USA College: A Debt Mousetrap

Several days ago I came to a profound conclusion while having a conversation with my friends about the manifold issues facing humanity.  I can only paraphrase, but what I spoke would have been something like this: “It’s like this man- these times, you can speak to anyone of any race, sex, age, any IQ at any point on any spectrum.  And if you investigate and evaluate the continuity of their analytical judgement, you will find that every person identifies with one or more of these issues facing society.  And if you were to spend years organizing these people and their critical opinions into some type of conceptual map which symbolizes these issues on our minds, what you would have is some type of symbolic onion.  Every problem appears somewhere on this skins of this onion.  The large, outer layers represent the most popular issues which society often becomes embroiled within, such as guns or abortion; because these arguments easily provide moral high ground or lip service.  However, these arguments tend to be impossible because they form around the deeper layers of this abstruse onion of problems, and no progress can take place until we surmount the ULTIMATE ISSUE in the center, which threatens the integrity of the entire onion.”

A good example was a program I watched on CNN “Ana Kasparian and Scotty Nell Hughes debate whether media is out of touch.”  The question was essentially asking if many members of the establishment media are deaf to the frustration of the middle class because journalists from these major media outlets tend to be funded by corporations who enforce censorship in the interests of preserving the system of income inequality.  Scotty Nell, a CNN television anchor said: “You make some very good points but honestly I do not buy into that argument because in journalism we know that were not just talking about “the physical”.  When we’re 19 trillion dollars in debt, we have 94 million people out of the work force, we see terrorism not only abroad but right here at home.  those are the stories that are leading our headlines so a journalist has to have their head completely in the sand if they don’t realize that is what people are watching and the ratings show that those type of headlines make it.”

Ana Kasparian replied: “I just wanted to make a statement about how a lot of the issues that matter most to the electorate don’t get covered.  Let me give you an example of it.  Student loan debt is one of them that is impacting our economy in one of the most negative ways imaginable and we’re sitting here having discussions about immigration and building walls right now.  You’d rather fear monger about a non-existent threat inside the United States as opposed to focusing on something that is burdening the Millennial generation in our economy.  How are Millennials supposed to contribute to our economy when they’re burdened with student loan debt, when we’re dealing with a system that is corrupt?  62 of the richest people in the world individually own more wealth than the bottom 3.5 billion people in the world and I do think it’s worth it to address this in journalism.”

I can only make claims about the United States, because it is the only country I am really familiar with the personality of this nation, and I know the way power flows here.  This is why many income inequality alarmists fail to pinpoint practical, non partisan implications of today’s level of income inequality.  It’s near impossible to pinpoint any type of accurate statement about a human being!  The poorest man I know likes like a raccoon, yet his mind is brilliant as a Renaissance engineer.  Some day when I convince him to go to college, I will post his story here.

Vote: Apathy or Impudence 2016

Politics have become increasingly clear to me, ever since I started paying attention to Washingtongue and Meatie Allies, the Corporhate Citizens and Wallmart Street, ever since I have been reading the words of grandiose political pundits, polls, and profits for predictions for profits and non-predictions, (only been reading half a decade) and it is obvious that Candidates want voters to be dumb and silent.  The Republican’s National Committee has mastered a covert sleight of campaign, that maintains their seats in offices, while maintaining the image of a populist Democracy electing them…

But Democracy in their offices is nothing more than a moronic lie.

 

“Let me remind you,

Extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice!

Moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue!”

-Barry Goldwater

May 6th 2015

“Here is where my adventure ends.”  I stated as we pulled into the cobblestone court to my home. “The adventure is just beginning!” said Julie. Then her sisters Amy and Michelle waited in the car while we made out like Jim Carrey and Lauren Holly in ‘Dumb and Dumber’.

That was the movie David and Ariana put on after we got high together yesterday in Daniel’s car. Nothing much happened except discomfort at the mercy of Daniel’s trust music… except now I realize that I need to find another good outdoor game to play this Friday at Julie’s bonfire.  Ankle Fights?

A bonfire was what Daniel and I planned on having but we were too stoned to suspend a tent underneath the 20 foot teepee.  The next morning we threw firecrackers into the water and I knew that I need to refresh my study my knowledge about bombs of the Revolutionary war and diagrams of the battle at Thermopylae.  This is the level of reference we use when Daniel and I talk about our relationships.  David and I talked about relationships, Ariana and I criticized each other.  Between the three of them I nailed it down.  Relationship games are of physical exchanges for emotional love.  Relationships evolve when love stirs.  And you must ask yourself: “What is the untold legend, the ultimate historic purpose of my partnership with person?  To what magnitude could I initiate evolution focused on this relationship, tomorrow? I can conduct psychological experiment based on the facade of games. Dress up, leaning two, how hard can I make her laugh until she pee on me?   More specifically, to what end shall I pursue this repressed ceremony? For she has placed her bet and it is my turn to bid in the Love Games…

“You must master the Art of Peace in addition to the Art of War.  We achieve victory through the Art of War.  Victory is won through strategy.  Strategy is derived from the Art of Peace.”

Hanged, drawn, quartered, and beheaded at the Smithfield Marketplace.  Here listed are the things you’re to learn; leadership, discipline, et cetra, but basically you’re here to learn to kill, to be methodical machines of destruction and ruin!!! Otherwise you choose voluntary euthanasia.  All I know is this: nobody’s very big in the first place, and it looks to me like everybody’s tearing everybody else down.

“The moon is like a flower at heaven’s high bower

With silent delight sits and smiles on the night.”

Most of this post was lost.

I inhale and exhale, all what is aware.  Everything else, is a void with no air.  Endless hours, staring at screens.  This will truly be the death of me.  Brought to life in the moments I seek.  Emotional vision builds on mental reflection.  Power is feedback, perceived as connection.  Can we really live by the words we see?  Are the titles we make truly showing the dream?  I don’t sleep because I have desire that makes me weary.

 

Project 634- the spirit of october

Greetings, Friends.

In this month, contemplation. I am questioning the elements of hypocrisy and hegemony, examining its roots in the all elusive truth about social organization.  I am making statements about the structure of our institutions, identifying the limits we affix to the cultural ideals of value… and what is the true spirit of October?

“I was raised up believing I was somehow unique. Like a snowflake distinct among snowflakes, unique in each way you can see.  And now after some thinking, I say I’d rather be a functioning cog in some machinery, serving something greater than me.

Gold hair in the sunlight, my light in the dawn.  If I had an orchard, I’d work till I’m raw. Someday I’ll be like the man on the screen.  If I had an orchard, I’d work till I’m sore.”

Indeed, inspiration won’t last forever.  But there’s always a job to do.  And on that you can refill whenever.  There was a short period of time, some four weeks ago, where I feasted nearly exclusively on the local harvest from wild apple trees.  I shared the delicious fruit with not as many people as I had hoped, but then again these are small apples containing one or two small white dots and a brown point in the middle, which looked like an entrance for a small worm.  And perhaps I alone can tolerate these blemishes, a crucial condition for ingesting the magnificent life energy.

It is not that I don’t feel the pain of limited people.  Knowledge of other people’s beliefs and ways of thinking must be used to build bridges, not to create conflicts.  If your intention is to challenge ignorant ways of thinking, my belief is that you must refine the message so that it appears acceptable.  In this case of the wild apples, I attempted to refine my approach… a simple issue of the aesthetic stereotype… is solved by a simple illusion, which I call… HARD APPLE CIDER BREW!!!

A common mistake people make when forming their beliefs is trusting what is popular.  A popular belief has to accommodate itself to the comprehension of the least intelligent of those whom it seeks to reach.  Also, another common mistake people mistake is assuming that the most popular belief comes from their own cultural mainstream. However, a major shortcoming with mass producing ethnocentric ideals is a fundamental lack of knowledge for what beliefs are common in other cultures.  Research into these foreign ideals is seldom publicized due to modernization and urbanization. Hence, documentation is important, as such knowledge may slip into oblivion.  Entomophagy, for example, a very important tradition in 80% of the world’s nations. Under changing lifestyles, and limited awareness of the nutritional value, this tradition could be fading away.

Which brings me back to the choice every high maintenance apple consumer faces when I presented them with the wild apples.  They did not need dormant spraying with lime sulfur, followed up by a general orchard spray that is a combination of insecticide Ortho products… not when the tree is in full bloom… not while the bees are active.  It takes about one third of a bushel.  To make a gallon of apple cider.

To what end did I gain? To be honest, the cider was not what one typically finds in the super market.  I learned a little about filtering significant amounts of dietary fiber, but unfortunately my first mistake was short-cutting my sieve materials.  An apple press will typically use cheesecloth filters for the mashed product, I used the polyester fiber inside my swimming trunks, you know, the piece of cloth surrounding the crotch.  Furthermore, colonies of bacteria present in my juice converted sugars directly into acetic acid.  Regardless, the crucial step that I missed was distillation, through which various alcoholic beverages can be produced. Like Applejack.

ANAEROBIC FERMENTATION: C6 H12 O6 -> 3 CH3 C O O H

Ability of the Genus Clostridium or Acetobacterium.

Evan Farmer, Jackson, MI.  “scandals, lies, vitriolic heresies against humankind, hearsay and war, and rumors of wars, and embattled, bitter, die hard superstitions; fictitious reasoning, presumptive fallacies and illusory perceptions of disbelief, false visions of fabricated realities, power hungry, fear-mongering institutions of mental slavery…be damned to death for the evolution of our breath and our sanity; for the sanctity of being human, we must do away with dogmatic intolerance and bigotry, for once and for all…for we are all holy”

An Artistic Yarn From Ville-Gjazelle, chapter zero

Far away, in the particularly snowcapped habitat of young Davey Crane, was the frigid seaboard belonging to the worlds’ Northern-most pirate men historically recorded.  One of the most extraordinarily fascinating summers swooped on Ville-Gjazzele fisherman city with the polar sailors.  Some would say the tale began when the church was destroyed, but none can forget the mysterious rumors and fragments of the inner story, which undoutedly began with Crane and his group.

Crane grew up in the J J Krollunb Apartment near the center of the city.  His father had built the complex, and though Crane admired the artistic stonemasonery, he had few real memories with his father.  Crane operated the furnace in the basement boiler room, where he met Frink Jaskall- the earliest reported sea-crook at the frank old age of 12.

He carried armfuls of stacked wood down the steps and did not see Frink dissappear behind the wood littered staircase at the sound of footsteps.  But when he fed the boiler and turned around, Frink was exposed in the empty furnace room.

Crane gasped and he saw a rat dangling in Frinks black, frostbitten hand.  He was irregularly bundled in many binded sacks that hooded most of his face.  But the lumping, dreading beard hung from visibly from his streched mouth.  “What are you doing down here?” choked Crane, hands pressed to his sides.

He extended a burlap arm and opened his ratless palm at Crane. A hacking grunt came from beneath the hood, and he spoke.  His voice was unrestrained and his speech was muscularly impaired causing groaning, stuttery bursts between phrases- “Fraarrr,ink was not hhaaahear”

Crane raised his arm to mirror as if he were shielding himself.  “What?”

Frink did not respond,  His spine was hunched badly and his legs tremored.  Crane decided to leave the basement and fetch the angry service director, Junior Krollumb.  It was a violation of the director for strangers to wander into the building, but no sooner had he proceeded as Frink advanced abuptly.  “Youuua tell noo uubodyy”

“No!” Crane frantically shouted and threw both arms out at Frink.  It was the first time he had stood his ground, a wildly powerful yet terrfying milestone for him.  Frink stopped about a foot away.

Crane jolted when he looked at the whiteish eyes faint bneath the hood.  He immediately began feeling oddly faint and his thoughts rapidly stilled in focus on the eyes.  Fear snapped him back as he realized this intruder was a hypnotist!  Crane dragged his eyes away but found that they only had the ability to unfocus.

Several minutes passed like this, Frink and facing Crane still as the dead rat, Cranes arms outstreched, and his eyes darting back and forth beneath the lids.  Frink abruptly turned away as Crane sunk to his knees, clutching himself frantically.  He raised the rat solwly to his mouth.  He stuffed the belly in and tore away meat and innards from the rib cage.  His face jerked up to the light from the stairwell, and he left.

This was the story whispered to Marimell and old Christopher Kelly in isolated Ville Gjazelle church balcony the following Sunday.  It was told firsthand by Davey Crane, who had escaped suffering only a day of nullifying nausea of after effect.  “The stranger pinned you by entering your mind? Did you say, now what sort of sea-chap was it eh?” Kelly elbowed him critically.

“He had me in the most supernatural of effects I said!” insisted Crane, clinging to their focus on his story, “I dropped down to a oddish coma the instant we met eyes! It was a pressure holding on the various inners of my head, sensationally, and I fought-

“Haha, of all the scales spun, Davey,” chuckled Kelly, and Marimell jumped between, “Where did the footprints lead?”

“Out of town!” Crane’s exhileration raised his voice, “They disappeared into the flattened paths between the igloos.”

“Pipe it!” hissed Kelly, but the choir was singing over their whispers below. “Your burglar must be an old fishing meatsac”

“A stranger more likely.” said Marimell, “Only a traveler would could use offensive mind power, or else I would know him!”

Crane was quite a bit fearful to encounter the stranger again, but he would never admit it to Marimel, especailly with Kelly.  “Don’t be serious Marimell!” gasped Kelly, “You can’t believe this spurious yarn; supernatural mind powers, who’s wide-eyed play is it?”

“Are you thinking we should investigate him?” said Crane tentatively.

“Undoubtedly we will!” pronounced Marimell, “It is our duty to verify the intentions of this mysterious brute, and discover the secret to his powers!”

Christopher Kelly opened his mouth, but the bell tolled in the tower very near them, and church was over.