The efflux of the soul is happiness - here is happiness;
I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times;
Now it flows into us - we are
rightly charged.
-Walt Whitman
Friday, January 30, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
A Tunnel of my past
Tuesday, January 20th, 2009
6:52 am A Tunnel of My Memory
Met a girl in 1985, I remember her name, Lisa (Last Name With Held). She was from Morristown. Long story... I’ll get to the point. Lisa told me recently that I have a "pejorative" memory.
She told me that on Facebook. I remember her name, I recognized her name as a friend of a friend on that site and proceeded to blow the girl’s mind ..."We met at a Meat Puppets concert in Dover, The Feelies opened for them, we met again on a train in New Brunswick (NJ Not Canada) I even spoke to you on the phone once" I remembered the person she was with at the time, she's still friends with him, anyway, this prompted Lisa to say that my memory is "Pejorative".
Today is January 20th. The media is making a HUGE deal about the inauguration of Barack Obama. I don't remember there ever being anywhere near this much hoopla whoopty doo over a new president being inaugurated.
I like Obama, I voted for him, but Holy Toledo Batman!
It is exactly 7;00 AM , I woke up thinking about the old "Tunnel Of Chaos". I wasn’t dreaming about it, but my mind drifted nostalgically to memories of "The Tunnel of Chaos". Bill and I were 17, we would go into this square tunnel , an underground revene, it went under the street by the WMCA. We would walk hunched as we made our way into the tunnel.
We would come across an Earthy rocky watery part of the Tunnel about 10 yards in , it had no concrete floor and then after only about ten feet the concrete floor would continue. We would sit under a sewer drain grill that let the sun light in over our head.
There was some unmemorable graffiti there, but we made some new graffiti. I remember independently going there alone with a tube of red acrylic paint. I painted the "Symbol Of Chaos" on the wall under the sewer drain grill where we sat and smoked KOOL cigarettes and listened to Syd Barrett on a small tape recorder.
I ventured down to the tunnel like a little Hobbit with friends , Cathy was there, Stanley was there, Johnny Giordano was there, Johnny even drew a picture on a tee shirt of Bill hunched over walking through the tunnel with his long scraggily combed hair in silhouette .
Bill and I did some recordings down there, my pejorative memory remembers one in particular "I Just want to Be Crucified" I always liked that recording because It was a gospel rant , based on "I just want to see his face" by the Stones. It was improvised. It was naive, for part of it, I began to read from a random book we had found down in the tunnel, after I read a paragraph from the book and ended said paragraph with the words "to the tune of..." Bill and I went right back into the song! Bah Bah- bah- BAH!!!! Clapping in a gospel halleluiah kind of way, There are other memories attached to the tunnel and to that recording, but I am not very attached.
I don't remember in order to cling , I remember in order to not forget where I've been . I never thought of Madison NJ as a bad town, I've always appreciated it for just being whatever it was when I was growing up. I felt freedoms and interacted with my environment in such ways that influence my mind to this very day. Not just the old Tunnel, but the Old Bullfrog Pond, the Old University , the abandoned country club in the woods, the Old Carriage and Stable Barn that still stands proud since about 1800 or even before! I even have fond memories of being on the roof of the library!(That's the same place I voted For Mr Obama in 2008!) back then, no one bothered a harmless kid who just wanted to explore, now if you shimmy onto the roof the Police automatically show up. I don't beleive Kids today really experience the freedoms I naturally had growing up. Our boom boxes are now little Blackberry Cel Phones, our sense of adventure is replaced by obedience and fear and shallow lol mentalities. And the Music that helped form my brain! OH SOOOO much richer and deeper! Do I sound old right now?
I guess my nostalgia is fleeting and visiting me on this cold winter morning for some random dreamy reason that needs no explanation. The Tunnel was remodeled around 1987 or earlyer so it's structure is now too small to crawl into. Our little space in the world now belongs only to that time period, 1983 and 1984. we can't go back, It's gone, they ruined it.... They ruined it for generations to come.
I don't know how often I would have visited the tunnel if it still stood today , It doesn’t matter, the image and the feeling of the echo of our voices and the menthol smoke of the KOOL cigarettes with Bill sitting across from me, with the Symbol of Chaos painted on the wall in red acrylic... these are my memories, I lived them! With help, a lot of help, from my friends.
They can't destroy the Tunnel of my memory! They can’t remodel my mind and make it inaccessible! I can visit anytime I want! Even though it is physically gone. The old Knights Of Chaos recodings are gone too, only a few survive.."I Just Want to Be Crucified" Is not one of them , it is stored away in the feelings of our subconsious, it too , like the Tunnel, is physically , audibly un-re-visit-able...
I wonder what it would have been like to be down there with Lisa in the early to mid 80's ....She's a sweet petit rocker chick dark hair , Jewish looking, down to Earth... Oh yeah, the Kool mentholated sound of our words cuttin through the dank! Ahhhhhhhh!!!!!!!
6:52 am A Tunnel of My Memory
Met a girl in 1985, I remember her name, Lisa (Last Name With Held). She was from Morristown. Long story... I’ll get to the point. Lisa told me recently that I have a "pejorative" memory.
She told me that on Facebook. I remember her name, I recognized her name as a friend of a friend on that site and proceeded to blow the girl’s mind ..."We met at a Meat Puppets concert in Dover, The Feelies opened for them, we met again on a train in New Brunswick (NJ Not Canada) I even spoke to you on the phone once" I remembered the person she was with at the time, she's still friends with him, anyway, this prompted Lisa to say that my memory is "Pejorative".
Today is January 20th. The media is making a HUGE deal about the inauguration of Barack Obama. I don't remember there ever being anywhere near this much hoopla whoopty doo over a new president being inaugurated.
I like Obama, I voted for him, but Holy Toledo Batman!
It is exactly 7;00 AM , I woke up thinking about the old "Tunnel Of Chaos". I wasn’t dreaming about it, but my mind drifted nostalgically to memories of "The Tunnel of Chaos". Bill and I were 17, we would go into this square tunnel , an underground revene, it went under the street by the WMCA. We would walk hunched as we made our way into the tunnel.
We would come across an Earthy rocky watery part of the Tunnel about 10 yards in , it had no concrete floor and then after only about ten feet the concrete floor would continue. We would sit under a sewer drain grill that let the sun light in over our head.
There was some unmemorable graffiti there, but we made some new graffiti. I remember independently going there alone with a tube of red acrylic paint. I painted the "Symbol Of Chaos" on the wall under the sewer drain grill where we sat and smoked KOOL cigarettes and listened to Syd Barrett on a small tape recorder.
I ventured down to the tunnel like a little Hobbit with friends , Cathy was there, Stanley was there, Johnny Giordano was there, Johnny even drew a picture on a tee shirt of Bill hunched over walking through the tunnel with his long scraggily combed hair in silhouette .
Bill and I did some recordings down there, my pejorative memory remembers one in particular "I Just want to Be Crucified" I always liked that recording because It was a gospel rant , based on "I just want to see his face" by the Stones. It was improvised. It was naive, for part of it, I began to read from a random book we had found down in the tunnel, after I read a paragraph from the book and ended said paragraph with the words "to the tune of..." Bill and I went right back into the song! Bah Bah- bah- BAH!!!! Clapping in a gospel halleluiah kind of way, There are other memories attached to the tunnel and to that recording, but I am not very attached.
I don't remember in order to cling , I remember in order to not forget where I've been . I never thought of Madison NJ as a bad town, I've always appreciated it for just being whatever it was when I was growing up. I felt freedoms and interacted with my environment in such ways that influence my mind to this very day. Not just the old Tunnel, but the Old Bullfrog Pond, the Old University , the abandoned country club in the woods, the Old Carriage and Stable Barn that still stands proud since about 1800 or even before! I even have fond memories of being on the roof of the library!(That's the same place I voted For Mr Obama in 2008!) back then, no one bothered a harmless kid who just wanted to explore, now if you shimmy onto the roof the Police automatically show up. I don't beleive Kids today really experience the freedoms I naturally had growing up. Our boom boxes are now little Blackberry Cel Phones, our sense of adventure is replaced by obedience and fear and shallow lol mentalities. And the Music that helped form my brain! OH SOOOO much richer and deeper! Do I sound old right now?
I guess my nostalgia is fleeting and visiting me on this cold winter morning for some random dreamy reason that needs no explanation. The Tunnel was remodeled around 1987 or earlyer so it's structure is now too small to crawl into. Our little space in the world now belongs only to that time period, 1983 and 1984. we can't go back, It's gone, they ruined it.... They ruined it for generations to come.
I don't know how often I would have visited the tunnel if it still stood today , It doesn’t matter, the image and the feeling of the echo of our voices and the menthol smoke of the KOOL cigarettes with Bill sitting across from me, with the Symbol of Chaos painted on the wall in red acrylic... these are my memories, I lived them! With help, a lot of help, from my friends.
They can't destroy the Tunnel of my memory! They can’t remodel my mind and make it inaccessible! I can visit anytime I want! Even though it is physically gone. The old Knights Of Chaos recodings are gone too, only a few survive.."I Just Want to Be Crucified" Is not one of them , it is stored away in the feelings of our subconsious, it too , like the Tunnel, is physically , audibly un-re-visit-able...
I wonder what it would have been like to be down there with Lisa in the early to mid 80's ....She's a sweet petit rocker chick dark hair , Jewish looking, down to Earth... Oh yeah, the Kool mentholated sound of our words cuttin through the dank! Ahhhhhhhh!!!!!!!
Friday, January 16, 2009
azdailysun.com Top Stories
azdailysun.com Top Stories
This is happening in the neighborhood I currenlty live in. I'm with Stephanie, my roommate -- it would be a safer way to bike into town! It's no fun worrying about getting hit by a semi.
This is happening in the neighborhood I currenlty live in. I'm with Stephanie, my roommate -- it would be a safer way to bike into town! It's no fun worrying about getting hit by a semi.
Monday, January 5, 2009
paper i wrote recently
In Defense of The Culture of Make Believe
Holly Troy
“I relate best with people of the underbelly of society – the whores, thieves, the ‘underworld,’” 1 and I still have difficulty feeling comfortable with the rest. I can look the part, and I certainly have the required credentials to fit in, but I feel a creepy sensation under my skin when I drive to work everyday to sit at a desk and push paper around for a bureaucratic system.
As I was reading The Culture of Make Believe by Derrick Jensen, I said to myself, “I knew I wasn’t crazy for feeling this way!” And I’ve been feeling this way for a long time (since Kindergarten). Jensen shows example after detailed example of the violence, repression, inhumanity and the ultimate insanity of which we are blind to and on which our civilization is based. Having stories of slavery, racism, sexism, rape, genocide, greed, isolation, automation, incarceration, corporate propaganda, and the destruction of our natural resources traced through the history of this country is painful. Jensen’s criticism is powerful because he takes big, impersonal stories, some of which most of us have probably skimmed over in high school history class, and gets deeper with them by telling the stories of the people involved, their suffering, or, of their heartlessness.
I was one of those students that my high school social studies teacher rolled her eyes at because I asked questions like: How can death squads in
It bugged me that she taught her opinion as fact; I was not just being a smart-ass, I really was trying to figure out her logic. Was it not my civic right as an American to ask these questions?
Maybe she just didn’t see the hypocrisy she was teaching, or maybe she didn’t want to. Jensen’s book proves how difficult it is to live in our culture with eyes and hearts open. He says, “It was not so much my sorrow nor even my pain at seeing the destruction on which our way of life is based that hurt me so much as it was my resistance to acknowledging and feeling it.” 2
One message from school was clear, “Don’t ask questions and you’ll be just fine.” Repression began long before high school. If I look at Jensen’s four classes of people, my classmates and I were being trained to be at least second class citizens, if not, first. I say second class, because we were in public school, and it seems that first class citizens are born into it. Most wealthy people in this country become wealthy through inheritance, and most wealthy children do not go to public school.
Every class is caught in the corporate culture that is our civilization. We cannot see it because we are caught in it, we learn the rules and we abide by them willingly and blindly. Our rewards are comfort, or toys that keep us numb – or, goals that keep us too busy too think. “The most powerful system is that which leads people to take hold of their own leashes. That is, the system under which people do what is expected of them without any external control being exerted on them.” 3
Jensen’s four classes of people are as follows:
- First class: The “rulers.” They are “decent White men” who are “kept in line through inane and insane luxuries and by propaganda that . . . tells them they rule by the divine right of money.” 4
- Second class: “the majority of those who labor so the decent white man may enjoy the comforts and elegancies of life, have bought into the system of repression to the point that they no longer see themselves as repressed.” They are just comfortable enough to not question the system and are “self-regulating, not wanting to seem deviant, pathological, a blight on society.” 5
- Third class: “those who either do not buy into the system or who are unable to. They are the ones with nothing to lose” and therefore, are the most dangerous. Christian Parenti says, “This is the . . . caste . . . which must be constantly undermined, attacked, discredited, and ultimately kept in check . . . with ‘the language of naked force.’” 6
- Fourth class: “those who remind us of the flaws of our system. These are the homeless . . . the addicts . . . the ‘social junk’ [which] must be swept away from our sight, just as those whose land we covet must be swept away.” 7
I have moved between three of the classes. I have never made it to the first class, and, being female, am not sure of I could.
I uneasily entered the second class by default, through marriage and my college degree. Somehow, my training in art warranted me the privilege of being secretary for “decent white men.” I was much happier waiting tables and making music, which I still would be doing if I hadn’t fallen into debt.
My eyes have been opened to the social structure of inequality for a long time. I have had many people push me back with great force. I’ve teetered between second and third class.
When I was fourth class, I felt most alone. I remember the profound feeling of people not wanting to see me. It is awful to feel “inconvenient . . . unnecessary . . . in the way.” 8 Many people who fall into this category never get out. It took years for me not to feel invisible. The danger of being invisible is not being able to reflect with others.
The descent to fourth class was swift. After a series of traumatic events that became increasingly dramatic and spanned over a period of a few years, I decided that I would be better off taking my chances on the streets than living with my family. I was sixteen years-old.
I was not watching a movie or reading a book, the reality was I was homeless and I had to learn quickly how to survive. The rules of civilization trickle down even to the “lowest” places. They become sharp, black and white, are forced on you. The illogic is baffling and appalling. I often felt raw, and could feel that rawness coming from the other people I was struggling with. It was as if our very beings had been rubbed for too long, and we were throbbing – open and sore.
Most of the people I knew on the street were either lifers or kids. It seemed that everyone was really young or quite old.
The most vulnerable of us were girls. I say girls, because although we were young women – and growing up quickly – we were still children. Jensen talks about our culture’s hatred for women and children as “transparent.” 9 I felt it in school and at home. In living on the street, that hatred becomes more solid.
The Rules
Imagine that you are a girl (for this scenario, a female between the ages of 12 and 20) living on the street on the Lower East Side in
Girls need protectors. Protectors come in different forms. The two most common are:
The boyfriend (or butch girlfriend)
Protectors usually are boyfriends, sometimes butch girlfriends. Often, the protector knows the streets, what’s safe, what’s not, where to get food, where to sleep, the best squats. He has been at this for a while.
He may really love you, and might actually be afraid of losing you. There are tender moments. Sometimes it can feel like it’s just you and him against a world that wants to crush you both. Sticking together, no matter what, is most important.
Although girls are often the money makers in the “relationship,” they are considered helpless and treated as such. Protectors teach girls how to stay out of trouble by staying in line. You are his and he won’t have you misbehaving.
The following are some ways in which a protector will keep a girl in line:
You can’t live without him. He is the only one in the world who could possibly care about you. He makes sure that you are safe. If he knows about adults who have mistreated you, or other boyfriends, or friends, he will remind you of how badly they’ve treated you.
He may remind you that you are not very smart and that people are out to take advantage of you. He may be subtle about it, for example, if he sees you talking with a boy for a little bit too long, he might say something like, “Why are you talking to him? You know he only wants to fuck you.” Or, he might be less subtle and just call you stupid.
The tear jerker: You may hear any or all of these, “Don’t ever leave me, I can’t live without you. I’ll kill myself. You’re the only one who really understands me!”
Fear (of violence): He may promise that he will never hit you. Then, one day, he might have a bad day and you just happen to be there. Like his parents most likely did to him (there seems to be a high proportion of boys on the street who have been beaten by one or both parents), he will strike you.
He will be horrified and promise it will never happen again, and/or, he may tell you it was for your own good because he loves you. Anyone “out there” would have done worse.
Drug Addiction
Living on the streets is hard. If your protector does drugs, he probably knows where to get good stuff, and will most likely turn you on to it. You may resist at first, but he will explain that it is okay to take the drugs that he gives you because he loves you and would never do anything to harm you. He will probably control what you take and when you take it.
This is risky behavior which you should avoid, but probably won’t. If very careful, the use of drugs can help you survive, and hopefully get through this difficult time. Chances are you will be over your head long before you know that you are over your head.
Drugs mean power, and therefore have their own set of rules.
- snorting is OK, needles are bad
- if you shoot up, you are a junky
- hanging out with junkies is to be avoided, unless they give you money or drugs
- nobody likes a junky
- do not use the same addictive substance for more than three days in a row
- cocaine is expensive, therefore more dangerous to get addicted to than heroin
- heroin is far cheaper than alcohol
- heroin is the best drug
- you can get heroin for free if you are willing to buy it for yuppies who would probably be mistaken for narcs because they look too straight
- shooting galleries are not safe for girls, especially white girls
The benefactor
Sometimes people know that you are homeless. If you are young, and perhaps very pretty or have some kind of odd feature that is attractive, a more affluent potential protector may make it known that he wants to save you. (Again, sometimes a protector may be a she, but a he is more common). He may have a wife and even a daughter your very own age. He has all the best intentions for you – clean clothes, a warm bed, a shower, food. He might even take you shopping and out to a fancy restaurant.
He probably doesn’t care that you already have a protector; he promises he doesn’t want to be a “boyfriend,” just a friend. He might tell you that are really smart and mature for your age.
You can expect that wealthy, usually older men, do not tell street girls the truth about their intentions. Sometimes they do, and sometimes a girl can try to play him (see power). Sometimes she will tell her boyfriend about the benefactor, and he will also try to play the benefactor. Trusting a protector in this way is very risky!
Usually the payback for a benefactor is very high. Because of the gap in income and usually, age, the benefactor sees you as an object. Once you agree to his help, the chances are that he will expect sexual favors from you. If it gets that far, the sexual favors often require humiliation and possibly pain. He will feel that he has the right to treat you any way he pleases.
In this situation, sex is a commodity. Do not expect him to fall in love with you.
Protectors of higher classes can be dangerous and, because of their power, feel that they can get away with murder. Take this literally. If he beats you, no one will help you. He will just deny he knows you because of his standing in society, most people will believe him. Worse, because you are underage, police are not likely to help you.
Also, if you do take the benefactor’s help, and you already have a protector, you may have a compound problem. The boyfriend is probably insecure, and even is he has encouraged you to take the benefactor up on his offer, the boyfriend will at some point, feel threatened. He will take his frustration out on you (in the form of mental abuse, a beating, or worse).
Better to leave this alone.
Trust no one.
If you are a girl living on the street, you have probably learned this from your home life. Trusting someone is probably the one thing you want more badly than to be loved unconditionally.
Boyfriends: They have probably managed to find a way to mess around with your girlfriends.
Men: They want to mess around with you.
Girls: Girls may try to get information out of you, which they will use against you later. Sometimes they want to steal something from you, if not your boyfriend, then an item of clothing. Or, they want to mess around with you.
Police: It is best not to be seen talking to a police officer. If a police officer asks you questions, be friendly, but play dumb.
Be quiet and discreet.
Learning to walk on “little cat feet” is a good skill. Even if you are blitzed-out on drugs, it is best to be well-behaved and in control of yourself.
Stay clean and well-groomed.
Being clean while living on the street can be tricky, but, no matter what, it is essential. It is best that people don’t suspect that you are homeless.
Money is power.
If you didn’t know this before, you know it now. If you have it, you must be careful how you wield it.
You probably have a big heart and want to share what little money you have with your friends, since you know how it is to be hungry and cold. Do not do this. If you do this, be discreet! Sharing may anger your protector. What’s yours is his.
Learn to “sock” away some of your money every time you have some. Do not tell anyone about your treasure, not even your protector. Hide it in a good place; you will need it at a later time.
Sex is power.
If you didn’t know this before, you know it now. If your protector’s friends perceive you as a “good girl” they will protect you as well. They may even stand up for you if your protector gets heavy-handed when keeping you in line.
You will probably not experience what is beautiful and mysterious about sex.
Always use condoms. You will probably not do this, but you will know that you should.
Always check for track marks before engaging in sexual activities. People are not always honest about their habits.
You may consider becoming a stripper or a prostitute, your protector may even encourage you. There is a lot of money in it. There is also much danger. This is a conundrum. This situation works for some, while it all but destroys others.
Never, ever, show fear.
Fear is weakness. Don’t ever show weakness.
* * * * *
I lived on the street for about a year. I managed to make it without too much physical damage, at least no diseases. Some people I knew did not fare as well. Some committed suicide or died of drug overdoses. One friend, who was younger than me, was found dead in an abandoned building with her hands and feet cut off, gang-style. Her death was not news, nobody cared – she was just a runaway who got mixed up with the wrong people (and didn’t follow the rules).
Some of the women I knew are doing very well. One is a school teacher for underprivileged kids, another is a professor of religion, and still another, who did work in the sex industry, wrote a fairly successful book about her experiences there. What we all have in common is that we’ve allowed ourselves to remain flexible, and despite what society would have us believe, that our lives have value. We have allowed that horrible shit to become compost for a better life. “For our system of production is, despite its awful momentum, extraordinarily fragile. All it would take to bring it to a halt is creativity, persistent, creativity.” 10
A gift of “falling” into the fourth class was that I learned that class is just another social construct. Identifying with classes takes away power. In a way, realizing that I’d fallen to the bottom has helped me fall right through the system. I see how transcending the system is freeing. “Our humanity runs far deeper than any mere socialization” 11
The Culture of Make Believe takes us through the destruction of our humanity, and shows us how it is an insatiable force that we all help to feed. It walks us through the darkest shadows of our civilization. It is haunting. Yes, it needs to be a long book. If I had suspicions that corporations controlled the way we think and relate to ourselves and the planet, I am sure of it now. The size and heft of the book a poetic metaphor! This is not light reading.
Many of us are finding ourselves plummeting through the class system as our economic system falters. We are learning the hard way that constant consumption is not a sustainable way to live as we lose our homes while corporations are being “bailed out.” Instead of conquering lands “out there”, we are conquering ourselves. We are reducing, reusing, and recycling because we have no choice. More and more of us are running out of things to lose.
Maybe things will get worse. Maybe that’s good. Without our mind-numbing toys to keep us distracted – without basics like shelter and food – we will have to think, and feel. “From a certain point onward, there is no turning back. That is the point that must be reached.” 12 I know by the creepy feeling under my skin that I am reaching that point.
Jensen suggests a return to our humanity. “We must . . . see the inhumanity of our current system for what it is, and we must speak about it. If the first rule of a dysfunctional society is Don’t, the first rule of a functioning society is Do.” 13
1 Derrick Jenson, The Culture of Make Believe (White River Junction:
2 Jenson 248.
3 Jenson, quote by George Ritzer 541.
4 Jenson 534.
5 Jenson 513.
6 Jenson 536.
7 Jenson 564.
8 Jenson 551.
9 Jenson 42.
10 Jenson 518.
11 Jenson 603.
12 quote by Franz Kafka, 230.
13 Jenson 602.
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