Kleptocracy: the crime that keeps on stealing.
We didn’t just steal Sutter’s gold: we killed his cattle, scattered his family, destroyed his crops, stalled his new mill. Then we, by judgment of a US court in San Francisco, said that we owed him $300 million, in 1850-something (or was it $350M? hundreds of billions if you update the money): then we burned the court to the ground, scattered the judges … That outta teach the law about law! Sutter spent his broken old age in DC, petitioning Congress for a nickel: and not getting a penny.
But you know, I’m ashamed even to mention that, because what we did to Sutter, a “white” man, is nothing compared to what we’d done to the Iroquois, or the Lakota (again taking both gold and land, in this case also essentially committing genocide), or would do to the Cheyenne.
The Cheyenne being moved by soldiers over the “Trail of Tears” were the left-over Cheyenne, the Cheyenne bravest and strongest and most independent long since de-clawed, starved, killed. So: here’s this skinny kid, being proded along the Trail of Tears, move, or fall down and die, Red N-. A soldier, maybe a soldier wearing his mother’s or his sister’s or his aunt’s vulva as a hat, maybe cut from his mother while she was alive, maybe cut with the kid looking, or maybe cut from Crazy Horse’s sister (see note below), not a Cheyenne at all, hits the kid in the ribs with his rifle butt. Is that a crime?
[Bowdlerizing K., 2016 08 06, euphemizing the most popularly offensive words, so ironic for the freedom guy]
It’s a layer on a cake of crime. It’s a mutually prickly crime, mutually perpendicular. It’s a meta-Klep.
It’s a shame that my teaching on the concept of meta- hasn’t been found worth discussing by the society, its organs, its institutions, its populations over the last decades. Nothing of mine has been found worth discussing; just worth not-publishing, covering up, censoring, punishing … for well more than half a century: but notice: I’m still trying.
Take a line. It has length. A two year old knows that. Add a line, a line perpendicular to the first line. It’s at an angle: a right angle in this case: 90 degrees. The new line is called “height”: a Y axis has been added to an X axis.
Hollywood has tried, more than once, never very intelligently or well (ask Jacque Fresco), to sell us 3-D: to add depth to length and height. (Renaissance artists had tried something similar in their graphic depictions.)
Now let’s try to see it a bit more dynamically, worry less about “90 degrees”.
Science, not very intelligently or well, tried to add a 4th D. Klein tried for more than four: Einstein and others not helping. But by now, some of this is somewhat understood by more than one individual and more than one institution: not very intelligently, not very well: as I can testify. Still: what I hope someone will see, at least a little bit, is not only that the society missed an important boat when it repressed me and my speaking, writing, thinking, action; it still hasn’t much of a clue as to how deep its crimes are.
Have I said what I mean yet? No: but part of the necessary foundation is in place. My argument, sensed in the 1960s and articulated beginning in 1999 at Macroinformation.org, that important information is minimally five-dimensional – 0 ground, 1 data, 2 metadata, 3 metainformation, 4 and up macroinformation – hasn’t been discussed intelligently with me by a single person (though my son, bk, gets the dimensionality part very well). Ethics, political ethics, is minimally macroinformational: minimally five dimensional, the society continues to discuss politics with all the sophistication of flat-earthers: 2D the top of their imaginative potential!
I’m glad I’ll be dead soon: then it really will be too late. The culture won’t get any more damning testimony from me, but it won’t get any fresh solutions either.
While I breath, I still try to help. I promised God to try to help, there were no hedges, no conditionals: I’ll help unless they jail me. But once I’m dead, and even now that I’m more than a little deaf, blind — dumbing down fast — it may already be too late to tap my intelligence, my inspiration, my contact with either the universe of the divine.
My example of the Cheyenne kid is imagined. US soldiers wore female genitalia as hats in Crazy Horse’s time; I don’t know what they wore on the Trail of Tears: and wouldn’t trust human accounts an inch. But it’s possible. (Something like it has to be actual.) The following too is imagined: (and we’re fools for punishing imagination, while we tell ourselves lies about rewarding it.) Some gang robbed the Brinks truck. The Brinks gang was a standby in my youth. (Don’t assume that I believe that the Brinks company had any legitimate claim to the money on the truck; where I agree with the society is that the Brinks gang did not have any claim to it. Now: the Brinks gang has the money. The society wastes more money trying to identify and capture the Brinks gang. Imagine the Brinks gang leader being chauffeured in a limousine. Imagine the CEO of the Brinks company starving in the gutter. Imagine the CEO reaching for a sog of moldy bread in the paws of a rat in the gutter. The Brinks leader descends from the limo, sees the starving man, see the bread, kicks it out of the CEO’s grasp as the rat skitters.
That’s what kleps do: every day, every minute, with their every action.
That’s what my society does to me: every day, every minute; not with every action, but more than enough to cement my role, and theirs, in destiny. That is to say: for our future, in hell, in heaven, in oblivion.
What ever happened to those people who broadcast The Lucy Show? I can see some aliens wondering: Gee: Silence.
Geraldine Ferraro has died. The news identified her. I don’t follow politics now and didn’t then either, but I did catch a minute of a “debate” between VP candidates. I saw just enough to see her start to say something, see George Bush interrupt her, and see the TV show allow the interruption.
A real civilization wouldn’t subtract a point for breaking the rules, they’d disqualify the player!
When the first baseman lifted the runner off the bag to show the umpire that he was tagging him with the ball, and the TV showed the foul that the umpire didn’t see, the first baseman should have been disqualified not just from the game, but from the series, from the team, from the league: and so should the team. And the network should have lost its license to pacify boobland.
I still don’t know who Geraldine Ferraro “really” was. But I know what Bush was. And I know what TV is. And what we are.
When I was a draftee in the army, protesting all the way, assigned to Whitehall Street, the same induction center that had sucked me from home, 1961 or so, I wound up helplessly helping to draft Cubans to invade Cuba. Speaking no Spanish i was assigned to interview Cubans who spoke no English. A beautiful Puerto Rican WAC tried to help but these Cubans hated Puerto Ricans, no matter how sexy. I had to pick up a little Spanish pretty quick, the FBI was holding me responsible for their answers! But once they relaxed a bit the Cubans proved to speak a lot more English than they’d first admitted to. I became friends with any number of islanders after that, South Americans too, all passing through Whitehall Street Induction Station. One group of guys from Colombia warmed to the subject of murder, robbery, mutilation especially sexual mutilation. They enthusiastically told of bandits in the Colombian mountains who like to cut their victims’ apparatus off and sew them to their mouths. So: the bandits rob you in the mountain pass. You wind up not only without your wallet but castrated, and sucking on your own cock, your own balls holding your cock in place in your mouth. Oh, but there’s a chance you’d be dead by then, or whacked out insane, unable to process what was happening.
After that I had a renewed appreciation of the horror stories I’d heard about priests in the Church of centuries ago. They’d sworn oaths of contenence, but that didn’t stop them from cutting off women’s boobs, cutting off girls’ clits … cutting women of all ages wherever they liked. Those stories seemed so far removed from American experience: until I started reading up on “Indian” history.
Scalps: As a kid I heard of Indians scalping settlers (meaning White, meaning European, meaning Christian). Then I heard that it was the French who taught the natives this trick. Then I heard that the French learned it from other natives. No one has a monopoly on brutality, cruelty … anti-human evil.
I sure don’t like the idea of anybody’s balls being cut off or anybody’s dick being sewn into anybody’s mouth, but the stories of US soldiers cutting girl’s pudenda off and wearing them as hats really made me puke.
On the other hand, I respond, at least partly approvingly, of fresh viewpoints. Try this, from Genghis Khan: The greatest joy a man can know is to conquer his enemies and drive them before him. To ride their horses and take away their possessions, to see the faces of those who were dear to them bedewed with tears, and to clasp their wives and daughters in his arms.
I’m Still Trying
2014 07 26 regurgitaion
I’ve said a couple of times by now, 2014 07 26, now I repeat, here, in this context: When I promised God that I would devote my life to Deschool I believed that God had sent Ivan Illich, had connected me to Ivan Illich so that the society would deschool. Despite the evidence I still believed that that God had sent Jesus to save us, not to damn us. Now I believe that the vale of the damned has the purpose of infinite damnation, salvation being statistically unlikely to impossible: Illich and I (and Jesus) will have to be saved in a different universe: what happens to us here is irrelevant to cosmic truth.
Dead Soon 2014 07 26!
Absolutely right. Abelard couldn’t teach philosophy nearly as well without his balls, without his girl, nearly as well as he had with them. With them or without them, we didn’t want to get it: either way.