Dead Man Talkin

Welcome everyone, to my first installment of: I See Dead Historical Figures the series that takes my favorite historical figures who have been dead for quite awhile and asks them what they think of things. This new segment is partially inspired by the work of the Busblog, Winter of Discontent, etc., who have pushed the art of the interview to new heights.

So please welcome, 65 years after his death, Revolutionary, Freedom-Fighter, Book-writer, Military Strategist, and uniform design consultant Leon Trotsky! (applause from blog-studio audience)

BM: First of all Mr. Trotsky, thanks for coming on the blog, especially at such short notice during the holiday season.

LT: please… you will call me comrad.. and spell everything with lowercase letters, just like mr. e.e. cummings and the busblog.

BM: Very well comrad, I see you’ve kept up with developments in the literary world from the afterlife, including blogs?

LT: indeed there is much time for reading after one’s death… and you wouldn’t believe the bandwith and processor speeds we dead people get. i don’t miss a single post from green catfish, or BitchPHD; that pseudonymous kid cracks me up, and occasionally I consult your weblog.

BM: Wow. But lets get away from blogs, lets get back to mexico city, what were those last days in exile like?

LT: purple haze dear comrad… purple haze. although I had barricaded myself into my own personal prison, i had everykind of earthly pleasure my heart desired. except for indoor plumming, what a bitch that was. still, all i did was write and read newspapers… sometimes all day and night, somewhat the way you bloggers might do it.

BM: Were you surprised to have been killed the way you were?

LT: what kind of inbecile questions are these? I’m the founder of the red army for fuck sakes… if I still had body guards i’d have you removed. Perhaps in your own uneducated way, you mean, did i expect to die — yes i did. I knew that bloated bastard koba had his assasins all over mexico city looking for me. the only thing i didn’t expect is that the moron would use the blunt side of the ax. what sort of uncoordinated fool manages to use the wrong end of an ax to kill someone? ironically we still had time to chat about the plight of the proletariat world wide. idiot.

BM: Were you surprised about how the USSR ended? And the last 15 years of world politics?

LT: oh please. it was long overdue. all those bourgois oligarchs pretending to be communists, i tell you… i turned over in my grave for 50 years, it was tiring. i had always said you needed to have a world revolution if it were to really work, otherwise you get places like cuba; poor but with a decent quality of life, surrounded by capitalism, and always on the verge of collapse. too bad the country had to fall in the hands of a new generation of drunk old men and remenents of the white russian army, like putin. still.. i kind of liked that gorbachev… the time of comrad i would have been able to work with.

BM: And what about the west? Bush…terrorism.. etc.

LT: I’m not sure your weblog would have enough space. wbush reminds me of your ted roosevelt and his laughable rough-riders with their cowboy hats and every-human-for-himself philosophy. As a writer and an intellectual, I shudder everytime I hear him speak, and fear the day when he publishes a book. Even if it were a children’s book, I weep for the child that attempts to read it. Terrorism is as old as the world. It strikes me as odd the way many speak of it as a phenonmenon of this melenium.

BM: well comrad, I must be going, my parents are expecting me at their beach bungalow. Before I go… any chances of re-incarnation?

LT: You think you have it tough? I led the bolshevics to victory, and now that damn putin is repealing the 1917 revolution as a national holiday. You privelaged scoundrel, you know nothing of sufferring. As far as re-incarnation, there is a long waiting list. My number should be called in 2006, hopefully I come back somewhere in London.. the place where I actually used to have sex appeal and occasionally.. some fun.

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Well there you have it, a perfectly boring new segment on the blog.

Today’s Sounds: Tom Petty – Wildflowers (diggin deeper into my archives)

Beyond Horror

When I left New Jersey in 2001, it was immediately following Sept. 11th. I mention this because being back, I do remember it often. Usually its as I begrudgingly drive down the highway and still spot the faded bumperstickers with supid-ass slogans like “these colors don’t run” or the images of the Twin Towers with a yellow sash that reads “Never Forget” just in case you were forgetting while searching your car-cupholder for change to pay the -now 70 cent- toll. I usually shout “shut the fuck up” as I pass them, mostly just to hear my own voice. The only thing I really get MORE pissed off at are those annoying yellow ribbon stickers on people’s cars, that read “I support our troops.” I always shout “I don’t support your goddam war asshole….”… the sound stays within my car, of course, it keeps me alert and relieves road rage as I struggle to see the road, blinded by the monstrous SUV’s headlights which align perfectly with normal cars’ rearview mirrors.

But this isn’t about roadrage. I wanted to say that the tragedy which has just taken place is beyond understanding. I’ve tried to imagine the horror… to picture all those dead in my head. 2,000 plus in Thailand… where a dear friend of mine has only recently returned to her family. 15,000 in Sri Lanka, which only recently began recovering from a terrible civil war. 25,000 plus in Indonesia, where they can’t even find dry enough ground to bury the dead. 7,000 dead in India, near Madras, an area where so many wonderful people who have influenced my life, come from. The list goes on and on… tiny islands facing flooding which threatens their very existence.

Where are the bumperstickers… the shock in the streets, in every corner of the world? I’m waiting for the outpouring of good will, and even better, the traditional declaration of war against the cause of this. Natural disaster you say? Fine. But I can only imagine if the entire planet, especially wealthy nations, focused the wasteful energy and resources that go into the so-called war on terrorism, to a campaign of natural-disaster global readiness, we wouldn’t have such an unbearable and unimaginable death toll. I don’t look at this and say “wow, natural is so cruel” … I say “wow, the society I was raised in has such a twisted value of human life when it comes to Africa, Asia, and anything OUT THERE.

Thank the golden calf for bringing us blogs that care… that feel… and that share.

In keeping with the usual “everything is fine” spirit, my dumbass went out and bought an MP3 player. It was made Asia, that way I can feel better about myself.

Special guest tomorrow, in my new segment “I SEE DEAD Historical Figures”

Today’s Sounds: Jamiroquai – Return of the Space Cowboy

Mom Mustn’t Read

It’s a strange thing to see how the place where you were raised has changed. Especially when it comes to the actual house. For those of us who are lucky enough to experience it, when your parents still live in the house where you spent your childhood, it can be a wonderful thing. Not necessarily for them, but for you the traveller, the one who moved far away. You get to come home and feel protected and 12 years old again. (if you want… assuming 12 was a good year)

But often, as many of us know, things change… sometimes slowly, as in my case. The parents have gotten involved with a shiney new cabana near the beach, way down in the south of NJ. Outside of A-Ren the great, beloved grandson, the new cabana has become there biggest priority. They buy things for it. They worry about it. They sacrafice time and energy for it. Hell, Im almost jealous of the dam thing.

And so during my visit, I’m attempting to appreciate it. Their project… their new love. But every free second I get, I come home to my REAL house. The one with a REAL neighborhood, and folks we’ve known for years. The one with CABLE and INTERNET, and TREES and RACCOONS. I look at my old house, the place that watched me grow up and took care of me… and I feel contempt for the new place. What with its shiney doodads and thingamajigs… IT MUST NEVER replace our house.

But who am I? I live in the ‘dam! Across the ocean. I have forfitted my right to complain and file a petition. Regardless of my theories and worries, it is ALREADY happenning. They are in love with the idea of the NEW HOUSE. And the old one seems more of a burden to them. Their burden is my beloved home. The source of so much of my, what in portuguese we call: “saudade.”

Fucking changes.

Today’s Sounds: Talib Kweli – Beautiful Struggle (learning to love it)

Home Work

One of the wackiest things about going home to be with your family during the festivuses is the things that we do around the house. As the next generation, and generally speaking, the younger/healthier/technologically saavy-ier, we bring home our big brains filled with knowledge about fighting the war against spyware, viruses, disfunctional computer components, and lest we not forget – wireless internet.

For their part the elders have tried to keep up in our absence. They’ve spent the loot to buy a few of the latest toys they’ve heard the kids are using. Or they’ve waited with loot in hand for our arrival to go shopping for the latest in personal-pod-computing-beep beep beep-publishing equipment.

And so I face a somewhat similar fate as so many are recounting via blogs. I remember an article in some magazine about this. And then I saw Karisa’s email on busblog, which reflected my fate with the parental units computer stuff. I am the chosen one… I am a jedi… I will fix it.

Of course not all ye bloggers are fixing stuff. Some are just hanging at home like the dude, takin ‘er easy for all of us sinners. One of my most favorite home-for-the-holidays blogging has been coming from Bunny Mac.

On a more serious note, it’s the anniversary of that nightmare earthquake in Bam, Iran. One year ago… the communiqu? remembers.

Today’s Sounds: Blind Melon – Nico Blue (diggin through my cd archives)

Pile of Stuff

Like myself, I hope you all got something you wanted this festivus.

I was pretty much satisfied meeting my 7 month old nephew, A-Ren, for the first time since his birth. Those big blue eyes make all my troubles melt away. I just lean towards him and make sounds, he responds with his own blend of clicking and chanting. Then his little paws reach out for me, until he quickly turns and buries his head into my sis’s shoulder like a human ostrich baby.

But just when you think you don’t need anything else… someone gets you a palette of maple syrup from one of these insane wholesale supermarkets. I hope they’ve got room on that Air Portugal flying tylenol… I needs me my syrup. And my books by Mo Rocca, John Stewart, and a collection of other radical revolutionaries. Not to mention my new CD’s; The Stars, Talib Kweli, and the Slackers. Yeehaww.. time to update my wishful list.

If you’re looking for last minute day-after-festivus gifts, I recommend a one-two-three punch. First, get How To Blog. Then add a pinch of Jamie’s artwork. And round it off with Grouphug.us ‘s book of confessions. If you don’t read grouphug, go look. As Mr. Winter of Discontent will tell you, it’s fantastic! (happy festivus Michael)

Oh and sometimes I can predict the future before it happens. YES its true. Just like that. I hate to say it, but regardless of tomorrow’s election, the average Ukrainian is fucked. Especially if you work in a mine. Or if you simply don’t work at all. It is good to be part of a cause, and to demonstrate or live in a tent city in the center of the city. It is awesome do hold up the finger and the ruling party and the corrupt bastards. It is even awesomer to look election officials in the eye and say this is bullshit! But friends… you’re in the Ukraine… where the world demands that you stay in a state of cold, bitterness, and declining economics. Hooray for freemarkets… hold you hands out and maybe it will trickle down from the east or west. Let’s all do the election boogie.

Today’s Sounds: The Stars – Nightsongs