply returned to shooting people.

Tip: Catallarchy

Capitalism is good; small radioactive creatures are adorable; all should encourage both by the simple act of sending me money!

lung, america’s most adorable strategic weapon unleashes atomic apocalpyse in this color, limited-edition (fifty copies, signed and numbered by yours truly) 7″x 23″ image size poster, inkjet printed (I refused to use the made-up word “giclee”) on sturdy heavyweight archival artist’s paper. (shipped rolled-up in tube - matted for extra charge, not yet determined.)

A mere $25 dollars!

(Those not completely familiar with lung should click here)

Click here to get rid of that pesky excess money at my hi-tech online store!

As one of my co-bloggers aptly put it, the War On Terror seperated the libertarians that mean it from the ones that are faking it. Expanding on that, it’s serving as a useful catalyst for inducing know-nothings to dispense collectivist horsehit. For instance, this is the sort of thing that one would have expected from the worst of the Clintonians, last President:

If you’re at all like me, you’re thinking that if the people at this meeting were “profiled” as militia terrorists… then maybe profiling actually works. Because they think, talk, and act like terrorists. They just haven’t driven up a fertilizer truck bomb or picked up a gun… yet.

Of course that isn’t quite the real quote, because the author’s talking about the evil Ay-rabs:

If you’re at all like me, you’re thinking that if the people in this mosque were “ethnically profiled” as terrorists… then maybe ethnic profiling actually works. Because they think, talk, and act like terrorists. They just haven’t strapped on a bomb or a gun… yet.

See ya, feeb.

Military targets illegal gas sales (Bolding mine):

On any day in many Iraqi cities, men with plastic containers full of gas line the roads outside gas stations, offering the same product for a much higher price but faster. Motorists pull up, hand a wad of dinars out the window, and wait as the bootlegger fills the tank using a funnel and a hose.

Filling your tank illegally takes only minutes, but costs as much as 8,000 dinars ($5.50), whereas a legal tank of gas might cost half as much, but requires hours of waiting in lines that stretch as long as a half-mile.

…

In Nineveh and Diyala provinces, U.S. troops are shutting down bootleggers and giving their gas away for free in an effort to control the price of gasoline, protect the livelihoods of gas-station owners and employees, and in the long term, reduce the wait and encourage investment in gas distribution.

Government agents with guns interfering in peaceful commerce?

Sounds like America.

Tip: Antiwar.com

The socially-conscious youth are busy, again:

TV Turnoff Week is no ordinary social ritual. The goal is simple: to shake up routines and get people questioning the role of TV in their lives.

Sure, it’s a statement against dead-end couch culture. But it’s also about cleaning up the mental environment. Like our oceans and air, our shared mindscape is littered with pollutants — distorted news, manipulative ads, violence and top-down culture.

How can we fight back? In years past, we’ve smashed TVs, postered schools and offices, aired ads, and performed anti-tube street theater. The hottest idea this year? TV-B-Gone(tm) — a key-chain remote control capable of turning off virtually any television. It’s the ultimate tool for reclaiming our commons.

From April 25 to May 1, thousands of jammers will be hitting the streets with this ingenious device, illicitly zapping TVs. Clarity of mind, one click at a time.

Now it might seem strange, but I in fact encourage these progressives in their quest. They simply need to become more forthright in their views. They ought to put a stop to this skulking about in Jiffy Lube waiting rooms, snickeringly zapping the 19″ in the corner, pretending that they’re having an effect on society. No, they need to take their vision of clarity directly to the working man!

And where can they find the working man? Blue-collar bars, of course! An example might be the wonderfully-appointed Schooner Tavern, located directly in the heart of one of the most delightfully proletarian (and exciting!) neighborhoods in town. A crude sign out front proudly proclaims “A UNION BAR”, so I for one am sure that the inside is filled with the soul brethern and -sistern to these delightful AdBuster youth.

I would recommend entering and mingling for a bit while the crowd engages in their usual workers’ libation of Pabst Blue Ribbon, and then, at a strategic moment in the sporting event broadcast on the televisor, our hero strikes! Quickly pressing the button on his Universal TV Turn-Off’er, he douses the babbling box into blessed silence.

Then, he stands up and loudly proclaims that he has in fact saved the clarity of the minds of the wretches around him. He proudly holds the device aloft, tells of its TV-turn-off powers, and gleefully shouts “And I’ll do it again, if I have to!”.

Yes, that should set the stage for a “shake-up of routine” quite nicely. I for one would wager that the local drunks and barflies, previously lulled into semiconsciousness by the electronic eye, will quickly rediscover the joy of community action and participation.

So, forward in the glorious struggle against dead-end couch culture! Free the workers’ minds! Enlightenment awaits!

Not everything is a lie.

Somewhere it is always that first moment when I saw you, on the phone in the ticket office of the old downtown Coliseum theatre. The Coliseum is gone, and so are many other things, places and loved ones now lost in the gathering twilight. But you and I are still around.

Give my love to all the bunnies and the tailless kitties, don’t let the ants bite, propitiate the God of Shadows and always remember, dearest S., that I will always be your friend.

Happy birthday.

This world is a world of lies, but it wasn’t always this way.

Back when Seattle showed promise of being cool (and not The City of Dorks it is now), back when The Rocket was still around and theStranger was just a bad joke - in short, during happier days - I knew people connected with the lost, fabulous world of bloody sideshow entertainment. Yes, I have actually spoken with that mightiest of mystics, that swami of suspension, that Parsee of Pain himself, the Amazing Torture King, known to mortals as Tim Cridland.

And now, so can you (so to speak).

With Jan Gregor, Mr. Cridland has collaborated on a volume detailing the history of the legendary Jim Rose Sideshow Circus! Check it out here.

Illustrated by the brilliant Madame Talbot this volume is a must for any aspiring modern primitive!

The date is uncertain, but the Time Tunnel works it’s inexplicable magic and once again I am standing on the balcony of the old Phenix (destroyed by the late horrible earthquake, perhaps to be reborn) looking down at a packed auditorium full of all kinds of questionable types.

We are all watching The Amazing Torture King walk on glass, mount a staircase of shiny sharp Chinese swords, pour molten lead on his tongue, immantize the eschaton and establish a anarchic Temporary Autonomous Zone, all to the accompaniment of my good friend Clint H’s learned commentary and the sonic stylings of the soundtrack of Mondo Mod.

The Torture King moves on to bloody self-skewering and various cute girls in the sweaty, packed, overheated auditorium start to pass out. Doug and Tony are battling Nero’s Ghost in the lobby as the personnel of the Time Tunnel are mesmerized by Dr. Ray Van Stark’s hypnotic patter.

Reason is triumphant!

I have just finished Iris Murdoch’s brilliant fifth novel A Severed Head (1961) and unreservedly recommend it; it is a great and bitterly funny story, with touches of the numinous. A daughter of Lilith is there, armed with what may well be the sword of Amaterasu, and a certain rough justice is done, as well as a rather dark triumph of true love.

“It was not a trick” said Honor. She had been standing before me, still holding the hilt in a two-handed grip, and looking down at one of the severed napkins. I saw that she was breathing deeply. Now she moved her chair back to the table and sat down. For a moment or two she lifted the sword, moving it as if it had become very heavy, and cooled her forehead on the blade, turning her head slowly against it with a caressing motion. Then she laid it down again on the table, still keeping one hand on the hilt. I looked at the corded hilt, long and dark, continuing the gentle sinister backward curve of the blade, the inner casing, which seemed like snakeskin, decorated with silver flowers, appearing through the diamond-shaped slits of the black cordage. Her large pale hand was firmly closed about it. I felt an intense desire to take the sword from her, but something prevented me. I put my hand on the blade, moving it up towards the hilt and feeling the cutting edge. It was hideously sharp. My hand stopped. The blade felt as if it were charged with electricity and I had to let go. No longer now attending to me, she moved the sword back and laid it across her knees in the attitude of a patient executioner. I realized that the church bells had become silent and it was the New Year.”

That nasty chemical taste at the back of the throat just before that mass-transit monorail rush is just the beginning. Hopefully the stupid fat son-of-bitch “activist” who started the whole thing (and, incidentally, helped to doom the original World’s Fair Monorail) will be strapped to the track and run over repeatedly and slowly. I want to see blood.

And all my hate to all the other Seattle simps who voted in this horrible thing.

(Mad artizt propz to John Allison and Scary Go Round.)