THFWS & TTM: Before the Phoenix Rises Again…

Before the Phoenix Rises Again…

Stan noticed the man’s eyes before he even recognized that they belonged to Sebastian G. Lodge. What caught his attention was the absolute malevolence that betrayed his intentions long before Stan even saw the gun.

If you are trying to provide personal protective services in a large crowd, it is easy to get lost in a sea of details of the entire crowd. It is much quicker to scan the crowd for the eyes that will tell you their motive from across a room…or a plaza.

If the eyes don’t look right, suspect a motive, then look around for the details that indicate the owner has a plan and the means to constitute a clear and present danger or a threat.

It is easy to spot murderous rage or malice, but Stan also knew how to spot the cold, calculating eyes of a professional sizing up all the other details surrounding your protected charge. Although they too are conspicuous to just the right eyes, Lodge’s eyes literally telegraphed his emotions.

Stan was already reacting instinctively in a very long series of reflex arcs that had been initiated by plan, by practice, and by execution more than enough times to ensure that they occurred without conscious thought or mental action…the Tao of the Gun.

Before he recognized Lodge he had already thrown his body into the path of his adversary…Instinctively, and without hesitation as he drew his weapon a very few milliseconds before Lodge produced his.

He did not have to wait to act…anticipation is the first step in establishing and maintaining control before it can ever be lost.

Lodge’s eyes were like two hard-boiled eggs floating in a bowl of beets…his face was contorted with twisted rage and unfocused pain. He looked like he had been drinking and crying all night, and snot dripped from his nose into his gaping, drooling mouth while he seemed to gasp for air as he began firing at the center of the group.

Four rounds struck Stan as he leaped, still hanging in mid-air; three in his chest, striking his body-armour, as one grazed the outside margin of his right thigh, throwing a small puff of blood, skin and material from his pants into the air as it ripped through everything that stood before it.

It seemed like the whole event was in extreme slow-motion as Stan heard the report of the shots, the whiz of the bullets, the thump they produced on his chest, the sight of Lodge’s semi-automatic pistol recoiling and Ka-Chunking another round into the chamber as empty brass flew into the air, raining down on the courthouse steps with the tinkling ring of death reverberating and splashing around them, although most people only heard the shots themselves.

Stan watched as he saw Lodge’s chest explode before the sight profile of his pistol as he triple-tapped the cardiac silhouette. He did not execute the customary head shot because it was too close quarters to shoot anything but center of mass for fear of striking a non-combatant. He did not have to think about it. That was just the way it was…Instinct…Reflex arc…before thinking.

In crisis, you revert to your most basic level of training.

A head shot through the tip of the nose as far down as the bottoms of the lower row of teeth, or through the ears or just below the base of the occipital region above the spine would have produced a flaccid paralysis kill rendering Lodge unable to even pull the trigger of his weapon.

Stanley knew how to do it…like in Genesis, where “Zofran Knew Sarah, or Rachel, or Hanna…(or better still, all three) and it was Good….” Biblical knowledge involves the most intimate of familiarity…not just how to….but in fact to do, as well as when not to…when there is zero margin for collateral damage.

That’s the disadvantage one faces when they are forced to be fighting on the side of Good…Lodge was not so constrained….did not have to worry about the outcome of his actions, like stray bullets for instance.

Just the same, Stan did the best anyone could have hoped to do in the situation. Stan was the very best of those who did what he did…He was almost perfect….

Lodge was dead before he hit the ground. You could have told so by the sound if you knew what to listen for…like hearing a sack of meat hit the sidewalk from six feet up. Half splat, half thud and no rebound whatsoever.

It wasn’t until he heard Darcy’s scream that he knew for sure that almost wasn’t quite good enough…as he realized that Lodge had fired five times…or how that one fifth round, fired as Lodge was dying, already headed for the ground had ricocheted  off a stone step and struck Frederick in the chest.

As the news cameras captured it, Frederick signed “Carry me in your heart” to Darcy, who was holding his head and shoulders on her legs and next to her swollen belly.

Then all of the members of the group heard Frederick’s best, most sonorous voice in their minds as he told them “It’s still a good day to be me…I have done, and seen and thought things no mere Ape could imagine…I love you all… please protect our children…they are the sons and daughters of Man, the same way Man was the Son of God…their fate lies in your hands and hearts…Remember me to them…and remember to talk to them in our special way.”

He also simultaneously visually signed the thoughts he sent to the members of the group for the benefit of all those who would witness it…either now or later…courtesy of those who would capture that moment forever on cameras…his last living communications with the world.

Thoughts and words that would be subject to much debate as to their meaning for a long time….

As Ash and Merle rushed the other members of the group into the limousine, Stan cradled the body of Frederick in his arms and carried him to the shelter of the vehicle as Frederick took his last breaths.

When Rescue showed up, they pronounced Lodge dead, and tried to bandage Stan’s wound, which Anastasia had temporarily dressed with Stan’s (unused) handkerchief and his tie, but the paramedics apologized that they could not risk “contamination” of their equipment by Frederick’s blood or bodily fluids.

The police were everywhere and nowhere at the same time, taking statements, setting up a perimeter and marking it with “Police Line. Do Not Cross” tape, photographing everything in and out of sight, marking angles of trajectory, cataloging and bagging spent shell casings, drawing two chalk lines, and documenting and sampling every drop of blood that anyone could find, yet somehow seeming to take forever, while fighting and posturing over rank, jurisdiction, procedures, protocols, and press releases, as well as the relative length of every other cop’s penis within a five-mile radius.

Eventually, everyone got back home to the Sanctuary. The police were remarkably blasé about releasing Frederick’s body to them almost immediately.

The group was grateful for that, but it hurt to hear the officer in charge declare “…it would be different if he were a human….”.

A trauma surgeon was summoned to the Sanctuary to attend to Stan’s wound.

Had he been a police officer, he would have been on administrative suspension with pay pending an investigation, but he was not so constrained.

There was no DA willing to charge him until proven otherwise, like a regular citizen could anticipate, but he was no hero either. He had been assigned to protect Frederick who was now dead, and although he undoubtedly saved the lives of the others, there are no consolation prizes for heroism.

Management had no further interests in the case. Frederick was dead and he, as well as the other Primates were now the property of The Home for Wayward Souls as far as they were concerned.

Lodge would have represented the last loose end in the whole equation, had he not conveniently self-destructed the way he did. Management immediately began to begin the process of demonizing Lodge to the public to give them sufficient distancing from his actions.

Management had also suspected that Stan was “compromised” for some time now, but in the scheme of things, his continued discretion was considered guaranteed in a way that would serve their purposes.

The continued safety of the members of The Home for Wayward Souls was in Management’s best interests…at least for an appropriate length of time for the public to forget them and turn their attention back to the regularly scheduled programming of current events designed to promote the economy and the public’s best interest of neurotic consumption.

An additional midwife was waiting for them, but Anastasia took charge of her emotions and focused on Darcy’s care in much less time than anyone…even Anastasia…would have thought possible.

If you are a nurse, that is how you cope. You focus on the lives that need to be saved…and the lives of the yet unborn…postpone the grieving for the dead…its called Triage…you learn about it in school, but when you are forced to do it in real life, you (later) realize how it protected you, no matter how hard it is later to reconcile your grief, for that moment you are protected by the actions you take.

Make no mistake…every time you let one of your patients into your personal space, if you let yourself be touched by their humanity… what you don’t know at the time is that whether you save their life, or not…if you protect and sustain them until they can be turned over to a higher level of care, you will carry those emotions felt and witnessed by you within you forever…or until they get replaced…pushed out…by something worse, or better…as the well begins to overflow….

Darcy was not in labor yet, the fetuses were not in distress…at least not now…but she knew, and Darcy sensed, that to not prepare for the inevitable would be to invite disaster.

Ash called a friend of his who was a Neonatologist at Miami Children’s Hospital. They had been undergraduates at Gainesville together and he played the baritone sax exquisitely. He was to be there…“just in case….”.

They were as ready as they could be, given the circumstances.

And then, when they least expected it, the grief…the realization…the internalization of it all struck them almost simultaneously.

Ash was trying in vain to find a Mortician to prepare the body, when someone suggested a cremation, which was then envisioned as a funeral pyre about the time that Darcy began to weep, then sob uncontrollably.

The grief swept over them like a giant wave as they began to hold, hug, and kiss each other as they surrounded Darcy. In moments like that, grief so shared boils quickly to the surface much more strongly than most people could possibly experience alone, and yet in so sharing they become galvanized by it.

The chimps and bonobos had been in the public area outside the Sanctuary and were celebrating and dancing as the verdict was announced. They also witnessed the news footage of Frederick’s assassination shortly afterward.

Malkira and Lilith were at the rectory awaiting the arrival of the limousine, and been shown their son’s body and allowed to sit with him to grieve. The other chimps and bonobos stood vigil outside.

When she calmed herself a bit, Darcy asked Merle to please administer her a proper dosage of The Fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.

Merle agreed that the ability of any of the known effects of the drug to affect any harm to the neonates or to her was extremely unlikely, but he nonetheless felt compelled to ask her if she felt she was mentally prepared for the effects of the drug.

“I have nothing to fear…I intend to embrace all knowledge and experience as it comes to me from this moment on…and I invite everyone else to join me poolside, because I have the distinct premonition that I will be delivering my babies very soon…and since we are all family…I think everyone should experience the event according to their own level of comfort, and that we should all experience it together….”

“Count in on us…me…and Charlie…” (no one ever calls him that but her, btw…) “…right Honey-Cock? As one life (is) ushered out, new life enters…no?” Suki was usually the first to volunteer, or for that matter, the first to get naked whenever the opportunity presented itself.

That was one of her most endearing and charming features…that, and her ability to seem like she was on a trampoline while everyone else was on solid ground all around her.

With that, Ash, Kali and Mark nodded in agreement and approached Merle to accept the Sacrament as well.

Five minutes later, they were all naked in the pool with Darcy, who was sitting on the steps holding the rail with her left arm, bracketed by Anastasia and the midwife on either side.

Much earlier, it had been decided that Darcy would birth her children in the water and for weeks now, the solar heaters had kept the temperature at just below 100 degrees, so as to mimic body temperature. Anastasia had delivered two of her own “water-babies” years before who were now grown, and she recommended it highly.

Kali and Suki set up cauldrons for the scurrying. They were certain the The Ancient Ones would be there for the birthing.

Sobee and Sharma were scampering around in the bushes and flower beds beside the front doors, playfully anticipating if they should have to transform into sentinels, ever on the alert, but playfully good-natured about it all. They could go from chameleon to iguana to dragon in the blink of an eye, and back again just as fast.

Charles called them the “Quantum Lizards”…explaining how if they could transform in “Planck Time”, (basically faster than anyone could measure it…something like 1 sec to the negative forty-third power), then they could do as they pleased, and if they did it in a closed universe, they could expand the interval of Quantum Probability far beyond that.

And even in an open universe, if they could transform back and forth that quickly, the persistence of vision would make them appear to be solid and permanent in whatever form they chose.

“Form is Form, Emptiness is Emptiness…

Form is Emptiness, Emptiness is Form…

No Form, no Emptiness…

An elephant rides a mouse that dances to the song of a guitar with no strings…

Form is Form, Emptiness is Emptiness.”

They were the “Great Embezzlers of Time and Space” as it turns out, and just liked to hang out at the Sanctuary whenever there was something interesting happening and very special doormen were needed.

It was a beautiful night. The moon was full and the sky was absolutely clear.

The ArchAngels were playing a four-hour song cycle they had written several months before in anticipation of the arrival of the twins.

Charles had Lothar set up multiple video cameras to capture whatever appeared in, from or around the cauldrons so as to project it onto the screen that flew above the gardens outside the Sanctuary.

Raul, the talking Cuban Tree Frog was there as well, narrating and reporting for the Intergalactic Geographic Channel in his customarily hushed golf tournament narrative voice-over.

It was a strange and beautiful night. One in which the despair and tragedy of Frederick’s death was nearly eclipsed by the ushering in of new life; where great victories were marred by great personal loss.

Twin souls were standing in the wings, waiting to make their appearance on the stage of Life. It was already guaranteed that they would be loved and cared for in ways for which few children could ever hope or dream.

Not all children await such an auspicious entry into Life, but for those who do, it does not matter if they are destined to become luminary figures the world will long remember, or just another lost soul who found a good place to land for a while.

Jesus was born in a manger. Lincoln was born in a log cabin in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere, right now, a Buddha is being born, although no one knows it yet. No one ever knows what will be the fate of children at the time of their birth. It is enough just for them to be born.

The news of the day heard around the world would be of Frederick’s murder, with an anecdotal reference to the birth of the children in the Sanctuary, but for the members of this church of common mind and heart, it would forever remain a day of bittersweet contrast of the best and worst aspects of what it is to be alive.

This was to be a very special and wondrous night.

THFWS&TTM’s: Polarity and Polarization

Polarity and Polarization

As the trial progressed it became a time of extremes.

Kali’s website was bringing in tremendous revenues as more and more people learned of its existence. Similarly, people began to flock to the Saturday performances and Sunday services at The Home for Wayward Souls like never before.

Those who could not attend watched it on cable, wherever it was available even if it was only public access.

Soon, so many people were attending from out-of-state, and other countries that even SRO admittance required reservations made weeks in advance unless you were already a member, and Stanley Linderman himself ran background checks on all those who were admitted.

If you were not a known entity, you were screened by standards higher than the TSA uses for aircraft travel, which helped stem the onrush of pilgrims to a manageable level…all courtesy of the US government’s ever-expanding database..

Eventually, Ash, Charles and Lothar set up a giant video projection screen outside the Sanctuary with a huge PA system to accommodate several hundred more. A giant tarp was flown above the outdoor viewing area to give some degree of shelter from the South Florida sun and rain.

Ash was quick to point out that a great deal of their meteoric rise in followers came from the bad press that the Defense attorneys had tried to use to demonize his church in order to challenge its validity as a house of worship for the primates seeking asylum.

The Ultra-Right(eous) Wing of the Ultra Christian Moral Majority jumped on the bandwagon, calling Ash the Anti-Christ, and Kali the Whore of Armageddon, but the more the other side tried to slander and malign his efforts, the more people began to listen to his words, ideas, and songs.

Ash offered an homage to them at the start of every service, and said a prayer to thank and bless them, even if “…they know not what they do….”

Whenever you project energy…even hate can empower your imagined enemies, especially if it is not reciprocated.

It was an interesting state of affairs indeed. Because THFWS was not implicated in any wrongdoing, and it was constitutionally illegal for any agency of the government to interfere with the lawful actions of any church. Anyone anywhere else would be charged with harboring a fugitive, but embassies and churches are unique in that respect.

It was far from business as usual, however. In fact it was the best place to be in one of the greatest periods of time in at least the last fifty thousand years since the dawn of man.

They had to build and install a huge computerized state of the art telephone switchboard system just to filter and handle all the telephone calls, providing jobs and income for sixty full-time expatriate PharmaCorp telemarketers. Many called for information, including how to contribute to The Primate Sentience Defense Fund.

A disturbing number of the calls were either bomb or death threats, but considering that the FBI, FDLA (Florida Department of Law Enforcement), county SWAT teams, and undoubtedly a few CIA spooks had surrounded the place to presumably keep the Chimps from escaping and to protect the subpoenaed members and Frederick, accompanied by Lindermand during transport to and from the courthouse, they also prevented anyone not on “the guest list” from entering, or even getting near enough to cause any mischief.

There were even a few unsubstantiated rumors that off-duty secret Service agents were offered overtime pay to help lend their expertise. (Let’s face it…all the other above-named agencies had a pretty crappy reputation for Protection.)

And, as always all calls were monitored and recorded, not only by THFWS, but also every government agency with enough of an agenda to obtain wiretap orders from a judge.

Stanley Linderman was on the inside, charged with “protecting PharmaCorp’s assets” (Notably Frederick and the other Chimps and Bonobos). He additionally recruited a small group of members whose previous life experiences…well, let us just say predisposed them to being useful for security. Young Gulf War and even more senior Viet Nam Vets were among the trusted followers well-trained at maintaining a perimeter.

And then of course were the Chimps themselves, all of whom had received some degree of pseudo-military training while on “retreat”. They were more at home in this South Florida jungle than anyone, and accustomed to patrolling their territories when in their natural wild habitat, and even at the Center for Primate Studies. For them, it was inborn, or perhaps instinctive.

As much as PharmCorp/SAIC/Leidos attorneys tried to paint a picture of guilt by association between The Home for Wayward Souls and the primates, it was already agreed among the members that there would be no lies told by them as regards the practices of Ash and his followers.

They decided that the best defense was to offer their candid testimony as a bully pulpit that they hoped would serve as a clarion call to all the disgruntled, disappointed, disgusted people who had rejected the idea of any religion, but still wanted, and needed the companionship, fellowship, support and love of people of common mind and heart.

People not interested in feeling guilty and preoccupied with sin or giving groveling homage endlessly to a silent, disapproving, angry, jealous, wrathful, vindictive God who required intercessions by self-serving clergy of questionable motivation who told them that “the Age of Miracles was over”. It was a call for people who loved sex, and people who sought communion with The Ancient Ones.

People who had studied enough history to realize what a sham virtually all religions were except as another way to control and manipulate the masses.

People who did not regard themselves as part of the masses.

It turned out that there were literally hundreds of thousands of them, and their numbers increased daily. Even atheists were welcome and encouraged to attend, and frequently did because The Home for Wayward Souls had become such a Mecca for rational debate and discussion of alternative lifestyles and belief systems that it became chic, fashionable and avant-garde to watch, listen, or be seen there.

The Fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil was the only secret that was kept by those few individuals who had been initiated, each of whom took an oath to not discuss with anyone else.

The Sanctuary was proving to be worthy of its name.

Fortunately, this was not a stand-off, like Ruby Ridge in Idaho, where the FBI and ATF surrounded the Randal Weaver Ranch after shooting one young son in the back while he was hunting on their own property. Where a sniper later shot his wife as she stood before a window while she held their infant son in her arms.

Or unlike Waco, Texas where they surrounded the Branch Davidian Congregation led by David Koresh. There they shut off all electricity and water to the compound and played loud music at all hours of the night before sending the fire trucks more than five miles away outside the perimeter (“…for their protection…”) right before the building “mysteriously” caught fire only seconds after the first tank pushed its barrel through the compound walls.

This was indeed not a stand-off because the Church itself was not considered complicit with the actions of the fugitives despite the best efforts of the Defense.

The primates were seeking Asylum in a Sanctuary in a church, a time-honored practice that has been respected for many centuries. Despite innuendo about witchcraft, polyamory and paganism, the attorneys for the Plaintiffs successfully defended The Home for Wayward Souls as a valid church without ties to any other denomination.

Also too many people already knew about the situation and most respected the institution of Asylum within a Sanctuary offered within a church to make it acceptable to just storm the premises by force.

Public knowledge and attention is important. When the trials against the government for their actions against Randal Weaver were being conducted, only C-Span covered it, because CNN and all the other major news networks were too giving hourly updates on the attack on olympic figure skater Nancy Kerrigan by Tanya Harding’s boyfriend.

Keep in mind that PharmaCorp/SAIC/Leidos were the Defense by virtue of the fact that the Primates were charging that they had been inhumanely treated, kidnapped and enslaved, and that they were sentient, self-aware beings entitled to self-determination rather than ownership.

Because the counter-suit for damages and reinstatement of the Primates as their legal property on behalf of PharmaCorp being contingent upon the decisions concerning this case, it took a back seat to the charges leveled on behalf of the primates.

And since The Home for Wayward Souls had become a fantastically wealthy non-profit corporation, they had plenty of money to spend on the very best attorneys that money could buy.

Some of the most famous (and expensive) defense lawyers as well as quite a few well-known former prosecutors and two retired judges were clamoring to be a part of the Dream Team. Enough to successfully challenge one of the most powerful corporations in the world.

This would be yet another case where the principles of Trial by Money would be operant.

But more than this, The Primates had one source of power that no amount of money could buy. They had the support of the brightest and best men and women of good conscience everywhere who were not willing to just stand aside and do nothing.

They awoke the latent rage against injustice that had been lying dormant for decades within the people who could still think and feel.

People who either observed or participated, even if it involved arrest as the civil rights movement raged against the institutionalized machinery of prejudice and protested a war that never should have been started until they stopped it and kept on raising hell and challenging every established institution in our world culture that deserved to be questioned until it turned into a cultural war.

People who knew all too well what it was to fight for their own self-determination. People who refused to die trying to live the lives their parents had been unable to live.

And it turned out that they were everywhere, perhaps long dormant, but once resurrected, they became galvanized by the realization that this might be their one last chance to take a stand against the tyranny of evil men with too much money and power.

The so-called Talking Monkeys sought sanctuary from cruel and unusual treatment and were petitioning the court to have their sentience acknowledged along with certain inalienable rights that would prevent them from being bought and sold like livestock.

They too sought their own version of self-determination.

In the midst of all the carnival atmosphere, somewhere between a Doors concert and a latter-day Woodstock, the lives and rights of many sentient primates (and humans) hung in the balance.

And all the while the band played on. The ArchAngels became what amounted to a modern orchestra, playing in shifts for more than twelve hours a day. All audio and video recording was now done on premises and distributed from there.

A small FM radio station was built with internet web access that broadcast twenty-four hours a day.

They were also available on satellite radio.

Pay-per-view streaming and DVD sales of the programs and Music of the Siege were the best vote of support they could have imagined.

In situations like these, mere donations are devoid of the symbiosis that exists between an exchange of money for art, music or ideals. A donation is a one-way transaction. These supporters were in effect welcoming The Home for Wayward Souls into their hearts and minds, and in the process, they became a part of the movement.

Their music had become a series of anthems and ballads for people everywhere who were looking for something more and wanted to belong to something larger than just themselves.

(…and it was good…very, very good…like…well, by now you should know the rest….)

Who Will Protect Us from our Protectors?

My Thoughts concerning Gun Control and the recent California Raids:

Fear is undoubtedly the single most pervasive aspect of our culture. Laziness may well be the second.

Insurance companies, Police, Clerics, Lawyers, and Politicians top the list of fear-mongers who capitalize on creating sensation and panic every time “something happens”. The key word is capital…there’s gold in them thar fears….

And once “Something Happens” inevitably, a scapegoat is chosen. Pit-bull terriers, guns, anti-depressants, violence in the media, homosexuals, Communists, promiscuity, atheists, drugs, illegal aliens, the internet, and pornography top the list.

The population of the United States is well over three hundred million. We have a national media service with almost instant access to any event, perceived trend, personality or group upon which to focus their attention in order to sell copy or SoundBites.

If every time a pit-bull terrier bites anything other than kibble, it gets reported on CNN, the public will soon come to regard them as a Growing Menace to the Public, as the process of demonization begins.

Despite our lip service to being the melting pot, we are largely still a nation of self-righteous xenophobes and bigots. The stereotypical depiction of the bellicose, drunken, heavily armed, functionally illiterate, drawling, ultra-right-wing, rabidly Christian, nose-picking, rebel flag-waving, toothless, unwashed cousin-fucking Klansman who will shoot and eat anything that moves as a realistic depiction of NRA members, or even Southerners in general by the self-proclaimed Northeastern elitist intellectual liberal intelligentsia who are themselves often demonized by any number of other groups as being rude, Jewish, homosexual, communist, Neo-McCarthyist Left-Wing, atheist, anarchist drug addicts and perverts can only occur when people are too fearful, lazy, and narrow-minded to extend the same courtesy of acceptance that they themselves desire of others. There are bigots of every stripe and color, and demonization is a tool of bigotry of any kind.

We are quick to point the finger of blame at others, but slow to accept responsibility for our own actions.

Laziness, Ignorance and Fear has rendered us a nation of cowards. It takes tremendous courage to open your heart to anyone who is not exactly like you or aspires to different values. Of course there is danger involved.

There was a time when our ancestors crossed vast expanses of the United States as explorers of a new land, risking life itself in search of whatever dreams they chased. It was dangerous. Gloriously, invigoratingly dangerous, and their bravery helped determine who we were to become as a nation.

Part of the danger lay in the fact that many white settlers had no respect for the indigenous peoples they trampled, raped, infected and killed (whom they regarded as savages), who fought back. In this respect, little has changed.

Now we are polymorphously fearful to leave our own neighborhoods after dark, yet unwilling to accept responsibility for our own defense.

Many people in ignorance label self-defense as vigilantism, and admonish law-abiding gun owners to leave it to the professionals, meaning the Police in spite of the fact that few violent crimes are ever stopped in progress by the police.

Some cop with a doughnut in one hand and a clipboard in the other is not going to bring back any murder victims, or get your property back (that’s what insurance is for, they tell us). They just draw the chalk lines, take pictures and file reports. I’m not blaming the cops. We shouldn’t expect them to make the world safe if we don’t take responsibility for some of it ourselves.

This is not about taking the law into your own hands…it is about taking back control of your Life into your own hands.

That which detracts from the freedoms of any of us diminishes and demeans the liberties of all of us.

Democracy and Freedom are inherently inefficient, noisy, messy, dangerous, unruly concepts by which we govern people. There is Life in danger and instability. It keeps us vibrant, and vigilant. It promotes all the instincts of self-preservation that keep us vital and alive, and I savor the risks like draughts of fine cognac.

Why are we so quick to throw away our lives for a cause or a promise of Heaven Tomorrow, but so slow to defend ourselves?

Our fear of Death makes us afraid to live.

We are quick to parrot phrases like “If it will save the life of even one child, it will all be worth it” paying little regard for anything else, even the lives of adults, let alone their freedoms.

I say that if it will save the life of one otherwise defenseless woman from being terrorized by an abusive man by abolishing all “waiting periods” for gun sales, then I am for it…the logic cuts both ways… (and by the way, that has happened…women have died waiting for the weapon that would have saved their lives…you can’t plan someone else’s “crimes of passion”, but you should prepare for them.)

It is no coincidence that women and the elderly are now the fastest-growing market for new firearms sales. With self-determinism comes self-defense.

Hunting represents a series of skill-sets that embrace an understanding of the nature of life itself. Indian hunters would ask permission of the animal they were about to kill, and only killed what they ate. It is a matter of taking responsibility for your actions.

Anyone who claims to hate hunters but still eats meat is a hypocrite in denial of the fact that they still condone the killing of animals by proxy of the slaughterhouse butchers. (Just remember that vegetarian pacifists get murdered in their homes just like anyone else, if they are unable or unwilling to defend themselves.)

And if you are a vegetarian pacifist, and I should observe someone trying to kill or rape you, would you prefer that I just mind my own business?

This outrage in California should be a red flag for all Americans. When the NRA stated more than forty years ago, that they were opposed to gun registration lists because they would eventually be used as confiscation lists, many people labeled it as unfounded paranoia, despite historical precedence to the contrary, as happened in Nazi Germany.

The general opinion back then was that law-abiding citizens who have nothing to hide would be in no danger…and the public just swallowed.

Now the chicken has come home not only to roost, but also to shit on our heads. If I was the president of the NRA, the cover of next month’s issue of The National Rifleman would read “We TOLD YOU SO!!! in letters so big that there would be room for nothing else.

It takes some knowledge of the principles of American government to appreciate the irony of the statement “I don’t hate my government, but I sure wish they would stop trying to take over the country.”

We are a nation that was founded upon rebellion against tyranny. Less than one hundred years later, Henry David Thoreau wrote Civil Disobedience because we needed to be reminded that government is not infallible, and that the only thing that is necessary for Evil or Tyranny to prevail is for people of good conscience to do nothing.

More than one hundred years later, peaceful Civil Disobedience was the only way to stop a senseless, stupid war and start the Civil Rights Movement, both of which were met with violence, not only by the government, but also our own citizens.

The world is a violent place. I would aspire to help make it more peaceful by not adding to it, but I am not willing to lie down and die waiting for it to get better.

One of the premises of American Democracy was the abolishment of so-called Debtor’s Prisons, despite the fact that people are now daily incarcerated for Failure to Pay court-ordered sums, regardless of their ability to pay them.

Now such things as unpaid parking or traffic fines or taxes are considered grounds to not only confiscate legally-purchased weapons without a trial, but also rob you of your constitutionally-guaranteed second amendment right of self-defense. What’s next? Overdue library books? Anyone care to place any bets on how many of those weapons will ever be returned?

Now the “Gateway Drug” of Violence is reputedly anti-depressants. About thirty years ago, a movement was started to subject bartenders to legal and civil action for irresponsibly dispensing alcohol…instead of placing the ultimate responsibility in the hands of the user.

Due to their unimpugned social and professional privilege, I doubt that we will raise the question of the responsibility of the doctors involved for not properly monitoring their patients for whom they prescribed these anti-depressants (especially the ones who committed mass murder), but regardless, personal responsibility has become passé in favor of labeling all of us as victims of something or other.

It’s not just “a shame” that the actions of a few spoil it for the many…it is groundless rubbish, and it’s unconstitutional.

As anyone who has read my works will attest, I have been a champion of those who live on The Edge, who test the limits of everything, including authority. In my perfect world, nothing is inherently sacred or profane.

Sexual explorations and practices between consenting adults (or like-minded animals) is nobody else’s business.

Drug abuse is an improper term, since at worst it is people who get abused by drugs, not vice-versa. Drug experimentation is similarly inaccurate in most cases, because for many of us, it stopped being experimental at least twenty years ago, unless someone can get me some Ayahuasca or El Changa, Yopo, or even Ibogaine….

The point is that my freedom to extend my fist stops just short of someone else’s face. As long as no one else is hurt, it is solely my business; however, ambitious, desperate scavengers with no other purpose than to further their own careers with terms like potential, threshold, gateway, borderline, unseen victims or Crime Prevention would likely make it a crime to make a fist in the first place, rather than hold me accountable for my actions.

“Love many and trust few…and always paddle your own canoe.”

As a child, I was told that freedom of speech does not allow someone to yell “fire” in a crowded theater. Apparently, it now OK to yell “The sky is falling” every time a shot is fired.

Do not misunderstand or distort my meaning on this point, however: I am sickened and saddened every time some misguided, desperate selfish asshole decides to murder anyone, or when a man (or woman) of Peace is forced to kill in self-defense. This includes Police and the Military. Theirs is not an easy job, and anyone who has had to take the life of another will tell you that, justified or not, you will carry that Kharma with you for the rest of your life. The key phrase being “the rest of your life…”

I have often referred to myself as a gun-carrying Zen Buddhist/Taoist Pacifist. I see no contradiction in the terms. It takes courage and wisdom to find balance in all things, and a lifetime of experience to acquire them.

The real shame in these stupid, selfish murders is that they go unabated until the police not only arrive, but also deploy and intervene, which is typically at least six minutes to arrive, in major urban areas. That may not seem like a lot of time, unless someone is trying to kill you, or your heart has stopped…I know; I was a paramedic for over twenty years.

In the early years of the development and exploration of our country, it was first the colonists, and later the pioneers of the west that depended on responsible local citizens to help defend and protect each other and form posses. There was no National Guard…just local citizens watching each other’s backs. That was what “a well-regulated militia” meant. Period.

Where are the legally armed firearms owners when you really need them?

Unfortunately, there are not enough of us to make up for the inevitable inability of the Police to actively protect us without turning the country into a police state…and by the way, legally armed concealed weapons owners are as a group more law-abiding than even judges, lawyers, lawmakers, or cops, statistically speaking….

Fortunately, I live in Florida, where the firearms laws are more liberal than most…(there’s two words you don’t often hear in the same sentence). Ironically, California was the first to thumb its nose at the federal government regarding marijuana use, only to cave in on this issue. Make no mistake, the State of California not only allowed, but encouraged the federal government to conduct the raids, or else they would not have happened.

In the late Sixties, Seventies, and Eighties, I learned to keep my head low and fly under the radar. I had to balance my desire for fame as a Rock guitarist with my desire for anonymity as a deviant madman and a pervert in the most general of terms, so I largely eschewed involvement in free speech and radical politics to the extent that I would have otherwise preferred.

Maybe it was chicken-shit, but I managed to cut a pretty wide swath on a small scale and still stay out of jail (It’s a wise fish that knows what pond suits him best).

It is not without some considerable trepidation that I am airing this post, but without our first amendment rights, it’s only a matter of time before we lose our second amendment rights, as well as vice-versa.

If I fear retaliation for exercising my right of free speech, and remain silent, my paranoia will ensure a self-fulfilling prophesy. If I speak out, only to become the object of persecution however, I will not “go quietly into that dark, still night.”

As the saying goes “Use it or lose it.”

I also realize that I may lose some of the few followers I have if they do not understand that Kink/Fet, as well as sexual, intellectual and civil liberties in general for everyone are a shared interest, and would once again repeat:

“Anything that impinges on the rights and liberties of any of us diminishes the lives and freedoms of all of us.”

Who will Protect Us from our Protectors?

Peace (with claws)….

(BTW…As regards drug abuse: No drugs were harmed in the writing of this text.)

Chazz Vincent

December 3^rd, 2013