Punishment

That’s what all this has been about from the beginning, isn’t it? Punishment for your imaginary enemies, and those public servants whose job it is to protect the citizenry from scoundrels like you. Punish those “deviants” who only want the freedom to live their authentic lives, free from fear of violence and bullying and discrimination. Punishment for women who dare to assert their rights to bodily autonomy, and equality in the business world. Punishment for those immigrants seeking asylum and a better living, fleeing from oppressive regimes like the one you envision for yourself. The thing is, none of those demographics deserves punishment; nor does anyone who loves and advocates for them.

Insulated from the hoi polloi by your inherited affluence and celebrity, you consistently and successfully portray yourself as a victim. Bravo. That should win you an Oscar or an Emmy, but not an election to the Oval Office. You are by every measure a perpetrator. Maybe we should spell it “perpetraitor," instead, given that your political BFFs are dictators and war criminals.

Your campaign of distraction has been frighteningly successful. You managed to draw attention away from the criminally affluent who are truly ruining our country, and the planet, and shift the focus to demonizing artificial subsets of humanity that make easy scapegoats. Complicit in your diabolical scheme has been religious extremism, bending the Bible to your benefit. Your benefactors have muzzled the formerly free press, if not enslaved it, for your benefit.

It is clear that you have no interest in improving the lives of anyone but yourself and your heirs, and perhaps those billionaires to whom you owe privileges. Your rank and file either don’t see that, or you have convinced them that the wanton suffering of others is enough to entertain them while you rob them blind.

The only thing guaranteed by your administration is the continued misery of runaway corporate capitalism, White supremacy, LGBTQ intolerance, mass incarceration, Christian nationalism, and climate change denial, to name but a few of the atrocities you willfully and joyfully represent.

Your “concepts of a plan” for healthcare, your addiction to tariffs as the panacea for economic prosperity, and your fervent desire to “drill, baby, drill” would be laughable were it not for the very real, dire consequences of your ineptitude. Your foreign policy acumen is so warped and lacking that you pose a clear and present danger to the very nation you seek to govern.

What do you expect me to do now? Submit? At least pretend to be red, that coldest of colors? Flee the country and seek asylum of my own? Those might be tempting options, but they are not in my nature. No, if anything, I will take it up a notch, be the incendiary voice for truly radical progressive policies, an advocate for lifestyles that work in harmony with the rest of life on Earth.

Congratulations, then, on making me even more intolerant of you, and those who support you, even those who refused to choose either candidate. They are cowardly, and blind to the damage you will do. I will be committed to standing in your way, at every opportunity.

Comet

On Monday, October 14, I found myself appropriately placed in space and time, for a change, thanks to my partner, Heidi. We already live in the rural town of Leavenworth, Kansas, but decided that if we were going to get a decent view of Comet Tsuchinshan-ATLAS (aka Comet C/2023 A3), we would need to drive beyond the reach of the lights of the prison a mere two blocks away.

”O-o-o-h, this looks like a great place to stop. The road is wide enough that we can pull over, too.”

We drove down the road a little way beyond the intersection, gravel grinding under our wheels until we parked. We got out, and focused on the dimming light of the western horizon.

”I know you’re not supposed to be able to see it with the naked eye….”

”Some people say you can,” Heidi responded.

We aimed our phone cameras in the general direction of where the comet was supposed to appear, about forty-five minutes after sunset.

”Oh, I saw it on my screen right before I took the picture,” Heidi exclaimed.

"Where,” I asked anxiously, “in relation to that bright star (turns out it was Venus we were seeing)?”

”It’s between that one and the one to the far right, about midway between the two.”

I found it, and as it got darker, the comet resolved itself. The tail appeared as a great, vertical smudge, like a faint cloud, with the head nearer the horizon.

We enjoyed the moment in relative silence, save for the call of a distant Killdeer punctuating the night from the farm fields that stretched out before us. Louder than the bird was the intensity of moonlight, so shockingly bright that I initially cursed the lunar illumination as a nearby streetlight.

”Ok, I’m sufficiently wowed,” I said, as a way to suggest that we leave. I knew Heidi was getting cold, and the comet was not getting any brighter. The trip home gave me time to recount other comet memories.

In about fourth grade, I played the tail of Halley’s Comet in a school play. I remember that I couldn’t wait for 1986, when this most celebrated of comets would return. Boy, what a disappointment. Without a telescope, it could not be seen, and even then, no one thought it was that spectacular.

Given the defeated expectations around Halley’s Comet, I barely took notice of Hale-Bopp in 1991. I was living in Cincinnati at the time, in a neighborhood at the top of a hill on the west side. One evening, as I was taking the garbage out to the dumpster behind our apartment building, I just happened to look up.

I remember exclaiming surprise, out loud, as a couple was coming out of the building, and pointing up.

”That is amazing,” said one of them, or words to that effect.

Comets don’t come around very often, let alone within sight of anyone on our planet, and fewer people still have access to the optics needed to properly view them. You could easily never see a single one simply because you lived in the wrong century, or without adequate enhancement of your optical limits.

I don’t know what the attraction is, for me, as I am not a stargazer, let alone an astronomer or astrophysicist. Maybe it is all about the tail. That weeping brilliance perhaps reminds me of bird plumes, or the streamers that are mayfly tails. Comets are just as ephemeral as those insects.

Maybe it is the path of comets that appeals to me as a writer. The trajectory of comets is literally a narrative arc that spans lightyears. Each one has an origin story, and a journey that makes Homer’s The Odyssey pale by comparison. That we know anything of these cosmic iceballs is remarkable.

My curiosity over ATLAS is overwhelmed by sheer awe. Some things I want to remain mysterious, and comets are solidly in that category. Thank you for the visit, C/2023 A3, you will not soon be forgotten, at least not until the next aurora borealis.

Please Don't Paint Me

The dead, but still stately, cottonwood tree in the image above is located in Leavenworth Landing Park, along the banks of the Missouri River in Leavenworth, Kansas, USA. The snag is slated to be painted blue as part of a global project related to promoting awareness of mental health issues. While this is a noble cause, the side effects of landscape art installations like this should give us pause.

The Blue Tree Project has its roots in the tragic story of Australian Jayden Whyte, whose suicide at age twenty-nine gripped headlines in 2018. During the eulogy at Whyte’s funeral, his best friend related the story of how Jayden had pranked his father by painting one of the trees on the family farm blue. That became the inspiration to paint trees elsewhere as a reminder to check on the mental wellbeing of loved ones, and foster a greater awareness of issues surrounding mental health.

There are now numerous painted trees, and other objects, throughout the world, on every continent except Antarctica. There are currently 1,138 trees registered by Blue Tree Project, mostly in Australia.

Some communities have taken to erecting facsimile trees instead of painting actual trees. One of the more innovative examples is a tree of fifteen basketball hoops. Unfortunately, the website for Blue Tree Project does not indicate where these artificial trees are located, nor how they were constructed.

While this endeavor is meant to send a specific, clearly posted message, what else is implied by turning trees into artistic and/or humanitarian vehicles? One message is that it is permissible to deface a natural object, at least if you have an important agenda. This is vandalism in any other context. We are also saying that nature is something that can only be improved upon by the hand of man. Natural landscapes, and the living things within them, must serve some kind of utilitarian value in order to justify their existence, even if that means reducing them to a “canvas” for artistic expression. This is not ok.

The Blue Trees (plural) is a landscape installation project by artist Konstantin Dimopoulos, designed in part to evoke thoughts about “ecological issues, such as the ecocide of our forests and climate change, and….raising our social consciousness referencing how individually and collectively we shape the world we inhabit.” His exhibitions involve painting the trunks of entire groves of trees a deep blue color.

The pinnacle of artistic hubris may be demonstrated by Christo and Jeanne-Claude. Their landscape-level work was temporary, and performed mostly in urban areas, wrapping buildings or monuments in fabric, usurping the profile and work of the original architects. They prided themselves on avoiding “deserted places,” focusing on “….sites already prepared and used by people, managed by human beings for human beings.” This did include vast rural expanses, though, featuring fabric fences, fabric “gates,” curtains, and other potential impediments to the normal traffic of wildlife, and obscuring scenic vistas. In Surrounded Islands, they draped a hot pink fabric skirt on the surface of the water around eleven separate islands (two were surrounded together). Who knows how marine life was affected.

Where does art cross the line into damage? Who gets the authority to decide? Do we give enough critical thought to these questions? Ideally, artistic license should not trespass on the works of the Creator, if one believes in such an entity. We should not allow historical precedent to dictate the path forward, either.

There are strong and valid arguments to support the fact that Mount Rushmore defaced a mountain held sacred by Indigenous Americans. Stone Mountain in Georgia features the carved depiction of three prominent figures of the Confederacy from the Civil War. The monument glorifies White supremacy, and overwhelms the stories of the Black people who once lived and worked there, and who still reside in local communities. It also defaces a natural landscape feature that figured prominently in Indigenous occupation of the region.

Don’t get me wrong. Art can be a powerful stimulus for positive social and cultural change. It need not be permanent nor massive in scale. I do wonder, though, what will happen when that old dead cottonwood at last falls into the river, as erosion is inevitable. Will the paint contaminate the water, or negatively affect aquatic life? Will another tree be painted to replace it?

Sources: Dimopoulos, Konstantin. 2024. “About the Blue Trees,” Kondimopoulos.
Meachim, Laura. 2019. “Blue Tree Project tackles mental health and suicide in regional Australia,” ABC News, September 30, 2019.
Powers, Benjamin. 2018. “In the Shadow of Stone Mountain,” Smithsonian Magazine.
Spellman, Rebecca. 2020. “Harrowing story behind a solitary blue tree in drought-stricken land takes a sinister turn as it’s found burned to the ground,” Daily Mail, February 17, 2020.
”Most Common Errors,”Christo and Jeanne-Claude.

I Don't Want to Live Longer!

I know that sounds laughable, or possibly alarming, depending on what direction you tend to react in. Please rest assured, I am not contemplating suicide. I am talking about lifespan extension. We are constantly bombarded with the latest diets, medical treatments, and other offerings designed to extend our lives. I am not necessarily in agreement that this is a good thing.

There is this uneasy feeling that those who promote longer human lives are not really concerned for how that impacts our personal welfare. What do I mean by that? When someone passes, the Gross Domestic Product responds with “Damn it, we lost another consumer!” Forgive my cynicism, but I believe it is warranted. The greatest benefits to longer lives are reaped by excessively affluent and powerful people who get wealthier because we are consuming material goods they produce, for a longer period of time. The same is true of service industries, of course, some of which are dedicated solely to the aged population.

The idea that the only thing we should value in our elders is their purchasing power, should make you angry. You cannot put a price on wisdom, life experience, and familial bonds (provided your family dynamic is a positive one). The marketplace thrives on our isolation, our individualism and, sadly, our naivete. The less we relate to each other in meaningful ways, the more vulnerable we are to exploitation by bad actors in the global marketsphere.

The other aspect of living a longer life is that you are highly likely to witness the continued, if not accelerated, destruction of the natural world. This is unbearable for a great many of us. Why should I want to live longer when it appears the planet is not so inclined? Indeed, more consumerism for a longer period is only going to hasten the extinction of species, the conversion of habitat to agriculture and urbanism, and increase natural resource extraction.

I am exceedingly troubled by the fact that the majority of people do not have time to contemplate what I am talking about in this blog entry. The average life is crammed with daily commuting, appointments, meetings, errands, fast food, caffeine, meetings, and another commute. Once we are back home, we help the kids with their homework, if we do not have our own that we brought from the office. Maybe we manage to sneak in a pleasant distraction like a bath or shower, a television show, social media, a chapter in a book, an alcoholic beverage, or a dose of marijuana. Put that on repeat until the weekend.

We look forward to the day we do not have to work, or at least not have to work for someone else, but fear of financial destitution keeps us toiling away. Ironically, a global pandemic made it glaringly obvious that our psychological health has been in sick bay for a long, long time. Still, we are not managing to harness our collective power as laborers and consumers to fully revolt.

The government is not helping with its constant talk of raising the retirement age, and doing away with Social Security, Medicare, and other resources we earn during our laboring lifespan.

The question remains: Exactly what do I get out of a longer life? More years as a greeter for a big box store? More time to passively exist? More debt? More opportunities to vote for candidates that are serving those powerful and wealthy elites instead of me, and others like me? More time to forget what I know, what I’ve learned, and the people I have met? More time to watch the world burn?

Human life is not something that needs “product” or “service.” It needs community. It requires nourishment that no food or beverage can provide. It demands rest and quietude, for longer periods than anyone is willing to acknowledge.

Personally, I will have greater respect for, and trust in, the medical community when they make quality of life a higher priority than longevity. To borrow a phrase from whiny Hollywood actors, “What’s my motivation?” If all you can offer me is more medications, pseudo-comforts, and the corporate vision of “retirement,” I will pass, thank you.

The Personal Finance Emergency Room

© saintlukeskc.org

The state of healthcare, or lack thereof, in the United States is exemplary the overall pattern of capitalist predation and oppression that causes undue financial and emotional stress. A recent experience with an emergency room visit prompts me to probe the connections once again.

While visiting family out of state for the holidays in December, my partner experienced prolonged numbness in her hand. This was not an “I slept wrong” issue that resolves itself within an hour or so of waking up. Given Heidi’s history of a mild stroke, we take symptoms like this seriously.

My sister-in-law’s family lives in a rural town, so we drove an hour to one of the few open urgent care clinics. Upon describing the issue and her medical history, the intake person declared that urgent care is not equipped to evaluate such situations, and referred us to the nearby hospital.

I will be generous and say that our time with a physician lasted fifteen minutes. The doctor asked questions, even got out of their chair to do a brief, standard protocol to rule out another stroke. They ventured that it was not a stroke, but without imaging, could not rule it out entirely. We declined additional procedures. The next half hour was devoted to the paperwork exit interview.

Fast forward to this week. The bill is over $2,400. We have health insurance. Despite this, we are left with a payment exceeding half of that amount. Yes, there is the “deductible,” and we are fortunate in being able to absorb that shock to our finances. Most people cannot, but even for those that share our circumstance, the ripple effect is profound.

Misery is simply another commodity, publicly traded under other identities.

When faced with a large, unexpected, unavoidable expenditure, be it for a medical bill, vehicle repair, needed plumbing upgrades, or some other catastrophe (all of the scenarios I listed are ones we have experienced in the last few months), my mind goes to what we must now sacrifice. There goes that vacation. Charitable donations? Off the table now. Membership in that organization? Nope. Meals out are less frequent.

It is no wonder that the average American’s bank account is always in the emergency room. It may not be a government conspiracy responsible for that condition, but certain business models literally profit from it. You did not get yourself into this mess.

We need an ‘unsubscribe’ button, and do not have to name an alternative to reject the current system.

The American oligarchy existed long before any of us were born, but its influence has intensified, and become vastly more complicated in its ways of appeasing the masses without truly solving any of the problems that exist because of….oligarchy. Government is complicit, at least at the level rendered by the ability of the oligarchy to appease politicians it helps get elected. Even supposedly well-meaning crusades like the “war on drugs” are waged not because of sympathy for addicts, but because cartels are making money that the oligarchy covets.

In the world of capitalism, everything must be privatized, and for profit. Only the consumer has value. Labor is an overhead cost, to be outsourced, or automated, at every opportunity. How to foster consumerism, then? Credit, and other forms of lending, which the oligarchy profits from by charging interest. Debt is not figured in the calculation of poverty levels, so the illusion of a middle class persists.

Our economic system has even turned our collective stress and anxiety into for-profit enterprise, from pharmaceuticals to sports betting. Misery is simply another commodity, publicly traded under other identities. We are in an abusive relationship with corporate-level business, on both the production side and the consumer end. We need an “unsubscribe” button, and do not have to name an alternative to reject the current system.

Instead of capitulating to the script that says Blacks and other minorities are threats to our safety and security, that immigrants are taking our jobs, and welfare is being exploited by the poor, we can seek ways of disconnecting our lives from global capitalism. We can expose the culture wars for what they are: distractions from the oligarchy that is taking power and control away from us.

We do not have to quit capitalism cold turkey. Do it incrementally. Engage in positive distractions, like arts and crafts. Go out into nature, like I do, and observe other organisms as examples of a basic, but vivid and satisfying existence. Participate in community commerce. Make friends with local farmers, and school teachers. Help them prosper. You will feel better daily.