The Dangers of Dreaming
Millions of Americans are acutely aware of the complete collapse of The Republic. Aware of the atrocities committed daily in parts of the world most will never see, or care to see. Aware that the our insatiable appetites are expediting an unpleasant collision with reality.
But there are no social movements. No anti-war movement. No human rights movement. No civil rights movement. No democracy movement. For now, there is only chatter among people of like mind.
When this changes, it will be out of fear, not hope. Which means The Beast of Deprivation will be in plain sight of even the most witless, intruding on our mundane reality like a hungry mob at dinner.
As a kid, I was always mystified by economists, politicians and other luminaries of the capitalist system. The sole measure of "prosperity" was, and continues to be, growth. Even being a lousy student in math, it struck me as completely illogical - and I wasn't the most logical kid on the block.
Thirty years later, living in a house larger than I need and using more resources than a conscientious person with a full stomach has any right to use, it is no less maddening.
Yet here I am.
Joe Bageant has written about the tension and conflict between he and his wife over his macro perspective and the personal guilt that comes with being cog in the wheel of Empire. Being all too able to sympathize, it was one of the many things we discussed in Belize last year while he was busy actualizing his dream of egress.
I would walk away from it all tomorrow. The woman with whom I have shared my entire adult life, despite her adventurous spirit, would not. Security is the concept which infuses her personal ethos, which, in typical karmic fashion, is what affords me the freedom to avoid a miserable 9-5 existence wedged and withering in the bunghole of Corporate America. It is her sensibilities, not mine, which have not only kept us from starving to death, but brought me a number of life-changing experiences that would not have otherwise occurred.
What I have only recently begun to understand is the extent to which most creatures are simply unwilling to let go of all that is familiar.
In material societies, the familiar is comprised of material things, whether it's our pursuit of them or the pleasure they bring us once possessed. Our collective imagination is severely stunted, locked in a pattern which rarely extends beyond the stiflng boundaries aquisition and loss. Of course, these are mere ponderances of our daily reality. The American Dream - whether in America, The U.K., China or where ever it takes root - is a non-dream.
From my obstructed view - which is all I have to go on - it appears that few citizens of Western industrialized and post-industrial cultures are interested in pursuing a paradigm which does not include a primary focus on things.
In North America, only the Mexicans appear to be engaged in any meaningful resistance to the status quo, risking life & limb in the process. Not surprisingly, few outside of Mexico are even aware of their rebellion.
I foresee a renaissance of intentional communities in the coming decades; small groups of people attempting liberation from the traditional concepts of "security" and "happiness." They will have their own internal and external challenges, as all communities do.
But the ugly truth is that those who have will not hesitate to kill in order to keep what they have and accumulate even more. This is the worst of human nature, and everything in American society is structured to reinforce the fraudulent nobility of this murderously competitive impulse. These days, the killing is done by proxy. As all that we know melts into an unfamiliar state some call Reality, so, too, will the tidiness of maintaining our non-dream. It will become more and more difficult to ignore our blood-stained hands as The Empire's proxies evolve into tomorrow's avengers. To wrap your mind around this, look no further than the diaries posted at Iraq Veterans Against the War.
By all means, dream.
And in the lucid moments feeding those dreams, be mindful that your dreams are considered a direct assault on the well-being of those who are best served by the status quo. May the dreamers prepare themselves for what awaits: brute force to kill those dreams.
It will not be pretty. Powershifts never are.
But there are no social movements. No anti-war movement. No human rights movement. No civil rights movement. No democracy movement. For now, there is only chatter among people of like mind.
When this changes, it will be out of fear, not hope. Which means The Beast of Deprivation will be in plain sight of even the most witless, intruding on our mundane reality like a hungry mob at dinner.
As a kid, I was always mystified by economists, politicians and other luminaries of the capitalist system. The sole measure of "prosperity" was, and continues to be, growth. Even being a lousy student in math, it struck me as completely illogical - and I wasn't the most logical kid on the block.
Thirty years later, living in a house larger than I need and using more resources than a conscientious person with a full stomach has any right to use, it is no less maddening.
Yet here I am.
Joe Bageant has written about the tension and conflict between he and his wife over his macro perspective and the personal guilt that comes with being cog in the wheel of Empire. Being all too able to sympathize, it was one of the many things we discussed in Belize last year while he was busy actualizing his dream of egress.
I would walk away from it all tomorrow. The woman with whom I have shared my entire adult life, despite her adventurous spirit, would not. Security is the concept which infuses her personal ethos, which, in typical karmic fashion, is what affords me the freedom to avoid a miserable 9-5 existence wedged and withering in the bunghole of Corporate America. It is her sensibilities, not mine, which have not only kept us from starving to death, but brought me a number of life-changing experiences that would not have otherwise occurred.
What I have only recently begun to understand is the extent to which most creatures are simply unwilling to let go of all that is familiar.
In material societies, the familiar is comprised of material things, whether it's our pursuit of them or the pleasure they bring us once possessed. Our collective imagination is severely stunted, locked in a pattern which rarely extends beyond the stiflng boundaries aquisition and loss. Of course, these are mere ponderances of our daily reality. The American Dream - whether in America, The U.K., China or where ever it takes root - is a non-dream.
From my obstructed view - which is all I have to go on - it appears that few citizens of Western industrialized and post-industrial cultures are interested in pursuing a paradigm which does not include a primary focus on things.
In North America, only the Mexicans appear to be engaged in any meaningful resistance to the status quo, risking life & limb in the process. Not surprisingly, few outside of Mexico are even aware of their rebellion.
I foresee a renaissance of intentional communities in the coming decades; small groups of people attempting liberation from the traditional concepts of "security" and "happiness." They will have their own internal and external challenges, as all communities do.
But the ugly truth is that those who have will not hesitate to kill in order to keep what they have and accumulate even more. This is the worst of human nature, and everything in American society is structured to reinforce the fraudulent nobility of this murderously competitive impulse. These days, the killing is done by proxy. As all that we know melts into an unfamiliar state some call Reality, so, too, will the tidiness of maintaining our non-dream. It will become more and more difficult to ignore our blood-stained hands as The Empire's proxies evolve into tomorrow's avengers. To wrap your mind around this, look no further than the diaries posted at Iraq Veterans Against the War.
By all means, dream.
And in the lucid moments feeding those dreams, be mindful that your dreams are considered a direct assault on the well-being of those who are best served by the status quo. May the dreamers prepare themselves for what awaits: brute force to kill those dreams.
It will not be pretty. Powershifts never are.
posted by Arvin Hill at 7/24/2007 11:30:00 AM
9 Comments:
A few of us are quietly trying to live a little smaller, a little more responsibly. We are somewhat limited in what is practical because of infrastructure, and by the fact that we are, after all, wage slaves still, even if it is intellectual work rather than physical.
Trying to eat locally; trying to raise some of our own food; trying to eat lower on the food chain, trying to avoid factory farming to the extent possible. Of course, making a wage that allows such choices is a privilege as well.
Then there is the whole issue about commuting. At the present, public transportation or cycling are not real options for me, though I hope that won't always be true.
But of course, no matter what choices we make to leave a smaller footprint, we are still living in the world's largest representative democracy, supposedly, which has, despite the most fervent opposition of many, become even more murderously imperialistic as resources dwindle. Which is why I have to go drink and dance on Saturday nights, I suppose. Even though I'm an 'old fart' by clubbing standards.
I don't know what the answers are for us.
A nice, little place far, far, far from cities and suburbs. More nature. Less house. Fewer things. Community? Ehhh, not really. I'm not a bona fide misanthrope, but being a hermit up in the mountains would fit. I will say this, though: Once I got over the shock of unhidden poverty in Hopkins Village, Belize, getting a glimpse of a real community was fascinating. It was probably very similar to life in rural American communities back in the early part of the Twentieth Century.
If there's ever a surgery for sea-sickness, which afflicts Mrs. Hill to a frustrating degree, living on a boat wouldn't be much of a stretch considering our love of the sea, and, The Caribbean, in particular.
* * * * *
Doesn't bother me being the old bastard in the club. I am occasionally mistaken for the band's manager.
Friend of mine wanted to see "Lez Zeppelin" at House of Blues to celebrate his birthday. For a couple of hours, the derisive term "cover band" did not apply. Those ladies were possessed. If they ever come to your town, go. Mucho fun. As much as I hate the fakery of places like Hard Rock Cafe and House of Blues, I have to confess HOB was great, if only because the sound was excellent, ticket price was reasonable, and - thanks to the City of Dallas - there was no second-hand smoke to detract from my head-bobbin' seizures. I'm not a big drinker, so outrageous prices for drinks don't bother me much.
Two weeks later, I went to Dan's Silver Leaf here in Denton to see the great and mighty Danny Barnes, avant banjer virtuoso... (that's "banjo" for those of you north of the Mason-Dixon). Watching Danny play & sing - he is a GREAT songwriter - was a real treat for me; more like a living room, which I really dig. However, I wanted to flay some chattery college chicks for yammering without regard for the performance some of us were there to see. It was the height of rudeness, and just the kind of thing I hate about clubs... plus, the cigarette smoke was terrible, especially in contrast with the previous show in Dallas. Occasionally, it's worth it. I need to make myself go out more often, as I really love live music and there's some good stuff that comes through Denton since it's a college town. If they forced the smokers outside, my trips to the club would increase exponentially.
Oh, they were all afraid about business dropping off when they passed the indoor smoking ban here in Seattle, too. It went into effect last year, and that hasn't happened.
In fact, even some smokers have told me they prefer it, though stepping outside can be a bother, especially when it's raining. But the eyes don't burn so much, and they don't get nagged for blowing smoke in people's faces or poking people with their cigarette tips while dancing!
Sorry to say, I don't think I've been to a live show since...hmmm...probably Peter Murphy, in 2005, and before that Neil Finn, and Wire in 2003. Not so many bands I would hassle with downtown parking for anymore, you know?
Still, I do have to get my alt/goth/80s/punk dancing fix...I don't know any better way to exercise, and it's a way to exercise myself socially in meatspace as well (pretty misanthropic here too). And it's funny, the club I go to has a lot of us 'older' folks, and the only ones who would dream of giving us any crap are n00bs in their 20s. At which I can laugh, because I'm old enough to be their mom!
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I don't know if I could live on a boat. There are plenty of houseboats in Seattle, and even those are not so tempting. Mostly I would worry about getting my birds out safely if there were a fire, but slip spaces are also getting more expensive.
Mostly, I just want a backyard with enough space for a few chickens and a small vegetable garden. Maybe with a patio, and an adjoining outdoor aviary, so the birds could come outside for some fresh air on warm days.
For the boat, I was thinking more along the lines of being a permanent island hopper.
I've never been much of an oldies person, at least not in the sense of oldies I grew up on. Buck Owens was around plenty when I was growing up, so the fact that I listen to him now doesn't really count, since I hated country & hillbilly music growing up and avoided it at every opportunity.
Sirius Satellite has reinvigorated my appetite for contemporary music - since FM is a total failure now. I'm pretty fond of bands like Arcade Fire, TV On The Radio, Arctic Monkeys, Kasabian, Feist, etc. - but it kind of sucks because no one my age, 45, listens to contemporary music. Except, apparently, Brian Williams of NBC News, which somehow fails to comfort me. Parents of teens & college-age young'ns, no doubt, listen to new bands, but - as pathetic as this sounds - parents are a drag (with a few exceptions) even when they're the same age, or sometimes younger, even, than me.
Since going smokeless due to circumstances beyond my control, I don't listen to as much hard-edged ampage as I used to. But I've been in The Styx now for a few years, so my listening habits have taken on a good deal more twang, although not of the NASCAR-Nashville variety (if I ever get *that* bad, I hope I'll have the courage to kill myself).
I will say this, though: Since I don't look back a whole lot musically, when I dust off a classic, I'm often amazed at how great it is - whether it's early Bowie (thanks, idyllopus) or Janes Addiction or John Hiatt or Suicidal Tendencies. When it comes to the headtones, absence, for me, really does make the heart grow fonder.
Mountain land? I know a reasonably priced community at 9000'. Gated. Minimum sq ft home is 800'. That's about right for two people, but don't get sick in the winter.
---
There's about 5 bands on an annual basis that sound good in a new, novel way. I recommend Guy Forsyth out of Austin. His music is apocalypse approved. Then, there's Pink Martini, Lucinda Williams, Tom Russell, Ryan Adams, Ben Harper.
Some of the kids can keep up with the geezers.
I'll pass on the gated community. That's what guns are for.
Tires filled with sand. Stucco exterior. Metal roof. Solar panels. Chickens. Garden. Sure, it sounds ugly, but I'm actually a decent enough designer to pull it off with minimal assitance from an architect. Most of the "traditional" stick houses going up around me now look awful. But they're awful people, so it makes sense.
Pink Martini, I don't know, but having looked just now, has tweaked my curiosity. (Tweak used to be such a great word before the meth heads owned it.)
Guy Forsyth I've heard of, but haven't heard - and just missed his gust through North Texas last month. Bummer, as apocalypse approved is always a plus.
(Speaking of which, just as I was typing this - Four Winds by Bright Eyes came on. Connor Oberst be writin' some heavy lyrics.)
Lucinda's long been a favorite here at the Lazy S.
Haven't heard much of Tom Russell's stuff, but "Stealing Electricity" has some great lines in it. That one got a lot of airplay on our local redneck non-Nashville radio station last year.
Used to hear a lot of Ben Harper years ago when our public radio station played music instead of catering to the moneyed chattering class with talk, talk, talk all the goddamn time.
I like Ryan Adams quite a bit.
* * * * *
The three Sirius channels that get the most exercise in our humble abode is Outlaw Country, Left Of Center and Pure Jazz.
It's been fun turning into a jazz nerd in my geezer years. The University of North Texas is nearby and their radio station did much to lay that foundation.
When I was working in London a few years ago, I put on a Mingus CD, which played for five minutes before everyone within earshot turned on me with murder in their eyes. (I narrowly escaped death thanks to the P.J. Harvey that followed.) Brits don't get jazz at all. Most Americans don't appreciate classic jazz, either, but the Brit response reminded me of the story about the first performance of Stravinsky's Rite of Spring - minus the supporters.
The gate is 8 miles down a dirt road. Just an electric card reader; innocuous farm looking fence to keep the post peak-oil barbarians out. No paramilitaries.
The architectural committee is not wont to approve the sand-filled tires; according to the homeowner association rules, the post apocalypse will be tasteful earth tones and no trailers. Due to remoteness, it's running at about $250 per sq developed, so that 800sq ft house would run to $200K. Eh -- could be worth it down the line.
I haven't tried FM satellite, because that feeds media consolidation, but I'm a big fan of KGSR and their internet content. Also Radio Paradise is run by old geezers that remember the heyday of late night FM.
Truly, I like most kinds of music. But sometimes I go back and rediscover stuff that was around that I didn't fully appreciate at the time. For example, our own local could-have-been-so-famous The Gits. Or The The. I've thought about looking into Buck Owens* as well, haven't gotten around to it, though I did surprise my dad last fall by burning him a CD of Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys. He grew up listening to that music (he's from Farwell, TX, up in the panhandle). He didn't think I was into that sort of thing, but we have a couple of great shows on radio here that spotlight swing or jazz. For example, this one which you can stream, or look at the playlist.
I do like a lot of stuff that would be expected for someone who looks like me (corporate goth); but I also like to crank up Kind of Blue on the drive home sometimes (the opening chords of All Blues never fails to send a chill up my spine), and this does get looks from fellow drivers sometimes.
But I like classical music, world music, jazz, old pop standards, 'classic' country and bluegrass, jangly guitar pop, and great songwriters. And I have an overweening fondness for British art-rock bands of the 70s and 80s (and I'm not talking Yes here... I like the Canterbury scene bands, actually). Oh, and Max Webster ;-)
I'm 44, and now I know why I've been identifying with a lot of these posts so much. We progressives have had a lot of disappointment in our adult lives. Growing up with some great things happening, only to have to live with the social backlash in our adulthoods.
*funny side note: My partner is 5 years younger, but it is amazing how much we have in common based on some childhood experiences. For example, the experience of watching Hee Haw. Every now and again, we break into that song they used to sing on the show:
Where, oh where, are you tonight?
Why did you leave me here all alone?
I searched the world over, and I thought I'd found true love,
Then you met another, and PFFFT! You was gone!
Homeowner's association?
When I want to join a cult, I'll start one myself. It wouldn't be that bad for adherents. Certainly no worse than what they're subjecting themselves to now.
* * * * * * *
I hated Hee Haw. Now, I find myself wondering how many of those performances I would really dig.
It was the cornball "squareness" that made me hate it so. Well, that and my father's affection for it. But Buck Owens was too avuncular for me to ever hate. Same with Roy Clark, whose pickin' mesmerized me. Buck's "Tiger By The Tail" was one of the first songs I remember singing, closely followed by The Beatles' "She Loves You" and Herman's Hermits' "I'm Henry The Eighth, I am" (still have that single).
Hearing Buck Owens all these years later, there's a tinge of psychedelia in that Telecaster. Buck's music sounds fun compared to a lot of his peers. It aged well, too. Who's Gonna Mow Your Grass is a real gem. There's a Rhino compilation I've been meaning to get for some time, but, damn, the list is long for a middle-aged procrastinator.
The first single I ever bought with my own money - at the tender age of 10 - was Argent's "Hold Your Head Up." The second was Arlo Guthrie's version of Steve Goodman's "City of New Orleans." The third was Crosby-Nash's "Immigration Man". All of which, I still have. I was destined for cannabinoids (sorry, Ma), even though I wouldn't have my first taste of smoke for another six years.
Missed the whole Canterbury deal.
As a Rush fan, I remember Max Webster - an impressive show, at least to a sixteen year old stoner.
Shit.
I have got to find some herb.
This ain't right.
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