More Laws = More Crime

It's pretty simple, if you want a lower crime rate, make less things illegal. I don't recall asking the government to be my nanny. MOST LAWS HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH ANY REAL INJURY. THE MAJORITY OF OUR LAWS ARE AIMED AT WHAT MIGHT HAPPEN, NOT AT WHAT DID HAPPEN. You might hurt someone with that Illegal Assault Weapon,  go to jail! You might hurt someone if you drive 35 in a 25. Pay a Fine!  There is no end to what might happen. Drones were targeted before any harm was done because of course it Might Happen! We pay for the incarceration of thousands of people because of what they might have done!  Does this make any sense to you? And no one asks to see the data. BY WHAT MATRIX DOES THE GOVERNMENT USE TO CONCLUDE SOMETHING IS DANGEROUS?  AND FINALLY, WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO LIVE IN A FREE COUNTRY?  AND FOR THOSE WHO TOUT CONCERNS OF SAFETY, WITH ALL THE THOUSANDS OF RESTRICTIONS WE LIVE WITH EVERY DAY DO YOU FEEL SAFE?  Hundreds of thousands of laws exist that restrict us for what a few would do. We are prisoners of the few. We gave it away and you tell me still you don't feel safe. That we need more Laws. The truth is you will never feel safe. Their is no Safe no matter the Laws.

*

Knowledge is;
understanding that the Police are not your friend,
that what they do is not to protect you, but to keep you in line. 


Wisdom is;
years of contemplation, 
concluding I was wrong,
Blame not the Police. 
Forgive them their behavior. 
They are but children, keen for acceptance. 
And the Judges accept them, embrace and protect them. 
Wisdom is understanding,
that it's the Judges that must burn. 

What Police Fear

It's easy to scare the police. One word can get you killed. They don't explain why, they expect that you will comply and if you don't they claim they are threatened. You, surrounded by armed men are threatening. They feel endangered and their lives might end. Because you look at them and see through to their fear when you say, "No."

WHO NEEDS A BILLION DOLLARS?

I ask a lot of questions on Facebook and get very little back in response. So I think this is not the venue for real discussion. Or my questions are not relevant. I'm good with that, just say "Who Cares?" or "So What!" But most people do post their opinions like, "THIS SUCKS!" but they don't explain why it sucks or pass on any relevant information. Sometimes I think people forgot why we debate. I like to hear other peoples well thought out ideas because it sharpens my own opinions. But it seems like many people only want to echo the current TV approved groupthink, and be rewarded for their unoriginal ideas! Am I being too harsh? How often do you see a post that goes against the approved media flow? I think the sad thing is many people don't want to think and come to their own considered opinion. So when they hear their friends criticize something they just go along with it. This is why many people can't defend their thinking. So I'm going to toss out another question and maybe you could give it some thought. WHO NEEDS A BILLION DOLLARS? And do you understand the ramifications of Billionaires? Money is like air and water, it's finite. (That means there is only so much of it) When one person has this much of it, it means other people have less. It means the people with less may turn to crime to get more. It means some people may go hungry or not get medical care. It means some people will become desperate. And the problems this causes is not helped by the super rich because they don't pay their share of taxes. The problems fall on you and me to pay for. And because the Supreme Court has ruled that money is speech, this means the super rich can use their wealth to gain more wealth and influence to help themselves. This is what Bernie Sanders has been campaigning about. You may not know this because Network News is the mouth piece of the Billionaires. So simple Question; Give me a reasonable explanation why anyone should need 1 Billion Dollars? A question to my question is not helpful. Like, so is 100 Million to much? I want a well reasoned answer, Or a "Who Cares?"

Alone

X leaned back and stretched his arms over his head. This caused some shouting in the distance. The sound carried well over the water and mingled with the call of the birds and the dull bell sounds of the rigging against the mast. He opened a cold beer and wondered if it would be his last. The beer slid down his throat with a cold burn. His crime was he just wanted to be left alone. This desire had taken him from his house in town to a cabin in the woods and now on a small sailboat in the middle of Bass Lake. The Law said he had to pay. Pay for things that the Law doesn't own. Said he has to pay to register his boat, said he has to pay to fish. Said he has to pay to anchor. The Law said they didn't have to explain why. X liked to think about standing in the center of a Law Library with a big sign that says "Show Me Where It Says I'm Free" He knows Freedom is the big Lie. He can prove it by all the boats that surround him and all the guns pointed at him. Now they want to take his boat and jail him. The boat does not belong to them and neither does he. His religion is being left alone but they slowly creep closer to him with their deadly force. He pulls out his revolver and points it at his heart. Perhaps the grave will give him peace, let him distance himself from the angry noise. A shot if fired but it's not from his gun. The bullet flies true and slams into his head just above the ear. The damage is catastrophic as it explodes in his brain. All his memories shatter like glass as his body falls. In the end, even his life was not his own. Because to take your own life is against the Law.

Hey Old Man

I was walking around the ¼ mile track at the park when two little boys ran

in front of me. I smiled at them and kept walking. I heard them talking  and

one said to the other, “Let’s follow that Old Man.”  Their little six year old legs

trotting along the track behind me. “Old Man!” the bigger of the two said.  I turned

and looked at him as I was walking. “Hey Old Man!” he raised his little fist and

growled at me. “GRRRRRR,” said the second little boy, also giving me the fist salute.

I looked around for these feral little boys keeper and didn’t see anyone with an

empty leash or tranquilizer gun. The boys continued to run circles around me until

a shout was heard from the side of the hill. “YOU GUYS ARE IN SO MUCH 

TROUBLE!” a Mom voice bellows. The bigger of the two whispers “Were in 

so much trouble.” They trot away to their keeper for a conference as I continue 

to walk, thinking about being called an Old Man. From the distance I hear the 

little boys again trotting in my direction. “We’re Sorry!” trot trot trot “We’re Sorry.” 

Very good I think, nice to be respected. The little boys, not getting my full attention yell,

“Hey Old Man, we’re sorry!”

That made my day.

Into the Light

In the oceans dark the Mantas glide up the rays from our lights.

Beams filled with tiny plankton, shrimp and crab hatchlings. The 

seawater is filled with white sparks of life and the Mantas glide 

through, sifting the water like giant devils. I feel a shiver as my

imagination recoils from itself. What if when we die, our sparks 

float in space. They will have no mass to hold the Earth. The Earth

will travel as it does and we will watch it go. We will see all the 

tiny loosened sparks from farm harvests and blooded stock yards,

from Emergency Rooms and Third World famine. They unspool

from the Earth in long sparkling ribbons, beautiful really. And far 

into the darkness we see the white ribs and wide open door of

the Mantas, as we go into the light.

Crows

It was the excited sounds that drew me to the window.
I've heard crows talk my whole life. Watched them on
street signs just overhead, ranting like drunken Republicans.
But this sound was something new. Neither
rant nor warning, this sounded like excited children on the
playground surrounding a blood sport. Through the window and
up the street the crows were in a small thin tree flapping their
wings and waving the weak branches. Below them on the ground
was a small black cat and a red dog playing. The dog jumped up
and down and the cat crouched low confused by the crows and
the barking dog. But the dog wasn't barking and the cat wasn't
playing. The dog leaped forward and nipped at the cat's hindquarters.
The crows increased their excited noisy motion. It was like they
were saying, "Look at us! Look at US!" The cat tried to turn but
stumbled and flipped on it's back, claws out and hissing. The dog
leaped forward and caught the cat by the throat. It's not a dog!
It's going to kill!   It lifts the cat and shakes it violently as the cat
tries to get some purchase with it's claws. The crows are screaming,
"Kill Cat! Kill Cat! We want our share!"  I run barefoot down the stairs and
out the front door. The fox is carrying the cat across the street by
the back of it's neck. It hangs like a kitten in its mother's mouth. The
crows flap and follow to the feasting grounds. I run down the street
and see the fox enter the grove, tail up like a flag, carrying its prize.
The crows close behind still screaming their share. I know the cat
is lost as my barefeet will not follow. I cross the street to the tree and
find a collar with a small bell. A bell to alert birds that there is danger.
Save for the crows.

First Visit to the VA

Yesterday I left the house at 7:30 and got to the Martinez Blood Draw Clinic at 7:45, not bad. I pulled a ticket, #5 and sat down. The room was already full of old guys. I was thinking they must come down here and hang out because it's a social kind of thing. The window opens at 8am and the number 95 is displayed. OK, I got here 15 minutes before they opened and I'm 10th in line. I was hoping for better! At about 8:10 the first number gets called, "NUMMER NINY FI !" I'm guessing Filipino? #95 jumps up like he's won at BINGO and rushes the window. There is a big sign at the window that says "Have Your VA Card Ready." The sign is so big you can't see the receptionist. As the guy runs up to the window you see a little hand appear above the sign, it looks like a little claw, perfectly shaped to accept his card. He places the card in the claw and awaits his instructions in perfectly unrecognizable Filipino.

I'm bored, I left my phone at home and my iPod can't find a single Wi-Fi signal. I pop in my ear buds and spin some Afro-Cuban music. I look around the room and decide the best way to handle the situation is to make believe I'm not in America. The tunes decide for me so I make believe I'm at a clinic in Cuba. And the funny thing is, it feels right. Yea, I'm on vacation in Cuba and I will temper my expectations accordingly.

"NUMMER NINY SX!," everyone in the room glances at the number sign. It still displays 95, after about a minute you can feel a bit of apprehension around the room. The number sign still displays 95. It's as though there has been some cosmic misunderstanding. Synchronicity has been lost. After two minutes people are making eye contact around the room. There is a simian quality to this communication. Like a monkey that can no longer reach its banana. I'm unfazed because I'm in Cuba. "NUMMER NINY SEBN!" All eyes turn to the display and 96 appears and a moment later, 97. Order has been restored.

I watch the various people that walk by. Many say Hello and are very friendly. A guy with a dirty bag tries to hand me a newspaper and I immediately think it's a homeless guy trying to get a donation for some sorry street rag. But as he turns away I see he's handing out free copies of the San Francisco Chronicle and I kick myself for being so defensive. Numbers get called and people move around the room. People stand and people sit. Others walk by and I watch the room change like a living mosaic. An old guy walks out of the Blood Draw room full of noisy indignation. "I told them what my blood type was, but they don't listen!" Most people turn away but I don't have a paper to read so I watch the show. "I'm suppose to let them operate on me and they don't even know my fuckin blood type!" He shambles across the room looking left and right and makes eye contact with me. Like a magnet he latches on to my interest and stumbles up to my chair. "I showed them my fuckin dog tags and it says right on them my fuckin blood type but do they believe my fuckin dog tags? Fuck no! Am I suppose to let these fuckers cut me open when they don't know my fuckin blood type!"

I should be intimidated but I'm sure the Cuban Military will show up at any moment.

NUMMER FI! I stand up and jokingly whisper to Mr. Blood Type, "My Turn." I give him my best shrug like we share an understanding that I will be the next to share in the institutional abuse. I walk to the window and see the claw. I lean over the sign and smile. "I'm sorry, I don't have my card yet." The claw says, "Lass Nam?" "Pugh,"I say. "Lass Fo?" "3713", I say. Claw explains to me that she does not have an order from my Doctor to draw blood. She attempts to call the Doctor and there is no answer. She makes a few more calls and tells me they are in a meeting. She also calls more numbers and I get the sinking feeling that I'm going to be here all morning. She tells me to sit down and she will call me up as soon as she contacts my Doctor. I sit down and remember the admonition I received when I got my appointment time with this Doctor. "Don't Be Late" I was told over and over again. This Doctor is very strict about you being late. I'm thinking I'm also very strict about having to wait because his office didn't order any tests. Strike One on this Doctor.

I can't see the receptionist behind the sign but I can see the phone mounted on the wall next to her. 10 minutes goes by and she makes no more calls about my tests. More numbers get called and we are up to 15. I was tenth in line when I arrived and now 10 more patients have been seen while I wait on the Doctors office. Claw reaches for the phone and makes a call. I hear my name called and am told that the tests are being ordered and I will be called up in about 5 minutes. 15 minutes goes by and Claw calls me over. She tells me she got the order and I will be moved to the front of the line. 2 minutes later she walks out of the office on break and when the next patient is called it's not me. 2 more patients get called and I've lost hope that she has informed anyone about me. I hate Cuba, I vow to never return. I make believe I'm in Somalia with ebola. I'm going to die because there are no beds left.

Claw comes back a few minutes later with a big cup of coffee. She looks right at me but does not make the connection that I was never called. A few minutes later I hear her call Pugh!. "Where were you?" she asks. Where was I? Then I get it. A good offense is better that a weak defense. She's been at this a long time. When in doubt, blame the patient. I apologize and tell her I've been stuck in Somalia.

Surfing the Nut House

It was my sisters idea to drive to the nut house. She said I would like it. It would remind me of my childhood. I had recently suffered an emotional trauma and ran from any potential conflict. I steadied myself and agreed to go. We got in my sisters comfortable car and drove West. The Earth turns toward us and I make believe that the car is stationary and the Earth is rushing under our wheels. I rest my head against the passenger window and again mentally run through my failures. I did, I didn't, I couldn't. They did, they didn't, they wouldn't. I watched the fence posts rush past me at a regular interval. I poured the bitterness out of my head and concentrated on my breathing. My heartbeat slowed to the rhythm of the passing fence posts. They looked like the blips on an EKG.


The car slowed to a stop at an intersection. Beside us was a roadside memorial decorated with flowers and crosses. A little boy in a baseball uniform turned to me as the car was pulling away. He raised a popsicle in the air and with a grin stuck out his popsicle red tongue. I closed my eyes. I could taste that sweet red juice as it ran down my chin. I remembered how Mom use to make those for us. I wondered why the little boy was at the memorial. Why did it seem important. I make believe I can feel the Earth flying through space. It's the feeling of reaching the highest point on a playground swing and just as you start falling backward you are weightless. I feel it in my stomach and down my spine. I hold, I hold it as long as I can.


I hear the crunch of gravel as we pull into the nut house. The lot is full with many visitors. I exit the car slowly and appraise the building. It's old and rough cut, barn red and ramshackle. The handpainted sign over the entrance says Somis Nut House. There is something about it that makes me smile. There is a warm energy that surrounds this space. We walk inside and it's quiet like a church. There are roughcut beams overhead and bolted together racks filled with nuts and candies, many that I remember from childhood. Abba-Zaba's and Bazooka Bubble Gum, Chick O Sticks! I drift through the racks and my childhood memories, one overlapping the other. I remember the little girl I liked in school and my friends at the public pool. I remember my dog as I see a curved red tail wagging behind a counter. I feel small hands hugging my leg, gentle as a ghost but it's only my imaginings. My sister calls me over to show me a found treasure, something we both laugh about. A little girl walks past with her face tilted to mine. She is maybe 5 and has the most astonished reaction when I say Hello. She squeals with delight and clasps her hands to her face, then runs between the racks. I turn to my sister to see her reaction but her view was elsewhere. She asks if I like this place but I know she is really asking if I feel its calm and its warmth. I nod yes. I add this feeling to that of the swing. The warmth and the letting go. I empty myself of lifes constricting vibrations and hold the feeling. I wrap my arms around it and press it to my chest and feel it enter me and fill me. I'm warm and falling into calm.


I open my eyes and see the little girl. She holds a soft glow. A dog trots up to her and and sits to her left always keeping his eyes on mine. His eyes hold a question and a reward for its answer. The little girl lifts his floppy ear and whispers, "Yes, he can see us." I immediately know this dog, he was my dog and until this moment I didn't know how much I'd missed him. Tears spring from my eyes as I bend to pet him. The little girl puts her hand on my arm for comfort and says, "Only joy." At her touch I know she is my Grandmother, my loving Grandmother as I have never know her. She says, "Look, we are here." I see all those I had lost, all as children, laughing and teasing. The earth tilts under my feet and I feel a rushing in my head. She points to a mirror and I see myself as a little boy in a baseball uniform, the same little boy I saw from the car. But I'm still alive I think, and the little girl says, "Yes, you are alive, we are all alive in the All." I see a little boy and girl and know them to be my parents. They stand apart until the little girl approaches the boy. She punches him in shoulder and all their divisions evaporate with giggles. They hold each others hands and run off laughing. The little girl that is my Grandmother reaches out and gently holds my face.


We fly out into space and I see the all of the Milky Way. It's gigantic arms slowly spin as it travels through space. I feel my arms open wide. We feel the orbit of our Earth and feel its rotation. She shows me the little boy that I was in my baseball uniform spinning in the outfield with no worry for the ball. I was, and am, and will be that boy, I promise.



June 17th 2014

I wrote a song.

Got my haircut yesterday. Oye!

Looks like a porcupine.

Stock market is killing me. Oye!

Feels like a porcupine.

Life is a banquet, Oye!

Tastes like a porcupine.

A little story.

a man with one short leg walks in circles,

he can crawl in a straight line,

so he crawls to a new place to circle.

It’s good to have choices. 

Record Store of Memories

Drove down to the new Rasputin Record Store across the street

from Sun Valley Mall. I haven’t been in a record store for a decade.

It was strange and wonderful and I probably won’t do it again. I had

a list of used CD’s I wanted to find.  Red Hot Chili Peppers and Daniel

Lanois, The Boss and Led Zeppelin. I flipped through the racks and adjusted

my stance to let other shufflers pass. The artwork on the sticky CD cases

triggered dusty memories. Dark smoke filled rooms with only the light

from the faceplate of a cheap stereo for illumination. I remembered the

cute ugly pimple faces of childhood friends. I was lost in trauma and wonder

and loss and love. The screaming from the stores sound system pulled

me back into the moment. Hateful painful lyrics, why? Perhaps it’s a lifeline

to pull the shufflers out of their fog of memory.  The one CD I found was

used and not cheap. I placed it back in the rack and opted to buy it in its

pristine digital form from iTunes.

Bottle Cap Treasures

For several years I’ve been walking around the track at our local park.

It’s a standard quarter mile of level blacktop walkway. The field at its center

is grass and weeds and gopher holes. There are always kids and dogs and old

people sitting or walking, playing catch or kicking a ball. It’s a nice place ringed

by scrub oaks on grassy hillsides. My goal is to walk 12 laps. I listen to music

and sometimes carry a notepad so I can jot down story ideas. It’s easy to lose

count of how many laps I’ve walked so I started picking up a stone that I would

find on each revolution and set the stone on a garbage bin. 1 stone for each

revolution. One day I picked up a bottle cap instead. You don’t see these very

often. It was creased on top and the tines on one edge were pried up from the

opener.  It said Dr. Pepper in bright red flowing script. It looked happy. I used the

bottle cap instead of a rock for that revolution. And when I finished my walk that

day I tossed Dr. Pepper behind the bin.

He was still there the next day so I picked him up and used him again to record my

progress. I started looking for other bottle caps to use as markers and soon started

finding many abandoned objects along the trail. I found a little green Army

Man, rifle to shoulder and looking for an enemy. I found three plastic beads connected

by string. Each square bead had a letter, B   E   C.  Part of a bracelet was my guess. I found

many plastic screw tops from water bottles. I had little interest in these. As time went on

I found more bottle caps and interesting little bits of larger things. I moved my collection

up the hill and behind a large bush. When I would arrive for a walk I would collect a few

of them and use them for markers. I didn’t need 12 of them anymore. I would use only two.

I would set one at the 12 o’clock position on the top of the bin and move the second to

the 1 o’clock position after I finished my first lap. After the second lap I move the marker

from 1 o’clock to 2 o’clock  and on around the imaginary clock face on the

top to the bin for each revolution.

During one of my walks I noticed a little girl with a plastic bag, her Mom also had a bag and

they were walking the trail picking up bits of paper and other debris. There was a soccer
game in the field and a lot of people about. I saw a few more people with their kids picking
up trash. Highly commendable. It also occurred to me that my markers on the bin were a
prime candidate for their endeavor. From across the field I watched a woman walk to the
bin and sweep my two markers into the center opening. I thought this pretty funny and when
I got back to the bin I was able to easily retrieve the markers and set them again on their
proper places. I kept an eye on the bin and a few minutes later a man walked over with his
bag and didn’t sweep them in but picked them up and put them in his bag!  My first thought
was to run over there and ask for them back with of course an explanation. But on second
thought I laughed at myself and thought I would seem to be a crazy person. After a few
more laps I found a plastic stir stick with a strange embossed symbol on it. Quite a prize!
My 12 laps complete I headed for the exit to the park. I stopped to drop my new prize
behind the bush and found that all my treasures were gone.

It was a shock to see the little pile of bits and pieces I’d collected gone. Some I will miss
but I have a new appreciation for the things that are dear to me, large and small.