People will believe a big lie sooner than a little one, and if you repeat it frequently enough, people will sooner or later believe it. ― Walter C. Langer, The Mind of Adolf Hitler: The Secret Wartime Report, 1972, Basic Books write a lot about the punishment society, which is the hallmark of American capitalism, both conceptually […]
Terminal Velocity—A Man Lost of Tribe
What is a life, revealed? What is this idea of truth, the unadulterated history in one's narrative? The baggage, the contexts, the points of view, dredged into one's psychological state, all the trauma of simple moments in a boy's or man's life, boy-to-man and man-to-boy sense of things, are these parts of the lens one should focus in a process of a looking backward (writing it) and then forward to draw lessons learned and still to be revealed (as an organized, somehow, autobiography)?
Is it important for someone like me to write a “biography” even at all without the pedigree of “someone who's big, still rising, haven risen and/or now fallen from grace,” or in this case the anti-autobiography of a simple man, Willy Loman sort of teacher, even without a bone of celebrity in my body?
The body of this long-form writing is a 30-part “series” possibly distilled into fictional fusions—captured life moments, galvanized to the heart of seeing creatively in a pretty messed up world. I believe this to be one of the most gut-flooding truth seeking to some of us, painted characters and landscapes, conflicts, yet the dog of the lamentation, those roses that shed blood, tears from the prickly pear, the ghost inside cenotes.
Paul K. Haeder: In a time of neoliberalism, Capitalism runs roughshod over humanity for the One Percent and another Nine Percent in USA
There ain’t no inauguration blues for anyone voting their conscience he homeless and the broken lives, the structural and inter-generational poverty, and the amassing of wealth by the few, and the excesses, the Hooters and Cardiac Cheeseburger mentality, You Tube Look at this Perversion Zuckerberg world of constant clicks and scrolls and feeds, the Warped […]
Paul Haeder: Latte liberals or survivalist conservatives, the entire shooting match of my fellow American is a bit daft, off center and now, 2017, entering the year of the Rooster, well, discombobulated, disoriented and despoiled.
Paul Haeder: This tsunami of ignorance, hyper-patriotism, hyper-neoliberalism, hyper-intellectual pacifism, well, it’s been going on for a long, long time.
Paul Haeder: There has been a huge push to privatize prisons, and to place filing fees, court costs and even the daily maintenance, upkeep and staffing of these halls of justice on the financial backs of the accused.
Paul Haeder: Imagine the White Bubble Brains of Media, and the others in the white privileged classes, barely understanding the context of 450 years of treaties broken, barely understanding what mother earth is and what mother water holds.
Paul Haeder: It would be so much better if our national conversations and international thinking emanating from this country could be funneled through a local and small community and communities of color-disenfranchisement-poverty lens, perspective and engagement.
Paul Haeder: I treat the throw-aways – out of prison, off the streets, barely, in recovery, all those fines-levies-garnishments-fees-invoices like a billion leaches on their souls.
Paul Haeder: Something about the morning after. Mourning. Buyer’s remorse. Where do we go from here. How do we reboot. When did everything change. Where did all the common sense go.
Paul Haeder: Racking up those balls for this giant eight ball game by the elites—one more miss-election, one more perversion to the collective soul.
Paul Haeder: Bolt down the heroes, the Black Panthers, the Protestors, the Eco-warriors; bolt us down when we occupy the offices of the fat-cat college presidents; bolt us down when we converge in the streets with our Trayvon Was Murdered signs.
Paul Haeder: It’s that chosenness that eats too at my soul, when I am in a room with elites or some vanguard group, and there are no clothes, and the pomposity and patronizing and altogether self-important glory of their own reflections eat and eat at the one meth user at a time formula.