durables (friendship) Re: Wornout
dear jim, i am profoundly embarrassed, the poem i wrote for u didn't get into the bookit is, so far, the only poem missing so far as i knowthis "shame" sent me looking to find a UN FRIENDSHIP DAY, which doesn't seem to existbut Mrs. Annan coopted the U.S. Friendship Day to celebrate it as a UN DAY in 2004.. ah,what progressan event created in 1935 when i was 3 1/2 progress to the UN in 69 years... and POOH gets into the act.. Win's nickname is Pooh Bear, so i am sharing with him this pacific missile peace, david [10] UNITED NATIONS OBSERVES FRIENDSHIP DAY New York, August 4 (MPA) The United Nations observed Friendship Day yesterday by holding a concert for children on the outdoor plaza on the grounds of its Headquarters in New York. The event was hosted by Nane Annan, wife of Secretary-General Kofi Annan, with the participation of various actors and stars. Performers sang in front of a colourful backdrop: the Global Pooh Friendship Flag, which is made up of winning entries in an art contest sponsored by Disney. Each of the winners, who ranged in age from 4 to 75 years old and came from Australia, Japan, Mexico and the United States, received a trip to New York City with his or her best friend including a visit to the United Nations. Friendship Day is an outgrowth of National Friendship Day, established by the United States Congress in 1935. Last year on this day at Headquarters, Mrs. Annan presented Winnie the Pooh with the honorary title, "Ambassador of Friendship." The event was co-sponsored by the Department of Public Information (DPI) and Disney Consumer Products, a division of Disney Enterprises, Inc. === a poem for jim... it will be include in the 1,001 page opus... Friendship In all things grounded and marine, I find the ship of a friend the most serene… Amongst the boats and floats, rafts and crafts, Canoes and kayaks, our ship has a crew of only two… No captains need us review… On all the oceans, through all the seas, On lakes, rivers and plains, even with prairie schooners, In dry docks and locks, in all weather and uneven whether, Whatever, whenever, wherever we tether, anchored or adrift, Cleared or confused, the ship of a friend is the most serene… david inkey, the UN poet, 41705….
murphy with death quo vadis Re: QUA in T
In a message dated 9/23/06 6:25:27 PM, [EMAIL PROTECTED] writes: It wouldn't matter if you died so long as you had made even one of us feel adored david responds ==quo vadis in the vacuum of grief, tears for relief... With death, love does not die… With death, love does not die, We cry tears of deep grief for our own relief, Memory is a bridge cresting on a special ridge, With death, love does not die… In each life sentence, Let us find time for repentance… Sorrow we need not borrow, Each other’s joy we may employ, david inkey, 2004 the UN poet
Re: Don Quixote in Three Prts [Pt 1]
i would appreciate a deluge of thots of each of u re don quixote.last yr was his 400 anniversary and i embarked upon a magnun opus to --in a sense_- bring him to life in contrast to my own life. i curiously embarked upon this task more than 50 years ago... when i wrote the following snipet. ===peace, david
Re: We say these things until they are
dear peter... these things is far more beautiful to my eye than the misplaced intelligence.. david
Re: altered books project
In a message dated 9/19/06 7:50:58 AM, [EMAIL PROTECTED] writes: http://www.logolalia.com/alteredbooks/ dear waber, are there supposed to be pictures in the jpg? david
Re: R: GRANDUNCLES OF THE CATTLETRADE
In a message dated 9/18/06 4:53:54 PM, [EMAIL PROTECTED] writes: Parthenope's dear tomb; fall; leaves; marble; might that noise reside fall in universal ruin; leaves; marble; noise; languished hope revived leaves of an unvalued book; marble; noise; hope; sceptre or quaint staff as we wander from womb to tomb, we ever seek caring room.i want no bomb in my tomb... no noise is allowed in my shroud... david inkey, the UN poet No noise is allowed, in my shroud No noise is allowed, in my shroud, I do decry the reason why… 'Tis cuz of Satan's cruel rule… Three days in Hell… Just now, fully alive, I thrive, Yet, before I go to Glory My Story… I must my tell, “What?” You exclaim, you proclaim, You suggest, I might stay in Hell! Heaven's my destination… predestination… I don't know why you yell? No noise is allowed, in my shroud For Heaven's sake, Paradise or Hell? On Earth, I stand my ground… Friends, please, gather 'round I will make some sound…resound… My story must be heard… Though in part absurd… Good cheer is allowed, in this crowd… Though Life may be rife with strife, She never silences my drums and fife… On my last day, fanning fires with Devilish desires, With a sharp knife, Satan cuts my plan. a longer span… Devil, get behind me… You steal my verb, LIVED… You reverse all my senses into your noun. DEVIL… Three days in Hell and I will be free… To Eternity… david inkey, 120303
cicadia song Re: Bastion Flex, Starring Flava Flav, Sly Stallone, and Most Particularly H. P. Lovecraft
In a message dated 9/16/06 12:43:38 PM, [EMAIL PROTECTED] writes: he striking word maintained its shape: cicada. this collectible word wrapped around the vision of an insect selected by Lovecraft to overcome the parental, pre-boiled world, stop closing out voice, and cicadia song, unless i am wrong... cicadia never stings, he sings. tho my hair is red, my delusions spread... no bread, no butter, u sputter... cum and sea, together we mix glee, all for free? of course, with u in my chorus ur call urself lester... what allusions do ur fester?
patriots' act Re: Snakes in the Shell
lewis, i see u have an illustration of the patriot's act. maybe santa's version vision will further illustrate ur thoughts david SANTAS' TREASON? WHY JOHNNY IS A NON-BELIEVER! oh, how greatly i wanted a sled for my 9th birthday, that last birthday before my father became an Army Chaplain and the peacefilled world of sunnyside was lost in military buildup... we moved from the little community and never again in my childhood would we live where i might use my sled. in 1942 my sunnyside playmates were incarcerated for being "yellow." today, even-ing thoughts and prayers for my immanent anniversary of 70 solar revolutions, i wonder, i wonder as i have wandered thru years, decades, and scores, how innocently i have abhorred war and become a sainted peacelet. today i had a letter from a filosopher friend, email is a miracle of modernity. it moves us from ages of struggle for simple survival to a new epoch, struggle for complex survival. yet, ever, still, since, now, when, where, why, as the childness in me wonders and wanders thru memories long past, present presence, and future fullness to awe and audacity. in the higher echelons of the government of the united states of america, the very faith of decency and difference are being challenged, are being smeared with the fears of full and unmitigated "treason." a mystical, even ominous 13 years ago, i was confounded, quickly compromised, conscripted, registered and committed to endless, profoundly subversive, devious, secret, covert work. i was identified as that most incredible thief of children's affections, i was called santa... i was burdened with unaccustomed labors and asked to breach the locked security of the homes and treasured institutions of friends, neighbors, relatives and strangers... i was to labor under the ruse of knowing everyone's name and to feign knowledge when i was ignorant, i was to bear false witness--covering up for naughtiness and badness, and i was to keep secret records. i was allowed to collect any kind of information i wanted, on anyone, and expected to keep total biofiles... not even my most trusted colleagues were to be taken into my confidence... j. edgar hoover was a paragon of power in his daze, yet in the daze, weaks, months, years, decades and decadence, scores and scoring of my global travel and work, i was unchecked in power, prestige, and most criminally of all, in the popular culture, i was assigned the task of convincing billions of human being that i was a chubby old man who worked rarely and did not care for people beyond the age of my having them duped. all in all, that was bad enuf, but worse, parents like the likes of Johnny would deprecate my goodness, counter treason, i believe, by threatening kidlets with the idea that i was a disciplinarian. "better watch out, better not cry, for i am telling you why." heresy confronts my treason! so, even if i light but one candle, fill but one hope or keep faith with only one dying child. i am treasonous. for hundreds and hundreds of years, almost two thousand years, people have known that my magic is not cruel. so, if my dissent from the common current of "fighting terrorism," is treason, please bring me to trial...by a jury of my peers. secretly, like keeping a santas' list, i doubt that johnny can find a jury of my peers. i appear like a bearded old man with a bag full of gifts spreading joy and peace. johnny and his peers may sum day learn that, to the question, "santa, are you real?" i always reply without any fear of false witness, mohammed, , virginia, YES, i am real..." guilty as charged, overcharged. peace, santa Click Here: The Ashcroft Smear (washingtonpost.com)
draft and david as thoreau Re: Autbahn zu Holle is Greek for Participation
hayfever saved me from the draft..now, now, ow, ouch, we use mercenaries... david this was written several years ago. What am I doing in Connecticut? Good question I am looking for wisdom and I do not want to move very far away from the United Nations Headquarters. However, before I get into all of that, I am a 63 years young (compared to old), male white American, Protestant... Categorically by census data, a WASP...but I am an early liberal, having worked with the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) in l953, a year before Brown vs. the Board of Education. I burnt my draft card during the summer of l953, because my draft board which was always very polite and patient with me wouldn't recognize that a pious Episcopalian could have conscience as committed as a quiet Quaker... (Thoreau taught me how to describe Civil Disobedience but he did not instruct me how to behave...) I was a bright little kid who almost always got the very best grades and I had heavy "schooling" from proper teachers who gave me little idea of what "education" should be, then I discovered Deep Springs College in California, a minuscule institution of higher education with only 25 students in a junior college program and I began really learning that I had some talents and I ought to be using them...but on what... So, one summer I worked in a mental hospital in Iowa to perhaps join the healing arts...that wasn't the right thing... Second summer, I went to British Columbia on an experiment for living among nations, with a French program included, and third summer, I went to CORE in Washington DC, to work on movie house integration, a decade before Martin Luther King's march on WDC... (DS had a three year program for two years of academics because we owned and ran a cattle ranch as part of the schooling...You should learn about DS, it is one of the most interesting experiments in American higher education...) l953-54, a year in Mexico with the American Friends Service Committee... Then, two years in Kansas City, at the U of KC which subsequently went public and became a part of the U of Missouri... I was "at home" because my father suffered an auto accident that subsequently proved fatal...(Jan 55)... BA from KC in May (or June) 1956... Summer at the University of Oregon with a Social Science Research Council Grant, avoiding hay fever and staying in school to avoid being drafted... I had re-accepted student deferment... Anyone 39 years young should not have to understand these things... That was a war before Viet Nam and then a brief, brief interlude of no major war... Then, the draft wanted me and I went to South Dakota to visit before going to England on a National Science Foundation Fellowship for graduate work in anthropology, at the London School of Economics... Well, while I was crossing the Rockies my guardian angel afflicted me with the worst case of hay fever I have ever “suffered.” And, the Draft proved me 4-F, physically unfit for military service... I celebrated with a chocolate milk shake... Ah, the world was some much kinder and gentler then, for those who were safe to start with... My childhood playmates in Sunnyside Washington were Japanese Americans and were locked up in concentration camps in l942, a year after we had moved to California., for my Dad to wear little crosses on his khaki collars, as a chaplain... That is about 17 zillion other stories... Back to my early adulthood...after London--or even before London, had I had the chance--I went to Harvard (or would have gone there) to do a doctorate in social anthropology... Pre Patrice Lumumba and Pre Fidel Castro, I was going to be an Africanist because that was the situ of "problems" for the second half of the 20th century... (I was old before I got young...now I am really about 26 in spirit) Well, I enjoyed Harvard, but I worked plenty hard... I had a marvelous fellowship from the Danforth Foundation, covered room, board, tuition, clothes, books, just about everything for modest needs at Harvard when tuition was only $1000 a year in grad school! I lived 9 or l0 months a year on an additional $1500... Even had time to cycle out to Walden... Then, that marvelous guardian angel protected me again and gave me a full, visiting professorship in the Faculty of Medicine of the University of El Salvador, l961-64, to work on exactly what I wanted to do...social and cultural factors of health...but ELS was in popping turmoil with a 3.7 percent growth rate in people and by dint of reality I became a founding member of the Salvadoran Demographic Association, 5 years before the US Government was bright enough to get into the pop market... Then, starting at the top, there was nothing to do but work downward...maybe be an asst prof somewhere and Harvard School of Public Health was even interested in me until they discovered that I am more an activist than scholar... They thought I was both because I gave them an excellent seminar
Re: ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
In a message dated 9/12/06 9:03:40 AM, [EMAIL PROTECTED] writes: \\\ i reply.///david
Re: Torture for words
In a message dated 9/12/06 10:06:24 PM, [EMAIL PROTECTED] writes: Torture for words "Ni victimes ni bourreaux." - Albert Camus words and sword s-a-n-t-a or s=a=t=a=n david inkey, the UN poet. in comic sans ms font...
Re: i swear// prince of peace
prince of peace or monster impostor politicsdavid the tunic of peace Naking knightly on this orphaned earth-striped to atonement… No proverbial bed of nails for me… Might a bed of finest needles also comfort thee… Perceptive piercing pining needles warm, warn, warp, wrap My war-torn battered, flattered, scattered, tattered Airs, cares and prayers… In the ides and tides of august august a light blanket, a coveted cover, A guiltless quilt of stars rivals, reveals, rouses, resurrects My oft lonely soul while a loon sings soliloquies to the crescent moon, Neighboring venus' brilliant, flawless armor is a trilingual triumph: Amour, amor and love… Akin to votive candles, the punctured skylights pull aweigh nights' doubts, Fears and tears, while bands, choirs, choruses, orchestras and symphonies Of meteors fall, to expire… In acadia's awe-filled breadth lifeness is an ample breath, to inspire, The relation of all beings one to another… Many cinders and sinners settle as burnt out, exhausted prophets, Signals, signatures perchance to cremation and a new creation… Aren't air, water, earth and fire ancient elements of the alchemist's desire… Might I be a phoenix, an asteroidean android, the little prince returned… Sentenced to life, sentenced to death-both terms indeterminate… While my body sleeps, nature my nature nurtures and keeps, On an astral loom far from doom admired, inquired, required peace Quivers, shivers and quakes… Peace weaves but never wavers, making no mistakes in my seamless tunic… Shameless, bareheaded, bare-bodied, barefooted, i loose all worries, Soonest i lose even the selfness of summers' subtlety, Surrendering all awe to winters' flurries of fantasy, With phantoms shining light into my dark inter-sessions… With every daunting dawn, dazzling daze appear, I am addressed, clothed, dressed, redressed, robed in the tunic of peace. By david inkey, 8/9/04, the UN poet === and this PRICELESS PEACE...with inflation. I claimed only to be a Prince of Peace, I claimed only to be a Prince of Peace, The crown you made for me you found on the ground, A vine with many thorns, It fell softly on the moss, as you raised me on the Cross, It fell as I descended into Hell… A simple thing, You thought I claimed to be a king, With great glee, you did mock me, To wound my spirit divine, You were most cruel, devilishly unkind… I claimed only to be a Prince of Peace, You didn't understand my hand, It was raised in praise, in Love, Satan knew I only held a dove, Why did you think I might need a crown… 122103, afterthoughts from handel's messiah…part one…
Re: An interesting letter from C S Lewis recently acquired
In a message dated 9/10/06 5:23:13 PM, [EMAIL PROTECTED] writes: http://www.asondheim.org/lewis2.jpg neither letter would open...david twould be better to paste the letters into the email?
marcacci Re: meingness Re: dimension me
dear bob, what a magical counterpost to my meinging...david it is a long stretch from beijing to rio.but a friend in rio did a nice job of assembling my various poesis-es.u have my permission to mandarinize the poem of life..Click Here: Check out "David Inkey" i met the poem of life… this night, quite quietly alone, when i left aside the guilds of strife. i met the poem of life… each menace does require some penance, and each eve, many would me deceive… with wit I reply, i wish not to hear your lie… ever grateful that my day's daze is but a brief phrase, when each night's knight whispers some praise, then, i do believe i find quiet reprieve, with modest shadows my self i do cover when i discover, i grow in beauty, as beauty would glow in me… the poem of life nights me… am i to dream as a shining night? some glistening stardust caught in humane form… reformed, dis-aster being distance from my star afar… this night, quite quietly alone, when i left aside the guilds of strife. i met the poem of life…
marc, pl mark, i will play Re: wry Re: x
In a message dated 9/9/06 1:40:45 AM, [EMAIL PROTECTED] writes: Bob Marcacci By all evidence we are in the world to do nothing. - Emile M. Cioran methinks perchance we are here to play on shakespeare's emply stage.meingingfully. david I W I L L P L A Y I N T H E P A R K Half a hundred years ago and half a decade more, I learned to be something very special to myself. I learned to express a precious will without undue or overdue willfullness. My parents saw my older brothers in school and "worried" about what I would do. With their best of intentions--and parents always have best of intentions--showing like some Sunday, Depression Era Grand Finery they decided I needed to be in a thrice weekly half-day kindergarten. I went. I WAS SENT! Or, was I delivered? I despaired, despaired, despaired. I despaired. I despaired. I despaired. I despaired. I despaired. I despaired, despaired. I despaired and despaired. Whether I was distraught a dozen times over or more will never be known, but we know I was unhappy! Dante may well have had a sign above the Entry to Hell, saying "Abandon all hope all ye who enter here." Because I could not read I will never know what signs or cosigns the school used nor will I ever know how many hours I endured there. My parents died before I thought of asking this historical item. All I know from that time till this is that I prevailed upon Mom and Dad to "release me." They queried, "What will you do?" What would I do if I stayed in the school? What would I do if I got out? "What would I do?" In those days toward the end of The Great Depression, in my uppermiddle class, Episcopal priestly family, I had to have a highly credible reply. I had one reply which I did not have even to premeditate. I had one reply and to this day I believe that God was on my side and I was on His... I said "I will play in The Park" GOD had blessed the Episcopal Church in Sunnyside, Washington, with a Church, Parish Hall and Rectory on the southeast corner of The Town Park.. In a town of 2,300 souls dispersed among 18 congregations, The Episcopalians occupied what in Monopoly I had already recognized as Park Place. The Park itself was the most valuable piece of property in town, to my way of thinking and thus qualified as Boardwalk Grace descended upon me like the Dove from Heaven when John met Jesus. I was freed from my not kind-er, not gardened kindergarten. The rest of my book is the fact and fictive story of my pilgrimage through childhood and adolescence and adulthood into my sixties. Henry David Thoreau was one of my earliest unacquainted friends... Had I been acquainted then with his great message of intent, I would have told my parents, "I am going to The Park to learn what is the purpose of education so that when I come to die I might not lament that I had never lived and learned free of scholastic servitude." Had I been so "something or other" to have had such a ready reply, I probably would have been sent to The Sunnyside Town Jail for the night to do penanced piety against pig-tail pulling in Sunday School--not on pigs--or against crimes of chewing gum in Church. As it was, permission to have an extra year of unencumbered childhood was granted and I have had a richer life pilgrimage thereby for all the other years. The gully, bridges, bushes, trees and flowers, picnic benches and tables, the swimming pool, gas stoves, sinks, birds, bugs, snowflakes and sun, rain and rainbows, clouds and clowning, hobos, imaginary friends, neighbors, townspeople and Mr. T., the cherished town gardener became my teachers and curriculum. I suppose I was Nature's and Nurture's best and worst student then. Through the glistening clouds of Memory and up and down the lovely lanes of Meandering, I was not the best nor the worst. I won the freedom to be Me. Once upon a time, long, long ago and far, far away, long, long ago almost to the far edge of Memory I was a kinder garden drop out, ME!
Re: Misused Intelligence
does the dazzzling dose of peter precocious precision predicate misused intelligence, skill that might have been "spent" to invent well used, non abused INTELLIGENCE...where is the VISION? 'tis beautifu david
allen, the pitch of the perch....
the pitch of the perchfor allenfrom david With death, love does not die… With death, love does not die, We cry tears of deep grief for our own relief, Memory is a bridge cresting on a special ridge, With death, love does not die… In each life sentence, Let us find time for repentance… Sorrow we need not borrow, Each other’s joy we may employ,
wry Re: x
is this majectic contrast to my poem without words...david
meingness Re: dimension me
have i shared meingness with u... not meanness... david meingness MEINGNESS Would I escape Myself to be beyond Selfness? Is ever, there, there enough for me, too much? Can Imagination embrace my evasive Elfing… Curiosity comforts and challenges… Which philosopher wears the crown of my Consciousness… Who weights that Wit and Wisdom blocking my Being… Surely, Goodness and Mercy out-measure Meingness… I pray not for Justice… Grant me mercy…. Am I in line, on line, out of string… an eclectic kite in charge… Would that my Voice raised in song would stretch… The cords and chords are taught… Misunderstanding… Would I beat you, on deafened drums? Would Resound some Soundness relate… ¿fourteen lines in a sonnet? david inkey, march 8, 03
sheila met the poem of life
dear sheila, u like the meingness poem cuz u know that its pred e cessoror ¿pre-daaa-tor? is the poem of lifedavid I met the poem of life… This night, quite quietly alone, When I left aside the guilds of strife. I met the poem of life… Every menace does require some penance, Each eve, a few would me deceive… With wit I reply, I wish not to hear your lie… Every joy my spirit does employ Each eve, many would me relieve… I am ever grateful that my day's daze is but a brief phase, When each night's knight whispers a little phrase of praise, Then, I do believe I find quiet reprieve, With modest shadows my self I do cover when I discover, I glow in beauty, as beauty would grow in me… The poem of life nights me… Am I to dream as a shining light? Some glistening stardust caught in humane form… Reformed, dis-aster being distanced from my star afar… This night, quite quietly alone, When I left aside the guilds of strife. I met the poem of life… david inkey, 32004 the UN poet
Re: Irwin death, animal world revenge: Greer
deathing... peace, david inkey. --- with death, love does not die… with death, love does not die, we cry tears of deep grief for our own relief, memory is a bridge cresting on a special ridge, with death, love does not die… in each life sentence, let us find time for repentance… sorrow we need not borrow, each other's joy we may employ, david inkey, the UN poet
Re: le la bon (bomb sensation) -- lord patch vs david patrick the london bomb sensation
the wooden shoe "sabot" was thrown into the machinery early in the "industrial" revolution peace, david ist this why so wry i bought a pair of sabot in holland eons agone
satan or santa, dyslexia Re: life raft
In a message dated 9/5/06 2:08:50 PM, [EMAIL PROTECTED] writes: Santa Claus the rig veiled regimental === i believe u have a dyslexic error in terror aanta..= santa or satan, not both.. == dear editor, washington post i don't use a phone or cell phone what with world population growth, i now have a base in antarcticu to serve the southand to put my feet on land and ice, instead of just floating at the north pole i very much appeal to you to print both my plea for protection from terrorismdate 7 dec 01 and my ever needy plea for a gift... peace, santa if i get in trouble with ashcroft, perchance you will help me... santa, --- Click Here: The Ashcroft Smear (washingtonpost.com) dear friends, chers amis, queridos amigos, the appended file and pasted text below, (same text, nicer fonting and formatting in the download). is a testament to dec 7th. an indictment of santa for treason and an explanation of why johnny (ashcroft) is a non-believer. == SANTAS' TREASON? WHY JOHNNY IS A NON-BELIEVER! oh, how greatly i wanted a sled for my 9th birthday, that last birthday before my father became an Army Chaplain and the peacefilled world of sunnyside was buried in time. we moved from the little community and never again would we live where i might use my sled. in 1942 my playmate benny was incarcerated for being "yellow." today, even-ing thoughts and prayers for my immanent anniversary of 70 solar revolutions, i wonder, i wonder as i have wandered thru years, decades, and scores, how innocently i have abhorred war and become a sainted peacelet. today i had a letter from a filosopher friend, email is a miracle of modernity. it moves us from ages of struggle for simple survival to a new epoch, struggle for complex survival... Yet, ever, still, since, now as the childness in me wonders and wanders thru memories long past, present presence, and future fullness, ever to awe and audacity... in the higher echelons of the government of the usa, the very faith of decency and difference are being challenged, being smeared with fears of full and unmitigated "treason." a mystical 13 years ago, i was confounded, quickly compromised, conscripted, registered and to be committed to endless, profoundly subversive, devious, secret, covert work. i was identified as that most incredible thief of children's affections, i was called santa... i was burdened with unaccustomed labors and asked to breach the locked security of the homes and treasured institutions of friends, neighbors, relatives and strangers... i was to labor under the ruse of knowing everyone's name and to feign knowledge when i was ignorant, i was to bear false witness--covering up for naughtiness and badness, and i was to keep secret records. i was allowed to collect any kind of information i wanted, on anyone, and expected to keep total biofiles... not even my most trusted colleagues were to be taken into my confidence... j. edgar hoover was a paragon of power in his daze, yet in the daze, weaks, months, years, decades and decadence, scores and scoring of my global travel and work, i was unchecked in power, prestige, and most criminally of all, in the popular culture, i was assigned the task of convincing billions of human being that i was a chubby old man who worked rarely and did not care for people beyond the age of my having them duped. all in all, that was bad enuf, but worse, parents like the likes of Johnny would deprecate my goodness, counter treason, i believe, by threatening kidlets with the idea that i was a disciplinarian "better watch out, better not cry, for i am telling you why" heresy confronts my reason! so. even if i light but one candle, fill but one hope or keep faith with only one dying child. i am treasonous... for hundreds and hundreds of years, almost two thousand years, people have known that my magic is not cruel... so, if my dissent from the common current of "fighting terrorism," is treason, please bring me to trial...by a jury of my peers... secretly, like keeping a santas' list, i doubt that johnny can find a jury of peers... i appear like a bearded old man with a bag full of gifts spreading joy and peace. johnny and his peers may sum day learn that, to the question, "Santa, are you real?" i always reply without any fear of false witness, "johnny, virginia, YES, i am real..." guilty as charged, overcharged peace, santa and also, if you can help me get a gift i have longed for for millennia a gift for santa? i want to live in a world where the past tense, the present tense, and the future tense--all avoid pre-tense. i want to live in a world where the future protects the past... and, where, without question or doubt, the past protects the future... this may be the greatest present we may ask for. i want all of the best dreams of all ages to
inkey Re: DISABLED ACRONYM MECHANISM
ac(h)ronyc cronyism. avid, david..video - Disabled Arconym Me can ism d^Vizio
when the moon is full Re: why don't you chaperone the moon
let us not worry about moonshine, nor being chaperoned? ..david -- When the Moon is full… Oh, the boon, When the Moon is full… What did I do this noon? With fife and life, I played a happy tune, Because, as a knight, tonight, In armor and amor, I must shine, “When the Moon is full…” My boon companion… A lively lunatic? Will you visit me soon? Streams of light fill our night, Could you unmask a raccoon… Would you sing with a loon… When the Moon is full… With the New Moon… In the dark, will you sing as a lark, With the first crescent, Your visit would be pleasant… Anytime, every time, in all seasons, We quickly offer new reasons… When the Moon is full… david inkey, 120803
wry -- workshop on war and terror
dear lib of soc sci, wrylers and all who will read, hear, see and understand the price of peace (in thomas mann's economy: "War is a cowardly escape from the problems of peace.")
Peace and Compassion..
it is with profound sorrow that i learn of dr. konigsberg's workshop on "something to kill and die for" on any premises.. insult is added to considerable injury that the church center of the United Nations should be a "battleground" instead of a peace field...
immediately, i thought that it would be appropriate to demonstrate at the entry point on nov 9th and to distribute gratis copies of mark twain's the war prayer.. upon further reflection, with virtual simultaneity, i contemplated offering my pious prescription and inscription, a UN tour, which i give gratis on treasures in the UN, icons of peace(while lamenting that atomic alley no longer occupies the strategic ground it previousl did). akin to these musing... i offer my ten commands and my health-medicial propaganda, prescription of peace.
rather than expend $70 on such a workshop, i would align myself with all who are too poor to go to war and would dispense my resources to enhance the humane condition... should u and others wish a workshop on PEACE ON EARTH...i would be thrilled to explore with such spirits what i consider UNESCO's finest publication, PEACE ON EARTH, A PEACE ANTHOLOGY, UNESCO, 1980.
peace, david inkey, the UN poet.
==
ICONS, OF PEACE
I want to tell you a story about The Pieces of Peace in The United Nations.
It is a story that only I know how to tell and it is meant only for peacemakers:
Once,
just once,
upon a time,
only 3,264 or just 3262 years ago, the great, formidable and fantastic Pharaoh Ramses II of the Egyptians and the mighty , magnificent and mysterious Emperor Hattusilis of the Hittites gave their courage and honor in artisan endeavor to create the First Peace Treaty of Our Story. We are now privileged, during the 50th Anniversary of the UN, to view a marvelous larger than life replica of their text won from tragic wars 33 centuries ago. We honor our own Security Council by juxtaposing it by this codex. I know of no icon more challenging than this cold copper message and when I enter these sacred precincts I practice my prayers before this too disregarded momento.
In close view of the first icon I treasure, I wish to share with you my awe for what I believe is Picasso's most precious presence and present to peace. We have on loan an icon representing one of the frenetic failures of our League of Nations. We have a marvelously entwined, textured text of the terror of Guernica, a total war, totally denounced... The tremors of dictatorship attacking republicans are splashed with paint on the original canvass, but here a tapestry of twisted threads, strings of being and seeing, tie us together in tragic tempo. We do not need nor want prototypes of war, but for memories' sake, we have perhaps the best of the worst of a pre-atomic war in our century.
Beyond the borders of our little, 28 acre international enclave, across the UN Plaza, we have a peace park with Isaiah's wisdom carved in granite, easy substitute for failure to engrave the message into our hearts and habits... Whether old testaments remain valid in our modern times is a much debated topic, but we are here not to see the UN as the East River Debating Society. We come to puzzle together the scattered pieces of peace and to learn rites which transcend warfare to peacefare, and someday to seal the story of PEACE FAIR. I designate the third Tuesday in September in 2031 A.D. for the 3300th Anniversary of Our First Peace Treaty!
If we are obliged to enter The UN Headquarters only as visitors, we see our first icons in the garden north of the principal terrace. Here, our vision and visions are challenged by a great dragon rocket literally being pierced into submission and nearby a worker beats a sword into a plowshare. On the pavement, in humoristic irony, we may stare at an iconic colt whose barrel is knotted to render the weapon ineffective for killing, effective and affective for peace.
Just inside the UN's grand entrance, we may feast our eyes and open our storied visions upon Poseidon, God of The Sea when we still had special deities for all our needs, dedicated to healthy, peaceful activity. We may conclude that we often select icons of peace as portraits of war abated, rather than as intrinsic essences of peace. The ancient Greeks tried to teach us Olympian feats of democracy, though they, too, failed to create a society free of war. As we discover more and more the treasures of civic society, we may choose to honor their Earth Goddess, giving her name to global culture, GAIA. The grandeur of Poseidon may remind us that through many eons we have struggled for simple survival and that now
wry = war and terror part 3
The Prescription of Peace, The Disease of War…
“Physician, Heal Thyself…”
When I retired from supranational (incorrectly called international) civil service, I told the then Director General of the United Nations Educational, Cultural and Scientific Organization, that one of my “retirement” activities would be to convene an assembly to revise the too facilely repeated preface to the UNESCO Constitution, “That since wars begin in the minds of men, it is in the minds of men that the defences of peace must be constructed.” The DG didn't believe me that such a change was necessary. But he did inquire what changes I would suggest, and I replied, “Since wars begin in the lives of children, it is in the spirits of children that we must seed the dreams of peace.” Further, I asserted that wars are not sexist, women also cause wars; nor ageist, men, women and children are often bellicose.
A dozen years has flown away in time and my ambitions are greater and preemptive war exacerbates my cause. I “spent” many years anthropologizing in epic ethics, encompassing equity, education, ecology, peace, participation, poverty and prosperity, imagination, integrity, international (and interspecies) cooperation, culture, creativity and curiosity, to mention a few of my ee p iii and . Now, I would regress to my decades of health and medical anthropology. I wish to examine all our medical school programs and see how many and how few epidemiologists focus on the pandemic infection of war. I wish to revolutionize our pitiful programs of “preventive medicine” because of their failure to advance the health giving and health-keeping of peacefulness. Googling on peace and war is not a very satisfying arena of research… No google yet appears on “Germ Theory of War.” None on “Germ Theory of Peace.” “Theory of War” produces about 4,340 googlets. “Theory of Peace” is in smaller population, about 768. WAR counts with some 85,800,000 troopers and PEACE falls back with about 27,300,000.
Peace is the essential vaccine for survival on Spaceship Earth. The plague of war which humanity has suffered for time out of memory spreads through the virus of apathy, error and terror. Politicians pretend to prescribe palliatives, which are no more than placebos and poisons. Warriors wish for welcome in the disguise of “peacekeeping,” and with the pretense of valor, they pretend to pacify, claiming to be “peacemakers.” I have been in 72 revolutions and remain unscarred physically, though humans' inhumanity to humans has psychologically scarred me unmercifully. Yet, in my three score and twelve circles around our morning star, I still gleefully greet each sunrise and smile at each sunset, not calling our nearest star, The Mourning Star… Eons ago, while I cached the ashes of my ritually burnt draft card, my second brother served in the Strategic Air Command of the United States of America and used writing paper which proclaimed on its masthead, “Peace is Our Profession.” I have seen and experienced many an oxymoron in my life, but this militant proclamation is my worst.
Geneticists have, to my limited knowledge, failed to examine DNA structures for chromosome defects that might contribute to or are causal of the disease of war. Are we indisposed by war because we are predisposed to it? Such a diagnosis would most likely be heartily welcomed by The Grand Inquisitor, The Justice Department and Homeland Security, and all Pentagoganals. The National Guard doesn't want to be caught off guard. No surgery program I have heard of ever programmed or neo-philosophized operational paradigms and praxis to correct the body politics of ticks, tremors, mirages and triages and of other corporeal malfunctions. The nutritionists I have known and known of have never established dietary schema to reduce bellicosity and/or programmed assistance to address the severely malnourished corpus of peace. Psychiatrists scrounge in lounges, crouching on overstuffed couches, patiently and impatiently, almost universally failing to condemn the insanity of militarists and militia. With cohesive, chronic chronoitis, biochemists, biophysicists, biologists, and how many other “scientists” including the correctly and incorrectly labeled, if not libeled, “social scientists” fail to diagnose the disease of war.
The U.S. Congress recently passed an omnibus Medicare vehicle with flat tires insofar as peace might be practiced. Health anthropologist have, for the most part, been more successful than all these other “professionals” in the prognoses for studies of “cultures” of peace. It seems that the larger hope has been amongst the Hopi. Is this why the l960's Danish prince of poetry, Piet Hein profounded that “We are global citizens, with tribal souls.”
GP, general practice, is unfortunately, not a greatly respected branch in medicine; nor of health, yet, it is still a heavily
ten commands Re: 'I can't go to Iraq. I can't kill those children' (fwd)
dear david, maybe we might just possible can add a few more commandments to the traditional decalogue.. peace, david inkey, the UN poet... TEN COMMANDS I. Make war exorbitantly expensive so common people and even uncommon people will believe they are getting something important. The great turn-of-the-century economist Thorstein Veblen--who so adroitly documented and labeled this value of "conspicuous consumption"--has left to us the application, not only to further capitalize it but also to "make a killing" with capital gains. II. Create suspicion around all skeptics and always have increasingly expensive military hardware proposals so peace initiatives are seldom given serious consideration. Advance ludicrous peace proposals on occasion to show absurdity of counter plans to ''military intelligence." Use oxymorons to military profit. III. Always use slogan language closely related to the science, facts and fantasies of the popular culture. The great film actor and two term President, Ronald Reagan, used us and Star Wars with uncanny skill, borrowing his scripts and scenes from Star Trek. Our proto-economists and Pentagon potentates skillfully went "off budget" with many military expenditures and relied exclusively on military lexicons for terms like preparedness, security, "peace is our profession," strategic defense systems, smart bombs and patriotism. Desert Storm was a logical consequence of desert invasions. Make the reports show provoked response and self defense. Mirage derives from mirages. Spuds scrub, reversing the scrubbing of spuds, our old familiar term for potatoes, in the Kitchen... Use colorful language. IV. Engage in brinkmanship in staff and material allocations which cast doubt on the patriotism of any and ALL skeptics. However, create rumors and speculations that the brinkmanship is a modest response to gargantuan threats from "evil empires." V. Show dramatically the unemployment threats to civilians when military cutbacks are proposed for deficit reduction. Deny ignorance and incompetence in transition from defense spending to civilian development. VI. Isolate and intimidate any doubters of valiant militarism. VII. Propose multilateral support from allied tribes. Appear generous with special materials. Never appear to be causing hardship to enemy civilian populations. VIII. Finance propaganda on disloyalty and subversion from within and blatantly show treason and terrorism by depressed, unassimilated ethnics of the same or related background of the alleged enemy. IX. Create. manipulate and distribute military media, toys, medals, photographs, and ribbons which support the credibility of war solutions in other eras, using not only our own history but that of current allies (being careful never to indicate that have been arch enemies in other wars). X. Appear honorable even when behaving in the most dishonorable ways of war. Pretend that the worst losses we have suffered are due to some scrimping of loyalty or some error of judgment of an unpopular military commander, leading astray his troops. Sacrifice occasional commanders when circumstances are propitious. Make martyrs of lost-troops such as the servicemen "lost" at Pearl Harbor and "gallantly" sacrificed on Iwo Jima. Closet the most traumatic reports of suffering as military secrets except when reports can show perfidy. xi Be stingy with the honor of martyrdom. Create a generous supply of live heroes with very few disabilities. Avoid letting any disabilities verify the horrors of war. Be very, very careful to judge the appropriate number of heroes and make them all politically, socially, economically, racially, linguistically correct... Under-represent minority groups among the heroes, because disgruntled minority heroes can make excessive post hoc demands unbecoming to war causes. xii Dramatize the comradeship, victory processions, and music of war. Disavow that "since wars begin in the minds of children..." xiii Create splendid shrines of some utility. Spare no expense on exquisite cemeteries, but limit occupancy so as not to show the high mortality of militarism. (We did not miscount. The military gives many more orders than it counts. Overkill?) -- No One drew the line at Ten...
