Charlie

Charlie has always shifted back and forth between homelessness and rent and responsibilities. Like many, I suspect he gets tired of living one way ..and seeks refuge in another. He sorta’ fits my theory about the cyclical nature of human settlement. He’s a Vietnam vet ..went to college on the GI Bill ..worked as a landscape and irrigation foreman ..and head chef at a resort in Encinitas. He took medication for hyperactivity during childhood and suffers post-traumatic stress from the war. He gets easily bored if he stays in one place or job for too long. Last spring he found a grove of wild bamboo growing off the LA River near Boyle Heights. Using his landscape and irrigation skills, he fashioned a kind of oasis. “It’s a place of serenity ..” says another local transient. Since then, Charlie’s been supplementing his income by fixing broken toys he finds in the detritus of West LA ..then selling them at flea markets in East LA.

Raves

I don’t see much difference between the ‘raves’ I go to now, and the rock concerts I used to go to in the 60’s and 70’s. Both involve mind-bending music, mind-altering substances and people colliding on the dance floor. Moving through the crowds, I see people with pupils as big as frisbees and nerve impulses moving to the beat of the sound being pumped out of amplifiers ..or generated by their brains. Makes me wonder if there is something in the human psyche that is fulfilled by these events. Another parallel is the growth in the hallucinogen trade. Ecstasy started out fairly pure in the 1980’s but has become lucrative and heavily cut with amphetamine ..just like LSD was in the 70’s. In addition to higher profits, this has the effect of accelerating the heart rate, delivering the medication much faster and amplifying the effect. Since there’s a fine line between exhilaration and fear ..those added substances can easily push revelry into panic. This in turn causes the heart to pump faster and more erratic, which can result in wicked coronary events. Just like LSD, ecstasy started out legal, but became illegal over the course of concert events. This does not reduce their usage ..but it does reduce their quality, making them less safe to use. I remember watching people freaking-out and experiencing what looked like genuine terror at rock concerts. Now I prefer the high that comes from riding high-amplitude waves into exploding white water. But, hey ..that’s my prerogative.

Lindsay Lohan

I believe when tabloid media over-scrutinizes and characterizes normal adolescent behavior as a ‘downward spiral’ .. it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Especially when you’re a vulnerable teenager who still agonizes over such things as too many freckles. Partying, drinking, cocaine and DUI’s .. are actually typical of someone growing-up in the USA. It is way too soon to be writing her obituary. At least give her a chance to grow up before characterizing her as a burnout. Furthermore, if it’s as excessive as the media portrays, why isn’t someone reaching out to help this poor woman ..? In a random sample of the population, the first DUI can be bad luck .. the second generally signifies a drinking problem. She has two. But she’s not a typical example. The constant glare of paparazzi distorts the picture and you can’t tell if the problem is real or exaggerated. If it’s real, she needs help ..not character assassination. Last May, she was at Cannes promoting her new film project. She succeeded in securing the financial backing she needed. Ask Spike Lee, that’s no mean feat. To me, it sounds like she’s doing what needs to be done to rehabilitate her career. When she flew home late and missed her probation hearing (for the 2007 DUI’s) ..I believe the judge wanted to set an example. She ordered her to wear an ankle bracelet that monitors alcohol consumption. The bracelet sounded an alarm two weeks later from the MTV Movie Awards; so now Lindsay is facing jail time. Beneath the sensationalized tabloid news, Lindsay Lohan is an actress of enormous talent. Cutting her off at the knees would be an unconscionable act. It sounds like an insidious conspiracy to bring her down by tabloid-attack, public avarice and industry envy. Unlike jealousy, envy drives people to bring down others who possess talents they don’t. If you don’t believe me, read Ayn Rand .

Socialist Republic of California

I remember when I was going to school, I often heard conservatives from the generation before me refer to it as ‘the socialist state university of California’ ..and a typical exchange might go something like this:

“So Bill, what are you doing for your thesis ..?”
“Studying how people can be easily misinformed ..like deceptive advertising, that sort of thing.”
“Oh, so you can devise better methods of propaganda ..”
“No, so we can teach better methods of detecting it ..” 

Later, I would discover that they were going around saying:“Hey, did you know Bill is studying to be a propaganda minister .” At first, I took it as a joke ..and laughed  it off. Then one day I kind of got the gist of it when someone at work got real pissed and told me how unfair it was: “Even though I didn’t go to college, I have to pay so punks like you can.” And I thought, yeah .. it was part of a land-grant act to put aside state funds for higher education. Later I discovered some people actually believe universities teach communist principles. Why ..? Because, as the name implies, universities teach universal principles, paving the way for a one-world society. And here I thought they were teaching us how to communicate better with other societies. When I look at the wars we’ve been fighting, I realize how easily misinformed I have been.

Progression

“The natural progression
Is the coming of your age
But they cover it with shame
And turn it into rage.”

To the generation that came of age in the 1950’s, the term ‘progressive’ meant ‘socialism’. That’s because the socialist party in the 40’s and 50’s called itself the ‘progressive party’. I did not know that, which probably says something about my knowledge of history. To the generation that came of age in the 1970’s and 80’s (my generation) ..the term ‘progressive’ meant just what the dictionary says: a keen interest in new developments and fresh ideas ..with all the positive connotations I thought that implied. Since advances in science and technology were progressing at lightening speed, I thought being progressive was a healthy mental outlook. In college, I chose a field of study that allowed me to take courses in psychology, neuroscience and information science. I thought that showed signs of being forward-thinking and progressive. It wasn’t until later, when I joined a political discussion group, that I learned it was also what made me a ‘liberal’, and sometimes even a ‘socialist’, to the people of my father’s generation. I have no such political convictions. I like to consider myself an independent thinker who doesn’t lend himself to labels of a bygone era.

Afghanistan

I wouldn’t ordinarily be writing about the situation in Afghanistan, but since I am familiar with one of their chief exports, hashish ..I have been following the war kind of closely. I think there’s a story here. Or some half-baked ideas. I can never tell. But I was wondering, since when is it the role of army generals to build stable communities when all they’ve been trained to do throughout history is knock them down. So now we’ve put them in charge of ‘social engineering’ ..a practice we abhor in the west ..and rightly so. It doesn’t lead to ‘participatory’ government. Instead, it contributes to feelings of helplessness by replacing traditional customs with circumstances that the local population had no hand in creating ..and over which they have no control.

There’s another mission that’s equally unclear to me “Our goal is to break Taliban momentum.” What the hell does that mean in a town where the Taliban have already seized the means of production, which in addition to producing hashish, means subsistence-level bakeries. You think the villagers want to participate in U.S efforts to ‘break Taliban momentum’ when their survival instincts fill them with a sense of foreboding.

Last week Obama sacked a commanding general for using the term ‘diplomatic incoherence’ to describe the difference between what is happening in Afghanistan ..and what the U.S government would have us believe is happening in Afghanistan. Call me a cynic, but I don’t believe that giving the military contradictory goals like ‘building stable communities’ and ‘breaking Taliban momentum’ is going to lead to anything like the ‘progress’ I’ve been hearing about from politicians. I’m hunkering down for a long-term disruption in the supply of hash from Afghanistan.

Grace

Grace left and I thought I was losing my mind.. I couldn’t sleep unless I passed-out on the balcony after several bottles of Chardonnay. Sitting in the house was torture, so I walked in circles around town. Some days I’d walk down 2nd street to the Bay ..where I’d visit Claudia, who was deaf ..but a good listener. Other days I’d head up to Broadway and Cherry, and sit in Benny’s costume jewelry shop just to listen to him talk. I even read his complete college dissertation on ‘Myrna Loy’. Then there was 4th street to Orizaba ..where I’d visit the funky art stores and antique mart. Behind them were like miles of alleyways with garages loaded with antiques. They’d take me walking out back, opening one door after another ..and we never reached the end. Then I’d duck into Phil Yeh’s hand-drawn comic book shop, where I’d sit and read for hours. He didn’t seem to mind and I found it comforting there ..I don’t know why. Sometimes I’d duck into the Art theater, have popcorn for dinner and watch a movie. Saw a string of French films I’ll never forget: ‘Betty Blue’ ‘Vagabond’ and ‘Return of Martin Guerre’. Often I’d head up Broadway to Orizaba ..where I’d visit Dr. Russell, who could immediately detect pain. He explained to me how pain sends messages to the brain telling it to flee possible injury, and energizes you for flight. He helped me understand that I was not losing my mind. So, I kept walking in giant circles around town all day .. for months.

false memory

I ask Randy how things went at the V.A. He describes his visit in full detail. When I follow up, they tell me he never arrived. I tell them there must be a mistake. They check again and tell me there’s no mistake. I’m like, wtf is going on here. I ask to see his counselor. The counselor tells me about a condition they frequently see called ‘false memory syndrome’ He goes “It’s where you remember things that you planned to do as though you actually did them.” But I go, this was way too elaborate .. I mean, he told me what he had for lunch .. the ride over .. what they talked about in the car, etc.. His counselor goes, “Yeah ..he’s afraid of missing something so he conjures them up. It’s a coping strategy and should go away pretty soon” I’m dumbfounded. He goes on to explain “You’ve heard of the belief where, if you think about something, it can be the same as doing it ..? The book of Matthew says anyone who even looks at a woman with lust in his eye has already committed adultery. Well, consider this an extension of that ..where thinking about something can lead to the mistaken belief that it must have happened.” I try to put it in words I can understand “Sounds something like virtual reality ..(?)” “You could say that” Now I’m driving home, going ..OK, did that just happen, or do I only think it happened ..? Now I’m wondering how many things I’ve accomplished that never got beyond the planning stage.

Dissolution II

Continued from  ~>[ link ]

 

David shows up at my kitchen table one day looking troubled. His Hawaiian liaison was getting kinda’ weird. He felt they were at a point where it was OK to kiss .. perhaps even neck. But she’d get uncomfortable, freeze-up, burst-out crying then lock herself in her room. I thought, oh man ..this is not what he needs right now. I didn’t know what to say except everyone’s different ..there are no rules ..and thought about my own misadventures. It continued this way for a while and he’d show up all dejected looking. Then he finished his degree, got a teaching gig in Huntington Beach and stopped coming by altogether.

After class one day, I suggested to a friend that we go have drinks at ‘Executive Suites’ ..remembering what David had told me about the place. He burst out laughing and told me that it’s a notorious lesbian bar. I was like ..OK, that explains things. But I had to wonder ..did David not realize that. Possibly, I forgot to mention that he was a bit naive. Things began to unravel after that. In the evenings, I began noticing something peculiar ..an older fellow with long hair, handle bar mustache and dirty work clothes sitting in his truck chugging beers ..tall cans of Colt 45 to be exact. When I’d arrive home from class at night, he’d be gone but his truck would be there. Didn’t bother me. This was largely student housing, which made him stand out ..that’s all. Then one evening, while he was sitting in his truck chugging beers, Diane pulls up in the driveway, gets out and goes inside. Next, I see truck guy get out and go up to her door ..still holding a tall one. I’m like, yikes ..and thought about dialing 911. However, when she opens the door ..she squeals, throws herself in his arms, wraps her legs around his waist and he carries her inside and shuts the door. My first thought was ‘poor David’. My second thought was .. that tells me something. It was never about the wine ..or David’s choice of jobs or anything. I had it all wrong. We had it all wrong ..I’m not sure David ever knew Executive Suites was a lesbian club ..or that Diane had a lover.

Dissolution I

While I was in college, I lived next door to a delightful couple, David and Diane. They were born-again Christians. David was working on his teaching credentials, while Diane worked as an administrative assistant to a VP. David was outgoing and gregarious, while Diane was shy and reserved. I got to know David better. I remember one day, sitting at my kitchen table, listening to him tell me about a recent turn of events in their marriage. Diane had begun criticizing him for the glass of wine he has with dinner. He defended himself by quoting from the bible, claiming “Jesus drank wine”. On another occasion, he was moaning that, in restitution for that ‘sin’ ..Diane was now refusing to participate in another ‘sin’ ..sex. Now that was a major wrinkle. I had no answer except to agree that she may be overreacting. I asked if there was something else going on. The plot thickens. She was also complaining about being the sole source of income and telling David that he should get his real estate license ..or sell insurance ..or something. My concern was that a full-time job might delay the credentials he needed for the job he really wanted. But David was resourceful. He was a talented musician and began getting nighttime gigs singing and playing guitar at local clubs. I soon learned that this was another source of grievance for Diane ..she felt he was heading directly to Sodom and Gomorrah. Then one day he dropped the bomb. They were separating. I was saddened. He was devastated. I tried to console. He had a lot going for him. I mean, he was handsome (he looked like a young Treat Williams) ..and talented and so close to finishing his education. David moved out but continued to appear at my kitchen table (when he knew his wife was at work). He told me about one of the clubs he played at called ‘Executive Suites’ on PCH, where the girls outnumber guys like 10 to 1. He tells me I outta’ go there sometime ..I couldn’t miss. He says between acts he sits at a table with a group of babes all to himself. I laughed because I could see that this was a definite boost to his ego. One day he came by to tell me he had hooked-up with of his ‘groupies’ ..a tall Hawaiian beauty ..and that this was all right because his marriage was still on-hold. Now, whenever I saw him .. he was floating on air. I was happy for him.

to be continued ~> [ link ]..

Ryan and Audrey part 2

Continued from  ~>[ part 1 ]
 

Next time I saw Audrey, I casually asked how things were working out with her and her ‘tenant’. She smiles sheepishly and says “uncomfortable!” Being nosy, I ask “How so ..?” She invites me in for a chat. “He never leaves ..” she says. “From his room, you mean ..?” “No, he’s waiting for me when I get home from work.” The plot thickens. “You mean you don’t get any privacy ..?” “Worse, he has dinner on the table, flowers, candles, Beatles’ music ..” This sounded sweeter than I thought. “What, you don’t like the Beatles ..?” She gives me that ‘you know what I mean’ look and says “I’m talking school-boy crush here.” “Sounds flattering” I say, trying for some reason to help Ryan’s cause. “Not when it’s coming from a teenager” she replies. “He’s not a teenager anymore, is he ..?” “It feels like it to me ..I feel like his mother.” “I understand.” She goes on to say “I don’t need that ..and I’m sure-as-shit he doesn’t either.” Ryan moved out shortly afterward and later transferred to Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo to pursue studies in architectural drafting. A stellar choice I believe. He’d been struggling trying to choose a field. Audrey got it right. I wonder if he would have made the same move had they been living together ..one way or the other.

Ryan and Audrey part 1

Audrey lives nearby. She’s a high-power attorney, and looks it. Armani suits ..stiletto-heel pumps ..dark stockings with a line up the back. She’s very professional and accomplished. Ryan also lives nearby. He’s an awkward first year student at the university. He rents a house with three other roommates. Although he is quiet and shy by nature ..he is over 6 feet tall and looks a lot like the actor Adrien Brody. When his roommates graduated and moved on ..Ryan didn’t want the hassle of finding new roommates. He asked Audrey if he could rent a room. She agreed. The next time I saw Ryan, I asked him how things were going. He said things were going well, but he was having ‘woman problems’. That surprised me. I couldn’t imagine a woman shortage at the university .. not for him anyway. He tells me he’s not interested in college girls “..all in ripped jeans, sandals and everything.” I wondered what difference that made ..I mean, he dresses like that ..so does everyone else in college. He says he prefers more professional-looking women. I go “..are you talking like, dark suits and pumps ..?” “Exactly ..!” I’m like, uh oh ..

Continued ~> [ part 2 ]

Morning

I wake up in a trance ..take two hits of ginseng and chase them with dark coffee. I put on something compelling and turn it up loud. I borrow the will of the music to propel me. Today it’s Emilie Autumn, who is a recently discovery, but it’s whatever stimulates. Has to be something clever and edgy though. By the time I’m fully awake, I’m sitting outside on the deck, partway through a bowl of yogurt and granola, partway into a newspaper article. Today it’s about Abby Sunderland. There’s also a stack of papers and stuff I printed from the web. I’m an information junkie. I like reading material that is not written in conventional narrative ..but comes closer to expressing the unsteady course of everyday events. I suppose that’s why I prefer travel logs and stories about people beating the odds.

“We shall not cease from exploration
and the end of our exploring will be
to arrive where we started
and know the place for the fist time”
~ T.S. Eliot

Lady of Shallot

Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.

~ Lord Tennyson

Emilie Autumn

This performance fascinates me ..

Aftermath

“What happened ..?”
“You were hit by an IED, dude.”
“No, that was somebody else ..”
“You’re good man, you still got your feet.”
“Where are you ..?”
“Checking your pupils.”
“Where am I ..?”
“On a berm.”
“How did I get here ..?”
“You were blown here ..you’re lucky.”
“Where is here ..I don’t remember ..I can’t see.”
“Don’t worry, it’s temporary ..you’ll see fine in just a moment.”

Back in the States, Johnny has lapses in consciousness where he tells me he leaves his body .. travels back to Iraq and becomes someone else ..just before they get hit by an IED. Each time, he says ..the same conversation takes place. I ask the VA about this and they tell me it’s a documented condition called ‘disassociative fugue’. I tell them it sounds frighteningly supernatural to me. They say it will go away soon.

Memory

Words and events fade in an instant. What isn’t remembered is doomed to be repeated. Who knows how long this exchange has been going on, or will continue to go on, without memory.

Antidepressants

I think I like this guy! He certainly makes a convincing argument. He's saying that medication for depression (SSRIs, MAOIs and Tricyclics) may actually be turning single/acute episodes of depression into chronic conditions. I wonder what this means for children who are medicated for, what may only turn out to be, a rough period of adolescence ..that they would eventually outgrow.

Ramón

After his 2nd tour of duty, Ramón’s world was a fuzzier place. Milkier too ..until he got the cataracts removed. The ground feels spongy when he walks because of the loss of sensation in his lower legs. I have a theory that says: what the body can’t feel, the mind fills in ..and sometimes with bizarre effect. For Ramón, it can make a dusty street feel like a rocky stream .. or level ground feel like an uphill slope. He says he’s learned to look for visual confirmation, but sometimes his eyes deceive him. He went to an optometrist but couldn’t pass the eye exam. He says he could see the letters clearly enough, but they would rapidly morph into other letters. For instance, an ‘M’ would become an ‘N’ then a ‘U’ then an ‘O’. When he mentioned this to the eye doctor ..she let him take the test over a few times. Ramón learned that if he blurted out the first letter he saw, he did much better. Out on the street however, phone numbers dissolve before he has a chance to repeat them. He can’t remember things he just read because when he gets to the end of a sentence, he’s forgotten the beginning. Now whole movies fade away by the time they reach the end, which he says is cool ..he can watch them over and over again as though he were watching them for the first time. I’d say the things that tethered him to mother earth have slackened a little, which accounts for the sliding sensation he gets in the pit of his stomach, the one he says feels like his car is skidding off the road even when he’s sitting at his desk.

Footnote: Music that used to annoy him ..dissonant-sounding jazz from performers like Coltrane or Björk ..now appeals to him. I put on the Beatles Revolution number 9 ..which sounds like a loop of recorded chaos and impromptu screaming. He was delighted. Then I put on a track of improvised rock recorded at a Grateful Dead concert. He said it sounded natural to him, like riding in the back of a truck on a winding road through the woods. This leads me to another theory ..when the mind adjusts to blur ..it can also make a melody out of noise.

Across the universe

Stephen Hawkings recently said that any space aliens we are likely to encounter would be nomadic in nature. They will be traveling through interstellar space, going from one galactic replenishment opportunity to the next. It’s best that we avoid contact with them, he says. Extraterrestrials, arriving on Earth, would lead to a scenario not too unlike Christopher Columbus landing in the new world. As I recall, it did not go well for the indigenous people of the new world. Apparently Dr. Hawking believes that self-preserving behaviour is selected for by evolution across the universe, as it is here on Earth. I, on the other hand, do not have a clue.

He's gone

“He’s just not the same anymore” his mother says “Does he ever talk about it ..?” I ask “The only thing he ever mentioned was the time he had to retrieve his friend’s body from a supply truck that exploded. It was too gruesome for me ..he’s just not the same anymore.” He can sit at a crowded table with friends and just smile and not say anything for hours. His prior relationships have ended and he can’t remember most of the people he went to high school with. “He isn’t who he was when he went in” a former girlfriend tells me. He can’t drive ..traffic laws and street signs elude him. It scared her to death one night when he drove for miles and did not stop for a single red light. Later on I find out he didn’t really learn to drive until he was in Iraq, and that was mostly on unmarked desert roads. He’s not aware of it when he hits curbs on both side of a residential street. He misses other customary signs of danger as well. He’ll blindly walk across a busy boulevard to reach a starbucks and meet friends. I’m reminded of a line from a book by John Irving and tell him to keep passing the open windows.

Santa Barbara Bowl

I live by the Santa Barbara County Bowl, a concert venue I enjoy immensely. It is one of only two natural amphitheaters in the country ..the other being Red Rocks in Colorado. It is now at risk of over-development.

The natural, park-like area surrounding the Santa Barbara County Bowl is about to disappear. The city has recently approved plans by out-of-town developer Charles Crail and local Architect Brian Cearnal, to build a 13-unit apartment complex adjacent to the County Bowl as part of the ‘915 E Anapamu project’. These plans call for the removal of the historic Cove Mound hill as well as the destruction of many native and mature oaks trees that currently fill the landscape between the gated entrance to the County Bowl and Milpas Street. A two-to-three story apartment complex, as well as uncovered and subterranean parking will take their place. Neighbors of the Bowl decry the loss of the green space that surrounds the Bowl. It provides a natural setting for concertgoers, natural drainage for creeks and a sound barrier for the neighboring community. Furthermore, the site backs up to the undeveloped slopes of the Bowl which itself is a natural wildlife corridor. We believe these open lands and green spaces should be preserved and protected for the benefit of all.

Anybody who enjoys the Santa Barbara Bowl as much as I do please let your objections be heard by appealing to:

• City Council, Das Williams, DasWilliams@SantaBarbaraCA.gov
• City Council, Bendy White,HWhite@SantaBarbaraCA.gov 
• City Planning, Kelly Brodison, KBrodison@SantaBarbaraCA.gov

Thank you, Bill Robertson,leefarer@gmail.com

Amber alert

Early records show that Amber couldn’t read. However, this wasn’t the case. Amber was actually reading too much into what she read. The way she describes it, when she reads books, she sees smaller books emerging from the text. When she reads these smaller books, they warn her not to believe what she’s reading in the bigger book. Her test scores weren’t measuring lack of comprehension ..they were measuring lack of credibility. These warning-messages persisted and began to change the way she perceived instructors and educators ..convincing her she was a test subject in some kind of mind-control experiment. Paranoia ensued ..disrupting not only her reading performance, but performance in other subjects as well. Somewhere along the way, a sharp-eyed therapist picked up on this and convinced her that she didn’t have to actually believe what she read ..just as long as she could repeat it on a test. It was an “ah ha” moment. She became an honor student. She graduated and went to Berkeley, fortified with the knowledge that she was entering an institution of high-rate disinformation. She figured the best way to protect herself was to get fully informed of her adversaries. Her instructors and classmates found her vibrant and engaging ..and also dead serious. Now idea-bombs, armed with mixed message, were exploding inside her head during lecture. She says she could see right through their masked attempt at mental subversion. Nobody took her seriously, and her friends, who were initially charmed and entranced, became frightened and distant ..resulting in her first arrest on assault charges. Undeterred, she volunteered with social service groups in the community. When they asked her to leave, she tried starting one by herself, modeled after her own beliefs. But members quickly disappeared once they saw her rational and seductive ideas turn into radical conspiracy theories. “Brain-dead zombies” was the way she referred to them. During treatment at an outpatient facility in town, someone suspected epilepsy. A functional fMRI was performed revealing that words triggered seizure–like activity in her brain ..resulting in activation of not only correct word meanings, but contradictory and confounding meanings as well.

May day

May 1st 2009
Los Angeles, CA

An immigration rally began peacefully. The right to freedom of peaceful assembly is guaranteed by the First Amendment of the Constitution. When police in riot gear arrived and attempted to deny people that right, some took a stand to protect their rights. Then it turned less peaceful ..giving police the authority to forcefully disperse the rally.

Macarthur Park, Los Angeles May 1st 2009

A police helicopter hovers above ..a voice over the loudspeaker gives the order to ‘disperse or be arrested’. Police in riot gear charge ..unarmed citizens flee ..some are trampled and beaten ..a peaceful assembly turns into chaos ..bullets fly. This was the scene at Macarthur Park in Los Angeles May 1st 2009 ..but my mind is also receiving images from 1969 ~ People’s Park in Berkeley ..and they don’t look much different. Furthermore, I’m experiencing the same feelings of revulsion that I felt then ..and I'm not the only one ..those early images were burned into the psyche of nearly all the school-age children of my generation. It occurs to me that the ‘class of 2010 is graduating next month ..after attending all four years of high school ..during wartime. Experiencing a culture at war, at this age ..is something you never forget. It becomes part of you ..like the Vietnam War is part of me. I have a built-in mistrust of government ..ongoing problems with authority ..and an uncertain career in ‘conspiracy theory’. History repeats itself, not only when government leaders ignore it ..but also when their minds become so scripted by it ..they can’t do anything different.

People’s Park, Berkeley in 1969

Paranoid visions

Undocumented, as in undocumented immigrant, means unknown. Unknown is scary. So we react out of fear of the unknown by building walls, discriminating and incarcerating undocumented immigrants. In other words, criminalizing what we don’t know. I believe that, what we don’t know, or can’t see ..we fill in with our worst nightmare dreams. Pretty soon we’re seeing illegals everywhere .. suffocating us ..overrunning our schools, workplaces and neighborhoods. So, we start encoding these paranoid visions into law. My question is, if undocumented workers are so productive, don’t they deserve some of the same benefits as working citizens ..? Instead of wasting so much energy battling the unknown, I say we get informed. I suggest that we actually document them at the workplace, kind of like an information-only social security number, then start collecting statistics. I’m not talking about legitimizing or prosecuting anyone, I'm talking about getting informed and seeing if it's really as bad as we fear. I suspect not. But I also suspect this may not be so easy to do ..they are just as afraid of us as we are of them.