Dennis Perrin's Blog, page 8

The Long Run

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The Matrix is a system, Neo. That system is our enemy. But when you're inside, you look around, what do you see? Businessmen, teachers, lawyers, carpenters. The very minds of the people we are trying to save.

But until we do, these people are still a part of that system, and that makes them our enemy. You have to understand, most of these people are not ready to be unplugged. And many of them are so inured, so hopelessly dependent on the system, that they will fight to protect it.

Like Arthur Jensen's the-world-is-a-corporation speech in Network, Morpheus' observation was prophetic. Increasing numbers of people question the system that owns us. Some are tentative, curious. Others want direct confrontation. Most desire relief from uncertainty. It's still early and in flux. But it's happening.

Reaction has been predictable. Right wing megaphones drone about socialist threats. Commentators condescend, even when trying to "get" what the kids are doing.

On Bill Maher's Real Time, P.J. O'Rourke, who's played a conservative curmudgeon since his late-20s, finally acted his age, denouncing Wall Street protesters as unwashed bongo drummers who need haircuts. Former SNL cast member Victoria Jackson peppered protesters with inane questions -- a wince-inducing Michael Moore impression.

Overall, the consensus is: How much longer does this go on? When will these people go away?

I wonder about that, too. And I support the Occupiers. It helps that the protests attract military personnel, union workers, average people fed up with the status quo. This can only widen and deepen resistance. But where does it lead? What's the next stage?

Naturally, the Democrats try to usher protesters into their tent, co-optation their prized tactic. So far this has failed. Obama represents the owners, forcing his apologists to strain reality on the run. As the election nears, a good number of those bashing Wall Street will vote for its favored candidate.

Someone like Rick Perry will make this easier to swallow. But if Mitt Romney gets the nod, attempts to separate Obama from his GOP reflection may prove comic indeed (especially after the news that Romney's advisers helped Obama craft his health care "reform"). The key is that current momentum isn't lost amid partisan noise.

As many of my political friends have noted, it's stirring to see anti-corporate arguments becoming mainstream. For those who spent decades shouting from the margins, this upturn in consciousness made it all worthwhile.

And this is just in the States. Global awareness and action grows by the hour. Elites are nervous, but remain secure. There are countless millions who accept the system as it is, or feel too powerless to confront it. The latter have examples to inspire and follow. The former spin excuses for those indifferent to their lives. These people may be the hardest to reach.

Friend Jon Schwarz found tragic comedy in this. The 53 Percenters claim comfort in the Matrix. Inevitable. Thinking beyond immediate conditions takes effort when you're boxed in. Acting on desire instead of obedience requires leaps most people fear to make. Changing the world isn't easy. Or safe. Or necessarily probable. But the current system guarantees alienation and downward mobility.

The 53 Percenters acknowledge this, yet celebrate it as a virtue. To unplug is to realize that the spectacle is a lie. Welcome to the real world.

Little Time Bombs

The ocean offers some answers. Cool water. Swirling sand. Big splashes against rocks. Salty mist. Growing up in Indiana made oceans exotic. I still feel childlike when walking a beach. Venice is a touch chaotic, its boardwalk vaudeville for tourists. But a glance at tall palms soothes me. Head clear. Mind at rest.

Sure as fuck beats that Ann Arbor hotel room. My three week bender about did me in. Hanging on to a life that no longer exists.

My son released me. Penned a letter telling me to go. His basic raising is done. He wants to move to the next stage. This includes his dad getting back into the world. So here I am, getting back into it.

Don't know if I'll ever move to LA, but I could do well here. There are plenty of spaces for me to read in and perform. Gave another reading at Ron Lynch's Tomorrow! Saturday night. Not as vibrant as the last time. Reading a parody of 9/11 manias pretty much silenced the audience. A few chuckles, but mostly stares. Friends told me that the crowd was rapt. Maybe so. I couldn't see past the front row. Read into the harsh stage lights. Dove directly into the seats.

Everyone that night worked the audience. What Barry Crimmins calls re-inflating a leaking beach ball. What's different than most rooms was Ron's reaction. He kept it smart. Didn't surrender to cheap bits. Brought the audience to him. It helped to have Chris Walsh and The Doorknockers on hand. There's no fourth, fifth or sixth wall when these guys perform. Whenever I'm around this kind of energy, I believe in comedy again.

After the show, Chris, Doorknocker Davey Johnson and I had a nice chat about the humor biz. Both are thoughtful, precise. Chris is especially analytical. Onstage he slices metal. Offstage, he's soft spoken. He and brother David are regulars at Upright Citizens Brigade, among other outlets. They are well-regarded in the LA scene. Not an ounce of cynicism or jadedness. Their performances are infectious, odd, funny. Where they'll end up is anyone's guess. But they'll emerge at some point. Sooner than later.

Not that LA is completely inspiring. The entertainment machine is everywhere. You hear its hum when talking to its employees. My friend Eric knows that sound well. A former comic book writer turned screen scribe and script doctor, Eric has stories. Entertaining, horrifying stories. Nothing that would surprise you. Still, it's amazing what people in the business are capable of. What they'll do without blinking.

Over lunch, I said to Eric that at least Hollywood doesn't bomb and occupy other countries. "Not yet," he replied.

Eric reminds me of my old friend Mark. When in LA in my twenties, Mark showed me Hollywood's fringe. Old theaters. Deserted movie lots. Locations where legends worked. Mark's deep knowledge of film history gave these places life.

Eric's similar. After lunch, he pointed in directions where Laurel and Hardy and Buster Keaton filmed. Knew exact locations for each project. Of course then Hollywood was more of a cow town. Laurel and Hardy filmed amid suburbanites driving or walking past their cameras. You can still see those ghosts in shorts like Hog Wild. Going about their business. Walking past giants they didn't see.

Think I'll go walk in their wake. If I spot two guys in baggy pants and derby hats falling off a roof, I'll know to keep walking. Mustn't ruin a take. We all have our places.

Wall Street Story: A Brief History

Early traders dealt in limited commodities, so any emerging market was seized upon. A bull market in ocean floor bacteria led to this trading frenzy, establishing the term "liquid asset."


But the smart players sought fresh opportunities. Young J.P. Morgan discovered dry land, envisioning factories and regal summer homes, ushering in The Gill Dead Age.


As increasing areas of dry land became industrialized, a new breed of traders and investors evolved. The American Dream had arrived.


Yet mega-profits led to complacency, blinding investors to possible dangers on the horizon.

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After the crash, the economy stagnated for centuries, luring traders into money pits where many lost more than their shirts.


Eventually, the economy stabilized, releasing the innovative energy of American business leaders.


Some protested what they viewed as corporate "theft," but posed no threat to the status quo.


Mergers and consolidations streamlined the workforce, imposing fiscal discipline that attracted new investors.


Today, traders engage new challenges, making us the envy of the modern world.

Caught In A Riptide

Looks like young Alvy Singer was right.

Three scientists, Saul Perlmutter, Brian Schmidt, and Adam Riess, won the Nobel Prize in physics for confirming young Alvy's fear: the universe is expanding at an accelerated rate. According to their research, everything that is known will be covered in ice. As Charles Blue of the American Institute of Physics put it, the universe will become "a very, very large, but very cold and lonely place."

I thought that was already the case. The upside is that reruns of The Big Bang Theory will not contaminate alien cultures. Stay positive kids!

If the universe eventually does explode like Monty Python's Mr. Creosote, we should find comfort in the here and now. Well, maybe shelter. Some kind of covering. Ideally with a hard surface. Because those who own this planet are ripe for counterattack.

As increasing numbers of people wake up to and resist political and economic tyranny, our owners will get increasingly antsy. And nervous people with power tend to be very dangerous. They'll try to contain and rollback resistance with minimum force -- for budgetary reasons, mainly. But when they feel their privilege being threatened, watch out. They will not go down without a fight. We have the numbers. They have the weapons.

This is not meant as discouragement. I like the upbeat tone from the growing Occupy movement. It's essential. Just remember that however festive you feel, boots are set to crush your flowers. There will be defeats. Set backs. Elites didn't create militarized police to write tickets. Class war from above is still being waged. Slowing it while exposing it to others is the present task.

Or so says this old man. Movements can have effects. The Central American solidarity movement had many successes, despite the slaughter in that region. It certainly helped prevent a US invasion of Nicaragua. It helped make the Iran/contra scandal happen. Reagan's presidency took a hit, though the state regained its balance. Now we're going after the entire economic system. A much bigger job. But a necessary one.

Like the universe, human energy expands. We know which direction bankers want it to go. Let's keep them from reaching the breaking point.

AND: I'm planning to check out Occupy DC's action this Thursday. More later.

Edge Of No Escape

A well-read citizen is an informed citizen. I used to believe that. Being self-educated, I read everything I could. This really began in the Army. My base library was amazingly well-stocked. Diverse. I first read Paul Krassner there. A local punk clothing shop carried the Village Voice. That's when I discovered Alexander Cockburn and James Wolcott.

I even read The Militant, the SWP's main organ. Their headlines -- US HANDS OFF NICARAGUA! -- seemed ballsy to someone raised in a conservative environment. I balanced this by reading the Indianapolis Star, at that time one of the most reactionary papers in the country. I created a character, David Standifer, who wrote letters attacking the Star from the extreme right. Not only were these published, they often were the featured letter.

When I worked for FAIR, my reading accelerated. Four major papers daily. All the news magazines weekly. Liberal opinion mags. Most of the right wing, including Human Events and Policy Review.

Plus, I practically camped out at the New York Pubic Library's periodical wing on 40th Street. Read The New Freeman from the 30's. Partisan Review from the 40's. National Review from the 50's. The Nation from the 60's. Commentary from the 70's. Ramparts. New Republic. Mencken's American Mercury. I soaked it all in.

Now I wonder why. Most political commentary is insulting. The level of writing an embarrassment. The Web is responsible for much of this. Instant access to any audience has made people lazy, careless, sloppy. Semi-formed thoughts clog the tubes. Ignorance is a sign of authenticity. And this from those who make or try to make a living as pundits/experts. Comment threads are a sorrier story.

I've ranted about this before. Yet I still read them. I know that a vast number of Americans are uninformed, but their comments continually surprise me. I suppose we all need an area where surprise still occurs. Especially as we age. For me, at least for now, online comment threads serve that purpose.

Examples abound. Anything to do with war, race, or sex guarantees mad opinions. Immigration issues bring out the fascists. Politics are largely partisan. Boring tit-for-tats. People argue as if there are two distinct political realities. And only two. Larger pictures tend to confuse or anger them. But you'd think that unemployment and poverty would generate a sense of common concern.

HA!

The news story is sad enough. But look at the comments. The lunacy is generally reactionary-based. Defenses of Obama and Bill Clinton appear. Mostly wishful thinking and nostalgic gloss. But it's the self-professed patriots who bellow loudest.

This should please our owners. They wage class war on us, and people attack each other. Blame the powerless for their problems. Depoliticizing the populace has paid off -- for the One Percent. All those years busting unions, shifting labor to overseas sweat shops, and underfunding pubic education worked. Corporate ownership of the media makes it all seem perfectly natural. Only a nut would attack our envied way of life.

This is why Occupy Wall Street is important. People are pushing back. Madison wasn't an anomaly: it was the opening bell. How far this goes is unknown. Our rulers are banking on continued ignorance and disinterest to stem this active tide. That may well happen. But it won't work for long. More and more people are going under. Survival is a basic instinct. The question is, how much fight do we have in us?

ALSO: Friends Liza Featherstone and Doug Henwood ponder Occupation as well.

Time Never Tells

Wall Street remains occupied. By capital. The dissident children were easily, roughly swept aside. Their hearts are in a good place. Their bodies a minor nuisance. They'll stream back to prove their resolve. And they'll get pepper sprayed and beaten down again. And again. However many times it takes. Capital is patient. But it does have limits.

I admire these kids. They're off their asses. Agitating. Arguing. Providing a living example. There's passion and feeling in their dissent. They're willing to be punished. It's easy to mock them, but how many of you would take their place? Primarily when the cops attack?

Corporate media dismisses them. The New York Times is especially snide and condescending. The Times and others of their class despise democracy. Demonstrations count only in official enemy states. At home, it's unnecessary. Petulant. Naive.

How serious can these kids really be? They use laptops and iPhones to communicate and spread their message. If they were truly radical, they'd use cardboard megaphones. Hand signs. Smoke signals. Using The Man's technology is hypocritical.

Our owners fear any rustling from below. They'll throw whatever they have at those unsatisfied with our paradise. There are signs that the Wall Street protests will expand nationally. If so, get ready for serious shit slinging.

Yet I have doubts. The class war from above demoralizes as much as it incites. Countless people have surrendered. Faded from view. To demonstrate or occupy corporate turf doesn't seem like a wise option. You'll get beaten and arrested. For what? Making mortgage payments is tough enough.

This part of Michigan was once militant. From organized labor to student agitation. Now there's nothing. Shop after shop goes under. Strip malls abandoned. Legalized loan shark parlors spread. Dollar stores hang on. Parking lots riots of weeds. Roads in serious disrepair. Those with jobs feel lucky to be employed. Everyone else is on their own. A general resignation prevails. Life limps by.

After 12 years in Michigan, I'm finally moving on. Back to the east coast. To DC. One kid's an adult and living on her own. My son is well into high school. I'm no longer married. The only work I can get here is janitorial. Part time. And I'm done with that world. It bettered me. Humbled me. Made me understand. But it's over. The Belly of the Beast awaits.

I'll fill in the blanks soon. Until then, much love. And if you can help, you know the drill. Peach out.

Soul Bellow

God that's awful. Apologies. Anyway, here's me reading at Ron Lynch's Tomorrow show in LA. March 12, 2011. David Higgins co-hosted. Both had impeccable manners. Bless 'em.

Tweedle Dope

Hi all. Working on the usual things. I plan to post more about various topics. Depends on objective reality and my level of pain and/or interest. But you need not wait for a post to see what's on my mind. If you don't already, please follow my Twitter feed for daily affirmations. It's kinda 140 via 4/20. Or 80 proof.

Daily Prayer

Best way to cultivate
satirists --
shower them in awards
pamper them with praise
celebrate their insights.

When a system based
on sensation and lies,
justifying theft
celebrating death
elevating fools
tells you that you've
stripped it bare
made it bleed,
say goodnight.

You're tucked in
safe warm snug
until the next clown
arrives.

Make as much
money as you
can before you
receive your
Mark Twain award.

And always
keep 'em laughing.

Deadly As Life

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Her screams finally stopped. Nothing dire from the sound of it. Maybe sex. Maybe a stubbed toe. Anger. Not that I would or could protest. In this joint, minding your business is the safest option.

The guy she's with hacks a lot. Deep bass coughs. They make a grumbling racket. Booms on the floor. Hitting walls. Slamming doors.

If they were permanent, we'd have a problem. But like me they're passing through. Transitory. You can trash these rooms and never leave a mark. New day, new ghosts.

Mornings before dawn, cop or ambulance lights flash in the lot. Some people are always in trouble. Many end up here.

I wonder when my turn will come. When my liver bursts. My heart explodes. My isolation drives me to destructive stupidity. Stay here long enough and your number gets called. A deli of pain. Rotting meat under dim yellow light.

I should be grateful. I have time to finish this manuscript. Too much fucking time. Every hour of work, the fear roars back. My life's been defined by fear. The emotion I know best.

Tracing its origins is difficult. Impossible to find a starting point. My teen parents were afraid before I was sentient. As their first born, I inherited their fear. Made it mine. We've run around and away from each other ever since.

I better understand my parents through this project, yet feel further away. Anger is now empathy. Hatred mere sadness. No blame. No grudge. Little remorse. Forgiveness helps. Letting go even more.

Late night hotel silence. Scent of desperate people. Scrawl, drink, smoke. Dig so far into your mind that another reality emerges. Being broke strips away useless noise. But failure frees you only so much.

All that is left is me. Aging, emotional, frantic. Tender, too. But not crazy. I've seen crazy point blank. Been attacked by it. In the madhouse. As a teen. I've used the word carelessly, but know its true range. Crazy is for those who don't know what crazy is.

Fear remains the vital nerve. I've wrestled with it. Broken parts of it down. Turned some of it to my brief advantage. Fear haunts and fuels this project. Until I finish this, everything else is pantomime.

Back to the notebooks. Maybe someday you'll read them.