FAT CHANCE: a response to the documentary Alien Planet

Very interesting and exciting.  However there are millions of 'howevers'.  When I think of how our limited intelligence and sensory array, even considering the extension of our computational abilities and technologically boosted sensibilities, cannot cope with the diversity of intelligences here on Earth, I do not see how we can progress very far at all when we encounter other intelligences that have evolved from another bed of DNA-equivalent building structures.

1) "Her Deepness," Sylvia Earle, records a failed opportunity of communication with an octopus.  The octopus showed every sign of intelligence and the will to communicate, with some startling reinforcement for the anthropomorphic interpretation of the octopus' emotional behavior.

2) Dolphins are intelligent enough to follow human voice commands and in one instance that I credit, have tried to imitate human speech.  We can barely imitate 'baby dolphin speech,' much like a baby crying to communicate it's needs.

3) I have heard that some gifted parrots not only imitate human speech, but can use the language correctly.  This may be true.

Given only those three examples, my assessment of our ability to speak with a truly alien intelligence is "fat chance."  If it weren't for the delightful intelligence of dogs, we cannot even speak across species here on Earth.  We should, however, be able to establish that both parties of an earthling-to-alien meeting are intelligent.

I don't mean to discourage the attempt, though.  It would be wonderful to give it a try.

My thought is that we had better add more vitality to our attempts to communicate with other Terran life-forms that spring from our common bed of DNA.

Or, alas, perhaps our very thought is so limited by the form of our bipedal bisymmetrical Terran experience that we are unable, without some serious alteration of our minds, to speak beyond our own species.

Ha! And considering politics, Democrats, Republicans and third party groups are all speaking different languages.  Lies and deception and predation and ignorance and stupidity and mental instability create a pretty big obstacle for genuine communication every where at all times.  Whew!   Fat chance.   But let's get out there and get into the mix.

SPIDER BITE

       I am afraid of spiders.  Quick, small, and much too powerful for their size, spiders are masters of chemistry, webwork, camouflage, silence, and a kind of predatory intelligence that reflects no consideration of any other species, or, in some cases, of any other individual, even of  their own species ...well, they do seem to care for their offspring.

       Saturday, August 17th, about 3:15pm, I was bitten a number of times by an unidentified critter I assume was a spider.
       I had an itch on the calf of my left leg while riding in the car. I reached down below my cutoffs to scratch it but stopped short.  A rash?  No.  Inspection revealed several bites.
       I did not scratch it.  We had no medication in the car, so I chewed up an aspirin and applied the wet mass to the larger bites.  Now I know an aspirin is an anticoagulant, but I felt I had to do something.  There was no bad reaction.  The bites spread a bit, but nothing alarming.

       I popped the skin over the three major blisters and I believe the drainage helped slow the spread.  I drew a line in India Ink around the bites later that evening to more easily determine if the damages were growing or shrinking.  Nothing really serious at this point.  I thought...

       Sunday the infected area was a bit larger, but much cooler.  I thought I was on the way to healing.  My wife helped me wash the area and cleanse off and out open areas with hydrogen peroxide.

       But then I made a serious error: I sealed the area with Calamine lotion.

       I think that seal forced the poison to spread quickly.  The poison either does not lose its potency with the destruction of the cells it contacts, or reproduces itself with the use of cellular material -- my cellular material!  Here is a picture of the bitten area about midday Sunday.

       So... an explosive growth.  Apparently this thing grows in a pulse as it overcomes bodily resistance, expands, meets the body's new defenses and halts to overcome that.  I also expect, with the following shaky evidence, that the toxin spreads via a gas or moisture released by the infected area.
       Last night I covered the area with a gauze bandage loosely applied.  This morning the bite had not spread farther, but the entire area under the bandage was mildly red.

       Now I am getting concerned.  The peripheral bites are getting more active.  The whole general area is itching ... a sure sign that the corruption is spreading.  There does not seem to be a weakening of the toxin.  Regarding this last picture, I think I will go into Missoula and see the doc.  You will notice that some areas of flesh are growing dark; this is not a good sign, reflecting as it does areas where circulation is highly obstructed.

       I have posted the progress of this infliction on Facebook and have garnered a lot of advice.  Most of it good, I think.  I haven't tried using grapefruit on the wound, but I have a lot of faith in grapefruit which is, as far as I am concerned, a highly medicinal fruit.  In any case, a visit to the doctor's haunt in my next move.

31 August
       Two weeks later it looks like this:

 

No kidding ... it doesn't show, but this is an improvement.  At this point I am confident that I shall heal.  The bites INSIDE my shoe remain a mystery; did the spider start here and work his way out?  These bites started out very small and after the bites on the calf began to cool and shrink, these began to grow.

4 September
       Gonna quit following this.  I am healing.  I am going to quit worrying and carry on like a healthy guy.

       If you know something definite about these bites--I am only assuming that they are spider bites--I would like to read your thoughts.  Infected tick?  The outward manifestation of some bad juju someone I thought was a friend inflicted upon me?  Splashed by Monsanto?  Much of this remains a mystery.

MUDGRIPS (adult only)

ADULTS ONLY! #1: OK, everyone knows that Botox (from botulism; the most toxic biological agent known to us (until Monsanto gets into full swing)) makes lips swell into those delightful pouty lips that men equate with ...eh?... I donno ... secondary sexual characteristics? the red rump of baboons? swollen secret pink skin?  So I thought, why not enhance my own swollen secret self (penis).  Looking into it...

ADULTS ONLY! #2:  Forget that!

ADULTS ONLY! #3 1): (the foregoing, and the hinter-going, is a result of visiting "The Chesty-Fest" at Sporty's ... quite by chance, I assure you).
       Looking into that stuff they use for breast implants, I am researching Google Images...
       Huh. ...kind'a disappointing really: instead of having beautifully sculptured (the word 'sculptured' is very appropriate here) breasts, they were just bigger and rounder.  'Beachball boobs' is the pat term.   One might even think 'over-inflated'.  I'm just a regular guy.  I like boobs of every description.   I like everything from fried eggs (or even raw eggs if the eggs are "scratch" eggs so the yolk doesn't just break) to melons, even kind'a large melons...  As long as the woman who is sporting them likes them, I like them.   And lots of women (it appears) don't like their breasts when those same breasts are beautiful!   Sometimes people are just crazy!!!  Why mess around with botox on lips, f'instance, when a smile is all a guy really needs?
       So many, so many REALLY IMPORTANT QUESTIONS!

ADULTS ONLY #3 2): There are some women with huge breasts.  I must admit that sometimes huge breasts can cause a number of serious/bothersome problems.  Like back trouble.  No kidding.
       Whereas young women can flout that 'gift' (at that age) with 'whelming' success, it, even at that age, can lead to problems.  Those huge breasts make a girl look promiscuous.  Even if she ain't.  I know girls with huge tits that have been raped more than once by men with testosterone poisoning and the concomitant paralysis of the brain.  That's not fair.
       When the woman grows to middle-age the weight of the breasts causes stress on the back.   And, alas, often the large breasts can stimulate the body into accumulating lots of extra resource (fat).
       ...SO, despite the fact I don't like messing around with Mother (appropriate term) Nature, a breast reduction can really improve the life of some women.
       SERIOUS DRAWBACK to breast reduction: Although a breast reduction can keep a woman slim, result in beautifully sculptured breasts, every instance I have ever seen or heard of (or otherwise experienced) also resulted in the cutting of that WONDERFUL NERVE that runs from the nipples into the Zone of Swollen Secret Pink Skin ... and that loss ... well, it's a bit tragic ...

ADULTS ONLY #4:  So I wrinkle my brow and think, "What about penis sculpture?   After all, I'm 71 years old and maybe a change would do me good."
        HINT: I have no interest at all in mutilation art; like splitting my penis lengthwise, despite assurances that both, ah, 'halves' still function.  I mean, like, what? do I want to 'tweezer-enable' my penis?   I think not.
        Although if I were to have some silicone injected just below the skin of my penis I could build in some ribs and ridges that might interest my wife.  Or, going a bit extreme, I could have 'tread' sculpture done.  'Mudgrips' might be a hit.
        But what if I 'get stuck' and cannot involuntarily withdraw?  Or withdraw to suit the request of my beloved?
        No problem.  I am sure panic will take care of that possibility.
        Or we can bag-race-walk out into the driveway and ask a passerby to drench us with a bucket of ice-cold water.

 ADULTS ONLY #5: Please forgive me for the foregoing.  I don't know what overcame me.  And don't expect to ever see much more of this from me.

METAPHOR EXAMPLE: The Mouse, the Cat, and the Homeowner

METAPHOR (read to the end, of course; or else why even start?):

A lot of people don't understand extended metaphor, so I am here to help.  Take this instance: there is this cat to catch the mice that are eating the homeowner's food and pooping on the counter.
     
Now look at it metaphorically: in this instance the homeowner is the very rich.  He thinks he owns the food; all of it, anywhere.  You are the MICE.  You just want a home and to feed your family, but the homeowner refuses to share any stored or fresh food.  So you are forced to steal it.  So the homeowner gets law enforcement, that's the cat.  If the cat doesn't do it, the homeowner hires Blackwater (or whatever their name is today); that's like SWAT (Specialized Weasel Attack Team). If that doesn't work, the homeowner will use poison; that's like Monsanto teaming up with the petroleum industry.  The mouse poop is incidental -- unless you are a litterbug -- then you deserve to get caught, eaten, or worse (live trap/Guantanamo), for 1) exposing mouse activity, and 2) dirtying up the environment for everyone.

See?  Metaphor is simple, isn't it?

EXCEPT for the fact that the homeowner didn't build his house; he used your labor and pays you crumbs.  The homeowner doesn't pay for the police: he passes laws so you are taxed and THAT money pays for the cops/cats.  But, being fair, the homeowner uses his OWN money to hire the weasels to hunt and kill you.  The rest of the trillions of dollars you (the MICE) pay in taxes goes to build weapons of war -- military R&D (companies the homeowner OWNS) and weapons manufacturers (companies that the homeowner OWNS) that give your money to him in a kind of bank shot (oops, that's another metaphor) -- all so the homeowner can steal resources from other places and other mice and even other homeowners.

[not at the end yet]

MARGIN OF ERROR:  Calling these rich guys "homeowners" is a bit awkward.  They have houses, lots of them, BIG houses, but they don't live in them.  They move around a lot.  In fact, they don't live on Earth ... I mean; not unless they would destroy all wildlife in/on their homes to suit themselves.  All the mice, both inside and outside, could die and they would see nothing wrong with that.  In fact, the MICE who would like to become homeowners are cheated of their chance by the BANKERS ... a banker is an arm of the "homeowners" that is empowered to steal, by means fair and foul, mouse nests.

There, that's not quite the end ... but there will be no one left to tell the story if these predatory Owners of Earth have their way much longer ... like a box of maggots left until the maggots eat one another and no one is left but the biggest maggot of all.

But that's another metaphor, isn't it?

PETROLORANT

Back when I was a youngster (day before yesterday) "they" would put me in jail for smoking God's own sweet herb.  Jeez! and I'm a sweet lil' ol' grandpa who contributes to the community and loves most of mankind, hasn't stolen anything of note for years and years, doesn't beat his wife (except at cribbage...I will cheat in this instance if she is in good humor) and does not show a weapon.
        And yet few react to the fact that my whole country, in fact the entire 'civilized' world!, is ADDICTED to PETROLEUM!
       All of petroleum's wonderful side-effects like difficulty breathing (CO in the air, (used to be lead (Pb) in the air) carbon in the air, secondary trash molecules in the air), pollution of the water, pollution of the land (both by direct and indirect means: spills, chemical fall-out including herbicide, fungicide, insecticide runoff (see pollution of water above); poisons manufactured by chance and intentionally (read Monsanto here)), 'safe' products that turn out noxious (think plastic containers bleeding toxic chemicals into water and food), and maybe even unconsciousness, coma and death are not enough to discourage this addition.

Whereas grass made me think the world could be a better place and that maybe I could help achieve this end, petroleum (a broad spectrum systemic poison), makes me either 1) quit thinking, or 2) think dark thoughts about the survival of a) the democratic system and b) ALL OF LIFE.

Could it be, possibly, that addiction to fossil fuels is a TERMINAL ADDICTION?

BASEMENT

The river is eternal.
Submerged, my ears hear
the tumbling of a mountain
of washed gravel rolling
downstream; the thump
of the big rock finally
turning to a new bottom.

I watch the news--
a river of selected data--
and am hypnotized
by the ever-changing
sameness.

I long for sensation:
a yellow rock in an old riverbed
waiting to be etched
like the Grand Canyon
into my limbic brain.

                       ---
         Sanctuary '93.12.01

SRI BABA AND I

Sri Baba can recall for you an acorn
so clearly you can feel it
in the palm of your hand.
Sri Baba can imagine the gold gilt
on an acorn with such intense detail
the gold-coated talisman
tips the jeweler's scale.

     and I...
see this little bit of dusty love
flickering like a candleflame,
changing clothes fast as a comedian
     backstage
     in some mad old movie,
see this little bit of fresh green
     wet with clean morning dew
     a tiny triumph between random monoliths
          of broken concrete slabs
          on the first morning
          after the last day,
see this tiny, tattered offering.
It's yours.
Touch it.
Tell me you can feel it.

                          ---
            Sanctuary '93.11.27

OVERLOOKING MISSOULA

The peace sign stands
on the foothill slope
that dominates the horizon,
and the snow that blankets her
is eternal.
The field is endless;
the fences distant as death.
All is white.
All is white.
Except for TV Mountain,
grey with snowstorm,
all is white.
The lone black horse
digging for grass,
is an exclamation point
on a sentence of solitude.

          Sanctuary '93.11.27

THE VESSEL CALLS FOR THE WINE

"OK!" I shout
"I am ready for truth."
I am composed for silence.
I am prepared to be taken.
I spread my legs
and uncouple my defenses.
I will listen and repeat.
An angel touches my periphery. I remember hearing her
sing words;
exquisite tender rain of meaning
sharp as an Ox-eyed Daisy
leading across a field of dandelions
to an old fortress of broken stones.
If I wait, bereft of self
will you sing to me again?
permit me to tag along behind you
though I halt in meter
word and meaning?
I remember--when I think I know
where you are going--I would raise my voice
for strength, and in the resounding silence--
--in the silence of my drawn breath--
realize I have lost you again.

JUSTICE: SOME PERTINENT THOUGHTS

First, my all-time favorite quote reference justice:

O SON OF SPIRIT!
The best beloved of all things in My sight is Justice; turn not away therefrom if thou desirest Me, and neglect it not that I may confide in thee.
By its aid thou shalt see with thine own eyes and not through the eyes of others, and shalt know of thine own knowledge and not through the knowledge of thy neighbor.
Ponder this in thy heart; how it behooveth thee to be.
Verily justice is My gift to thee and the sign of My loving-kindness.
Set it then before thine eyes.
       --The Hidden Words of Bahá’u’lláh

Second, as far as I am concerned:

1) JUSTICE: reflects a sense of the whole and the dignity of all.
I think--without rigorous study--that justice alone is enough to maintain a vital and cohesive society.
*I believe--once again without rigorous study--that the aim of justice is not only to maintain order on all levels, but also to provide for the achievement of full human potential and to protect the innocent.

2) LAW: Law is at best a workable compromise ... between justice and social mediation.
The restraint imposed by law--
if it does not have justice
or egalitarian social order
as its aim
--can be disregarded.
NOTE: Not disregarded with impunity ... enforcement is spotty and subject to prejudice; however, you and I need not accumulate personal guilt about our behavior.

               TO: The duty of the lawman is to enforce the law.
  I RESPOND: One who enforces the law never questioning justice, is not so much a lawman as a minion.

Law for law's sake
is the love of tyrants.

I will respect the law only so much as it approximates justice.
I will respect the law if the law is respectable.

Mercy: There are cases when mercy is just.

Thomas Light asked, "Is justice a dried leaf free to blow before political winds?"

A WORD OF TRUTH

[June 17, 2013 at 3:05am]

Let me tell you the truth, an activity for which I am justly well known.

Atheists, who are “good for nothing” (--Mark Twain) are pretty much satisfied with where they are, and skeptics — who are pretty much unhappy wherever they are — may not understand a word I am about to write.

There is an elevated human experience that goes beyond words.

Simple as that.

o0o

It is also true that glimpses into this 'elevated' field of experience return variously garbled into our normal, mundane consciousness. This is because as experience exceeds BOTH the power of language and our ability to speak it AND our power of imagination to translate information into a form, both of those faculties become frantic with seeking.

What we -- the masses of consensus-thinkers -- get, is the story-teller's life-metaphor.

Critics can easily say “there are no such caves in Australia” (Mutant Message Down Under by Marlo Morgan), “Yaqui Indians say they have never met anyone named Don Juan” (Carlos Castaneda), or “Ha! Imagine golden plates with a written language dug up in America” (The Book of Mormon).

Truth exists beyond language. Truth is the taller mountain.

Trying to describe that mountain above the Word Line is going to meet with some confusion. Need I add doubt, disbelief, hostility and hatred?

That's why the New Testament is such a strange tale. Consider twelve witnesses each telling a different story. That's because each witness told the truth in his (or her) own language.

Windows into this higher experience -- the Grand Epiphany -- occasionally pass the Earth, and when they do I think every being can peek in and peak out.

After this passing opportunity to experience this higher thing, there comes a renaissance.

...followed by an afterclap of poisonous reaction. Think a moment of the Holy City.

So how do you write about an experience that transcends words?

Do you write “Alice in Wonderland”? Of Narnia? “Mutant Message Down Under”? "Don Juan"? “Hamlet”? “The Book of Mormon”? The “Bhagavad Gita”? or “Communion” like Whitley Streiber? Or would you write your own testimony which you add to the family Bible?

o0o

*special thanks to the five people who reminded me of this bit of writing.

HUGH GLASS, A KNIFE AND A GRIZZLY

The Ballad of Hugh Glass a great book by John Neidhardt (Black Elk Speaks) is written in decasyllabic iambic pentameter.

You may not want to get any iambic pentameter on you: is it a foreign language?; is it sticky? No to both questions. In fact, after reading a few pages of the book, you probably won't even notice the meter; it's so easy on the mind and tongue. It is amazing, actually, how closely decasyllabic iambic pentameter is timed to speech. It seems to move from the mouth, tongue and throat into the chest. It is a good human imitation of the heroic voice.

The Silmarillion, a book length mythopoeic work by J.R.R. Tolkien, is also written in decasyllabic iambic pentameter. I listened to a recording of much of the 'Sil' and came away feeling like Moses or Odin, able to command a room full of big husky warriors. Decasyllabic iambic/trochaic pentameter is a sweeping monumental rhythm of language.

Enough of that.

The Ballad of Hugh Glass is a majestic, amazing and true story of Hugh Glass. Hugh fought with a knife against a grizzly sow that attacked him to protect her two cubs. 'Mauled' may leave one in a slightly better condition than 'maimed'; Glass experienced both conditions. Glass and Jim Bridger (19 at the time) and Fitzgerald managed to kill the griz but Glass, unconscious, looked like a fatality. Bridger and Fitzgerald volunteered to stay with Glass until he died. They started to dig his grave. Later they claimed that they saw "Arikaree" Indians preparing to attack them. They grabbed Glass's rifle, knife, and other equipment, and fled. Bridger and Fitzgerald reported to Henry that Glass had died.

Hugh Glass did not die. He had a broken leg and his back had been so ripped that his ribs were exposed. He had no rifle, knife, equipment or water. He set his own leg with some of the bear hide that Bridger and Fitzgerald had laid over him as a shroud and began crawling 200 miles to the nearest fort, driven by the need to avenge himself on the men who had deserted him.

Along the way he chased two wolves from a drowned buffalo calf and ate much of it. He laid on his back on a rotten log so the maggots could eat the dead flesh. The Pawnees sewed the bear hide to his back to cover the wounds.

He also ate 'wild cherries' on his trek. It is the wild cherries that reminded me of this story.

I asked a Sun Dance leader about the cherry sticks that Sun Dancers are pierced with. Where do they come from? I am a 70-year-old native Montanan and I've never seen a wild cherry. The man said, "Chokecherries."

If you like a story in the grand fashion -- one that ends in a very touching act of nobility -- I recommend The Ballad of Hugh Glass.

BAGWORMS!

The polite term for a bagworm (Malacosoma californicum) is tent caterpillar. The more I see of them the more I think "tent caterpillar" is waaay too polite. My wife, from Ohio, says "Bagworm" and as time goes by I agree more and more. What an ugly expression.

Bagworms have a marvelous survival technique. They 'eclose' and immediately begin to enclose their lunchroom in a tough web of spinnings ... they live behind the veil. As they grow the bag grows. Birds cannot penetrate the bag and I doubt they'd want to; I understand the worms do not taste very good.

The worms can nearly denude a chokecherry tree. They usually don't kill a bush, but they leave it looking like a skeleton at the end of the summer. They often hit the same bush year after year. It's a wonder the bushes live after such abuse.

This year I picked the bags and gave the little colonies the coup de grace. And LO! the bush produced the nicest, fattest chokecherries you ever saw. We just spent the morning cleaning a huge boxful that my daughter-in-law and two grandsons picked. Pounds! of chokecherries.

I believe, deep down, that bagworms have a place in the larger scheme, but Lordy!, they can eat an apple tree down to bones, digest everything tender in a chokecherry bush, and, in general, are nasty little critters.

And "bagworm" is a great thing to call someone in an argument.