WHEELIAD Contents

comment to: santos137@yahoo.com

Note- Orion Magazine has now been linked to some strange corporate clients, from Big Oil funding for slanted writing, to fake BeefUSA Carbon Offsets, & even a CIA link. What a stealthy & weird crypto rag, founded by a shadowy "Investment Banker" pretending to be green, but quite uncool. Buts its so cool that Austin Bike Nomads got to catch 'em out ;^) peaceup ds jan 09

Draft Responses to Bring On The Clowns

Rewrites to Viking & Bandit

Orion, FACT-CHECK THIS- What a magnificient Viking, who has been had & fights on like a tiger. Now it can be told that poor Mark Svenvold, writing for Harper's, was repurposed by a conspiracy of Austin Bike Radicals as an Improvised Narrative Device (INDy Media) to aim back at his fascist bosses & their Big Oil (Chevron-Texco) cash-cows. But Harper's INDy Media shield was state-of-the-art, so the piece appeared instead in Orion Magazine, whose obsolete fact-checking system couldn't detect INDies. Enraged by the scuttling of his Harper's debut, Svenvold, in Orion, took the direst course, fancy-writing suicide, to print crude insult- that i was a "complete a--hole". It might have worked if the Eco Swift-boaters had not been Trojan-Horsed.

Avenging Willie Morris & the Weather Co-Eds: The True Story

Background- Mom was a journalism major at the Universtiy of Texas, alongside Willie Morris, editor of the student paper, The Daily Texan, as he began his legendary career. Dad, an English major, was present. I was born in Uncle Willie's glow, which continued at The Texas Observer. He was always somewhere on the home bookshelves. The most legendary editing run in modern times ended badly at Harper's with Lewis Lapham's well documented betrayal of Willie, who was heartbroken. Fast-Forward over decades of Literary Dark Age at Lapham's Harper's; A new character, Lapham's lap-dog, Editor Roger Hodge, & his literary assassin, Mark Svenvold, came after me. I felt like a last minor detail before their total literary-satanic triumph. It took a desperate effort on nomadic clown-bikes to finally put these folks in place & in the process avenge poor Willie (& the Co-Eds).

Horror! I was reading the chronicle of an old survivor (Larry King's Remembering Willie), how once upon a time, rich kid Lewis Lapham, Texaco heir, back-stabbed the People's Hero, Harper's great editor King of Letters, Willie Morris, Good King Willie, if you will, & Crowned Himself Harper's new King. The once-glorious periodical was fire-saled to Billionare Interests & became Big Oil's windy echo-chamber. Sorely the Literary Realm groaned under King Lapham The Usurper, an old-school Dictator who cruelly made Little People undergo key-boarding, while He, in the antique way, "dictated" His Vile Screeds; for to touch a Computer would Kill Him.

And so, for over a generation, The Usurper's Monstrous Voice dominated Harper's, but He grew old. Casting about for a successor, someone who could make a Chump-Ass Dynasty of his neo-liberal fascist reign, King Lapham elevated a Princeling Of The Court, a n'er-do-well fact-checker & XML dabbler from Del Rio, Texas; Prince Roger, of the corrupt Hodge Line [especially Lord Byron Hodge, arch water-rights thief], who thought They owned The Border. The Usurper's Dynasty would thus be of purest Feudal Vampire blood & Super-Wealth. Give The-Prince credit, He had tediously carved out & cruelly ruled his own literary genre, Humorless Satire (Onan the Magnificant, Harper's). He was proud to be a first-class Onanist of The Empire. With enforced-fanfare The Princling ascended to the Top Throne of Literature, Harper's new Usurper, just as a small radical BikeNomad cararvan pedaled out of Austin for Mexico on Winter Bike-Migration.

Promply King Roger proclaimed His Vainest Intention, to "triumph over the blogs", which tops Emperor Curious-George's Iraq triumphalism for unbelievability. It even beats Emperor Darius ordering the ocean flogged. Still, he meant me & my people, so i undertook to rebuff Harper's, for the planetary-collective, if somone would buy The Ale, for i am, like, an Ancient Nomad-Blogger, first posting in the mid-nineties from a wireless solar broad-band media hand-cart pushed thousands of miles around Austin; of technomads second only to Wizard Roberts. The web-logging flourished as the Bike-Nomads formed Golden-Hordes & launched a New Festive Age of cheap sustainable adventure. But these rhapsodic Online Sagas (Wheeliad) so Vexed King Roger that He embedded in our Bike-Migration His hired literary assassin, Mark Svenvold The-Viking, under the King's Direct Supervision, paid substantially by Chevron-Texaco. Svenvold could be charming, of Good Heart down deep, but cruelly programmed, brutal in Service to Masters, a journalist so cold he once once sorely trashed junior-college meteorology co-eds*. He was not drawing Big Oil Money to be sweet to fluffy BikeNomads.

When The-Viking invaded Austin, many Migrators bailed. The caravan coordinator, Jolly Justin, & designated guide, Jolly Johnny, withdrew, trembling. Svenvold, i was told, required my presence on Bike Migration, just as i was called to pedal to New Orleans, which The Empire had cruelly let drown. Troubled, the Austin Bike-Radical Elders conferred at BioSquat & Rhizome: The-Plot was hatched. So it was that i accepted The-Viking's Challenge, coming out of retirement to once again ride as a radical Bike-Migration SuperGuia, the eldest of the breed, with the most miles on the most trails there, a last roaming initiate of the storied Black Seminole/Kickapoo scout tradition (insert breath). Just one bold path remained, to steer the caravan away from its natural migration route; not South, toward balmy beach, but West into grueling hills & howling winter wind, to Del Rio itself (Border Mordor), & aim Svenvold back upon his elite task-masters at Harper's, & perhaps avenge Good King Willie & The Co-Eds.

But how could The-Viking, King Roger, & all His Chump-Ass Wizards, not notice Winter Bike-Migration was pedaling in the wrong direction? They had long ago become New Yorkers, so fog gripped their brains. The-Viking's other weakness, his total undoing, was a requirement for a river-of-coffee made a certain way; he called it star bucks, whatever that is, in order to function efficiently as a prose-assassin. He did not know Texas is a coffee-desert drier than Araby. Thus Svenvold became sorely decaffeinated as weeks rolled by on a bike. Big Peak-Oil porn tomes, bought new, made out of murdered trees, hidden deep in his panniers, pored over by flashlight in his tent at night, also weakened him (sorely).

Svenvold's key treachery was to sabotage the bike-caravan's water bottle philosophy (Orion 08), though the caravan must traverse the Chihuahuan Desert. His gambit fizzled: The-Viking himself bought us Royal Ale, nothing sweeter. While poor The-Viking, no blackened-water to drink, fell slowly apart, King Roger's own Ale providentially delivered the BikeNomads precious moisture to replace that robbed (Ale The-Viking never touched, he was "working"). Svenvold was most anxious to quote me, Neo-Falstaff, on Ale. But i designated Dr. Johnson's ghost to drive my tongue home, regardless, not without rambling.

When The-Viking, sorely weakened by two weeks as a Bike Nomad, reported to King Roger that the bike-caravan was nigh to transit His Ancestral Domain. Neither he nor The King sensed peril to The Throne. King Roger even, with Cosa Nostra grace, offered to lodge our little band. Now The Plot was undone, for by supping at The King's Table we could not then honorably oppose him, under the rigid Bike-Nomad's Code (2002 revised edition,-section II, paragraph 5). But Fortuna smiled on the SuperRevolutionary Cause; King Roger somehow freaked & the BikeNomads were turned away at the very gate of His Home-Castle, for a secret reason, never confirmed. It is rumored The King had a Bad Dream, an "Apple NYC" [whatever that is] hallucination that confused me, a mere pacifist-errant, with an ultra-violent Cormack McCarthy character, Judge; foul Western Fiction concocted in Rhode Island, to which King Roger was addicted; most shameful in a Born Texan. More forgivably, among Free-Folks of Border-Lands, hospitality-denied is High Trespass.

Thus forsaken by King Roger, who would not take his cell-calls or answer public-library email, The-Viking was cruelly forced to do his own laundry & shift with the lower middle-class Bike-Nomad Friends, even within sight of his Master's Home-Castle. By fairy-tale luck, the Royal Cold-Shoulder pushed us onto the very secret that would unsettle The Throne, for our back-up hostess was Little-Lily, an Elf Princess who grew up near the mewling Princeling Roger, though he hardly noticed her. Well she knew His mortal weakness, the very Key to avenge King Willie & maybe even spark the Liberation of Harper's' Kingdom, which in turn might help tip over The Empire.

Svenvold's gray eyes & implacable recorder rolled as one when Little-Lily dropped the wondrous-clue... King Roger lacked an anulus**. Poor The-Viking knew in that instant that his sworn mission was lost; any child of The Empire could now smell that King Roger's House-Wizards had long used Brown-Art to detach The King's Anulus, & set it wandering to cause trouble. It was put to stalk us across The Empire, but boomeranged. Unmasked, The-Viking raged & attacked me with a giant Poison-Pen in Chump-Ass Orion Magizine, but in what Saga did Viking ever bag a Mexican, much less a Chicano? Still, he was a most dogged & loyal hit-man & would not rest until, years later, The-Pen's fury was finally spent, misfired, in the magazine, gravely wounding King Roger hidden under the sheets.

Good King Willie & The Co-Eds were avenged. King Roger's Pogrom "over the blogs" was undone, with His Own Ale, right-on. Cruelly & Most Sorely used by the SuperRevolutionary Cause, Svenvold The-Viking was now its Hero. We pray he found his beloved "star bucks". He will always be fondly remembered for providing Bike-Nomads with with VISA (VItal Systemic Access***), allowing comic Trojan penetration into, not just one, but two of, The Empire's shy Left-Wing Authoritarian-Orientation Hierarchies, fabled sociology Wizard Altemayer famously forsoothed, but was never allowed to observe.

The literary-satanic money trail led right to Chevron-Texaco; what's up with that? Big Oil was lamely swift-boating carbon-activists, & we caught 'em on clown-bikes. Svenvold now openly wrote vile sceedings in Orion's "forum" for more capitalism to save the world, that Emperor George was an ironic Texas eco-hero (wrong). Little-Lily ascended to Bike-Nomad Goddess status. King Roger yet ponders whether to sue-for-peace or sue-for-peace. During the Uncertain Period Good King Wenclas of the Underground Writers' League, & His many spies, provided help & inspiration, as did Capt. Mayoid's Ghost Troop of Ancient Harper's Writers, convened in sèance to assist the SuperRevolution. Molly Ivin's & Twain's Ghost ghost-wrote the good lines. Thus three Kings beat two Kings. Uncle Willie himself was the cheatin' trump-card, & on the face of it, His Royal Ghost yet grins. As for the Bike-Nomads, they pedal happily ever after in what's left of Paradise.

i wrote this in BikeNomad language,

dave santos, 2/08, peace-on

translated into Standard Bike-English by bigfoot 7

THE END (not)

*See Amazon review of Svenvold's Big Weather, by the young women's professor.

**See Lily's story; the actual quote is that Princeling Hodge acted "as if his shit didn't stink".

*** Chevron/Harper's paid the Viking's VISA bill, plus advance & two kill fees.

=======================================================================

Activist Alert:

Socrates Impersonator Stalked by Iowa Writer's Workshop Grads

First Charles D'Ambrosio then Mark Svenvold where loosed on me from the over-rated Iowa Writer's Workshop, a literary-satanic puppy-mill where would-be writers are programmed to hunt humans, to seek & Terminate "authenticity". They track down Fluffy Bike Nomads like me by jet. Its sci-fi horror; you can run, but there they are.

Spot these dangerous freaks when they invoke Fourier, the Utopian Socialist, as somehow relevant to a story. As they cluck over his outré French-sex ideas, escape into Radical Hilbert-Space, where they cannot follow. Both my Iowas tripped, in print, exactly like this. Another weakness, the one thing that saved the Austin ecovillage, BioSquat, when they came on, was their fear of spiders.

These writers have "Editors", like the puppy-masters at Harper's (Roger Hodge) & Orion (H. Emerson Blake) Magazines who targeted me. Corporate-sponsored Orion destroys Nature in order to write about her. Harper's is a brand-franchise of Big Oil & billionaire Florida real-estate interests. Their Editors carefully choose Iowas for a mission by its tag. D'Ambrosio's name is, well, ambrosial, but it wasn't quite right. Svenvold's name is as cool & efficient as Scandanavian furniture. The Emerson-Blake editor label is too good to be true.

When Harper's detected being painted on SuperRevolutionary PLAYDAR they killed the Svenvold Iowa's story, not once, twice. The Editors bombed their own Iowa's position; but he survived, hurt & confused, & crawled away with the text. Too much Big Oil money was in the story for it to die. It was picked up by Orion, which cannot on its own afford front-line Iowas.

Opting for character assassination, Orion fired, of all things, a snot-bullet, printing that i am a "complete asshole" (Jan-Feb 08). Naturally the bullet passed right on thru, but Harper's Roger Hodge was hit by the friendly-fire (Poor Roger is said to have no asshole- see Avenging Willie Morris & The Co-Eds). Events traced aut a peculiar funding conduit from the gorged coffers of Chevron-Texaco to the eco-swiftboating of Bike Nomads & carbon activists in Orion.

The Editors via email, maintain that "readers would be confused" & "[The Editors] are not interested" in weird Iowa funding trails to Chevron-Texaco. This is Know-Nothingist Bullshit; its a smoke-alarm, readers must wake & flee. Editors do mind where money comes from. "Follow the Money" is a journalistic pole star [follow your heart too]. Orion states that many of its eco-stories have similar shadowy origins, just the "magazine business" as-usual. In such regimes the reader has no intrinsic right to know anything. More Editors & Iowas hide in the deepest bunkers of Empire. Call them Fascist Press; they bristle like lap-dogs. Call them the same thing, Military-Industrial Media; they kinda like that.

Let's end the terror. Iowas, sooner than later, retreat to recharge & "write", something they find hard. Follow them back to Editors. The Iowas will not see you because their stiff-neck mounted-heads don't look back properly. You have then slipped into a backstage area, like Oz's. You are a semantic ninja who must improvise, using The Editors' & Iowas' own literary weapons against them (they'll need sharpening). The hard part is pedaling a tiny clown-bike fast enough to get out ahead of crumbling walls & billowing fireballs. Good luck.

I may not prevail if The Editors keep setting Iowas on me, each successive one cloned meaner, more devious. The Chuckie D. prototype was friendly compared to Svenvold the Viking Robot, who pursued me in winter all the way into Mexico. I barely made the spider zone & lost him. The new Iowas ripening in Workshop growing tanks are truly frightening. Upgraded models will just skip the Fourier. But if knowledge of their ways helps non-violent sustainable radical ideas survive, we may yet bring on the Festive Age.

PeaceOn,

Bigfoot 7

(dave santos 2/08)

=========================================

DRAFT

Speedy Gonzales v. Thor & Orion

=====================

The Orion Investigation

Poor Fact Checking

Social Libel

Crude Disparagement of Source(s)

Shallow Ecology

Neoliberal Authoritarian Orientation

Censorship

Cover-Up- Big Oil Funding Off The Books

Unsustainable Exceptionalism

 

 

Mark Svenvold & Orion Magazine stand accused of libelous eco-journalism, of unjustly & innaccurately tarnishing the reputation of carbon-activist Bike-Nomads.

A violation is alleged & versions differ. Investigation bears on Motive, Opportunity, & Means.

Svenvold's Secret Motives

Svenvold has Big Oil ties beyond Chevron-Texaco funding trail for his Orion Bike-Nomad coverge. On migration he mentioned an offer he intended to accept for an expense paid Oil Company helicopter tour of the Artic Wildlife Refuge, so he could write a fatalistic lament about the inevietability of oil dependence.

Svenvold is a peculiar Crypto-Neocon, poorly aware of his ideological bias, only admitting to being a "square". He lauds Bush as an (imaginary) Texas ecohero while labeling low-impact Santos a "complete a--hole" & Murray as "feral boy". These bearded nomads are sterotyped by Svenvold as resembling Fidel & Jesus, precise "playbook" language used by Exxon-Mobil counterprotesters, where older bearded figures get to be Castro & appealing younger hipsters look like Christ, a curious insult for Svenvold to chime with.

Orion supressed the backstory where Mark blamed Bike-Nomad David Santos for scuttling his Harper's debut, the awaited flowering of a difficult career.

Santos was focused on making the story about Harper's & Chevron-Texaco, which contributed to the piece being killed twice by Harper's. For opportunity, Orion's weak fact-checking & its cultural biases enabled subtle systematic deception.

What a cool twist- To set-up the notion of Bike-Migration is a failed way-of-being & to set-up a head-shot, that i was a "complete a--hole", Svenvold claims i had driven away the charming young couple from the bike caravan. Heather was an Angel & Todd an Uber-Hipster so spectacularly pierced & tattooed that Queequeg might die of envy. To set-up the set-up, Svenvold set Todd's "no fun" quote ringing in the air.

The primary reason for the nice couple dropping out went unmentioned- that poor Heather knees became painful, a grave danger of permanent orthopedic disablity. Realizing the danger i urgently recommended Heather stop pedaling & get a ride back to Austin. At my demand, her gear was redistributed among us, & we limped to the nearest rest place/junction so she could evacuate. The huge useless bikelock was a silent reproach, for i had lost the argument with Todd & Mark to leave it behind.

 

Todd & Heather were on the slave-not-butterfly calendar; they could leave only after holiday & semester, long after the Monarchs blew by. I warned them about our difficult route, but they were down.

Heather took pains to reassure me i wasn't an emotional culprit Mark aledged. Bless her for that.

Todd's frustration had more to do with inexperience. Riding ahead like a newbe, Todd missed the turn. Heather chose to stay with us rather than chase her man. When he finally turned around & found everyone waiting on him, it was not his finest moment. Heather clearly indicated disappointment in him. After migration word was that the couple broke up just after leaving us. Todd is a fine young person, forgivably inexperienced. My fault with Todd was bike racing. If someone over twice his age could blast past him on a cheap old bike perhaps he would ignore Svenvold's strange sabotage & respect Bike-Nomadism's lessons. We raced all the time, experience v. youth & i always won, my potbelly presses leg to pedal- perpetual motion. One day, Todd somehow found himself far ahead of the group, a heady feeling for any newbe, but a big error. He seemed unconcerned that Heather was faltering badly. The rest of us were doing everything we could to assist her, offloading her.

The Question of Water Bottles

Santos was insensitive to how the water bottle issue made Todd feel uncool in front of his girlfriend & the Big Harper's Reporter. He needn't have worried, for Mark trivialized any sense that water bottles matter technically in Tex-Mex border nomadics. Desert adapted nomad atheletes absolutely must get this detail right. Todd had a new expensive heavy plastic small preppy bottle & we were headed across Chihuahuan desert in drought.

Bike-Nomads know salvaged soda bottles hold lots more water for much less weight & expense than fancy bottles. Most cool, find them anywhere, in any trash pile, & adopt them as needed. Sometimes we haul 5 or more gallons into waterless wonderlands. Heather was torn between such logic & her silly man. I challenged the monster bike lock they clung to, as unneeded & untenable on our trip.

Mark sided emotionally with Todd in technical matters, i was an ass to question the purchasing decisions of non-nomads & so the weight stayed on. Heather's knees were hurt by this thinking. Mark himself was defeated by excess crap- Heinberg's bloated book would have been better carried as a thicker sleeping bag & clothing.

As Heather & Todd waited for a pickup back to "civilization", a curiously gleeful Mark took Todd aside for a private interview to let Todd vent into his recorder; his expression said something like what a juicy Harper's story, pulitzer material. This border scout thinks that is where Todd's "no fun" citation was laid for he would need to get past Orion's primitive fack checking with the apperrence of rigor.

Hapless Svenvold, he was neglecting the woman's voice & the technical truth- 15 meters away Heather was thanking me & pete for the experience, graciously insisting that she did not blame me for the discontinuance, ass i blamed myself for not insisting on the weight issue.

He could supress all the small voices, but he had to represent mine somehow, so he made a foul hash of my worst, which is roughly as good as his best, so the effect was almost seamless.

Annoying Minor Factual Errors

These errors rise to consideration by sheer preponderance, a systematic sloppyness.

"Old Mexico" quote came from contry store owner between Dripping Springs & Blanco, not from a passing car.

The specific impetus for the story, a poem in heroic verse, was incorrectly cited as "The Wheeliad". There is no poem by that name, only a website called Wheeliad (no The) containing nunerous writings. Any reader seeking to find the original material by searching on the-wheeliad would only end up back at Svenvold's article.

Ecological Errors

Orion Magazine, Nature its subject, has a special obligation to get ecological points right. Its chief editor is supposed to have had ecological background.

Libeling budding wildflowers as "weeds".

Discounting physiological requirements like hydration.

Dismissing affinity migration timing (monarchs) & missing writer's schedule as a violation of this principle.

Failing to report seasonal migration as ecologically sound strategy for humans as well as animals.

Deconstructing the Swedish Groupie Sex Issue

Trashing the bike-radical scene required blacking out every excellent adventure on the bike journey, in favor of digressions that implied us monkey-ass.

The story finds no space for the vital Friendship Network that the bike-nomads developed over years, which would have falsified the articles fixed idea, that our utopia was as false as a farcical Fourierist.

Normal acknowlegements are strangely missing given the hospitality Svenvold found everywhere. These organizations & individuals can refute key elemants of Mark's reportage.

Errors of Omission

The extreme bias of the article against Bike-Namdism depended on the systematic supression of all mitigating voices. Orion could easily have sussed out this pattern, but didn't. The reader hardly has a chance.

Omission of Contrary Sources is most grievous in failure to aknowledge the extensive Hospitality & Friendship Net that helped Mark in his Quest. It should be a clue when a travel writer has no one to thank!

A partial list of omitted donors & sources-

The Crawford Peace House (Kay)

The Syndicato de Trabajadores of Cd. Acuna

Julia's Family

Santos's Mother

The Three Stooges Museum (Robert)

Santos Parent's Home in Dripping Springs

Recyclistas Bike Club. Cd. Victoria

Austin Yellow Bike Club donated the reporter a fine bike

Pedal Pushers Of Austin donated labor

Rhizome & Biosquat Eco-Villages

Lily & John

Hospitality was denied the caravan, withdarwn without explanation, by Roger Hodge.

 

Failure to Unlitter

Bike Nomads unlitter the remote places we love, but Mark, ominously, never picked up any litter, nor did he haul collected litter out. He never mentions this constant noble task, all the little paradises which often remain clean as we return.

Failure to Report our True Inspirations & Motives

Mark burns print on idling buffoons, omitting the true Texas inspirations for our Carbon-Ethical way-of-being, are marginalized peoples like the Kickapoos & BlackSeminoles. The German 48ers were glossed-over Free Thinkers, who swung from Confederate galllows rather than fight on the side of slavery. In one mass murder near Kerrville seventy 48ers were lynched for their ideals. Their courage is our Utopia, it never died, we carry on the spirit. Paradise now.

Mark makes no mention of the (70 again) coal miners who died just after we passed the Mexican mines. He states the whole state of Nuevo Leon is trashed. Actually most of the state is still a fantastic place in a wild state, worth saving, that Mark will never know, but we know well. As a rule, he confuses places in Coahuila, Nuevo Leon, & Tamaulipas.

Many 48er's proved skillful homesteader-intellectuals, strong by their own thought & labor. Rather than the scheming idlers Mark obsesses over 48er's were driven forcably from Germany for their progressive radicalism. History remembers these as the true Good Germans, friends of the Mexican, Black, & Indian; resolute against the genocidal domination of the Scotch-Irish landholder class that had, a generation before snapped up the richest countryside & set up slavery. Mark could have mentioned the Black Seminole & Kickapoo stories on our radical bike trail. These historic folk are our close friends. Mark has no interest in tales of survival by sheer vitaltity.

Omission of Key Technical Realities

The key bike feature for surviving Bike-Migration is the rear-view mirror & constant attention to it. Orion's coverage omits all such knowledge while wasting print on all kinds of digressions.

Eliminating excess weight was consistently resisted by Mark during the trip & proved his & others undoing. This most basic lesson was omitted from the article.

Mark laments wobbly climb on a loaded bike as if it was intractable. He was shown the precise cure- fast cadence in low gear so legs become gyroscopic stabilizers (halteres). A bit of practice, allows a precise steady track. Lance Armstrong taught us fast cadence for endurance, his specialty.

Failure to Nature-Write Deeply

Deep Nature writing is true to scientific, emotional, ethical, & artistic realities. Orion's "nature writing" standard- pick any two.

As deep-ecology has become a recognized thought school, its inverse "shallow" ecology, can also be identified. Orion's Frequent-Flier-Carbon-Denier staff culture practices shallow-ecology.

Is Migration Ecologically Sound?

Seasonal migration in Nature is a vast "river of life" that ecologists agree maximises biological resources. Humans on bikes enjoy this effect. Even RV migrators burn less fuel in transit than is burned spaceheating in a northern winter.

Despite Mark's incredibly sad & mistaken idea that seasonal bike migration is untenable & somehow died, the flow of bike nomads to & from Austin continues. This Winter fresh Canadians came to their Austin terminus, BioSquat, by word-of-mouth from previous waves, & more than a dozen nomads rode South along the friendship network, coordinated by an admirable friend, Ignacio, a storied SuperHero bike nomad, a true SuperGuia.

Mark noticed bike migrators repeating the same pattern year to year but overlooked primary explanations. Natural migrators vary considerably year to year. Austin's famous bats are capable of opting out of migration in warm years. We migrate in multiple waves & take new routes all the time, all over, in fact our Austin originating caravans have gone around the world, most notably the Cyclown Circus, in continuous newness. Good migrations often just wander downwind on no particlular schedule; the path of least resistence, varies continously. "Set not the hour to fly, Await the perfect moment, It comes."

 

Antagonizing Language

"complete a--hole"

"going nowhere in particuar"

On the wry side the "Bring [It] On ... Clowns was a provocation.

The actual False Utopia, "going nowhere" in Orion's wry usage, is not rad culture's New Festive Age, but Mark's own consumerist mainstream crushed under failed mythologies. Consider the so-called Orion Society. I was contacted to illustrate Mark's piece. The editor insisted Mark's piece was "respectful" of Bike-Nomadic reality, which proved untrue. What was published riddled with easily caught errors, & even resorted the crudest personal attack, Mark's asserting that i was a "compete a**hole" (asterisks mine). . Was it talking too much before he had his coffee? That really bugged him, little did he seem to realise that he overslept every day in his darkened tent, the rest of us waiting for him to emerge. My natural curiousity to lay bare the sorry workings of Harper's, his facist media masters, fueled by Big Oil money, irked Mark most.

Mark relentlessly steers away from the tangible proofs that our outdoor Utopia made of Nature beats his shabby Gotham. Of the many generous characters that eased his way across the land not one got mentioned in his windy writing. These poor intellectuallized Mexicans & Texans, old dear friends, who opened their homes to Mark on every occaison, have no place in his agenda. Mark had so much help, but where is the expected printed aknowledgement? Mark's list it would contain dozens of close friends who can refute his crude character attacks.

Orion is supposed to be all about Nature writing, but Mark's Nature references were a few dull adjectives. Slightly more time spent dissing nature (Like complaining about "weeds" reclaiming mowed-space.) He failed to even make the biophilic paradise (El Cielo) that would have falsified his fatalism, just one day short of due diligence. Oh the horror to see modern folk only cpable of a mole's dead gaze before Nature's Glory. An editorial hand subtitled his article as a journey to "nowhere in particular"; what irony, activist super-nomads have very precise goals compared to the culture of quiet desperation, & we reach them. This time, in particuar, we were headed to El Cielo bioreserve, a Cathedral of Life. Only Mark failed to arrive, one bike-day short of paradise.To us, its he & his editors that seem to go nowhere. Why favor negativity & strangle the positive view?

Mark blamed his shrunken caravan on the supposed illousion of a real scene & also my social defects, but other factors weighed more. Austin folks shocked by Mark's demeaning of women & geeky tornado chasers. Folks bailed out on Harper's uncoolness. Once Mark jetted away, the caravan grew again. Nine riders arrived at El Cielo Biopreserve, a number like past journeys. This winter, even as Mark was declaring the scene dead, 17 riders rode to Mexico & donated bikes & parts to friends. Blame us for our slow growth, for not keeping pace with the canerous growth rates of modern consumerism, for we are slow-time activists.

Mark was fully informed that seasonal migration is sweetly timed; that the moving paradise zone full of migrating life exists, & he only missed it due to his slave calender. Dreamy talk of butterfly-time was vital biology, not empty poetry. We have followed affinity species like monarchs, gliding in pretty clouds. Mark was left behind. More irony, the advent of the constellation Orion, around October, is our celestial signal Southward,.

The band waited patiently for Mark (& Heather & Todd) to finish his Christmas holiday rituals in Gotham. By the time we left, the monarchs & many savy nomads, were long gone.

All knew Mark's migration must be partial reenactment, due to his constraints. Our Wild West Show was as authentic as Geronimo in Paris, as realistic as practical, even as Mark conformed the group to the oddest fancies, like everyone carrying these horns he passed out, useless ballast, except to cheer him up. Sure enough he put a loving mention in his piece about honking nomads, without mentioning any plant.

Mark's bad outcome riding with us was in part that he wasn't trained enough & mileage suffered. Mark froze in the frost, calories for sleeping warm spent by daily marathon exertion. Its good he had his little tent even though we kinda looked down on it, since the starry dome is so grand. He couldn't absorb 6000 calories a day, all of a sudden. I figured he was, well, Nordic, & would show us how cold is done, forgetful of physiology- humans are remarkably similar in thermal response, wherever they come from.

Mark massacred about every technical detail about our Mutant Bikes. part wrong but he impressed me, before the trip, with his mastery of formal poetic rhythm theory, so yes, he had the genes. I missed a clue, that he was so knocked out by weekend-warriorism that he no longer properly calculate poetic structures! Like the cognitive tests used brain medicine reveal, Mark was showing signs of impairment. For my part, in my element, i was blathering on like a nearsighted professor. His notes must be hash. A conjecture is that comparison of his hand writing with his norm would reveal the strain of the trip. (Oh, please, Orion, don't toss the source materials you might have for we have a case study of Every-man, how Mark adapted to the new reality reveals how the world will fare as The Big Changes come on strong.)

This is a real cool story. Mark ran his recorder for hours each day & took notes constantly, with incredible discipline. But then he selected a telling fraction to slant the whole. The entire source material needs to be saved for considtion by Orion & other scholasr, to compare the primary data trail with the extreme opinions he evenually published.

Orion missed scores of factual errors. Key assertions seem not to have been fact-checked at all, & are demonstably false.

Starting with the obvious, real sloppiness. A title & key search-term to the Bike-Nomad webstuff, the piece's central documentary source & impetus to the whole story, not just once, but thoughout. Even pop triva got mangled by the fact-checking team; Tattoo, an icon to billions, was beardless. If trivia was beyond accuracy, more so the vital facts of our life. We were conflated with Black Label! What's up with that?

Key bike-tech was dangerously wrong. It was Pete's tall-bike's rear brake missing, not his front. Any minute poor Pete could die somersaulting from on-high to the highway, by braking just a bit too hard on the front wheel. Tall bikes are particularly pitch ustable. A rear brake will never endo you, it can't lift without slipping. It was to much to mention that rearview mirrors, above all, keep us alive.

Shocked & frightened I rode Pete's bike in early morning frost to a metal shop near Blanco & the old welder instantly saw the grave peril & just turned the shop to me. I fabbed an old-school mount, for the only brake i could find was old. Now Pete was safe for the Hill Country. I was back at the Cafe before Mark had finished his morning coffee. Then, in Del Rio, the mount & brake was upgraded to vee-brake by the Mutant Bike King of the Border, the tall-bike was now fit for the Sierra Madre.

.

We stealth-camped state parks, a feat with an actual chase-scene, that Mark cut in favor lesser digression. One forbidden sleeping place was a gem, micro-Yosemite, all ours under a full moon, but quite unseen in Mark's security tent (we don't use them). The tent was reported to the authorities by a senior citizen, as he overslept the next morning, & we just barely slipped into the woods ahead of massed enforcement. Todd was interrogated & had to lie when he allowed himself to be seen at a restroom. We barely eluded the riled rangers in full-press search mode by gliding along horse-trails, watching impotent SUV patrols from the brush, listening to their excited radios; This was Mark's lesson on our experience with the Border Patrol. Just try sneaking around like a Kickapoo scout with a sleep-walking Viking in tow! Its like he wanted us caught. But they never caught us.

I showed Mark many wonderful things, an intense list of radical nomad tricks. He wasn't a peculiar pupil, the better the trick the more he hated it. The baiting of a big ex-marine white-supremist with a criminal violence record, & living to laff, left Mark unimpressed.

Mark's version of the trip was in the disparaging genre of Wolfe's Lurid Carnival reportage of youth activist culture, like the grass soup made from chicken bones, colorful stuff for the story, typical fun, but a distortion. The soup was full of good things expertly prepared, hardly grandpa's "Muligan's Stew". Bone stock is a gourmet mainstay, bones removed. He bought that fried chicken on Harper's money & would have wasted those bones. If i was a chicken i would say yes, please use my bones too, so less of my kind, poor prison-chickens, must die. That we had any edible grass in January, in a drought, in a desert, was showing-off.

Mark's most extreme & thorough omission, his direst supression of our voice, of the central theme of our radicalism- non-violence; It merited a single dissmissive remark, of vagabonds escaping war-taxes. A mentor, Jim Damon, of BikesnotBombs, did hard time as a war tax resister. I could easily make enough to owe those taxes. Turning down Orion money from Jason took work, it was a tidy sum just to forward source files for web images & i spent a sleepless night deliberating. Jason lied about the tone of Svenvold's piece, i almost fell for it. I ate fantastic King Boletes with gleaned cranberries to help make up for the groceries i might have bought with the dough.

The peace theme was in Mark's face all the time but he supressed the theme comepletely. In fact Mark made an earlier quickie jet-trip to Austin & rental-cared to perhaps our most wonderful nomad station, that we nomads helped found, the Crawford Peace House. He tried to get me to climb in. As i had for years, alone or in nomad groups, i pedaled the three days from Austin & met him there. Our reception by my dear long-time peace friends clearly undercut his bias. I got him put up in the one bedroom, (while many thousands can only camp). He was a parasite on the Peace Movement, a passive force for continued War.

Only by excluding Quaker/Trancendentalist inspired Peace Culture could Mark dare conflate, in his Epilogue, the rad Bike Nomads with the degraded car-smashing nihilist-oppositionalist Black Label bike kids of the North, who don't seasonal bike-migrate or found ecovillages & Peace Houses.

======================================

Part Viking Raider, part Everyman, fancy writer, Mark Svenvold, appears from New York, & teams up with a sort of Tex-Mex bandit-intellectual, that's me, to tour the border's mysteries on Winter Bike-Migration as an Austin based Mutant-Nomad & report back to Harper's Magazine, which freaked.

A Radical Austin Crash-Course

From the Bike-Nomad perspective Mark's New York is, like "ground-zero" of the intensely hierarchical "Domination System" (Wink's concept, not "The Demonic System" as Mark/Orion misquoted) where there's always a boss or power to answer to. Its mythologies are made of neoliberal journalism: the old-school distinction between reporter & subject, the boss-employee relation of editor & writer, & corporate franchises like Harper's.

Austin folks read Mark's book Big Weather & found the anguished Amazon "reviews" by geeky tornado chasers dissmissed in caricatures. The women as more-or-less straight-up bimbos.

In Austin, email warnings about "ambush journalism" circulated. Mark's pattern of printed sexism most disturbed the rads (but not Orion or Harper's).

The list of interested migrators melted from twelve-plus to five. Mark thinks the list collapsed because i am a pariah, but he doesn't consider how he's a facist-media square old enough to be dad to the average migrator, a proven sexist, & so on. I am honored to be the oldest Mutant Bike Nomad, grateful to have been so tolerated. Many of my friends liked the idea that i would be working on Mark's understanding, even if they had better things to do than watch the extended process. Most folks may not take a math text on holiday, but they don't hate it.

Perhaps someone wouldn't go if i went, i don't know who, the list was mostly strangers who knew niether Mark or me, but they well knew Harper's/Chevron was uncool & devious. Orion's fact-checkers could determine what really happened, if they wanted, but they don't.

I was biking to New Orleans, Katrina had just happened, i felt a call, but Mark insisted he would only ride with me, even though in our non-hierarchical community any of us can ably fill most roles. I fell for his exceptionalist flattery.

As Mark hit town on a jet plane, otherwise brave radicals almost jumped out windows to avoid Harper's facist microscope. The Rhizome Collective strangely emptied as Mark swung by. Johnny, a seasoned bike-nomad, the migration coordinator bailed, then Jason, a shy soul, who actually hid away when Mark was at the ecovillage, also could not stand Harper's looking over him. I must concede the fears proved valid.

As we parted Austin Mark was asked to please consider himself fully one of us, an Austin-style radical anarchist/pacifist/activist/artist whatever, collaborating as a social equal within our flattened social unhierarchy. He said "yes, of course". But inside he was still Harper's flunky, Big Oil's literary voice, as events revealed.

With his slave-time constraints he could only sample bike-migration. A duty to the story's wholeness, a struggle for truth-to-power obliged me to "complete the circle" the whole migration cycle, that poor Mark could not himself complete, & even complete the text as well, filling in gaps, restoring balance.

Mark mentioned his editor at Harper's, Roger Hodge, was, of all places, from Del Rio, a cradle of our Mutant-Bike Nomad civilization, a key border waypoint on our migration network. Roger had laughed over a fragment i wrote, "Glorious Raid on SEE-1" (Space Environments Ecovillage) near Biosquat. As the migration progressed Roger was promoted to the top position at Harper's, amid mass-media fanfare.

Now, if you hear about some Texas "golden-boy", remember Bush.* Perhaps Roger would be that rare Southern character who lives up to Big Promotion & is an honor to know, like Willie Morris, a legendary Harper's editor whose Iago was Roger's mentor, Lewis Lapham, Satan's dog. We were riding thru Del Rio & would see. I was Jimmy Olsen on a big story.

* Helen Thomas, in Austin recently, repeated the old reporter's line, "If you hear your mother loves you, check it out."

Confession- Mark plied me, on Harper's nickel, with beer, worse, even imported European beer. I failed to resist the ecological sin (dope-slap). He plied me with B-B-Q, to my deep shame as a struggling vegetarian (double dope slap). He never drank a drop. Buying beer was manifestly how hotshot reporters operate, i rationalized. We even stayed in motels at times (something that happened just once before on Bike Migration, during a deep freeze with gale winds, simply to hush the mewling new-bes).

I formally proposed that a central theme of "our" story was a moral crisis in all professions, in his case the paradox of willfully burning jet fuel to cover the global warming problem that Bike Migration was duly invented to solve. He had dismissed without comment an email proposal to do the story by telepresence. To make my case, i reflected on journalism & Harper's in particular. Mark listened like a wooden mask.

As we neared Del Rio Mark announced we had an invitation to stay at the Hodge's. Naively, i imagined yellow-dog hospitality on an old ranch porch.

Then, no reason given the newly-minted Big Editor stopped returning Mark's calls or e-mails, (note to Orion's fact-checkers: Can we finally find out what the deal was?). So we dropped in on my old friends, John & Lily. With no prior notice we were, predictably, warmly welcomed & instantly settled into the family scene of kids, cats, & puppies, with John playing his soulful guitar compositions.

Texas is a small Little-Prince world; a mocking presence stood little more than a stone's throw from our humble hosts, the Hodge Compound, two white mansions, high brick-walls; very uncharacteristic in rural Texas.

How i ached to knock on that door to resolve the mystery of the newly minted Texas Idol & the aborted hospitality, but Mark freaked & vetoed the move, even as John, Lily, & i insisted that this was Del Rio, for-crying-out-loud, where everyone knows everyone & the presumption of friendliness is sacred, so unlike New York.

Lily even went to school with Rodger & saw no problem. But it wurn't-gunna-hapun, Mark was more comfortable in the warm hospitality of poor strangers than lean on his wealthy boss. The social detour gave us something amazing. Lily began to tell Mark an incredible life-story, which i had never fully heard.

Mark's article systematicly omits any of these narratives of otherness from all the kind folks who helped him on his mission, so i have to fill in-

Lily's father, who she never knew, was an American G.I. who had a child by a Vietnamese mother under wartime circumstances. She remembers the period from a tiny girl's eyes, how one day playing with her little friends in a rural village. The adults screamed to them to run for cover; American fighter-bombers were coming, but Lilly froze in the clearing as her friends ran under a large tree. Before her eyes tree & all were blown to pieces. i cried then & cry again writing it.

As the war unwound a U.S. diplomat somehow knew of her & resolved to evacuate her, as mixed race kids faced a sad future in that tragedy-scape. Saigon was besieged. The diplomat paid fifty thousand dollars (i'm guessing CIA black-budget slush), half up front, for a Vietnamese on a scooter to smuggle her from the remote village, thru the battle lines, to the embassy.

The scooter trip across a tumultuous countryside was harrowing, little Lily marked for death by her father's sins. At one point they hid under water, breathing thru reeds, as a Viet Cong army passed, but they made it, just as the Embassy collapsed, onto the very last helicopter. It was an F. Gump moment out of newscast & The Killing Fields movie. That iconic photo, a fist coming out the copter door to smash the face of a forsaken Vietnamese servant-to-empire desperate to clamber aboard, well that fist was the diplomat's, her new adoptive father, who then retired to Del Rio, of all places. And so she became Roger Hodge's classmate.

We had a hell of a story going, each out-sized character along the old bike-nomad trail more incredible than the last. My novice journalistic spidey-sense tingled. Why did Lily think Hodge wasn't answering Marks calls or emails? She paused, then explained into Mark's recorder that there was a feeling among schoolmates (of mostly poor Mexican-American kids) that Roger was of the sort of people "who thought their s**t didn't stink", snobbish creatures of el Rio's inbred little country club scene, where regular folks weren't welcome. Whoops, Mark's intended story was falling apart & a new story had emerged. It was Hawthorne's writer's nightmare, where the charcters turn autonomous & the writer loses control.

Then Lily dropped a prize clue- Elite domination via 4-H. In rural Texas the 4-H Club is social forerunner to the late-arriving provincial Country Club. Of course! Days before, we pedaled thru Bandera (self proclaimed "Cowboy Capital of the World") & wandered a 4-H contest, uncomprehending, watching kids groom & caress meek sleek animals before their beaming families, the parking lot full of new giant pickups, SUVs, & fancy livestock trailers. Lily revealed a diagnostic pattern of how future rural Texas oligarchs' little hearts are hardened for domination, a sheer spiritual abuse, obliging a gentle child to raise an inevitably beloved pet for competition, slaughter, & BBQ. Poor kids, spared these rituals due to the expense, lackof leisure, & land required to participate in the sacrifice-cult may catch up in some Viet Nam, Iraq, or prison.

That night we went to Crosby's, a famous bar across the border in Ciudad Acuña, where my father & grandfather before me had gone to drink. Mark wouldn't drink, but John, Lilly, Pete* & i each had two big margaritas. i belted out a couple of songs accompanied by the mariachis, on Harper's nickel.

* Let Mark's account describe Pete, worthy apprentice Cyclown nomad.

It was a good time, but i still pushed Mark on the Hodge thing & he was getting pissed. Somehow his (our) story boomeranged back at his boss. He figured it was the alcohol & said so, but was the same two drinks even Lily our driver, sipped. Anyway, i rebutted, Dr. Johnson's thought was scarcely negated by drink, in vino veritas & continued the tack. "Why are you doing this?"" he hissed. I wasn't sure yet, a cub-reporter flys on instinct.

Roger, the sociolgy drop-out (right-on, Dude), must agree that amassed wealth & social dominance along the Tex-Mex Border requires help from dark historical processes, such as murder & dispossession of natives, & destruction of nature. My dad's family siezed privilege this way. Even some on my mother's Mexican side- Ladino crypto-Jews evading the freakin' Spanish Inquisition, over the centuries, lapsed into social elitism.

We are playthings of fate. Evil traces from ignorance of causes beyond little humans. How we act upon loss of ethical innocence, & how we take up universal responsibility can free us. I needed to address my own meat eating of 4-H creatures on Harper's budget, which i well knew came from the rape-of-Florida fortune that became the MacArthur Foundation that rescued Harper's from a natural death. It was time to ride over the border.

But first a consideration of the physical ordeal Mark, a strong rider actually, went thru. The Hill Country is a steep roller coaster of famously grueling cycling. Lance earned his global dominance on these same hills, most roads established before modern grades simply smashed thru hilltops & filled the valleys with the spoil. We were riding into ENSO cycle headwinds that sap an inexperienced bike-nomad.

Mark complained of exhaustion, sleeping early & late, kind of in a mental fog. Something was wrong.

Short days, late starts, we logged but half normal mileage. Mark was hit by too many lifestyle changes at once. Jogging Central Park had poorly prepared him for an ultrathon lifestyle pedaling what turned out to be a boat-anchor of excess baggage. He was 53 & biophysics is unkind to giants (Lance is a tiny grasshopper). Unlike Lance, bike-nomads ride loaded bikes for twice as many daily hours, the childish males race, the wiser females catching up by & by, less exhausted. I began the trip with lingering flu & cough, but soon recouped the incredible stamina this life gives us, my body of itself pulled to the paradise it knew ahead.

It turned out Mark's bike was grossly overloaded; i failed to check it back in Austin, some superguia. He was carrying Jack Benny's closet- vidcam, bloated binder notebooks, jack-ass tomes (like Heinberg's simplistic Peak Oil book, where atmospheric science & market forces hardly figure).

And his tent, we Texas nomads never used them, by Mark's writing vainly implies we used them & that he wasn't the sole tent prisoner, Night after night Mark missed the blazing stars, as if he had never left NY. If in the end he failed to transform, here is sufficient cause. He feared rattlesnakes, scorpions, taranulas, & such. Perhaps this is what finally drove the Vikings back north; fear of spiders.

First up, last awake, as Victor Hugo defined the artist, i kept up a constant blabbing into Mark's recorder, notebook, or vidcam, a Narcissathon. Tis is how a psychoanalist scores big fees; patients so ashamed that all agree a cure has transpired.

We crossed into Mexico, staying with people befriended on past trips, whom Mark never mentions. Always, high hospitality prevailed, as Jack London found in his tramp years. As Mark's time ran out we began to hitch-hike, busting yet another old Mutant-Bike Nomad taboo.

I toured Mark around the radical punk scene in Monterrey. Not a word of this utopia made Mark's story.

Just one day's bike-ride from the goal, Ciudad Victoria, yet we spent two days waiting for a fossil ride. A climaxic discussion ensued at the Linares truckstop; we were really getting somewhere, social status as key to our time's great problems. As usual, from dawn onward, i probed the psychic terrain of Mark's mainstream reality.

What in New York was more urgent than finishing the last little leg to paradise? Was the adventure-reality we were living so horrible? For Pete, it was all Maslovian Peak Experience. He was flourishing as a newborn Cyclown, empowered, liberated. Unlike Mark, he never saw me as a problem & would return to Austin to cite me on his myspace page as an inspiration. Thank-you Jesus, for this honor; Mark's hatred hurt. Had he & Mark really been on the same trip?

My guess is that for Mark to arrive at the actual paradise just up the road would be the last-straw & undercut his world too deeply, better king of a familiar hell than glimpse actual heaven, or maybe it was the spiders.

Mark explained his family was fearful for his safety, a legitimate concern, except that it was compromising the diligence due to the story. Mark was bailing just short of the climax, our community paradise in Victoria & the incredible bidiversity of the El Cielo Biopreserve.

We had cleared the horrible danger called Texas. Mexico, don't tell anyone, is a pussy-cat, a stand-off, just one little college kid eaten ritually hereabouts & Mark was the biggest Juan Wayne around. If he just lost the fanny-pack & yachtie-hat, he wouldn't even be a cartel/police kidnap target.

I must confess there was one rather grave danger left for Mark to face, biking in the Sierra Madre, where we bomb down the winding highways at up to seventy miles an hour or more, even passing traffic, with vast precipices yawning inches away. My bike was the fastest of any, due to its superlow drag coefficient & my heaviest overall mass, other rides must tuck in behind me if they would keep up. I vaingloriously wanted to show off my best trick to the reporter, how i had, over a period of years, figured out how to grab semi trucks & be pulled up the mountain, only used for signature peer display to my Mexican mountain biker friends, who do things i am terrified to do.

In a world where innocents are being blown up by the thousands, such extreme behavior somehow relieves the pain just a bit, a cry of freedom.

Mark thew down his bail-out trump-card; his discount jet ticket would expire. Cheap above all, i accept this. For money is the blood of Nature & slaves. His article mentions a secret reason. I pray all was actually well & it was some shameful Seinfeld motive, like missing an appointment with the right dentist.

Oh how Mark missed his accustomed life. He cerntainly would not be dropping-out of his rat-race, away from his awesome rent-controlled apartment near Central Park to struggle in an ecovillage. No more crazy bike migrations. His services addiction (services performed by an underclass) was too deep. Putting up with bosses & social superiors was but the required price to carry-on, to raise his kids as the Jones's did. He described an exotic alien world a Mutant-Bike Nomad never sees, where his child's bedtime read was still Nancy Drew, never Emma Goldman.

He opened a new theme; an innate perception of "good people" (like him) & "bad people" (like me), & how bad people couldn't be trusted to understand mainstream truths. Now i would gladly have traded sides in the debate for wasn't making much of a case, but he really warmed to his role of writer articulating mainstream rage toward Austin-style radicals. Texas rednecks risk stroke expressing such views in stammered epithets & crude body-language, but Mark was a pro. (A friend later forwarded an e-mail by Mark describing me (for a third time) as "the worst a**hole (asterisks mine) (he) ever met." Ouch! I was aiming at the system on his back. Folks told me Mark contacted tham trying to get dirt on me, which i would be interested to see.

Now here is one of his strangest falsehoods- that the big conversation in the Drug Capital of Linares led to both of us yelling at each other & that i somehow responded in kind when he cursed me. Pete, an uncanny Jesus-like character, a pure soul all agree, was there. His can confirm i never got angry at Mark, certainly never called him names. I was firmly raised to never to act like say, New Yorkers are supposed to, & can't ever remember cursing or giving anyone the finger, not in my whole life. But perhaps when you reveal a person's emotional vulnerability & they lose their cool, they so want it to be a symetric event.

This sort of weird lie happened before, when 4 of 5 officers who arrested me, on a FOIA mission in their own Police Station, testified that i yelled & acted up. The one female cop (oh how i am gratful to her!) testified tearfully, but truthfully, that, in fact, i was speaking in my usual mumbling monotone & she could hardly hear me from five feet away.

But i was excited, for the wooden mask was talking again, answering questions even. Did his rabid antipathy that mean the Harper's article wouldn't help me find an ideal girlfriend? "Yes!" he cried. Deeply stung, consoled only that i would soon be in Cuidade Victoria, in the courting line before El Cielo Biopreserve's angelic butterfly biologist, Diana Salvidar Caballero, who doesn't read Mark's English (a friend suggested she could just let a search engine translate Mark's indictment, *sigh*).

Now about the actual sex scandal, my seeming random evocation of Bukowski's Swedish literary groupies that Mark saddled me with in his odd version of our journey. It was but a proper answer to Mark's question about whether subcultural clown-heroes ever "get lucky", but he omitted this context, making it sound as if i was spouting such facts appropo to nothing but saytrhood. I also mentioned primate field studies supported a "get lucky" effect. Mark unfairly used my training, to faithfully answer any question as helpfully as i could, to make his cartoon version of me. Even clowns have sweethearts, or they could never have evolved. We get lucky.

Our trip, as it turned out, was not so much about radical ecovillagers & bike nomads solving "the end of oil", but Class War. Reading The Global Class War, by Faux, on my return, clarified how the Global Country Club Set's allegiance to itself trumps loyalty to one's own geographic place, the poor, & Nature Herself. My own dad reveals how he, a neo-lib, may argue savagely during golf with his neo-con friends but, at-the-end-of-the-day, they agree on the necessity of big militaries & inevitability of environmental destruction to maintain a sacralized hyperconsumption.

At last we got a ride & arrived at the "Capital of Birds", Ciudad Victoria, where you almost never see a tourist, thanks to "NarcoSatanistas" who ritually tortured & ate a University of Texas college student back in the eighties (there is even a museum).

Our Winter Base, the Recyclista Clubhouse- aka Centro Cultural Enrique Lara Montañez, Tio's* elegant construction, was trashy & Mark was clearly appalled. Memo, our overjoyed host hooked up pirate water & electric in a jiffy & Pete & i set to work, a bit of Herculean clean-up Mark shunned. Soon our haven was shining again & we were riding with the Recyclistas in the varied natural wonderlands here-abouts.

The Viking Invasion of the Mutant-Bike Nomad base in Mexico lasted barely 3 hours before poor Mark retreated north by earliest bus. It had been a tough trip. Left behind was the fine giant bike Austin Yellow Bike donated to Mark. Our best mechanic, Lee, of Pedal Pushers Bike Shop, built it & i areofaired & cargo-rigged it; a bike so big that Pedal Pushers had given up matching it to a rider.

The Mexican Recyclistas Bike Club had no one to fit such a monumental ride. In minutes, pirana-like, the racing team rendered the bike into components & distributed them. Some pieces, warped & worn by monstrous Viking force, had to be tossed. The mighty frame yet hangs in Old Mexico as a trophy, a fossil skeleton. Compact Mexicans look tiny next to it, they caress it, dreaming. Perhaps a rare Mexican Giant will someday claim it. More likely, by a compensatory instinct, the smallest Mexican around will adopt it.

In the trash was found a huge trove of Mark's dirty socks ( he never did laundry on the trial, which mutant-bike nomads do almost daily to keep a lean kit). I hand-washed the Great Writer's socks to gift to grateful Mexicans. I had been his Tonto, Gunga-Din, & Dersu; to be chumped by the media system, but it was cool anyway. Mark was back in Gotham sipping latte.

* Montañez, an old bolshie who joyously adopted us before passing away in 2004.

WHEELIAD Contents

comment to: santos137@yahoo.com

 

(the vacous neo-liberal citadels of Harper's & Orion)

The primary document cited by Orion's feature was misnamed, its search term broken

Why no aknowledgements? It would be the list of dozens of my dear friends,all the names omitted in his story, refuting Orion's character attack.

The readership would be interested to find out what Orion was asserting, behind its back, that readers would certainly not be interested in reading about

Good writing attracts good readers. Dumbed-down writing results in dumber readers. If Orion is about the best Nature writing, it can't just common-denominate it without killing it, that would be Orwellian New Speak.

If i can somehow manage to write better about Nature than Orion's all-time best, it would falsify its core claim to actually be the best. Surely its fair for me to try as much as i please. So Surviving Biodiversity in El Cielo is my first submission toward this goal. But oblige me with your pick for Orion's most choice quality piece. Then lets let others decide who won. Give me a shot.

Can't Orion find a "complete asshole" who is a GreenWasher, like a Frequent-Flier Carbon-Denier set on flooding Bangladesh? Or is a poor ass who rides a bike instead the only category Orion reserves such a label for.

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Evil Eye

Photography as Spiritual Vampirism

Imaginary Email from Jason Houston

(note to J.H., dude, don't take this writing wrong, its about photography above all, if you want i'll remove the imaginary email literary device & any reference to you & just make it an essay. I'm just trying to grow the thoughts into clarity)

Hi Dave,

Sorry to delay this response. I'm evolving, thinking about photography on a deeper level, how commercial photography & print has laid waste to countless forests, too often mercenary, a prostitution. Art is better kept sacred. My jasonhouston.com domain now fills me with loathing. That Frequent-Flier Carbon-Denier ecophotogrpher personae- what was I thinking? Verily, I was that Great White Photographer (GWhiP). Great Whites answer to no one, except Greater Whites. How i jetsetted about in exceptionalist priveledge, verily the baleful Master's Eye, panoptic yet insensitive.

What a revelation to learn that in much of the traditional world the Evil Eye is precisely a stranger's gaze on a child. In Mexico the custom is for an outsider to pat the kid on the head, to prove one is not a goblin, something few Gringos know, so the poor mother feels obliged to pay a healer, money she can ill afford, to cure "susto", a child's loss of soul leading to sickness or death. In this world-view the camera is considered a robber of souls. It bothered me when the face of an anonomous poor person hardened before the fancy lense that was my shield. Now I can't photograph someone's poor sick Mom without learning her name & trying to do something direct for her, money, medical help, whatever it takes, a remain a friend. I feel better.

Thanks for pointing out the problem with photography as understood by the traditional Kickapoo in Northern Mexico, where outsiders, especially photo-journalists, are not allowed into the community with cameras. Clearly the peoples of quested-vision know something missed by my culture of superficial gaze & commodity image. When you first rode your bike into the Kickapoo village in Mexico, unnannounced, to befriend them, they first asked if you had a camera. To your own surprise you had mostly outgrown the device & didn't bother with one, you, the kid mascot to National(ist) Geography & Blackstone Photographers. You who hoped to become, but escaped, what I became, a pro photographer. The Kickapoo were impressed, unable to remember, in recent years, a stranger without a camera. Passing that test was an omen to them & made you an honored guest, treated like family, with love, your stay there a precious spiritual experience, experience which I envy, to leave the camera behind in order to learn something deep about photography. I am reading Maunders on such themes with great enjoyment while I trick out a nomad bike from salvage, maybe I'll visit those Kickapoo, while leaving the jet behind.

I got a copy of Juarez: Laboratory of the Future, that harrowing masterwork of Mexican photojournalists, with awesome afterword by Galeano, & realized my poverty-porn could never top such heart-filled work. I realized my highest role is to mentor such folks, as you do by giving them bikes. I feel more a part of redemtive-vision this way, than when my hand held the gadget. In our attention economy I no longer want to hog the lime-light, let people tell their own story best.

Orion has caught the wave and transformed. You would laugh at how Orion officers once vied over who got to drive Al Gore back & forth from the airport. Sorry dude, that my first impulse was that I didn't have to answer your questioning of eco-journalists' carbon budgets, a petty arrogance-of-power does not answer such impertinence. I didn't know you had not yet followed my advertising link off Orion's site yet, I thought you were dissing me, not hitting bone by accident with abstraction. You incorrectly thought I was Orion's galley-slave, down with your subversive liberational mode. You are right about the eco-ethical crisis of professions; how the loss of moral innocence forces a stark choice between willful indifference, a moral criminality in boarding that jet, v. truer paths of inner transformation. Our NE native Thoreau & Dickenson did not need jets to catch liberation.

The camera is too easily an Idiot-Box, humans are capable of more, as 40,000 yrs. of painting proves. Van-Gogh could whip out a master-piece faster than a 1hr photofinisher can return my crappy shots. I have started to draw seriously while I reconsider photography. Here is a list of excercises for myself, a photojournalist in recovery from ethical & eco-ethical crisis

1) I shot my own face, close-up at full resoution, thinking about photography, the anger I felt at your attack on my "shallow ecology"; I shot my pain for the poor I more than once once "shot" for money, without helping them so much as helping myself. I'm seeking the power in micro-expression not found in normal unawareness.

2) I took a picture of a flower to compare, side by side with a real flower. I noted the total superiority of the real flower & pondered the dangers of a fake flower as any kind of substitute. Simulated nature is one reason why The Monster I served destroys nature so unfeelingly. Like you I can now pity the photographer who is killing flowers by photographing them (by travel, consumerism, etc.).

I started a Cameras-not-Bombs program to piggyback on Bikes-not-Bombs/Boston shipment to Iraqi & Darfur refugee kids. The first shipment was 300 donated old 35s with expired yet good film, & old dark room stuff no one knew what to do with, is going to displaced native photographers, who will support the kids efforts. Orion will feature the kid's work, along with the best of the frankly weaker elite gwhip work. How wonderful that the world's poor children, given cameras, redeem my own photography.The sheer joy of a little thumb impinging on smudgy lense chasing that mangy cur, itself in happy play, thru a dump. Oh those magic shots when the shutter is pressed by innocence, that the motor-driven pro is forbidden. They are not, as I did, "specializing in poverty (photography)", shooting from the height of a well nourished westerner, with the latest fancy equipment, in the style of our sorry cultural Empire.

Yes, The old Orion Society was technically facist, a corporate-government alliance under tax law, a 501, a crypto-agent of reaction. The board & staff split apart, some going on to Chevron/Harper's ecoPRwing. The folks remaining voted to drop 501 status & take on the War & eco-crisis bravely. In a festive spirit we are give up most cars (a battered women's center got mine), planes, lawns, space-heat, & such & telecommute or crash at the office. Amazing new folks show up & the writing & art is far better. The Orion garden is bursting, we trade with Food-not-Bombs & eat better than the restaurants we once drove to. We slashed the budget of printed destruction & money actually piled up to buy land to recover & open as ecovillages. The once bloated mag is a lean zine now, little thumbnails & text fragments point to hi-rez files online for those who want more. Its now clear how unnacceptable it was for a wealthy reader to flip thru our glossy greenish porn- pseudo-ecophotospreads, inconspicous hyper-consumption, one glance & tossed away, instantly forgotten, visual kleenex.

You'll be glad to learn my new deep-ecophotography workshops are better attended & more gratefully recieved than the old ones; since I transformed, made the "change-over", folks really get it.

PeaceOut, the Jster.

>>>>>>Jason, i pause here to go on to other work, but you get the idea. Any feedback?

notes,

Now that the article is out, Mark's "complete asshole" slant is revealed as unlike you what you described, willfully withholding it from preview while trying to get me to illustrate it, my actual literary voice killed.

Differing perceptions of "adventurous"<== how jasonhouston.com describes an easy train trip across the Tarahumaran Sierra. My brother & i, as kids, made the same trip with our elderly grandparents, before you were born probably. We were border natives on a tame holiday, including side trips. For the radical standard of adventure there read Antonin Artaud's (rad hero) shamanic quest narrative in the thirties, on muleback. On the other hand, gringos in mexico can get in grave danger, which seems to grow lately, for they exude a clueless vibe & resentments have grown. On our routes murdered gringos are described as wandering "disquieted", like bait. Always have a native protector, a role i play for my friends, unless you are fully tough.

================================================================

 

Living Death, Knights of the Living Death, humans taken by the Monster as Zombies, the diagnostic clues... Zombies don't know they are zombies, they try to make others become zombies by tagging them, stealing their soul for the Monster, they spread living-death, they eat it, breathe it, etc. The process of a zombie recovering to full humanity goes like this =>anger--denial--depression--self-loathing--evolution--redemtion--joy

Ivan Illich- Energy & Equity made a dent on Mark.

Cultural Imperialism, Radicals "calling each other out" as healthy ethics. Denial of need to justify a destructive way-of-being, while striking a noble pose, as ridiculous.

Understand how thinkers have identified a phenomonon, call it Poverty Porn, the being of The Other deoderized, sanitized, for consumption as entertainment basically, for hardly are folks ever tranformed by such mere images as powerfuly as by reality. False inspiration, as by a Hallmark Holiday Special, rather than true inspiration that transforms. Could it be that a photographer on location, seeing thru a camera, so "at home" that they are shielded from transformation?

What kind of new photography is called for? Native images made by natives is supressed in the attention economy where jet-setting photo-hounds get the money & audiences. The best practice is for the privileged photographer to put cameras & audiences in the hands of those who never got tell their stories unmediated by outsiders

Abandoning of an inferior way-of-being is easy if you haven't identified too deeply with it. One's Atman is undefiled by a wrongful path left behind. Siddhartha the brat.

Would you want a poor photgrapher in your house after shots of spiritual poverty? (like tableaus of mass-consumer vanity objects)

Robin Hood, after all, drank the Sherrif's ale when he could.

First Svenvold wrote a book about a corpse, then an invalid, & it didn't seem too hard, so he figured he could handle a Mexican, to his grief.

======================================================

(dave santos)

===============================================

Mark conflates us with Black Label cyclists, who are know-nothings, technically the same species as loyal Harper's & Orion readers, the opposite of know-it-alls like us.

Avenging Willie Morris

They murdered Willie Morris, at Harper's, & replaced him with authoritarian animatrons like Lapham & Hodge.

When Mark wrote that i looked like Fidel & Pete like Jesus he was somehow cribbing right out of Exxon-Mobil's counterprotester handbook, stereotypes we've heard often. The worst of us get saddled with Castro (who is also alleged to pay for the beer), & the nicer ones are dissmissed as Christ.

 

If folks suddenly knew the truth, that real paradise is reachable by dropping-out of hellish consumerism, oil prices would crash overnight.

So above all a Legitimizing Myth had to be concocted to save Big Oil, Peak Oil.

 

Unprintable
Harper's Kills Cool Story
Prints Shit Instead

If Harper's had an appropriate fact-checking process for scientific issues, it would have been realised that this should have been fact-checked with expert researchers. (Gallo, et al. 2006)

 

"...the worst asshole I ever met," Writer, Mark Svenvold, on assignment for Harper's.

 

Viking & Bandit Along the Tex-Mex Border

When i see the sat-view of big weather over Del Rio, i dread john & lily's repeated struggle, on low ground, to save the children & losing everything, while the Hodge mansions just up the hill get a good lawn watering.

Just after we passed the "carbon zone" 70 coal miners died underground in a huge accident caused by terrible conditions. All Mexico hung to the news, for days, then mourned, no survivors. they made $6 a day, the families had no insurance. i pointed to the lightbulb & declared to our Mexican gang that it was the cheap addiction to that that killed them & they nodded gravely.

Chevron v. Mutant Bike Nomads

Chief O'Reilly, master greenwasher, ChevronTexaco gives millions to the Republican Party, Named a supertanker after former boardmember Condi Rice, met secretly with Vice President Cheney to maximise profits & oppose Kyoto Protocol,

 

Held Hostage by Domination Systems

"...several variables... force the development of the Stockholm Syndrome.  Finding oneself in an isolated situation with distance from the individuals...previously perceived as meeting (one's) needs, (is) central to all theoretical formulations of the syndrome...The "high-risk" (Stockholm Syndrome) profile starts as one who has a highly unfulfilling private life, and uses (a) rigid (social) identity...as an important veneer to an incomplete self-concept." Gilmartin & Davis

Modern isolation is separation from the old depth of family & community bonds in exchange for a "rigid" identity as "veneer" over the incompleteness. The individual takes up

"{Cultic) ...closed (cultic) systems start with isolation and end with total dedication to a person or doctrine." Dorothy Dedication to the Monster system doctrines.

Mark's failed transformation may have been due to a Stockholm Syndrome-like mechanism, those held in the thrall of the Domination System or Authoritarian Hierarchies in general, come to indentify with the oppressors (Harper's)rather than would-be liberators (Bike Nomads?).

Destructive legitimizing myths are nightmares of reason sleeping.

Parsing Roger Hodge*

* has not replied to queries, at this writing.

Lapham, who backstabbed Willie Morris, no less, to head Harper's, hands this obscure intern, Roger Hodge, the "top-job" in the literary world? Its as if Monica became president. Is there anything really postive to find on the net about "Marlboro Dude"? Poor guy!

From Roger Hodge's '99 review of Jedediah Purdy's For Common Things:

Alas, such books are all too common. Jebediah Purdy belongs to a publishing tradition that includes Dinesh D'Souza, Katie Roiphe, and Wendy Shalit, a line of young Ivy-educated authors whose prose briefly quickened the hearts of the marketing executives who decide which titles will appear at the front of book catalogues, in Barnes & Noble display windows, and on the banner of the Amazon.com home page. How nice that these young sages were fortunate enough to attend expensive schools, how nice for them to be published at such a tender age. And yet how utterly worthless are their books, stacked on remainder shelves in the basements of used-book stores soon after their publication, their notoriety worn thin, their authors' careers all but over.

*GASP*, Roger gored Jeb-Boy!..."utterly worthless" aye? Hodge finds these books utterly useful to him as objects of ridiclue in Harper's, books that would be the jewels of Borge's Library.. Michelangelo can only arise where a hundred Bunglinos thrive & remaindered books, passed on by the Hodges of this world do become classics.

So how bad are these writers proving, really? Dinesh about as good a thinker as a social conservative can be, a vaguely exotic blend of India & blended strains of Buckly/Wills/Reagan/Goldwater, without the crap of truly failed neocons. Katie is an interesting contradiction of hip & reaction, fully at the forefront of social trends she gives voice to, hardly "utterly worthless". Wendy is a fresh voice for old-fashioned modesty in the face of the decadent raunch most of us are inured to. Minority opinions considered repugnant by such as Hodge are not "utterly worthless", for we need more voices of otherness, not less.

Hodge somehow singles-out for denigration & dismissal an ethnic Indian, two women, & a kid (the wunderkind he never was), in a publishing world as-ever dominated by older white males like himself. These "utterly worthless" writers are more original & better writers than Hodge, who suffered coniptions over the misunderstanding of his failed satire (Onan the Magnificent), which a most readers, including me, mistook for a creepy hypersexual manifesto. The hastily apended heading, "Satire", needs to printed even bigger to communicate that humor is intended. Having Harper's print your crap without end is a key perk of the top-job, Lapham proved.

As for Baby Jedediah, the "Corn Pone Prophet" as Hodge labels him, an actual literary prodigy from West Virginia, he grew legs & continues to mature & could tutor Roger on graceful celebrity & how to complain intelligently about, call it Hodge-Speak.-

"The idea you have when you imagine celebrity is that a lot of people are going to know a lot about you and appreciate the things about you that you want them to appreciate... (that) it's like having a lot of really good friends. And what happens, of course, is that people know snatches and confused summaries about you, and they attach their own hang-ups or agendas to those, and you're this vehicle for other people's opportunistic sentiments. . . . And that's almost the opposite" Purdy to Washington Post

Jedediah is at-ease in his rural soul, but Roger radiates loathing of birthplace, yet clings to outmoded mythologies of Texas land baronage, cultic hunting rituals, & the American-Westernized fiction of native Rhode Islander Cormac McCarthy. Alienated from the poor classes of his Del Rio hometown, & their easy informality, on the Net he projects a banal urban sophisticate identity under a cardboard "Marlboro Dude" facade, for a shallow fan base that worships him more as male-model than literary-being, a weak Dan Quale of Letters who lost in the desperate odds against greatness. Check his pastiche of "Findings", the Onan Blooper, & the mean writer's-cop dismissal of the "utterly worthless".

Roger overawed Harper's technophobe culture with a dribble of XML, a weenie language (Lapham boastfully admits he can't even use a computer, using female wage slaves to do the same functions), but Roger's website ended up with a lame schema, utterly unwhizzy, carried only by the horse-whipped branding. Many an amateur's plain HTML site is more compelling. Still, he tried, give him a C+ (no C++, ha-ha)

Rick MacArthur, the absentee puppertmaster/kingmaker at Harper's, long ago bored by that-seventies-toy (hush little baby, don't you cry, (grand)daddy's gonna buy you Harper's Magazine

Roger Hodge deserves credit for perfecting a sinature genre- Humorless Satire. A good example is his classic piece, Onan the Magnificent, which also established him as the foremost Literary Onanist of our time.

===============================================

Lapham's two-faces- Class Traitor, exposing the flaws of his Ruling Class culture in numerous writings, & Class Upholder, unable to escape his own critique.

Answering Lapham
STATEMENT FROM LEWIS LAPHAM
(about his film, The American Ruling Class )

(Lapham's words in italics, mine plain.)

...I don’t know of any topic as relevant to the predicament in which the country now finds itself than the composition of the American leadership class.

A bright third-grader can see the set of possible solutions to a predicament, rather than mere money & power, is more relevant.

...on what ethical ground do we defend our American freedom and prosperity?

American freedom is defensible in not infringing on the freedom of others, including future generations. American prosperity is defensible to the extent that it is not off the backs of victims (slaves & other underclasses) & the natural environment.

Nobody disputes...our military predominance, but with what moral and intellectual force do we confront the hostility of people who don’t see much of a difference between the prospect of death by starvation, gunfire, or disease?...

To bore or annoy the ruling class, merely propose that a Thoreau, Ghandi, Mandela, or King provides a worthy model of moral & intellectual force.

What do we expect our leaders to know? What values do we require them to hold?

Sadly, one can't expect Lapham's inbred class of "leaders" to know much or hold wonderful values. The best leaders do not act as a Ruling Class.

Of whom does the American leadership class consist; where does it find its philosophy, and how does it differ from its Asian and European counterparts?

Lapham persistently conflates mere ruling or directing with real moral & intellectual leadership.

Define the American directorate as the few...who manage the government, coin the money, write the laws, administer the schools, own and operate the news media, and how do we know them when we see them? From whence do they come, and to whom or to what do they owe their positions of authority?

Take Roger Hodge as an example of the media "directorate". He comes from a fouth generation provincial aristocracy that owes its existence to a history of genocide (Native Americans), slavery (African Americans), ethnic cleansing (Mexicans), & environmental destruction (Texas #1). He owes Lapham himself for his position of authority as editor of Harper's.

(The meaning of class) shifts with the social setting and the tone of voice, with the height of the ceiling, the names of the other people on the guest list, the view (or lack thereof) of the mountains or the sea.

Interesting that by these criteria we, Mutant Bike Nomads & Biosquatters are a higher class- The Cosmos is our ceiling, everyone, even Lewis & Roger, is welcome on our guest list, & our views of the worlds mountains & seas are more varied & persistent than anyone else we know of.

...from whom else do we expect answers if not from the American leadership class?

From the other 99.9 percent of humanity, where most intelligence resides. People from the underclasses, like Diane Wilson (An Unreasonable Woman) have more answers than a host of Laphams.

------------------

"...the jewel of flattery concealed in the glove of insult...(a form of) American Humor." Lapham's natural voice surely, but actually funny, no.

==============================================

Sociology Notes-

Physical & symbolic violence act upon victims by elevating levels of the stress hormone cortisol, literally killing neurons in the hippocampus, a cognitive integration center controlling memory. This mechanism is consistent with the prime predictive mortality factor in humans- social status. Social science reveals that prisons, bad schools, denigrating messages, & poverty directly brain-damage humans.

social endocrinology, perceptual fluency & apperception, exposure effect,

"Legitimizing Myths" is a sociological concept that explains much of the "(History/Science/Carbon) Denier" phenomenon. Many of the "repugnant" questions posed aim at such myths, the stock stonewall being "bad people" "don't deserve to know" (RWA codespeak quoted from research).

LM (Legitimizing Myth) studies, for example Palmer's Control Myths, & how truth ruins them.  

Social Domination Orientation (SDO) index; Left-Wing Authoritarian (LWA) "Double High" (high SDO too)- Lapham   Mark & Roger as LWA follower orientation w/ Roger tempted to excess SDO.   Moi as classic Hierarchy Attenuator (HA)   - exploring neurochemistry of dominance/status relations, good tack  

 

"Sport Hunting" in terms of power relations, that famous high (involving adrenalin & seritonin) at the moment of non-utilitarian pleasure-ritual sport-killing, the same power high studied in social settings (Snubs, service . The 4H culture thesis dovetails in. Such phenomena offer an explanation for the "willful indifference" of Byron H. type thinkers toward the rape-of-nature & social injustice.  

Attorney Byron Hodge, Roger's bro (?), vented at a recent Del Rio public on water conservation, as the attending Neanderthal. The family owns 40,000 to 100,000 (?) acres of land (NYmag prints "156 sq. miles"- no way) seeks more water rights, apparently to expand largescale hunting tourism operations, so Byron demands (the harshest note in a public meeting transcript full of hushed sweet voices of the Old Border) Del Rio state its future water needs NOW, while the prevailing concensus, from small business to ordinary citizens, pleaded to wait a little for a bit more science, a course despised by the "country lawyer".

Formal Ethics mapped to periodic knowledge space, (computer science work i did in the 90's inspired by Dr. Peter French), & a calculus of social responsibility emerges. All of this is a special subset of Borges' Library, & form elements of hypothetical Cosmic Redemptive Texts mentioned on our bike voyage.  

Powerful tools to undermine many Legitimizing Myths of current Social Domination Networks (including Wink's classic Domination System on one scale & Harper's on another), for myths are unstable before evidence-driven scientific method, the Socratic Questing Force, Exupery's Little Prince as relentless questioner, Hiedegger's "questioning as the piety of thought" on steroids.

================================

Harper's AIDs Denier flirtation symtomatic of scientific illiteracy now repeating in Carbon Denier mode, where the legitimizing myths of petro trust fund kids are at risk

Chevron's reserved place in the Magazine is the front piece ad spread, an emptily laid-out psuedoecology-for-dummies pitch. Chevron is the current parent of Texaco founded by Lapham's great granddad. Lapham's impression that the Harper's reader is too cool for Rolex ads is fully falsified by even more tawdry "Gold Buffalo" coin ads.

 

Harper's avoids "delegitimizing" truths. So if the original story, as you represented it, is gutted, Harper's needs to compensate me (& others?), for lost time or face legal remedies (J.R. MacArthur & Allen Austill take note!  give Harper's legal staff a heads-up.).

 

 killing a "repugnant" story may be a long unfolding PR debacle.

Harper's many critics have converged on a "windy echo-chamber" critique of the magazine under Lapham's rule. The general complaint of "thinly veiled contempt" for subjects is repeatedly made against Lapham, & as you know, also directed at poor Svenvold on Amazon, a clear cultural pattern. Our (Mutant Bike Nomad) way-of-being represents an antidote. On a fraction of the petro-wattage we are worthy artists & thinkers beyond the "gold buffalo chip" mentality.  

Our dream came true too, the Cyclown Circus invaded flippin' Mongolia on Mutant Bikes, half-way around the world from Biosquat, in Austin, & no one yet hurt. Cyclowns are vainglorious, but aren't we not also glorious? Check out Pete's MySpace website for a picture of him juggling while hands free steering my original tall-bike.  

the story has emerged as an Agatha Christy style plot with clever resolution, a story of the great moral crisis of our day (see NY Times, John Tierney), just like slavery was; of stereotypes like "bad people" & "good people v. new ideas like- frequent-flier Carbon Deniers, Blood for Cheap Electricity, Environmental Classism, etc., 

where story leads-   -what was it, in psychological terms, that marked the German freethinkers for lynching, was a superior attitude derived from literary culture the rednecks had largely lost exacerbated by the intolerable self sufficiency of slave-free DIY.

Harper's rejected, without comment, a suggestion to hire an eco-physicist (for carbon footprint calculation), psychologist (to assess motivations, charges of "going after", etc.), & ethicist (to determine if folks have crossed lines of acceptable behavior) to vette claims in this story, or the dropping of it, to fact-check the divisive points. This might be a great way to use some of the foundation money to tighten up the great fascinating stories of our time.   Please review the following, i pledge to abide by it, & hope Harper's will too.   trying to help,   dave   ps. finishing a house-sit gig, will be off-line soon, please message comments promptly. Biosquat wi-fi will come up in a few days hopefully. thank you for careful consideration of issues.  

 

=================================================================== 

Selections from-

Ethics Code of the Society of Professional Journalists

(Code text bold print, Santos's comments in regualr print)

Seek Truth and Report It
Journalists should be honest, fair and courageous in gathering, reporting and interpreting information.
Orion, & Mark Svenvold have appeared or acted dishonest, unfair, or cowardly in the printing of this story.

Journalists should:


— Tell the story of the diversity and magnitude of the human experience boldly, even when it is unpopular to do so.
An admitted "square" Mark clearly wasn't up to reporting our radical scene boldly. It was milk-toast he put out. The truth would be most unpopular with some Orion staff & readers, that our radical path is superior sustainability &, more fun even to its own as a response to saving nature.

Examine their own cultural values and avoid imposing those values on others.
Orion is obligated to the critical examination of its cultural values, values that were imposed unfairly on the Bike Nomad scene.

— Support the open exchange of views, even views they find repugnant.
Orion should support a level debate forum for the rebuttal of Mark's story. Relegating dissent, by those it has directly aggreived, to snippets at the end of an obscure online reader forum is unfair.

— Give voice to the voiceless; official and unofficial sources of information can be equally valid.
Orion is supressing key voices of the journey. All the generous, mostly poor & Mexican, folks of the nomadic friendship network who gave Mark shelter, food, & every kindness, went entirely unmentioned.



Minimize Harm

Ethical journalists treat sources, subjects and colleagues as human beings deserving of respect.
Orion & Mark allowed a human to be disparaged as a "complete asshole", a violation of minimal respect & common civility. Rodger Hodge extended an invitation for hospitality in Del Rio, then did not return his reporters calls or emails, causing considerable inconvenience to the group. No explanation or apology was ever given.

Journalists should:

— Show compassion for those who may be affected adversely by news coverage. Use special sensitivity when dealing with children and inexperienced sources or subjects.
Many individuals & groups were inconvenienced by Harper's project including the Crawford Peace House, Rhizome Collective, Biosquat, Recyclistas, Bikes Across Borders, Cyclowns, etc.

Pursuit of the news is not a license for arrogance.
Jason Houston haughtily declined any explaination as to why he & Orion engage in avoidable practices destructive of nature. There is arrogance Harper's complete refusal to answer any questions about this story.

— Recognize that private people have a greater right to control information about themselves than do public officials and others who seek power, influence or attention. .
What was asked of Orion was a chance to review & respond in advance to the article, which would not prevented Orion from its freedom to print what it chose. Much pain & error would have been saved. We are private people even if we have websites. We did not seek Orion's publication. Mark & Harper's initiated & pushed the project.



Act Independently


Journalists should be free of obligation to any interest other than the public's right to know.
Orion's self-imposed obligation to censor news & views on grounds that it apriori would not interest its readers is trumped by the public's-right-to-know obligation. The public has a right to know how Chevron money makes its way into an eco-swiftboating piece.

Journalists should:

—Avoid conflicts of interest, real or perceived.
There are strong indications that Harper's killed the story on personal convenience of the editor. Orion has a conflict of interest in its docile complicity with the military-industrial destruction system that liscences it under tax law.

Disclose unavoidable conflicts.
Orion shoud disclose that some of it stories originate under an ethical cloud, like how "oil-money" pays for an article like Mark's. than Orion itself pays in.

— Be vigilant and courageous about holding those with power accountable.
Harper's & Orion represent the voice of the power class. It would be "vigilant & courageous" for these mags to be accountable for its power dynamic in this story. Harper's & Orion should be vigialnt & courageous in taking on Chevron Oil's power, despite being Harper's major advertiser.

— Deny favored treatment to advertisers and special interests and resist their pressure to influence news coverage.
We believe Harper's favors Chevron with weak "peak oil" coverage that promotes extraction & downplays pollution & climate change. Chevron buys large Harper's spreads with deeply misleading information. We have a history of boycotting & protesting Chevron & other major oil companies. Supressing our story amounts to favored advertiser treatment.



Be Accountable
Journalists are accountable to their readers, listeners, viewers and each other.
Harper's & Orion has bot been accountable for its handling of this story. Silence & secrecy violate the essence of this ethics code.

Journalists should:

— Clarify and explain news coverage and invite dialogue with the public over journalistic conduct.
This ethics compalint is a request for Orion & Harper's to clarify & explain the questions raised about this story.

— Encourage the public to voice grievances against the news media.
Orion & Harper's should embrace this complaint as worthy of constructive response & not stonewall.

— Admit mistakes and correct them promptly.
Harper's errs in undertaking this story, disrupting private lives in the process & then killing the coverage without explanation. Orion made numerous errors in the printed article. All mistakes remain uncorrected.

— Expose unethical practices of journalists and the news media.
Harper's & Orion have not admitted or exposed any unethical actions by Mark & their own internal conduct.

The SPJ Code of Ethics is voluntarily embraced by thousands of
writers, editors and other news professionals. The present version of
the code was adopted by the 1996 SPJ National Convention, after months
of study and debate among the Society's members.
 

===================================================================================

 

Harper's represent's a classic artificial shortage. They could publish, online, all of the many stories rejected on various bogus pretexts; the world a better place. Mark's story rejected twice (2 kill fees?)

When i next see big weather on the screen over Del Rio, we will dread john & lily's repeating struggle to save the children while losing everything. On the other hand, the Hodge mansions on the hill will get a good lawn watering.

Yikes! My swinging muck-rake had hit Del Rio's Richard Cory in the head. Svenvold glared in disgust, Pete missed the moment. We were indeed the Three Stooges, escaped from the Mad Hatter's (Robert) Stooges Museum in Quiet Valley.

=================================

Power Disorders, epsodic & structural (PDE, PDS), the structural violence (SV) relations between narcissism (both creative (CN) & desructive (DN)), sociopathy (S), authoritarian orientation (both RWA & LWA), domination orientation (& "double high" DO-AO),hierarchy attenuators & enhancers, (HE-HA),

narcissistic (or cult-like) behavior narcissistic (or cult-like) behavior, which we resist in various only temporarily effective ways, the problem being that it just keeps popping back up behind clever firewalls made of self-love- We use Humor, the lampooning, voluntary poverty & simplicity, negative charisma like plain talk & dress/grooming, continuos critique.

Narcissism is an essentail survival strategy for the downtrodden of society, many a rejected person functions on vainglory. For the priviledged narcissim is a special trap,

 

in the course of the story, to discover the relation of status, class, mortality, & the environment, with sources.  As i slowly zeroed in on a set of meanings, i didn't even know what Mark's piece was about anymore (cutting-edge radical thought, global warming, or nice people who say tame things?)?

Authoritarian Meanness takes the form of "Kiss-up, Kick Down." Those below one in a power hierarchy get kicked. Recent research here in Austin at the Social Endocrinology lab showed dogs suffer a damaging cortisol spike (stress marker) when rebuked by owners after a poor performance in competition. The punishment was worst by higher testosterone owner.

In reviewing Mark's amazon reviews, clearly the treatment of the junior college co-eds was very insensitive to those involved. Sprinkled between rave reviews & crank reviews ("throw out the extremes" technique) were some thoughtful critiques that sensed "thinly veiled contempt", "meanness,"

The over-touted factual pastiches of Harper's Index & Findings can never amount to much more than mental junkfood for a dull readership.

As the media landscape shifts dramatically & complaints accumulate about Harper's dullness, snobbishness, & the loss of its original greatness, Hodge declared to the Washington Post that he intends no major changes.*

------------------------------------

* In the same Post article Lapham recounts a CIA interview he naively sought.- "The second question was: You're..on the final tack at...Hay Harbor on Fishers Island in...late afternoon -- what tack do you take? I don't remember...the answer..., but I got it right because I had sailed at Fishers Island."

Goodness, what rusty pilotage! I googled the chart- the final approach to Hay Harbor is on a southwest heading, a fair-day yachtie in a PM seabreeze from the southeast is on port tack. Less obvious is a class distinction implicit in the question, that a year-round working-class sailor like The Old Master, Slocum, in the prevailing westerlies of the latitude or, often enough, in a formidable nor'easter, reaching or running in on starboard tack is the correct answer, nevermind CIA sailors.

------------------------

 

“I am proof that you can actually attain your dream job.” Roger Hodge

“We’re all sort of the anti-blogs,” Hodge said, “and I think we will eventually triumph over the blogs!"

"Not likely." Carl Swanson, NY mag.

Right, "eventually triumph"... like ” Iraq.

Hodge will beat the blogs as Darius flogged the ocean. As if the best thing in Harper's wasn't Silverstein's Blog, not that its so great as Great Blogs go, & its too bad for trees when blogs print-out to snail-mail Harper's (structural violence) pimping Chevron.

Fate made me a Father Bear to the Blogsphere & Hodge was attacking my girlfriends' babies. My ancient duty was swat this fly (sorry nothing personal) with a hairy literary digital paw (forgive Mexed metaphor). If a lone-blogger (oxymoron moron) out of billions can draw blood (outright parenthesis disease), so much for the triumph of the ancien régime's vanity press.

Soon, with help, Tio's house got rigged for solar, a first in Victoria.  

Money somehow taints writing, even kills it.

Alas, poor Phaethon,
the BBQed one
Fed to the Griffins that
Drew Lapham's Sun Chariot

(shoot me, i can't help myself, apology to the Sun ;)

Foer (New Republic) on Harper's- “White guys are still in charge?” True-that Dude.

Roger's crib notes for greatness-

represent transformative letters- cut your ridiculous salary drastically (try BlackSeminole charity back home), slash expenses everywhere, because its not about money.

writer incentives for manifest glory put Harper's Foundation money to nobler purposes like remediating the social damage to ethnic cleansed Black Seminoles around Del Rio (Hodge land?). modestly paid literary competitions & gleaning the best of the written word from any source, even blogs, would restore the old quality mojo. instead being literary Rumsfeld crowing about crushing the blogsphere, he needs to

cultivate a self depreciating humor able to face the santos, svenvolds, & lilies as social equals, a magazine with heart. Transparency & willingness to admit mistakes should be automatic (he doesn't even have the courage to put the AIDs denier article online, much less brook critique in the mag.) the club needs to open up or die (either way, i'd be glad to help)   Everyone will do better in that kind of world,

 i really can't help inquiring into the fascinating mysteries presented. As de-Exupery insisted about his little prince, once the prince had posed a question he never relented.  after so much admitted "help", i don't even know what your story is about anymore (cutting-edge radical thought, global warming, or nice people who say tame things?)?

=====================================

Harper's Ghost Troop has been mobilized

convening a Harper's Ghost Troop- Melville, Hawthorne, London, & Mencken, to advise us, a "call to greatness", from them to you to buck up your courage)  

its spooky, the trip was like a fairytale quest (like hobbits & such) & now as if the Ghost Troop really were guides to the true ideas.

Harper's Ghost Troop News- J. London clamoring for LL's head on a pole & RH's scalp, the other self-mades like Melville & Twain barely holding him, themselves poorly sympathetic. Menkin greatly amused.

Hawthorne offers this from his 1868 notebooks-   'A person to be writing a tale and to find it shapes itself against his intentions; that the characters act otherwise than he thought, and a catastrophe comes which he strives in vain to avert. It might shadow forth his own fate - he having made himself one of the personages.'  

Am situating Ghost Fort in Goethe's Walpurgisnacht (after Goethe's Faust), a fine land to gather loose threads in progress (twilight zones, imaginary hyperdimensions, etc.).  

Harper's Ghost Troop Notes- Twain glided up all excited- He proposed that Mark & I could, like, team up as a serious-comic duo (Viking-Bandit) to resolve Harper's pickle (wih young Roger as proud midwife of a literary coup rather than nixonesque denier of a mess), just look at the narrative power of Brozo the profound Mexican clown. i could serve as a sort of willing buffoon/profound jester, a perfect foil for your style as we plumb the great questions of the times along the midwestern Twilight Zone (see latest Wheeliad). if the response was good, we might continue the formula in web, book, or vid-doc.

A stony sphinx, answers locked.   Vinted veritas, Dr. Johnson unnegated by drink, prohibition as inverse addiction. "You must trust us, but we won't trust you," for uneasy sits the power-trip crown. "Anyone asking such questions does not deserve an answer," is another such trip.  

The Mutant Bike Nomad Homeland compared with New York, etc.

The Big Apple can be insightfully compared with our bike-nomad Tex-Mex homeland by mapping across the scale mismatch. Take our nomadic region at a scale where the respective populations match, with similar social diversiity & historical weight.

Note New York's skyscapers are urban peaks somewhat over 300 meters, while our natural peaks in the Sierra Madre top 3000 meters. On bikes, we migrate over distances around a thousand kilometers, while New Yorkers might commute up to 100 kilometers, often by subway or other mass transit. Our sort of bike hipster, the NY bike messinger, is more nimble in traffic, but their bikes would be ridiculous for the epic distances we traverse.

New York's monstrous financial empire roughly matching TX giant natural resourse economy (the oil that won WWII), its dense urbanism balanced against our rural expansiveness, where its greenzone, Central Park, is inversely mirrored by our urban zones, DFW or Houston, say.

The New Yorker's spirit is weighted toward collectivity, social animals in service-webs, while our spirit is more lone-wolf, more individually self-sufficient.

On a mythic level, we are considered "the-middle-of-nowhere", a boring desert to a city mouse, NY, the "center-of-everything", To us its dark & cramped.

We got a Neocon plague, NY has a Neolib plague.

In Austin, in microcosm the same relationships are found between urban warehouse style Rhyzome Collective, with strong elitist NY connections & Biosquat, a forest eco-village with rural Mexican and Black roots. Both benefit each other.

For too long the direction of fertilization has been from NY to us, & for good reason the New Yorker has been rightfully apalled by our part of the world, but now we should plan an invasion of Gotham, for it seems we have something of what they need to address the modern crisis.

A parallel experiment of texts unforced by payment (Wheeliad) & those well-paid (Harper's article), both deliver, partisans are mistaken.

======================

Arrested Transformation

At first i thought i was observing Failed Transformation in folks who were stuck on the shore of what Rolando calls (the change-over?) to the better world that we know is possible, in fact some of us have stand upon the new shore, if only for moments. Humans don't stand still & a better concept is Arrested Transformation. Suddenly my mother's right-wing neighbors talked like radical ecovillagers as their wells dried up, even to considering banning their beloved lawns in favor of subsistence water.

standardized spirit, Social squares molded by cubicles, nature percieved by the alienated as passive-agressive & by the native as loving mother.

Everywhere, those we love are enslaved, born in captivity, breeding in captivity, brutalizing their children into the domination system. Most don't so much choose a life but are stamped into a mold. They are little (Peak Oil) Heinbergs awaiting leadership; beepered sheep, clones on-call. Unready for real revolt, the "small man" finds its too much, even merely to file a complaint, yet depend on this little human to bust free eventually.

Alarm Clocks run on Anglo mean-time, a Gregorian patch-up promoted by corporate interests, Julian celeb calendar, Babylonian sundial slaves. Leisure as natural wealth. Time is soul-money.

Demonic time is a grinding treadmill, mechanical clock as Babylon's beating heart. There began the smashing of natural space time, the mating of Monster & Human. Travel becomes violent, it "steps on". A high-dimensioned constraint resolution problem, in this case, how to integrate "Babylonian time" scheme used in air travel with the natural rhythms of moon, and weather systems.

Reality porn for those without vivid lives. pale palliative rather than the transformative jolt of direct experience. Tele-absence  

Harper's difficulty in taking a stand on the scientific reality of AIDs is likely due to the human tendency to see a false pattern in isloated facts, thus a misdiagnosis here, a toxic reaction to medication there, a lucky few with genetic resistence crowing to the world, buzz about courageous mavericks taking on big science, not being a rocket scientist, & mental laziness or hastiness tempts one to miss the overwhelming weight of evidence. A bad betting strategy. History will soon resolve this.

Such a weakness can repeat-

Carbon Deniers- modern superconsumers who, despite much evidence of a gobal problem, continue to generate huge "carbon footprints" by choice of lifesyle, even if they pay lip-service to the science.

The destruction of nature & Enviromental Classism (superset of Envir. Racism) as the great moral crisis of our time, just as slavery was the great moral crisis of the era of lynched freethinkers.

Lapham decried the absence of Big Ideas, Wheeliad is full of them.

Crisis of Willful Indifference; meekly paying war taxes & having a big carbon footprint are but but two of many ethical challenges for the average North American. The emperor is naked so folks deal with it by putting their heads in the sand.

Its not hard to envision a calculus of mortality, a measure of future death per lifestyle choice caused by the willful indifference of the brutalized super-consumer.    

Privacy lost doesn't hurt so much as lost mystery worth privacy. Hardly anyone is sheltering Anne Frank or running an underground railroad. The modern's secrets are shallow cosmetological banalities, privacy a commodity fig-leaf over trivial nakedness.    

The Little Prince, Exupery repeatedly stressed, never retracted a question, but insisted. Heidegger declared questioning the piety of thought. The question is the atom of questing. To forget or ignore truth is to murder meaning. The Brainstorm Rule- forgiving offensive ideas for the sake of revealment.

Status forms unstable stratified structures fated to fracture, swirl, upend & wear down.

false-dawn of arrested transformation The door unknocked upon- self down-classed, the unconsciously self-censored text of the clipped soul.

Branding the Golden Calf is pretty much such, a burning-in of ownership tokens, originally with hot irons. Commercial branding is idolatry, a crying calf sacrificed under the Golden Calf logo. The Pollo Loco, as a brand, pimps its own snuff-act. Poor minions of mammon, bred in captivity.  

The Question of Tents- We mutant-bike nomads have never used them in Texas or Mexico, avoiding weight & fuss. In these parts a simple ground-cloth, bug-net & rain-fly/sun-shade is enough. The weather most always fine; this is not the Antarctic. Rain is the natural athelete's free shower, rather than a problem. Tents are fine in alpinistic extremis, but not as final redoubt of domination system.

Oh, to see the stars unpolluted by Satanic glare & haze, nude eyeball pressed upon the cosmos. A tent is Urbanist Brutalism's flimsy last resort against excessive beauty. Seems meager fare, just moonbeams & stars, but it gets poets drunk.  

 

Ghost Troops in Twilight Zones

=================================

In Authoritarian Hierarchies candor is only for confession by the lower or accusation by the higher, when lies didn't get the job done.

the world's whistle-blowers, insisting on the hemlock cup for asking the "wrong" questions that push the "wrong" buttons.  

a journalistic cover-up compounds original error,

Note to Mark- I faced that scary guy, Marcus who charged at me at KFF, faced him like Delgado, the crazy neurologist who stopped charging bulls by a brain-implanted electrode, in my case a calm gaze radiating at ~500 terrahetz manipulating Marcus's own axions as delgado electrodes, the effect the same, Marcus, the violent ex-marine, froze in his tracks. I would not chance it twice.

i am a native to the vast blogsphere, indymedia is my home, & rally to forestall a stupid "triumph" by Dinosaurs:

stories emerge from Seas of Detail, this one is Venus-on-a-half-shell.

Roger has very reactionary views about border history as covered by del rio herald, & some reviews of redeck apologists, lily is right! the whole 4-H thing very acute. he's really blown it lately- thinks he will "triumph" over millions of bloggers (with 315k Harper's salary from oil & real estate & scant talent), & gambled all by takes up with AIDs deniers, to global derision. Care to guess his carbon footprint compared to us bike nomads? Between the earlier adulations are growing claims of arrogance, incompetance, etc.

Hodgian power lunch wowed Mark.

it would be easier if you all just were open. maybe roger could just apologize to the group for the failed invite, like a normal person.  

 the whole world can read my struggling or failed drafts anytime, why not Mark's?

if you are dropping the whole sleepless-night-off-grid, free-thinker, mamba -in-the-bedroom, lily, pete, rolando, kff dead trees, etc., etc., ok with you if i try to "make it work"? i think its a fine story. as an amateur it would be a thrill to succeed where a pro gave-up, all that material is a gap in my account of revealing (Wheeliad), thinking, all this time, you were on it. i think i know how to tie all the loose ends together to address the big carbon-footprint/socoal justice story of our time, if you or Harper's won't.  

my main reason for so much effort was curiosity to read what we can now call the "mistaken" piece, how you would resolve the sincere questions posed by your subject. that's my payment, otherwise your mistake did waste a lot of my effort. sorry you made such a big mistake. could you forward the rejected work, in the same transparent spirit i've shared my writing (including failures) & life with you?  

in effect a choice between cowardice & mediocrity or moving decisively toward restoring the venue's noble roots & avengin Willie Morris.

 

Pete Murray's myspace => PEOPLE WHO HAVE INSPIRED AND AFFECTED ME PROFOUNDLY: BIOSQ: http://www.main.org/polycosmos/biosquat/wheeliad.htm

Mark, actually, the migration was a success. we got Mexico mostly without gasoline, remember? Pete doesn't think migration was a failure. Bethany was jazzed. you should have ridden with us in a multi-cultural party of 9, deep into the sierra, right after you left. Its about quality, not numbers, an existence proof that one needn't sit around in a heated NY apartment, or fly about like Al Gore.  

To see how Mark Svenvold, given the radical perspective amply presented, would proceed in life with, like, flying in the helicopter with the rich guy, scaring caribou, or dropping 2 tons of CO2 just to frequent-fly to a treehouse (the question of transformation or not).  

people i conferred with think the story became much more fascinating than your wimpy Heinbergian premise.

In agonizing over the story & how to move beyond to something everyone can live with. There is so much pain in the world right now & so hard to know what to do. hiedegger's notion, "as the danger grows so does the saving power" suddenly seems but a poetic fiction, there is no such linear relation, the saving power must be its own reality free of danger.  

too often a heartless Bazarov to friends & family & deeply regret it. The sickness of Byronic Negation.

Young Byron killed a friend in a rage & was broken hearted ever after. My grandfather on my mother's side (maybe) killed a playmate when he & his little friends were throwing rocks in an orange orchard, the death was never clarified, but he slowly processed the trauma into a widely percieved saintlyness.  

Poor Charlie O'Brien, the eighteenth cent. Irish Giant. i just  read The Knife Man about John Hunter a real-life faust, founder of modern surgery & the persecuter of the real-life charlie. Hunter was model for dr jekyl & mr hyde novel. charlie in reality was a simple gentle person who only wanted to avoid being a display as he died, he believed his soul would never rest, he still is on display to this day, native americans know what that means- we must actually bury poor charlie o'brian to heal the western soul, am trying to relocate the indian-chief quote, that western rationalism leads to "ruin in all spheres."

 

i thought marlboro-dude was probably laughing at the hapless "sarge & gomer" at SEE-1 (ecovillage) & so was i was primed for a come uppance as the doors opened along Hiedegger's Framework- the failed hospitality, Lily's sad story & Hodge opinion, & the mocking white mansions at spitting distance, a pefect little storm of revealing.    

 

been thinking a lot about Rousseau, snubber of kings, in his relationship to philosophes like Diderot & Voltaire, whose daring was bought-up by the ancien regime. a good lense to view what i attempt in poking Harper's.  

Freedom fighters & mercenaries don't mix, apparently. An emulsion mixes incompatible ingrediants by encapsulation by an emulsifier.

understand how difficult it is to operate in the dark; why exactly did the Hodges go silent when we hit town? its a key to mystery.

cloaked problems, secrecy is far inferior to transparency, chasing the rat out of the clutter, cleanliness is transparency/surveilence..

viking piece is all over the map responding to the opaque process you & harper's presume. six months of thwarted curiosity is difficult for this monkey, all too eager to see the ball downfield.

The Call of History

A comfortable neoliberal transforms too slowly for history.

Why is asking what lewis drives or if roger pays his war taxes so taboo? Why an asymmetric cloak? Should one self censor to get ahead in a conventional sense? (no) I puzzle over such questions you, & most everyone seems to innately already know the seemingly obvious answers to.  

Think Rousseau

Rousseau's precocious reading struck a chord, for my dad's english major bookshelf provided my first novel, at age six, Steinbeck''s The Red Pony followed by The Pearl, depressing books with great effect. Other incidents, watching a family die on the highway as we left church on Easter, age eight, led me to side with victims, the weak. A woman friend said my meanness was a hyper developed protective instinct, too much of a good if aimed poorly. At the doorstep of conventional success Rousseau bravely snubed the French king & paid dearly, a better bargain with fate than the sell-out philosophes.  

For the public writer, loyalty to the reader trumps all.  

this mess is a better story than the expected crap

 

Dave,   Great news. Harper's wants me to do a long piece on the biosquat migration! By long I mean ten thousand words, which is fantastic. Plenty of room. So it's a go...  Best,   Mark

 

Note to Mark- (Please forgive, my Muck-Rake swung loose & hit Lapham & Hodge- my-bad. But You, on the other hand, were excellent, no joke, a tough assignment, true-that, hope you got paid), but Someday... The Return of...The Viking! PeaceOut

Cool Books

Two recent books that, taken together, present a very big picture-

The Global Class War, Faux's devastating analysis of the global "country club culture"

Thin Ice, Bowen

Good summary of current atmospheric science by an alpinist physicist- the sad shocking loss of tropical glaciers & the race to get ancient ice cores from them & the lessons- how CO2 has long been a driver of extreme climate change & how dangerous the changes underway are to the world's poor in particular.

note on "domination system": i found the concept in the Peace House library in "Engaging the Powers", by Wink, the radical theologian, excellent, but i take it secularly, thanks to Skip Longo, of the Waco peace group.

Wheeler,Weinberg, Everett, Deutsche, Prigogine in Austin, '77.

Laureate Prigogine'sd entropy studies led him to the view static ways-of-being as entropic quagmire, but ways-of-becoming as freeing. All beings are on paths of becoming, transformation is the rule & the arrow of evolution, Carbon Denier => Biosquatter, points true. The challenge is to spot false myths as they emerge & replace them with truer ones, Marcuse's "false conciousness" into truth.  

It was a rare pleasure to sneak into Prigogine lectures at UT, his poor English making great mysteries more so. Great scientists are great mystics, any Newton or Einstein driven by mystic inspiration. A sense of humor is also diagnostic of this crowd, science deniers mostly have a humorless character with so many mortally wounded legitimizing myths paining them.

supposed Near-Micron Fallacy- the theoretical discounting of faint, yet real, residual quantum coherence of large bulk objects (say, a mountain or a star), & effects below near-subatomic to superstring scale, outside the near micron scale where coherence is demonstrated.

probalistic feedback in bulk objects

pattern languages of being