Luis Aragon carved simple santos by hand

Not everyone knows
the nature of the carving
the mind sees,
the point of the knife
sharp and inquisitive
the blade
shaving away the false
leaving only the truth.

Every man is part of the holy trinity
of Land, Flesh and God.
Crops rise from sandy soil
children and goats romp
in the simple circle of the corral.

At night, while the woman slept and
the dog snored at the threshold
It was by lamplight pale yellow like
the glow from the gates of heaven
that the carving was done.
It was then that you searched for God
through the transubstantiation of
mesquite wood.
Without knowing how,
You'd see Saint John
in a piece of mesquite.
by your knife,
Saint John would be freed
from the wood
his body inverted trapezoids
of faith that was harder than flesh
his face a grainy vision of righteous anger.

In the morning,
Saint John would have gone
given to some stranger from Santa Fe,
who had stopped to ask for directions.
The Saint no longer belonging to you,
but to God.

All your days were spent this way.
Wrestling a living from the harsh,
uncompromising earth.
Watching the flocks and grandchildren grow
and in the evening
the mad passion of your hands
recreating the bible
in scrap pieces lumber.
Until that final day, when you
fell like a wood chip
to the hard earthen floor.

You are gone now.
St. John is a prisoner
standing on display
in a plexiglass case
owned by a museum that never
gives anything away.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

Luis Aragon carved simple santos by hand copyright Sept. 15, 2010 by Jamie Jacks

Isle of the Immortals

(poem inspired by a Chinese Painting)

I think this mountain
was a giant once
perhaps he was in love
with an empress or
a water spirit

Why is that we love
that which is so elusive?
It is sad to love
someone who can not
love in return.

When the giant finally realized this
all he could do was sit down
and weep.
He cried and cried.
He cried so long,
he turned to stone,

He cried so much his tears flowed
like streams and waterfalls.
The land sighed
and the sea surrounded him

Trees grew like moss
on his arms and shoulders
clouds congealed in what was once
his lap.

There in those clouds
I build my house.
But some days
the pounding of my hammer
the rasping of my saw
echo strangely.

I must be careful
not to awaken him.
I must be careful
not to revive
memories of you
beloved.


Capitano Tedeschi

30

Isle of the Immortals copyright Sept. 13 2009 by Jamie Jacks

R2 D2 returned from the wars

Numbers all is numbers
numbers never lie
The tireless droid
Skywalker's gallowglass
came to the end of the galactic wars
The Evil Empire vanquished
The Dark and Light side of the Force
locked in tight harmony
D2 ran the numbers
and randomly threw itself back into time
and landed in a parallel galaxy
by an irrigation canal in almond orchard
not far from Bakersfield California
Droid disguised as an irrigation pump
something close R2D2
calculated to turning a sword into a ploughshare.
The silly humans here
still believe you can hear explosions
in the depth of space
D2's memory banks aare filled with silence
where there should have been screams

Once R2D2 spanned the universe
destroying Emperors and Death Stars
now it's regulating the flow of water
to the orchard
and attempting to model
the falling of almond blossoms
blown by a spring breeze
and erasing databanks of
distant,violent, and dire days.
Sometimes on winter nights
when the Tule fog seeps into
circuitboards seared by war
wounded, repaired, replaced
but never fully restored
the old days come back to the droid
Laser blasts
and space as cold as Vader's breath
or stranger still Princess Leah's message to Obi Wan
is warped into a strange lullaby
that sings it to serene stasis
if not actual sleep.

Thus the days go
the rains fall
the brown water flows
and the orchard blossoms
the Almonds are harvested.
D2 knows someday
they'll come to scrap this strange pump
Atoms will be recycled
Then R2D2 will be reborn
innocent, empty
to be filled with the same new numbers
to journey across time
to save the Galaxy once again
D2 knows not urgency
it knows how to wait.

Capitano Tedeschi
30.


R2D2 returned from the wars. Copyright 8/19/2010 by Jamie Jacks

Collecting for a funeral on a Friday Afternoon

It was a boiling hot
Friday afternoon
when I ventured forth
for some toing and froing

At the Gas station,
A phalanx of Ford F-150 pickups
were fueling up
readying for a weekend of
lifestyle enhancing activities.

Such as driving to mountains
whose glaciers had not yet disappeared
or towing boats to beaches
as yet unfouled by tar and oil

At the Credit Union
The lines were not as confident,
perhaps cause they were filled with
survivors and refugees
of the latest financial disaster
There to empty
their coffee cans full of near-worthless coins
in a vain attempt to stave of
personal fiscal apocalypse
Many were wondering
if they could hang on to the next pay day.

On the way to Starbucks
while waiting at a red light
I saw an old man
hatless in the summer sun
with a hand painted coardboard sign
asking for donations
for a "Funeral Ambulance"
whatever that was
Silly old geezer thinks I,
Even the ancient Greeks knew
that trips to the after life
can't be paid for with checks or credit cards
or a little bit of spare change.

I didn't give the hatless
old geezer any change
and drove off in my pickup
thinking that standing on the corner with
a cardboard sign asking for change
was a hell of a hard way to pay for
a six pack, pint of vodka,
or to pay for transportation
for a funeral.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

collecting for a funeral on a Friday afternoon copyright July 27, 2010 by Jamie Jacks

Not really human anymore

Not really human anymore
No heartbeat only
a gravitational pulse
No blood only
a silicon solution coursing through
permeable strata
No ribs and bones, only
beams of sandstone
No skin, only
a sheath of opaque micah.

Life is lived in speed geologic.
it takes aeons to move a millimeter
A tectonic migration trudging along,
trudging alone, ignoring and
never learning from disaster or decay.

He never listens. Why?
Others stopped listening to him aeons ago.
Now he communicates through
petroglyphs scratched on igneous rock
in a fossil of a language
no one cares to decipher

Pity that, for once
these crude scratching had great powers
could cause the rain to fall from desert sky
trick the deer to pause before the hunter's obsidian arrow

Now? Now,
sandstorms have scoured and eroded sedentary stone
moss devours the glyphs etched in granite
Few notice. Fewer care

A wandering geologist sometimes will take
a sample from the crumbling monument
An amateur archeologist still attempts to decipher
the magic runes scraped on a rock face

He no longer wonders
why they bother.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

Not really human anymore copyright July 7, 2010 by Jamie Jacks

Apocalypse by key stroke

In the incestuous online world
most blissfully unaware of the danger
ignorant of the evil eyes watching
on computer terminals in
Moscow, Terehan, Pyonyang and Bejing.

Deep in their wired lairs
these Fifth Generation spiders
brew the poisons
that will paralyze or devour
anything connected to the internet.

No B-52s will be needed to drop
these bombs on their unsuspecting
targets--You, me, us.
All of us with an internet connection
an I-Phone, a copier, a nuclear submarine
have a bullseye painted on our foreheads

No bullets need fired for you to die
The malelevolence that has been bred
in the polyhedonic minds of these digital vipers
are poisons so toxic they can
make airplanes fall from the sky
nuclear missiles explode in their North Dakota silos

your execution could be caused
by a hack into the electric grid
while you lie senseless on an operating table
power failure during a heart bypass
or incineration by atom bomb
makes no difference
you are still dead.

Do not ask if????
Better to ask how or when?
Or what if anything might be done?

But you might be asking in vain
No politician will dare tell you
the nature of this peril
No corporate leader wants to pay the costs
Truthfulness is not the 21st century American way.

Imagine it for a moment--
The world ended not by a cascade of atom bombs
but with a keystroke

No one is worried because
no one really wants
to know.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

Apocalypse by key stroke. Copyright July 2, 2010 by Jamie Jacks

he still thinks he can bite

My head aches
as if I've come down with some
acute, critical and wasting illnes
Has a fever scorched or
burned out
the cells that archive both
memory and common sense?
I feel like I've lost the ability
to differentiate reality
from illusion

I think I am seeing that science
has no importance anymore.
It is as disgusting as a
sexually transmitted disease.
Facts, like wise, have no power
and are overwhelmed, drowned
by a flood of plausible and oft-repeated lies.

Examples abound.
An aging beauty queen makes millions of $$$
uttering lies and sheer nonsense.
Such is her charisma she hopes to replace
the Electoral College with a swimsuit competition.
Meanwhile a non-plumber not-named Joe
stomps down the corridors of the
Mega-temple of Conservative, Christian power
ranting like a bald-headed Jeremiah
because the promised book deal and the TV gig
haven't come through.
Finally saddest of all the aged war-hero
the self-styled Maverick gelds himself
so he can cling to the trappings of political power.

Such lies lurk like a cancer.
A signal in the bones that
some of my cells,
damned to immortality,
have formed into a venonmous spider
that feeds on silk swathed pieces
of my brain and heart.
I am paralyzed by their gnawing.
The real world , glittering in the morning sun
beyond my grasp.
I have become an endangered species
no longer relevant.
A bit player in someone else's story.
An exhibit in alien museum or zoo
hidden behind a sign that says
"Please don't feed this animal."
He's old, fat, and toothles
and he still thinks he can bite.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

He still thinks he can bite copyright May 13, 2009 by Jamie Jacks

Sacramento 10th and J Streets

In Sacramento,
Two blocks from the Capitol
Streets once paved by
the discovery of gold
not safe at night.

The streets lead
to suburbs full of
foreclosed homes.
Cars drive past
the historic buildings,
the emporiums
that sold rivets to the railroad
and hardtack and pick axes
to greenhorns headed to the gold fields
Back then Sacramento merchants
knew it was more profitable to mine
the greenhorns than to mine for gold.

Even the city's merchant princes
the Stanfords, Crockers and Huntingtos
all gone now.
In place of the giants of commerce
we now have the pygmies of politics, led by
an ex-Austrian with a steroid
enhanced ego.

Even the pols don't hang around here at night.
The alleys and doorways are filled with
haunted schizophrenics
who panhandle tourists for spare change
to buy Gallo burgundy and Starbucks cappuccinos
all the while ranting about "Godless Whores" and
the "Evil Empire of Pussy."

But this morning on my walk
I saw signs of hope,
like wildflowers blooming
in this landscape of slow decay.
Bureaucrats on bicycles
riding to their cubicles to tend
the workings of this most dysfunctional state.
Planners drawing plans for New Jerusalem
over iced coffees.
Venture capitalists sitting
in a plush hotel lobby practicing
their pitches for state grants
for the next Hewlet Packard.

It is evening rush hour now
and everyone except the homeless
head for home.
As I head for the train station,
I wonder am a leaving
an urban wasteland
or a 21st century frontier.
Standing on the corner of 10th and J Streets
in Sacramento,
I don't really know.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

Sacramento 10th and J Streets copyright April 29, 2010 by Jamie Jacks

Defenders of the Gunfighter Republic

By their works you shall know them
their Bible says
They are the Defenders of
The Gunfighter Republic
They have no doubt that
Theirs is
The TRUE America

Their heroes are cardboard cutouts
of senile B-Movie cowboys
The Duke, The Gipper,
and of course The Maverick

Their leaders are the
college drop-out pundits
of 24-Hour cable news
The pundits paid
by the Crony Capitalists of
the previous regime

Who Rumplestiltskin-like
spin hate and paraonoia
into Euros and Yen by selling the Defenders
all the guns, gold and Army rations
they can buy.

And buy the Defenders do,
for theirs is no ordinary madness.
Every week they throng in the hundreds
(made legion by Faux News)
With signs and their sacred guns
spewing vicious hate and
believing that their rantings
are a Noble and Masculine spectacle

Showing that they are prepared
for the coming Apocalypse or Armageddon
When God's Elect will be sent
direct to their Disneyland Dream
of Heaven

While the earth below is roiled
by Satan or the Anti-Christ or Barack Hussein Obama
or whoever they happen
to hate at the moment.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

Defenders of the Gunfighter Republic copyright April 23, 2010 by Jamie Jacks

Myths and their meaning

I imagine myth
as a kernel of truth
embedded in the husk of a fantastic lie
or an irrational fantasy

But myths like seeds can make things grow
consider these myths
"all are created equal,"
"work hard and get ahead,"
and "follow your bliss."

Even though the chances of success
may be razor thin
I have used such myths
in my daily life
through them I gave
performances of meaning
that in individual and small ways
gave a satisfying taste
to daily real life.

I even discovered
that some myths can extend
beyond me, beyond the time
when and where I reach my
personal Day of the Dead.

Sometimes myths can become
lies embedded in the husks of lies
then what is fantastic becomes evil
and that which once revealed inner truths
now is a spur to self-deception.

The fires of my personal hells
were fueled by lying to myself
living a lie
made me prey to a stupidity
that spread itself through the
molecular proteins of my being.
Selfishness, stupidity and self-deception
became the structure around which
I built my life.

I ceased to care for others
ceased asking when? or how? or why?
I no longer had time
for such simple one-word questions

I was one of millions
floating above the ground
like a wind-driven plastic bag
all my actions and interactions
driven by delusion
everything I did or do
takes a life
or turns an oasis into a desert

All the while I continued to make
meaningless sacrifices
to gods now senile
their gold flaked icons
stripped of mystical value
myths had lost their meaning

I caught glimpses of decay
in the corner of my eyes
phantom dogs
feeding on the corpses of
the abandoned and unloved
my fellow beings two-legged simulacra
running bent over like deranged apes
trying to scavenge some type of sustenance
from a moonscape of poverty,
degradation and despair.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

Myths and their meaning, copyright April 21, 2010 by Jamie Jacks

Wolf in Shepherd's Clothing, While the Carrollers sang Oh Holy Night

Wolf in Shepherd's Clothing

You can strangle
perception by assuming
the manners of
or looking like your enemy

In the world of wealth
without wisdom
it is easy to decieve
and fleece the sheep
who have all the money
Because no one questions
a wolf in Shepherd's clothing

Money the bible says
is the root of all.
If a demon has enough money
he can exploit poverty
to indulge in every vice
every excess of deviance.
Money is the lever that
allows you to create
Create a cult of diabolic power
to turn good people into the servants
of darkness
Money buys freedom to
indulge desires that lurk
always in the dark.

Protected all the while by the
impenetrable shield
of patriarchal authority,
by day you play the saint
by night you pursue all
all manner of erotic violence

Preying on youth
destroying all innocence
There's no limit to what you can do
when you are shielded by the hand
that wear's St. Peter's ring.

While the Carrollers sang Oh Holy Night

Coldest Christmas ever in Des Moines
the parishioners said.
It was cold that Friday night
But the yellow church bus
was happy and warm as it rumbled through
the cold, dark winter's eve.

The carrollers sang "Oh Holy Night"
He sang loudest of all
the lusty angel of the Lord.
No one saw how his right hand
stroked Tommy's upper thigh

Whenever the carrollers paused
to catch their breath
he would whisper in the boy's ear
"Tommy are you safe?"
"Tommy are you warm?"
"Yes, Father," Tommy would whisper.

Ten months ago the whole congregation
marvelled when he 'adopted' the 11-year-old
runaway boy.
Now no one wondered
no one noticed at all.

The Carrollers sang
Oh Come All Ye Faithful
his fingers gently pinched Tommy's thigh
"Tommy, God loves you," he whispered.
"Do you know God loves you Tommy?"

"Yes, Father," Tommy whispered.
Knowing what was coming.
Trying not to cry.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

Wolf in Shepherd's Clothing & While the Carrollers sang Oh Holy Night Copyright April 14, 2010 by Jamie Jacks

virtuous shadow warrior

The guardians of Americanity
now float above in the sky
unseen, unheard
hovering at 20,000 feet
on their singing wings
like omnipotent, autistic children
idiot savants
whose talents are hellfire missles
who hasten death
through aggressive harm reduction

Below on the barren ground
of Waziristan and the Swat Valley
in the back alleys of
Karachi and Kandahar
vendetta is visceral
the knife knows not subtleties
amongst the people whose lives
are on the edges of the bomb craters
and the kill-zone
every death is a war crime
every grave a martyr's shrine

After 9 years of conflict
the global clash of cultures
we find that this is best death
our money can buy
But we never see the deaths
or the damage, except as
viral videos on YouTube
Share them with your followers or friends.

Do we still believe
that we are the virtuous shadow warriors?
Does death dealt by men and women
in silhouette in some air-conditioned trailer
enforcing the policy of Peace Americana
help stop end an endless war?
Or do we do it 'cause it's easy,
'cause we can, 'cause it's exciting to dwell
in the virtual space
where war is a video game?
ZAP!

Capitano Tedeschi

30

virtuous shadow warrior copyright April 8, 2010 by Jamie Jacks

the malignant syndrome once called "our love,"

I no longer count
the wasted years I spent
with you,
Pragmatic female demon,
in what was once described
as a "transitional"
"heterosexual relationship."

Now despairing and disruptive
I have drunk of you to the bitter dregs
my mouth no longer desires
the MacDonaldized taste of your kisses.

My ears no longer wish to hear
the torrential nonsense that
errupts from your mouth
I don't believe that
global vaginahood
will save the spotted owl
or that the all wars will end
when people embrace each other with love

I don't believe that and I don't really care
I am so battle fatigued from being with you
that I should be in hospice on morphine
I spent years fighting that silent epidemic
of poor oral sex and all other manner
of pathologizing practices.

For the record I admit
for a time I enjoyed
huffing the fear and exhilaration
from our years of risky play.
Now what can I say
the malignant syndrome once called
"our love,"
must be aborted.
There I've said it in un-plain English
Do you want really want me
to repeat it again?

Capitano Tedeschi

30

the malignant syndrome once called "our love," copyright March 18, 2009, by Jamie Jacks

Oh how we yearn to return to that paradise now

For you there may be
no happy ending
For we seeded
your future
with all manner of woe

You will reap the harvest
of all our many follies
Reaganism, the Prosperity Gospel
and the greatest of all frauds,
the so-called American Dream

Meanwhile we sleep undisturbed
by our disasters
believing ourselves to be
more than just works in progress
entering our 60th years
stronger, healthier and more
psychologically deluded
than all our illustrious forbearers

Pride bringeth folly
Oh yes it do!
Delusion bringeth death
not just for us but for you
When we yielded to the deviant temptation of power
power is more erotic and as one ages
as good and maybe even better
than kinky sex
I'll get back to you on that.

We were not blind
Make no mistake we were
tatooed on body and on soul
with mission statements and corporate visions
The world was...our mirror
everywhere we looked we saw ourselves

We had no time for the petty, eccentric
ethics or habits of the dying Victorian Age
not for us was thrift, or prudence or patience
we were all just artists
we were all just doin' our thing.
soon our run will be over
right now there's not a whole lot of ooomph left

I'll tell you plainly this place
wasn't paradise when we entered this world
But as we get older we look
at the world of our childhood
in black and white photos
Oh how we yearn to return to that paradise now

Sorry the way things worked out
Very bad for you, not so hot for us either

Capitano Tedeschi

30

Oh how we yearn to return to that paradise now copyright March 11, 2010 by Jamie Jacks

The Big House Dwelling People

Who really understands
the logic of these brain-diseased
who sociologist describe
as "The Big House Dwelling People?"

Their behavior came from axons
deep in their bones.
For decades bred they had been
selection determined by the regression
from logic to instinct
and a genetic inability
to delay gratification
or count the cost.

Oh, they worshipped their God
with rational ritual
and prayers for permance
of their personal objects:
money, cars, waning sexuality, and
other healthful consumer choices.

Their prayers sadly
never prevented
never preserved.

The things they called
"Ethical Failures,"
Lying, Cheating or Genocide.
Never mattered because
they believed they had a ticket to ride
they believed the ride would never end

The ride ended
they suffered grief
beyond normal grief
but after all their suffering
thought was never given
to the injuries they had caused
nor to anyone else's well-being

Do they deserve our sympathy
as victims
or our contempt when they
are tried as defendants?

No one should ever judge
who has not walked a mile
in their smelly Gucci shoes?

But this brief chronicle of their folly
shows that there is really no limit
to human self-deception.

That much is certain
That much I can confidently say.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

Big House Dwelling People copyright Feb. 24, 2010 by Jamie Jacks

Please don't make me a Socialist.

source: http://www.socialismisnojoke.com/.

I came out into the parking lot at work and found a sticker like the one above with the phrase socialism is no joke, affixed to the tailgate of my beat up 1994 Toyata pickup. I was vexed by this not too serious act of vandalism. I have the remants of an Obama Biden bumpersticker on the bumper of my truck, a sticker showing I am a member of CSEA (California State Employees Association) and a sticker showing I am a Unitarian Universalist and a former member of the Kern Wheelmen.

Obviously, by putting those sticker on my truck, I am as Shakespeare would say, "Wearing my heart on my sleeve for the daws to peck at. There was a time when I didn't put bumperstickers on my truck, because I didn't really want people to know what I was thinking. But the last years of the Bush Administration made me change my mind. Suddenly it was important to let people know, I was a proud union member, a proud Unitarian/Universalist and yes a proud Obama Democrat.

But such actions have consequences. Since I work on a University campus, the sticker was stuck on my truck as a joke. Well the sticker is removed. I've filed a complaint with the campus police, and have stated that I will file charges if this particular prankster is ever caught.

I'm not a socialist. I own stock, have house and a 401k. Success of capitalism, especially American capitalism is important. Being middle class does not mean that ignorant of the problems facing people not only in Bakersfield or America but around the globe. I imagine myself as I am someone who is working in a small way for social justice. Yes I am an Obama supporter.

When I see a sticker placed on my truck (my property) I understand it's probably a one-time deal a prank. Sadly the current hatred of right-wing reactionaries who are posing as hard-core conservatives, towards anybody who objects to their corrupt political and fanatical religious and social views demands that they call anyone who disagrees with them as an enemy to "their America." That forces them to falsely villify Pres. Obama by comparing him to the Joker, and to insult me by putting their foul sticker on my truck.

I am not their enemy. Like them, I care about America and am working as a citizen to try to make it a better place.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

Bernard Kerik fallen hero

"I met Bernie in 1990 at a meeting to organize the annual Buczek Foundation...I was immediately impressed with his organizational skills and was delighted when two years later he joined my campaign...As an outsider and a risk-taker, Bernie wouldn't accept 'that's not the way we do things' as a reason new strategies couldn't tried."
Source: Giuliani, Rudolph W. (2002) Leadership. NY : Hyperion, c2002. p. 83.

On Feb. 18, 2010, Bernard B. Kerik was sentenced to 33 months in prison according to the New York Times after pleading guilty "to eight felony charges, including tax fraud and lying to White House officials."

When I first read this news item, I wanted to use it to demonstrate the unfitness of Rudi Giuliani to ever be elected Senator of New York or President of the United States. I realized that Bernard Kerik's fall, had a lot do with how anyone can be corrupted by power. That is something I have to keep reminding myself these days. Anyone can be corrupted whether it's a union activist like myself or someone like Bernard Kerik, who came within an ace of being chosen as the first head of the Dept. of Homeland Security. Kerik will begin his sentence on May 17th. It will not be easy to be a prisoner of after being a prison warden and head of the New York Dept. of Corrections. His conviction destroys his many years of public service.

There are two aspects of his fall that merit mention. First during this trial many people came forward and offered testimony lauding both his character and his many years of distinguished public service. But there was no testimony or praise from his former patron Rudolf Giuliani.

In his book Leadership, Rudolph Giuliani devotes a whole chapter to loyalty, calling it "The Vital Virtue." According Giuliani, "A leader who distances himself at the first sign of trouble migh save a few popularity points but it's shortsighted. Eventually no on wants to work for someone like that. The best people don't apply, know that should trouble arrive, they'll be left twisting in the wind." (p. 235).

Perhaps the severity of Bernie Kerik's crimes made support by Mr. Giuliani impossible. It might also be the Mr. Giuliani left Mr. Kerik twist in the wind."

The second interesting thing about the conviction of Mr. Kerik, was that he was convicted for "lying to White House officials." The White House officials in questions were serving the George Bush and Dick Cheney. I think it's funny you can go to jail for lying to White House officials but these very same White House officials, like Dick Cheney's counsel Scooter Libby, don't go to jail for lying to us.

On Feb. 8, 2010, the the New York Times published the prosecutor's memorandum to judge pertaining to Kerik's sentencing, “The defendant’s egotism and hubris were the tragic flaws that led him to commit the considerable number of crimes to which he ultimately pleaded guilty,” the memo said. Mr. Kerik “became a wealthy man by shamelessly exploiting the most horrific civilian tragedy in this nation’s history.”

Kerik is not the only man to try to "shamelessly exploiting the most horrific civilian tragedy in this nation’s history.” Rudy Giuliani ran for President in 2008 , most ly by promoting himself as Mr. 9/11. Former Vice President Dick Cheney, who recently admitted to authorizing torture is a welcome guest on the Sunday morning talk shows. His success has been so good he has been able to boost the career of his daughter Liz, whos e only creditials as a conservative leader seem to be she shares genetic information with the vice president. John Yoo, who wrote the legal memos authorizing the C.I.A. to torture prisoners of war, gives speeches on CSPAN, and former Cheney speechwriter Marc Thiessen, now has a weekly column at the Washington Post. Theissen recently went on a Catholic cable channel to justify Bush administration torture policies. Sarah Palin , the half-term former Governor of Alaska, wraps herself in the American flag and brags about how she would deal with terrorists in Iraq and Iran.

As shown above, Bernie Kerik is not the only person trying to exploit 9/11 and will to go to any lengths to do it, but so far he's the only man being sent to jail for committing crimes to satisfy his greed money and power.

Capitano Tedeschi


30

Quotations taken from: Giuliani, Rudolph W. (2002) Leadership. NY : Hyperion, c2002.

photo credit: Bernard Kerik when he was NY Police Commission retrieved Feb. 19, 2010 from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:At_the_Landfill.jpg

Bernard Kerik fallen hero copyright Feb. 19, 2010 by Jamie Jacks

The cult of the cardboard Ronald Reagan

To me right now feels like a winter
that has nopromise of the rebirth of spring
Now is the twilight of Empire,
It's as if we live at the intersection
of two acidifying and dying seas.

But unworried are some
sedentary, aging Americans
who hate gays, love guns, and believe
that everything in the bible
is the word of God and everything
in the bible is true.
That God will take care of his elect
and God's elect don't include
me or you.

Their thinking has been stunted
since elementary schoold
they are blind to how
their preferences and their perversity
are now shaping their consequences
the way a broken lathe
mars the once perfect steel.

Their every day lives
are lived apart
they are guided by the senile
cult of a cardboard Ronald Reagan
and the pernicious optimism
of the bizzarre propserity Gospel,
which says God is like a slot machine
prayers are like nickels and if
you believe and pray
the machine will finally pay off.

They love AMERICA,
That romanticized
Ozzie and Harriet world
where gas was 47 cent a gallon
Negroes and Mexicans were amusing and
kept their place.
But since this world doesn't exist
they try to recreate it wherever they wander
Sucking oil from hostile ground and
complaining that Swedish Wal-Marts have
high prices and marvelling that it
costs the equivalent of $17.40
to get a Whopper and Fries at
the only Burger King in Oslo Norway.

To perserve their illusions
they don't mind attaching some A-Rab's
testicles to a car battery.
That to them is justice, not torture.
That sex education is abstinence only because
sex is for procreation and only
sanctioned in man-woman marriage.

Don't waste their time
arguing different biological perspectives
or mention Anthropogenic global warming
whatever that is.
There is no environmental contamination
or embryonic abnormalities
leading to higher rates of infant mortality
amongst the so-called poor.
"Lazy is as Lazy does," they'd say.

It would be easy to dismiss them
save for the fact that when criminals get
political power disaster is there way.
In WWI the Germans used mustard gas
against the British, Americans, Beligians and French,
But sent Lenin to Russia to spread the virus of
Bolshevism.
The cult of the cardboard Ronald Reagan
The pervision of the Prosperity Gospel.
That is the new virus,
they are the new Bolsheviks.
Their way is human suicide.
That is what must be treated now.

Capitano Tedeschi

30 The cult of the cardboard Ronald Reagan copyright Feb. 19, 2010 by Jamie Jacks

War stories of my father

One of my Facebook friends, Gary Funk, has a blog My War in Europe, that documents the testimony of his 88-year-old father, who was an Army infantryman in WWII and later served as part of the occupation forces.

I thought this was an excellent idea. My father was a Marine who served in China during the last days of WWII. I have some pictures, perhas some of his letters and memories of stories he told of that time. Though my father was a Marine, he was not one who wore his Marine Corps training proudly, the way most Marines do. But perhaps now is a good time to investigate his time in China, post his snap shots and do some research on Marine activities in China in the last days of the Second World War.

So what do I remember. Colorful medals, and a silver ring with the First Marine Division badge on it, which my dad gave my when I was five or six, 1959 or 1960. These treasures, I subsequently lost. Stories that he told of his service in China, some snapshots including one of an a Navajo code talker.

More to follow.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

Democrats, Republicans, Boobus Americanus and the National Debt.

An article in the New York Times about the Federal Deficit was sad and difficult reading. The article, Party Gridlock in Washington Feeds Fear of a Debt Crisis, is yet another sad and sorry tale about the grim financial situation the country has allowed it self to fall into. According to the Times,

"After decades of warnings that budgetary profligacy, escalating health care costs and an aging population would lead to a day of fiscal reckoning, economists and the nation’s foreign creditors say that moment is approaching faster than expected, hastened by a deep recession that cost trillions of dollars in lost tax revenues and higher spending for safety-net programs."

We are rapidly reaching a fiscal tipping point. Entitlement programs and interest on the Federal Debt will soon make it impossible for the government to fund any type of program. This problem is further exacerbated by political gridlock in Washington. The Republicans feel they can return to power as long as they refuse to raise taxes. The Democrats are losing power because they refuse to take the radical social measures necessary to change, such as cutting entitlement benefits. Then there is "Boobus Americanus", the average dull-witted American, who wants wars, empire, Medicare, Social Security and a myriad of other governement services, yet refuses to pay for these services.

We are As the Roman historian Livy said “finally began the downward plunge which has brought us to the present time, when we can endure neither our vices or their cure” ). So Federal Government is rapidly approaching a point where it can neither endure the consequences of the rapidly increasing federal debt or effect some cure for it.

The solution requires compromise and the willingness to sacrifice the good of a particular faction for the good of the country. Will the Republicans or the Democrats or Boobus Americanus be willing to come together to make such sacrifices in the form of HIGHER TAXES AND LOWER GOVERNMENT BENEFITS?. I don't know.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

Making a desert and calling it the American Dream

There is no going back
to the good-old-used-to-be.
The Ozzie & Harriet world
of my mythological youth

Beaver Cleaver on crack!
The idea stinks worse than
a roadkilled skunk!

I don't yearn for the misremembered days
I can't feel your pain.
The past you dream of is dead
That's a clear as if
it were written on a six-story billboard.

There is no virtue
in worshipping dead gods
whether they were carved on Easter Island,
dreamed up by Madison Ave., or enshrined on Mount Rushmore.

Do you actually believe that
we can continue are hydrocarbon-based
credit card-driven consumer culture
'til the end of time?
Towing the Beemer behind the RV
to visit the grandkids in Spokane,
is that what the American dream
is all about?

Some may think so
but the Brazilians, Chinese and Indians think not.
The sad truth waits
with the menacing barbians
who are part of the human traffic
crossing the Arizona border.

If the mythical past,
shallow as a text message
as malignant as a sex offender,
is dead, what then?

It's time to break the chain
of ordinary madness that dooms us
to an unsustainable future
It's time to stop making a desert
and calling it the American Dream

Can we do it? I don't know.
If we do, then we can
become straight "A" students
in the eyes of our ancestors.
We can create a new America.
A country that would make Washington, Lincoln,
Roosevelt, and Martin Luther King proud!

Capitano Tedeschi

Making a desert and calling it the American Dream, copyright Feb. 11, 2009 by Jamie Jacks

30

I am a taxpayer am I not?

I am sitting safe and warm
in a Bakersfield Starbucks
12,000 miles from
Terrorist or Taliban

I am not troubled by
news of distant wars.
The rumblings of our empire
are not shown on the television I watch
or computer screen I read

I am a taxpayer am I not?
I support the troops.
We must do what it takes
to keep the Homeland secure.

So in 8 years,
I still don't know what
type of crater a Hellfire missile makes
after being fired from a Predator drone
I am told a six inch piece of shrapnel
can shear off a babies's leg
sharp as razors shrapnel pieces are.

I have not been told of
that terrible moment
when brave men realize
that the ammo has run out
and the choppers won't get there
in time.

Oh, I might in an odd moment
see a video of a funeral procession
in the online version of the local paper
Or a picture of an acquaintance
crying and holding the folded flag that
draped the coffin of his dead Marine son.
Or I might see a college student
with one metal leg, the other
lost to an Iraqi IED
I am told a six inch piece of shrapnel
can shear off a man's leg
sharp as razors shrapnel pieces are.

Seldom am I bothered
enough to ask why?
Or ask how?
Or ask what can we do to
fight these wars better?
Or what will it take to end them?
No leader has even bothered to ask me,
and I sure as hell haven't asked
What I can do to help?

I am sitting safe and warm
in Bakersfield Starbucks
12,000 miles from
Terrorist or Taliban

I am a taxpayer am I not?
I support the troops.
We must do what it takes
to keep the Homeland secure.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

I am a taxpayer am I not? copyright Feb 6, 2009 by Jamie Jacks

Alabama Senator Jeopardizes National Security in Order to Get Some Pork

Theoretically, the Democratic Party, has sizeable majorities in both houses of Congress, and controls the White House. But sadly it is not the major party.

The dictionary defines "major party." A political party with enough electoral strength to gain control of the government or to effectively oppose the party in power." In the United States the Republican Party, a political minority controls the government.

A perfect example of this appeared today in the New York Times today. In The Caucus, the politics and government blog, there was a column "White House Blasts Shelby Hold on Nominees."

Apparently Sen. Shelby has placed "a blanket hold on dozens of President Obama's nominees. Senators can and do place holds on nominees, but according to the Times article Sen. Shelby's blanket hold "is considered rare."

This hold really has to do with political pork. "Senator Shelby placed the holds over concerns he’s raised about a proposed contract involving a tanker (Northrop Grumman has interests in Alabama); and over financing he’s sought for building a counterterrorism center in Alabama." the Times reported.

Marc Ambinder blogging in in Politics for The Atlantic writes, "if you're trying to really hammer the point home that the reason why it seems that your party can't govern or get results is due to factors beyond your control... you'd turn Richard Shelby's unprecedented blanket hold on 70 nominees for reasons no more pure than the preservations of two favorite programs into not only a talking point... but also a way of justifying recess appointments for these nominees."

Talking Points Memo editor Josh Marshall, describes Shelby's stunt,
"In this case, we're not dealing with a stand on partisanship or ideology or simple political shiv play which I guess can each be respected in their own place. This is more like just a stick up. Gimme my money and I'll give you your Senate back! Worse than a squeegee man and not much better than a bank robber, Shelby is shutting down the president's ability to appoint anyone to anything until he gets his way."

Sen. Shelby's stunt is just one of many examples of the dengeneration of American political culture due to corruption, false political ideology and rabid partisanship. According to Michael Winship in his column ''My State Legislature's Crazier than Yours. Oh Yeah?'', which was re-posted on Bill Moyer's PBS web site. "It’s all a nasty game that puts cronyism, partisan bickering, and corrupt, despicable self-interest above the needs of increasingly desperate citizens."

It's important to note, that such behavior has been exhibited by Democrats as well as Republicans. But Sen. Shelby's recent attempt to hold up Pres. Obama's appointments for posts in the Departments of Defense, State and Homeland Security so he can get make sure that Alabama gets a couple of Federal projects, is not only outrageous it jeopardizes the national security of the United States.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

Source: Official Photo of Sen. Shelby, http://shelby.senate.gov/public/index.cfm?FuseAction=PressRoom.OfficialPhoto

Copyright Feb. 5, 2009 by Jamie Jacks

San Joaquin Valley Sunset

So often food, love, life
Whatever
By me devoured but not savored
Like going to all-you-can-eat buffet
The nothing is tasted, just consumed
And always left with a desire for
More

But today for one happy moment
Different
At the stop light
I saw the sunset
Of a warm Bakersfield winter day
The sun swallowed by
The mountains the Spanish called Temblors
Gray horse-hair clouds
Filtered just one band of golden light
and trapped it between
the gray clouds and now gray mountains

Red turned to green
The car ahead of me shuddered to life
My foot madly crushed the gas pedal
In my head there was a metallic roaring
Was it me or just the sound
Of my truck's engine?

Capitano Tedeschi

30

San Joaquin Valley Sunset copyright Jan. 17 2010 by Jamie Jacks

Way too much Facebook, and other ways of wasting too much time.

Greetings Earthlings,

It has been awhile since I condescended to type anything for this venue. My apologies. Been spending way too much time on Facebook, virtually farming, running a virtual Mafia clan, being a virtual pirate or sending virtual cutsey hearts to all the 6,337 people who have made the mistake of allowing me to be their "friend" on Facebook.

To it's credit, Facebook allows me to post brief snippets of interesting things I find out on the internet, in much the same way Andrew Sullivan does in his blog. Sullivan is very good running brief focused comments on the news, videos and other information. He also knows how and when to write columns on news stories that evoke his interest.

When I want to write on this blog, I usually want to write long, complicated pieces on topics of interest. That's hard to for me to do. Hard for now, I hope not hard for the rest of the year. One of the purposes of this blog is to get me into the habit of writing everyday.

Having said that, I want to wish the three people who sometimes read this stuff, Happy New Years.

Capitano Tedeschi

30