Hate is cancer

Written from a German prison cell as he waits for the day to arrive for the hangman to come to pay him his last visit. Bonhoeffer was hung two weeks before Germany was liberated (one of Hitlers lasts acts of malice). I post these things because I see the potential reoccurrence of such historical patterns plainly beginning to play out right in front of my eyes each day. The progression seems to be slow, but the burst will materialize – at some point – all at once, as it always has throughout history, leaving us completely unbalanced and unable to respond. Be very careful what, how, and who you decide to hate, and the freedom to which you utilize this expression of hate. Your hate is being manufactured for you. It’s not even yours. The deception runs deep.
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Dietrich Bonhoeffer:

“Upon closer observation, it becomes apparent that every strong upsurge of power in the public sphere, be it of a political or a religious nature, infects a large part of humankind with stupidity. … The power of the one needs the stupidity of the other. The process at work here is not that particular human capacities, for instance, the intellect, suddenly atrophy or fail. Instead, it seems that under the overwhelming impact of rising power, humans are deprived of their inner independence and, more or less consciously, give up establishing an autonomous position toward the emerging circumstances. The fact that the stupid person is often stubborn must not blind us to the fact that he is not independent. In conversation with him, one virtually feels that one is dealing not at all with him as a person, but with slogans, catchwords, and the like that have taken possession of him. He is under a spell, blinded, misused, and abused in his very being. Having thus become a mindless tool, the stupid person will also be capable of any evil and at the same time incapable of seeing that it is evil. This is where the danger of diabolical misuse lurks, for it is this that can once and for all destroy human beings.”

 

Mimetic Behaviour

The Celebration​ of Life music festival 1971

Documentary 33 minutes:
I was 16 when a friend and myself made the brilliant decision to hitchhike from Atlanta, where I was living at the time, to McCrea; long-haired hippies hitchhiking through the deep south, mid-summer, in 1971; it turned out to be one hell of a challenge, but we got there, after having everything from bottles to garbage thrown at us, and a few shotgun blasts pointed upward from passing cars on the roadsides, along the way.  It was exciting, life-changing, dangerous and insane; the perfect storm; loved every minute of it – looking back. The mud banks were where I spent most of my time, for reasons the film points out.

After dealing with the intense heat and humidity for a week, no food, little water, and sleeping in the mud every night, we decided to head home, only to find out the larger party was going on *outside the gate* for miles and miles; an endless sea of hippies, police, and bikers smoking pot, dancing, and swapping spit with little to no violence – that I could see anyway. Most the entire population was naked, tripping, and passing around joints at every step; police were even getting laid on the hoods of cars with their guns holstered banging on fenders of whichever car they were using for support.

Heat, snakes, alligators, mosquitoes, a shortage of food and water – yet no shortage of pot, wine, or LSD – lead to the realization it was time to go home. You couldn’t script this kind of thing, its just one of those events that just happen, and you just happen to be there. A strange dream of sorts looking back from where I sit typing these recollections. I can still hear the music, smell the pot, feel the excruciating heat on my body, and the itching of the multitudes of mosquitoes feeding on me, day and night. And yes, with all that, the memories are profoundly fond ones, in a strange sense; as real today as were in 1971.

 

http://www.mccrea1971.com/watch

Hard times…

Well, here we are 2016; near 50 years from the last time I have seen this kind of built up pressure getting ready to explode within our culture. I was only 12 or 13 the last time this occurred, but I remember it like it was yesterday.

Same energy.
Same problems.
Same bullshit media.
Same puppet masters
Pulling everyone’s strings
To have them dance for their pleasure.

But, nothing new under the sun.

Same denial.
Same ethnicities.
Same mass hypnosis.
Same political pimping and pandering
By the very same pimps and whores
That sell us on their compassion and competence today.

We’re all victims here
We’re all perpetrators.
7.5 Billion worlds walking the planet.
Each world projecting itself, on to the next
Because each world can’t endure its own pain.
Time to take responsibility, and learn to love ourselves.

Project that! The Apes and Billy goats will suffocate from lack,
and fade off into history as they gasp for their last dying breaths of oxygen. In the mean time, try not to feed the animals.

Hug a enemy – he or she might be your brother or sister…

Pavlov’s Dog

These powers, these systems, this twisted perceptions of comfort, this safety and righteousness are tricks, smoke and mirrors, rape and murder, they make fools of us with this dog and pony show we are witness to . This conditioning has been slowly administered in increments by greedy monkeys, ugly clowns, and false prophets; they have no capacity to “feel’ anything past their own ambition, and perverted sense of accomplishment – all in the name of public service.
We keep buying –  they keep selling.
Pavlov’s dog – ring a bell?

Celebration of Life Rock Festival, 1971

Didn’t make Woodstock, I did make this one
Sixteen, long hair, bell bottom jeans, stoned
no money, no watch; one intention – just get there
Excitement permeated the highways, the roads – us

Hitchhiked from Atlanta to McRae, stoned all the way – on a mission
Slept on the side of roads, in strange VW vans painted strangely
Peace signs everywhere, rednecks on the prowl, (Also on a mission)
Crosby Stills and Nash saved us, blessed the road; rednecks folded

Electric Kool Aid, paranoic brownies, no ticket, no need
On a mission; remember the fierce storms, naked girls
Mud, mud everywhere – the River, the cool cool loving river
Mud all over our naked bodies, in the hundred degree sun

Armadillo stared at me as I slept, just a hundred feet from the mud
May have been the Kool Aid, may have been the hot sun that day
He spoke to me that first night as I opened my eyes for no reason
Can’t remember what he said, but I think he said – “go home Boy”

I was sixteen
He was just an armadillo
I stayed – he left
The music – a resurrection

The Fool

We worship the fool – the fool guides us like needy children
Then, prop the fool up high, and worship the fool as a god.
Make human offerings in his honor; offer up our children
We embrace the rhetoric of the fool; pay the freight
Plead for protection from the boogie man he creates

We accept, we look forward to, with great anticipation
His shiny expensive gold watch, swinging back and forth
On a gold chain, held by the bony hand of this crafty ape.
You’re getting sleepy, veeery sleepy – your eyes; heavy.
When I snap my fingers – you will wake up! and sleep – Deeply.

The Cosmic Dance

Jazz; The Cosmic Dance of Bliss: there’s a place where the structure of the music is just that – a structure. When you reach a place of transcendence within that structure, you leave the structure behind, even though the structure is still in place, you transcend outside of it — you stand aside — you allow the music to play itself through you. This becomes something spiritual in nature, you have left the structure, and created a space in trust for melody and time to express itself through you. While all this is taking place the unconscious is now the area the music is expressed from; the notes are being played by something far higher than the player. The conversation has transcended the common vocabulary and arrived at a place of freedom. It’s leaving all constructs and systems behind, and braving the new world of mysteries; a higher realm…Deep Prayer, deep meditation.

 

Freedom!

The greatest snow on earth

Everyone loves a circus; the clowns, the lions, the type rope walkers, the trapeze artists; it’s like a live Salvatore Dali painting taking place right before your very eyes; midgets – add a visual dimension that seems to tie the entire portrait together somehow through a kind of visual sensory subtext as they walk side by side with the elephant and the clown. But at the end of the show we leave the tent, go home and bring the memories along with us. The lasting effects; a pleasant memory of images that can continue to inspire the imagination for years to come – the circus doesn’t intrude.

I wish I could say the same for our political system that takes full advantage of the public from birth to dirt, pumping in political rhetoric transported through endless miles of septic piping allowing just enough crap to leak out into the american soil while in route to public distribution; from septic tanks housing vast quantities of BS, to the wishful minds and imaginations of good, honest, hard working people – this system continues to confiscate our dignity and insult our intelligence through this “Theatre of the Absurd”.

The circus is at least honest in its promotion of what “it – is.”

Cows, Bulls, and Billygoats

Note to ? … “let’s say” self

Blindness, closed minded, hypnotized.

Limited exposure to “points of view” — comfort zone only
“The Herd” feeds you the mushrooms grown in the pasture
On top of the excrement left behind by the Bull
U binge on this fungus; embrace its effects.

Wake up man!

Many fine minds/spirits expressing beautiful thoughts
To be embraced/pondered/ weighed, and given away
U Bypass them? –why? … Your views are solid and correct?
No!… conform to the “The Herd” —  eat the mushrooms

You fool!

“The Herd” disapproves, you yield to the disapproval
Turn away from the beauty, expression, bright shining stars
All sects, colors, belief systems bring to your front door Dailey
New prospective/fresh thought/wisdom pearls…love

Think!

They knock You don’t answer
Someone might see!
A Cow? A Bull? — Billy goat perhaps
Run, lift yourself up; fly away

You eat too many mushrooms anyway.

Jeff Bertolotti