James Otis, Jr's Labor of Love

I hope, when God Almighty in his righteous providence shall take me out of time into eternity, that it will be by a flash of lightning (James Otis, Jr.).

James Otis, Jr., a man that "rambles and wanders like a ship without a helm" (John Adams), a broken man, deemed a lunatic by Governor Thomas Hutchinson and a sanity commission of Massachusetts Colony in 1771.

James Otis, Jr., called a "water of fire" by his contemporary John Adams, once known for a "promptitude of classical allusions, a depth of research, a rapid summary of historical events and dates, a profusion of legal authorities" (John Adams), and had argued that "a man's house is his castle" had become as a man whose own castle; his mind had been breached and broken down by forces nearly impossible to defend against.

Once, Otis, had given a speech, a labor of five hours in which a child was born. John Adams said that it was this insane and broken man who brought Independence into the world at the Superior Court in Boston in 1761:

"Then and there was the first scene of the first act of the opposition to the arbitrary claims of Great Britain. Then and there the child Independence was born."

And now, James Otis, Jr. was wandering the streets, breaking windows, firing his rifle, burning papers, erratic and speaking hurtful and violent words to those around him.

James Otis had been a brilliant scholar, graduating from Harvard, and quickly rising in prominence within the Boston community. He was at the top of his profession and married to a woman of good family, Ruth Cunningham. Otis had always had a difficult and edgy personality, was fully conscious of social status, sometimes finding it a bit uncomfortable to commiserate with those of a less pretentious and less refined class, those impatient with him.

We all have our reasons for taking one side over another, but this Bard suspects that Otis was not merely defending a nation's liberty when he birthed Independence in 1761, but his own secret liberty which in his own mind was under continual attack by forces other than the British Empire. But it was Britain and its Writs of Assistance that symbolized these threats to his personal freedom in his home and within the community. Otis fought for liberty on a completely different level than those who fought on the physical level. This was a man that lived in his mind and it was a dark place with demons lurking in the corners, wanting to break in and take what was his.

James Otis, Jr. was a highly respected lawyer and had a reputation as an intelligent man amongst the Boston merchants. He was greatly admired for his talents and abilities within the community outside the doors of his home. And then, there was his wife, Ruth, to whom he was unhappily married. If this Bard were to make conjectures, and he does, he would guess that Otis felt his wife a bit like a British official bursting in with a warrant to search his private thoughts, to confiscate his property, and imprison him for contraband opinions and passions. Otis believed very strongly that what was his, what he had worked so hard for was his by right, "inherent and inalienable" (John Adams).

And so in 1761 when James Otis, Jr. was made Advocate-General and the Writs of Assistance were challenged by his fellow citizens as illegal searches and seizures of private property, he could not justify prosecuting his neighbors for inability to prove every stick, paper, and grain of sugar bore the mark of the....King. He could not prosecute the very people who esteemed him and depended upon him.

Now, perhaps, if Otis had grown up in Britain and had connections there he would not have felt so personally threatened. But if he were to carry out his heinous duties upon the only place he belonged and was known, he would have lost all dignity and position in the world. He would have lost the home he loved by fining and imprisoning the very people who offered their homes to him. After he had betrayed his friends and broken Boston down, he would have had to flee to Britain where he had nothing and no friends. The Writs of Assistance were a threat against his own house, for enforcing them would have confiscated all he "owned" and held dear--the esteem of the community. Otis' own physical house was no home, it was the place where Ruth lived, and she stood against all he loved. She did not admire him or hold him in esteem. Good old Loyalist Ruth, the kick in the pants that got Independence kindled.

"I was solicited to argue this cause as Advocate-General; and, because I would not, I have been charged with desertion from my office. To this charge I can give a very sufficient answer. I renounced that office and I argue this cause from the same principle; and I argue it with the greater pleasure, as it is in favor of British liberty...." (James Otis, Jr. 1761).

James Otis, Jr. may have been missing a few screws, but not as many as some elected officials. Otis knew where his allegiance belonged and where history would give him a proper home, and it wasn't by betraying the trust of Boston's citizens. And to prove himself he offered his services free of charge to defend the merchants of Boston before the Superior Court where they stood accused of smuggling and buying off the black market, rather than from Britain's East India Company monopoly.

And so, on that momentous day, 24 February 1761 at the Boston State House, James Otis, Jr. rose to defend the rights of those he loved and who had given him a home in their hearts. He spoke for five hours, a feat that most of us cannot imagine accomplishing. What he said was so powerful and so true that it stunned and roused all who heard it. The exact words cannot be known as there is no transcript, but those few who were in the State House were never to forget it, as if they had been anointed and invigorated with whatever it was that Otis had sprinkled on them. And perhaps, this led to his mental decline in the following years. Perhaps, he filled so many other glasses with his wine that there was none left for him at the end of the feast, and non to fill his vessel.

It must be wondered what it was like to have fought so hard, to have expended so much energy, to be so worn and to have returned to a home where one's family is against them. Otis's wife was a Loyalist, and one of his daughters too. Surely, Otis' battle was a lonely one.

John Adams was a young man when he saw Otis speak in defense of the merchants, but he seems to list it as one of the most important moments in history. Of it he writes:

"[James Otis] asserted that every man, merely natural, was an independent sovereign, subject to no law but the law written in his heart and revealed to him by his Maker, in the constitution of his nature and the inspiration of his understanding and his conscience. His right to his life, his liberty, no created being could rightfully contest. Nor was his right to his property less incontestable. The club that he had snapped from a tree, for a staff or for defense, was his own. His bow and arrow were his own; if by a pebble he had killed a partridge or a squirrel, it was his own. No creature, man or beast, had a right to take it from him. If he had taken an eel or a smelt or a sculpin, it was his property....

"....He asserted that these rights were inherent and inalienable. That they never could be surrendered or alienated but by idiots or madmen and all the acts of idiots and lunatics were void and not obligatory, by all the laws of God and man. Nor were the poor Negroes forgotten. Not a Quaker in Philadelphia or Mr. Jefferson in Virginia ever asserted the rights of the Negroes in stronger terms. Young as I was and ignorant as I was, I shuddered at the doctrine he taught; and have all my life shuddered, and still shudder, at the consequences that may be drawn from such premises. Shall we say that the rights of masters and servants clash and can be decided only by force? I adore the idea of gradual abolitions! From individual independence he proceeded to association. If it was inconsistent with the dignity of human nature to say that men were gregarious animals, like wild geese, it surely could offend no delicacy to say they were all social animals by nature, that there were natural sympathies, and above all, the sweet attraction of the sexes, which must soon draw them together in little groups, and by degrees in larger congregations, for mutual assistance and defense. And this must have happened before any formal covenant, by express words or sign, was concluded....

"....He asserted that the security of these rights to life, liberty, and property had been the object of all those struggles against arbitrary power, temporal and spiritual, civil and political, military and ecclesiastical, in every age" (John Adams on Otis' defense against Writs of Assistance Act).

James Otis lost the case against the Writs of Assistance, the right to be secure in one's home, but won in the courts of the hearts and memories of those gathered there. It was a grand battle, nobly fought, and a tool of defense in the following years.

In the following years Otis continued to speak, to practice law, and to write pamphlets for the colonists. In 1764 he wrote The Rights of the British Colonies Asserted and Proved, which displays his colorful language:

"I say supreme absolute power is originally and ultimately in the people; and they never did in fact freely, nor can they rightfully make an absolute, unlimited renunciation of this divine right....

"....It was from the trick of gulling the vulgar into a belief that their tyrants were omniscient, that it was therefore right, that they should be considered as omnipotent. Hence the Dii majorum et minorum gentium; the great, the monarchical, the little Provincial subordinate and subaltern gods, demigods, and semidemi-gods, ancient and modern. Thus deities of all kinds were multiplied and increased in abundance; for every devil incarnate, who could enslave a people, acquired a title to divinity; and thus the 'rabble of the skies' was made up of locusts and caterpillars; lions, tygers and harpies; and other devourers translated from plaguing the earth!"

But as the 1760s wore on, James Otis became increasingly muddied in his mind, and began to get into trouble as he wandered about the streets. In September of 1769, while at the British Coffee House, he was attacked by John Robinson, head tax collector who may have been angry about some of Otis' writings. Robinson beat Otis over the head, severely injuring him, and as Adams wrote "reason was shaken from its throne." This was the last blow upon Otis and by 1771 he was found by his enemy, the British Colonial Governor Hutchinson, to be a lunatic and given into the guardianship of his brother.

James Otis, Jr. sneaked off to battle one last time when he heard the Minute Men calling men to arms. Otis grabbed his gun and made for Bunker Hill where he joined in the battle, then returned home.

One evening in May of 1783, while standing outside of the door way of his daughter's home in Andover, Massachusetts, a bolt of lightning struck from heaven and met with James Otis, Jr, transporting him to a home where no Writ of Assistance could gain entry.

What remains here on earth of James Otis, Jr. is the 4th Amendment of the United States Constitution, one of the 10 Amendments we call The Bill of Rights:

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.

It is also from Otis that we have the phrase "taxation without representation is tyranny," which we have turned to "no taxation without representation," a very fit phrase for these times.

"In the first place, the writ is universal, being directed 'to all and singular justices, sheriffs, constables, and all other officers and subjects'; so that, in short, it is directed to every subject in the King's dominions. Every one with this writ may be a tyrant' if this commission be legal, a tyrant in a legal manner, also, may control, imprison, or murder any one within the realm. In the next place, it is perpetual; there is not return. A man is accountable to no person for his doings. Every man may reign secure in his petty tyranny, and spread terror and desolation around him, until the trump of the Archangel shall excite different emotions in his soul. In the third place, a person with this writ, in the daytime, may enter all houses, shops, etc., at will, and command all to assist him. Fourthly, by this writ not only deputies, etc., but even their menial servants, are allowed to lord it over us. What is this but to have the curse of Canaan with a witness on us: to be servants, the most despicable of God's creation?" (James Otis, Jr.).

And so, we must ask ourselves are we gradually being subjected to the tyranny of those who are our servants? Is it really serving and protecting when our cities install traffic cameras to profit from people's small errors, or set up "DUI" checkpoints on money-making roads during high traffic hours? Is it serving and protecting when one gives up their 4th Amendment right each time they get in their car or goes into an airport or federal building and is subjected to a full body scan?

If James Otis, Jr was willing to renounce his job, speak for five hours straight, return home to a wife who resented him, lose his sanity, get beat on the head, go to Bunker Hill, and risk arrest by the British officials, why then will we not defend ourselves and neighbors? We too have voices and one voice may set an example for others who may be inspired and strengthened. Yes, using the voice, the word may rain down derision, but there are those like John Adams who may lay foundations with those words.

"I have been young and now I am old, and I solemnly say I have never known a man whose love of country was more ardent or sincere, never one who suffered so much, never one whose service for any 10 years of life were so important and essential to the cause of his country as those of Mr. Otis from 1760 to 1770" (John Adams).

image: Winslow Homer

Where We Are Now: Pearl Harbor II

"How did a nation such as Germany, with a history rich in the cultural achievements of the individual man, succumb to the Nazi wave of despotism and murderous superstition? We cannot here search for first causes, but surely it will be written that liberty and decency in Germany were the victims of a collapse of leadership. Jurists, doctors, professors, civil officials, business magnates--in Germany most honored of all--generals, alike proved insensitive to or flinched before the warning signals of approaching tyranny and crime, and sold themselves, their callings, and their country into slavery" (Chief Counsel for the Prosecution at the Nuremberg Trials, Telford Taylor, Sword and Swastika: Generals and Nazis in the Third Reich).

Is our leadership selling us to the highest bidder? The problem is that after we are sold we won't see a penny, and will be the ones paying to be slaves.

Do our elected representatives represent the voters or rather, those with the biggest wallets? And if these representatives are so spineless and easily tempted by money and manipulation, then what good are they?

Do our local hospitals and health representatives represent what is best for us, or instead sell themselves to the highest bidder?

In the Bard's little corner of the world, the hospital has become a towering temple on a hill overlooking the cemetery. It grows exponentially every year and wants to create a commune neighborhood in which everyone lives like sterile little slaves.

The Bard has been perusing Dr. Matthias Rath's Health Foundation site the past couple days and is currently reading one of the historical books listed there, Rockefeller Medicine Men: Medicine and Capitalism in America by E. Richard Brown. It, along with several of the other books and documents posted on Rath's site are fantastic and highly enlightening.

So far, this Bard finds there is more to like than not at Dr. Rath Health Foundation.

The Bard does feel bad for Rath because he really did believe that a coup was going to ocurr during the last presidential election that would prevent our current president from gaining the White House and implementing the hope and change that Rath so dearly wished for. Who knows, maybe, Rath's theory of a coup was correct, but not in the way he thought. So much for hope and change, and here's to a bigger dose of more of the same.

I've noticed lately, that those who saw and warned of the dangers of the Bush administration are now silent on the present administration. I suppose, many of them were somehow deceived and really did want so dearly to put their faith in one person as savior, that they cannot believe that what they thought was good is not. I would surmise that they are silent because they are still hoping, waiting for a sign to confirm their waning faith, hoping that it's not more of the same. It must be a bit embarrassing and sad.

In a way, the electing of the latest president was one of the smartest moves ever pulled off. It essentially silenced and paralyzed certain groups of people who once fought so hard against the previous administration and were aware of its unsavory moves and motives. These people are now in a state of stasis, of silent watchfulness, no longer fighting--exactly at the moment when they should be the most active. This Bard has often pondered upon this observation.

The Bard is only over a hundred pages into Rockefeller Medicine Men, but he has learned quite a wonderful amount of history in this easy-reading book. He has learned that medicine and education as we know them were developed by the great industrialists as a way to create a workforce compliant and cheaply kept under giant industry control. These giant corporations and their philanthropies think of us as cattle.

When the people stand up for themselves and demand a little more, the corporations get frightened and agree to concede to more humane treatment. These giant corporations are deathly afraid of losing their power and of a class structure that is not highly stratified.

But it must be wondered, when the people unify into unions and other groups and demand such things as more pay, fewer hours, better treatment are they really moving up in the world? Sure, one can demand more pay and other benefits, but they're still working for the company and dependent upon them--still feeding the monopoly which lobbies elected officials who pass laws against the people.

Wouldn't it be better if instead of unions who rally for false rights (as if the company or government is God and can give us anything!), who want humane treatment, if people demanded human treatment and freedom to work when and where they wanted?

The Bard's perfect little utopia is one that looks a bit rough and unpainted, but has lots of old men and women sitting around watching, smoking pipes, reading, and talking; and where children run around in the dust at their feet playing in the sun with holes in the knees of their pants, rather than in a daycare with a bunch of other little snotty-nosed and unloved little inmates.

The Bard's perfect world isn't a commune or higher pay. His world is one that accepts that the Joneses aren't worth wasting time to keep up with, and where people compete fairly with each other. The Bard's world is one of farmers, small businesses, shops, free time, compassion for the sick, and lots of healthy arguing and disagreeing; and again, children out and about rather than hidden away "off-the-streets" in those industrial mills we call public schools. The Bard's utopia looks a bit like the United State before and after the Revolutionary War, but with washing machines, and telephones.

I think, we forget that our rights, our lives are not granted by a government or a corporation. We are born with them, and as we grow, these entities take our inborn rights away and train us in a false idea of freedom and rights in order to keep us quiet and paralyzed. It has been so long since we have known what freedom feels like that we cannot even imagine surviving in a world in which benefits and rights are not supplied by our workplace or the state. How would one support them self without a job?

In our current time it is nearly impossible to imagine not working for another. We are compelled to it because we are slaves. If a slave doesn't produce, doesn't work, he is beaten and punished. A slave will lose their home, wife, children, and owe back taxes and be locked away if they don't benefit the master. If a slave tries to work for themself, they will find that there are rules against it, such as neighborhood covenants, county and city zoning, permits, hearings, regulations and other prohibitions.

During Prohibition it was not illegal to drink alcohol. It was illegal to buy it or possess it. Our modern system of self-sufficiency is nearly this way. It's not illegal to work for one's self, but it's prohibitive to obtain land and the right to commence upon such an endeavor. We have been purposely forced to work for others, for large companies who use the money made off of us to get laws passed to make it harder for us. It is nearly a crime to not have a job in the United States of America.

It shouldn't be a crime not to have a job that creates a constant flow of cash. The Bard has figured out that he could actually live fairly comfortably on a minimal amount of money if he were not compelled to pay such high property taxes. The Bard would actually have time to find out what he could do on his own if he wasn't worried about the taxes.

More and more the Bard sees what amazingly advanced people those crazy American colonists were. They saw what we won't see. They petitioned their government for years and went unheeded and unrepresented, much as we do now. They saw that the root of their problems was monopoly interests who held more sway with Parliament than they because of a mixing of state and corporate power interests. And so, they attacked the root of the problem, the corporation.

The American colonists boycotted East India tea even though it was actually cheaper, patronizing instead the Dutch black market. They tossed the tea overboard. The colonists boycotted other British business interests even though it cost them more money. They knew that the large corporations only care about money and power. The colonists cared more about liberty and were willing to sacrifice their money to prove a point. Of course, this boycott of business couldn't be permitted and Britain sent in the troops to shut Boston down until they begged for mercy and material goods. And because those outside of Boston stood by their brothers, pledging to supply them with food and aid in their time of suffering, we now have this wonderful country--the only threat to evil that exists.

This Bard was recently reading Bernard Bernstein's report to the Kilgore Committee in 1945, which is highly interesting in light of what we see occurring in this country at the moment. In Bernstein's report he details how the giant group of chemical and pharmaceutical companies under IG Farben were the actual root behind the Nazi's power. It is interesting to note that IG Farben's plan for world domination back in the 1930s and 1940s mirrors identically what we see carrying out in forced health care and other strange laws. IG Farben/Rockefeller still exist and are hard at work against us at our universities, state capitals, and the White House.

"It is significant to note that in all those preparations for war I.G. Farben did more than merely comply with orders and requests of the Wehrmacht and Nazi Government agencies. It functioned, in fact, as though it were a research organization of the German Government...." (Bernard Bernstein, Kilgore Committee, p.31)

"The immediate objective of the document[IG Farben's Neuordnung ("New Order")]was to insure the full cooperation of the chemical companies of the conquered countries in producing for the Wehrmacht. The second objective invisaged the complete incorporation of the chemical industries of Europe, including the British Empire [can you say EU?!], within the framework of Hitler's 'New Order.' The third objective was to eliminate U.S. competition in the world market [move industry, production off shore, ban America's backbone--tobacco, auto, independence]. Finally, Farben was preparing to utilize again its vaunted economic warfare weapons, cartels, capital investments and know-how, in anticipation of a possible conflict between Germany and the U.S.A" (Bernstein, 35).

"Farben's economic blitzkrieg of the United States was specially planned" (Bernstein,36).

"The proposition must be recognized that giant industry, throwing all its weight behind despotic government, actually holds the balance of power in the conduct of successful warfare" (Bernstein, 44)

"'I.G. [Farben] is largely responsible for Hitler's policy'" (Dr. von Schnitzler qtd. in Bernstein, 44)

"These schedules thus assured that all imports would be from Germany [now China] and virtually prohibited importation from the United States" (Bernstein, 44).

It looks as if World War II never ended and IG Farben continued with the Neuordnung and got further this time than last. Last time, we woke up when Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, hurtling its pilots down in suicide flames. Hitler was making moves on Britain, but we moved like the sleepy giant we are and staunched the wound.

This time, Britain's been taken. This time Hawaii and Pearl Harbor are in the Capitol. This time Toyota of Japan is committing a gentle and submissive self sacrifice rather than a Kamikaze pilot's Hawaiian crash. This time we are the Kamikaze pilots behind the wheel, crashing the last competition. This time the Neuordnung is literally touching the White House and has its hands around Lady Liberty's white neck and is about to lean over as it seduces her before sucking her blood.

We've been drugged. We're addicts laying in a stupor. Oh, my dear, precious lover, my lady, America. Wake up, wake up and weep for yourself!

Genetic Cleansing May Play Role In Tobacco Bans

The Bard went out to peaceably assemble over the week-end. His brain cells felt as if they were going to explode after a week of intense and soul-wrenching research into the local high school Brown Shirts (or Black Shirts if one is Italian, Red Jackets if one is an American. It doesn't matter what color, century, or country they do jumping jacks in, they're righteous robots out for mass death in order to prevent "cancer").

After the enormous amount of knowledge the Bard had garnered he was ready for a night of examining the brilliant life around him from a new perspective, helped along with a drink or two, and a shot of Beam, which went down nice and warm. He went to a little old place that represents the sea of humanity and is proud of it. Every surface that is conducive to carving skills exhibits the art. And it's obvious these carvers are/were literate as most of it is in mysterious letters, and languages that only the carver and a chosen few others will ever know the meaning of.

Even the ceiling displays the wood table tops, registries of years gone by, records of people who once lived and laughed together, and perhaps, later loved each other. The sliding glass cooler doors are layered in bumper stickers with witticisms and bands that no longer exist. When the Bard was younger he found those bumper stickers offered a wonderful passtime. The bathroom facilities are also covered in literary facts, lore, gossip, and phone numbers, although there is another place on the wrong side of the tracks that surpasses all others for literary skills.

A few years ago, when the Bard was a young one, he spent a few mild summer nights standing outside the open back door near enough to hear the musician, but far enough away to talk and goof off with a small group of people. This arrangement was the solution, according to the Bard's friend, for saving money on drinks. The Bard's friend liked to hop across the way and get cheaper drinks and bring them tipping and sloshing across the space, not to mention the Bard's friend was buying drinks for a misfit girl just under drinking age. The Bard's friend seemed to attract quite a few interesting characters. One of them claimed he was one of 7 secret Wiccan priests in the area and that no one was supposed to know -- so, he told everyone.

The last he heard, the Bard's amicable friend had gone to teach at Berkeley, quit, circled the earth in a boat a couple times, and was landscaping. This friend had always wanted to be a pirate and knew every pirate joke in the book. Everyone loved him and it always took a good half hour to hour to leave any gathering because he had to say good-bye and hug everyone, and he knew everyone. He's been gone for years and people still know who he is and remember him. That's proof of how important one single person can be to so many others.

And so, the Bard went out into the night to see what he could see.

The Bard met a pharmacist, an electrician, a snow boarder, a commercial fisherman, a classical pianist, and several other musicians, a toothless type, as well as a former employee of Victoria's Secret and several other various colorful creations of the Almighty. All 16% of the tobacco users were out in full view, and right in front of the window where a group of pretty and dour false-rebels (Red Jackets, Black Shirts, Brown Shirts) were congregated in their usual anti-social imitation of socializing. You know what I mean. They travel in mobs and inspite of their numbers look absolutely bored, aloof, and disgusted by the riff-raff that even dares to look upon them.

They never ever grow up past high school, ever. Peter Pans. The Bard never had time for them unless he was really bored and needed someone to tease. They're not fun to tease though, because they aren't funny and don't understand metaphor, which humor is a version of. The only things they're good at are shopping, joining groups of others like them, suing, banning, yawning, imitating, and writing Christmas newsletters.

Anyway, instilled with the latest knowledge, the Bard was ready to ping-pong off his fellows, and to see them as family, as distant cousins separated by the diaspora of centuries and geography.

The Bard has a theory. Because of the strange hatred towards certain groups of people, because of the religiousness of it, because of the constant fear of cancer and ills caused by these people, because of the eerily similar reasons for legitimizing hatred of these people as was used in previous times; the Bard believes that there must be a genetic component involved.

And the "science" is trying to prove that there is a genetic reason to hate certain groups of people. If the new I.G. Farbens; the pharmaceutical, chemical, and elite within the medical and government establishment can prove that certain groups of people have "defective" chromosomes they can justify experimenting, incarcerating, banning, and annihilating them (it will, probably be called "health care," or "anti-terrorism"). And even the victims will believe there is something wrong with them, that they have done something wrong, and must be "treated."

In the Bard's study of tobacco, alcohol, and coffee addiction he found that Chromosome 15 is being focused upon. He also found that this chromosome is also where many cancers are being linked too, not to mention a few inherited traits particular to Ashkenazi Jews. He also found that the Ashkenazi Jews have the highest rate of cancer of any group in the world. Hmm. Are the do-gooders really fighting cancer?

The Bard also discovered that the abnormality on Chromosome 15 which is said to contribute to alcohol, tobacco, and coffee drinking in higher doses than is "normal" is highest in concentration in the population of the Middle East, gradually diminishing in the populations as the distance away from the Middle East increases. Where did the Ashkenazi Jews originate from once upon a time?

Also, there are other groups more inclined to addictive behaviors, especially those from impoverished backgrounds in which they were not provided the proper nutrients or were exposed to toxins. These groups include exactly the same groups that I.G. Farbenindustrie and the Nazis sought to exterminate, not to mention quite a few well-respected academics in the United States of America. Blacks, American Indians, those with slightly lower intelligence, or with mental imbalances such as schizophrenics. Perhaps, our traveling Mexicans could be said to be the modern Gypsies. Many of these people are more inclined to use tobacco in order to supplement the nicotinic acid which their brain lacks for various reasons.

The pharmaceutical industry doesn't want it widely known that the highly important nicotinic acid is supplied by tobacco. The nicotine in tobacco is "bound" unless it is oxidized by burning, which converts it to nicotinic acid, which no one can live without, unless they want to get Pellagra. Another way to free the nicotinic acid for absorption is through the use of lime. The Mexicans treat their corn with lime which frees the nicotinic acid. This also works for tobacco. Nicotinic acid is in countless foods that we consume on a daily basis. Without it we become sick.

The Bard wonders if the ban on smoking tobacco may actually be a ban on nicotinic acid. Last year, the government did do some tightening up on this vital nutrient. If the nicotinic acid is controlled, but tobacco is acceptable, people may notice that the smokers seem healthier and may actually begin smoking inspite of the cancer risk, as a way to survive mentally and physically. The Bard thinks that whether one smokes or not, perhaps it would be wise to buy a few tobacco seeds and a pipe in case they actually have no other alternative. Surely, it will be illegal to grow it soon, but a few plants here and there may survive. Tobacco can nearly grow itself and go wild.

And so, the Bard wonders if there is a genetic link to the strange hatred of those who smoke tobacco or have in their past. There really is no difference. For some reason, even when a tobacco user no longer has a need or desire for it, they are still of a different variety. Some old studies found that even when not allowed to smoke for very long periods of time tobacco users are generally of a kinder, generous, more sociable personality and less likely to strike out against their fellows. They are also more likely to take risks and do what others fear to do. These are generally admirable traits in people. We all love those who are brave enough to love and willing to risk what others won't. The biggest risk is loving others, loving those often derided by our society, even giving our life for them and for their freedom -- because their freedom from tyranny is also ours.

The Bard wonders what does science know that we don't? Is it possible that many of us are inheritors of an ancient family that once left Egypt via the King's Highway? Or perhaps, it originates back to Abraham, which may be more likely, as those of the Islamic faith in the Middle East are famous lovers of coffee and tobacco and also call Abraham their father.

Too many coincidences makes something not a coincidence, but a sign or two or three along the highway, telling us which way we are going. We cannot ignore this or think it far fetched, especially when evil is so unimaginative. Evil never invents new ways because it can't. It mimics what has happened before and attempts to rename and cover the package in new paper, but the contents are always the same.

History has shown that it is always the same groups of people singled out for destruction. And history has shown how ignorant and easily deceived we are. We may be ignorant even of our own genetic inheritance, but the science of the genome, of our far-flung family of long ago is catching up with us, showing us our roots. And we may find ourselves being the ones rooted out this time.

And as the Bard peaceably assembled amongst these very special people he saw the generations and the wonderful perfection of his fellows, possible cousins, family and friends in communion with each other. And he saw that those of talent and bright intelligence fit perfectly the description of a typical tobacco user. These people were the only ones able to love the other type of tobacco user, the ones from the "wrong" side of the tracks, including them in conversation and accepting them and joking with them in friendly banter.

Is it possible that there is something to that old Indian Peace Pipe? Did the tobacco somehow, create a calm, accepting, and lighter-hearted environment amongst strangers? It surely looked that way the other night.

And as the Bard headed home for the night, he and three very tall strangers looked upon the dark night sky and talked of strange lights and other occurrences. And as good strangers, they looked out for the Bard, and advised him on the safest way to go home that night.

The Bard asks do you know who you are and where you come from? Are you going to allow someone else to define you?

Once, not so many years ago, a census was collected, data gathered from various sources, including church memberships. This data was used by the giant community of businesses under the name I.G. Farbenindustrie AG which sought to create a "New Order" with the help of Germany and the Nazis. Those Nazi concentration camps were actually I.G. Farbenindustrie slave camps in which the pharmaceuticals were tested, and slave labor was procured. And now, I.G. Farbenindustrie under new names is going to bring the United States of America health care enforced by our government.

Do you know who you are? Don't wait too long to find out. You are precious, valuable, independent, a lover of life, and blessed. Let the destroyers pass law, let us quietly and steadfastly obey the law in our heart, which surpasses all other laws and does not need mob violence or parties. No, this law is bitter sweet and causes us a humble strength, a strength that runs through our veins, passed down from those worn souls who came before us.

"[B]lessing I will bless you, and multiplying I will multiply your descendants as the stars of the heaven and as the sand which is on the seashore; and your descendants shall possess the gate of their enemies" (Genesis 22:17).

Banning Peaceful Assembly for the Health of the Corporate State

"Yet unlike the bathhouse, which was semiprivate and enclosed, away from public view, the coffeehouse constantly offered itself as a spectacle, which, tempting and visible, beckoned to the surrounding markets and neighborhoods throughout the day light hours and into the night. The allure was powerful. Many religious observers were alarmed precisely because it diverted so much traffic from older areas of public congregation. In sixteenth-century Istanbul, they lamented, the mosques now stood empty, as worshippers--including many members of the religious establishment--whiled away their hours in the inviting precincts of the coffeehouse" (James Grehan, "Smoking and 'Early Modern' Sociability: The Great Tobacco Debate in the Ottoman Middle East (Seventeenth to Eighteenth Centuries)," American Historical Review, Vol.111, No.5, Dec. 2006)

James Grehan notes that the primary motivation for coffee and tobacco bans in the middle east of the Islamic Ottomans were the same as bans in our modern and enlightened scientifically Christian times: Fear of a power group losing its ability to dominate and disseminate information. And as in the past, these fears are sold to us under the guise of caring, health, and morals.

Grehan says there "were pervasive anxieties about shifts in consumption and sociability, which seemed to undermine long-standing social hierarchies. By the late sixteenth century, the Ottoman state.........had become concerned about possible blurrings of rank and distinction...."

According to Grehan, coffee and tobacco were "bringing together a diverse cross-section of Istanbul society." This is always a problem for those who like looking down on the rabble.

When different classes, levels of education and social status mix it threatens the false order of those who can only thrive in a society of fear. When diverse people are brought together in an unguided and unorganized manner they realize how interesting the world is and that those of disparate groups are human too. It makes it pretty difficult for despots to create hatred and fear of a group when the groups socialize together all of the time.

This Bard belongs to several segregated genetic groups. He has been shunned, spit upon, and called names. The Bard can no more quit being a member to his inherited genetic group than a Jew could in Nazi Germany, or a Black person on a hot night in 1920, or an American of Japanese descent after Pearl Harbor.

And even though mistreated because of his genetic inheritance, the Bard does not believe in mistreating or segregating or making experiments of those of different genetic inheritance than himself. This is evil to him. The Bard cannot espouse self-righteousness or hate of others when he is himself a sufferer of hatred. He cannot be a hypocrite in the name of religion, science, health, or morals.

James Grehan spends much time on the Muslim legal scholar 'Abd al-Ghani al-Nablusi (1641-1731), who was much revered in and after his time, but has fallen due to our modern "intolerant conservatism." Grehan says of al-Nabulsi:

"Beyond his efforts to build a solid defense for smoking, al-Nablusi had much broader complaints about anti-tobacco authors. He saw their arguments as growing out of unhealthy self-righteousness that clouded their judgment. In essence, they were simply imposing their prejudices on others by improperly citing a legal tradition that called on all believers 'to command the right and forbid the wrong.' Al-Nablusi did not dispute the validity of this doctrine, but asked whether anyone alive was fit to apply it" (emphasis added).

It seems that the coffeehouse, the tavern, the place of peaceful assembly plays a very similar role as Jesus does. This is why we see an increase in smoking bans, which lead to a closure of taverns, less sociability in the yuppy coffee bars, and binge drinking in the remaining youth bars. These public gathering places threaten the order of the arrogant who order the masses.

"Whenever you see a cloud rising out of the west, immediately you say, 'A shower is coming'; and so it is.
"And when you see the south wind blow, you say, 'There will be hot weather'; and there is.
"Hypocrites! You can discern the face of the sky and of the earth, but how is it you do not discern this time?" (Luke 12:54-56).

Health Tips From The Bard

How the Bard keeps in shape, vigorous and svelte:

He imbibes in non patented, morally despised food products, some in massive quantities which defy all scientific and medical logic. He especially enjoys tryptophan, vitamin B3, caffeine and other stimulants. Deprived of these substances, which are increasingly banned and patented his health declines, he becomes listless, overweight, and prone to sky rocketing blood pressure and diabetes. On them he is fit, trim, and spry, and passes medical snuff. When off of them, the doctors panic and accuse him of using them even though his body seems to work synergistically and depends on them.

The bane of the Bard is corn syrup and artificial sweeteners. Corn syrup inflames him, most likely because modern farming practices don't allow for the freeing up of the vitamin B3 he requires.

The Bard is interested in a variety of subjects and adheres to the tenets of the famous Nun Study, which indicates that long life and mental health come from being interested and interesting, rather than from living like an ascetic.

The Bard follows, or aspires to examples such as that flaming and compassionate centenarian, Moses of the Mount and his 10 Simple Steps to Happiness and Success.

The Bard reads copiously and has for years, even reading the encyclopedia from cover to cover if one lands in his hands. Does he remember what he reads? Sometimes.

The Bard does not brown-nose or play chess games with human pieces. Nor does he respect those who play social games with others, racking up points in their little black book of life. People are not pawns or points. The world's only a stage for those who write scripts for others and for those who are ignorant enough to seriously act the part thinking it is reality, moaning dramatically, "I am Bathos! I am Bathos!"

The Bard knows so much that he knows he is often wrong. Ignorance and arrogance often are impediments to coming to this conclusion, that one has been deceived. The Bard has been humbled to extreme pits-of-the-trash-can levels and has risen from the rot and refuse a wiser, tougher, and perceptive person able to know trash when he sees and smells it. This Bard particularly enjoys the mental picture of himself rising from a dumpster, sticky paper clinging from his hair, and goo dripping from him. It makes him chuckle.

The Bard enjoys music and is not confined to a particular type, as long as it's not electronically simulated or pop which make him nauseous, vomitous, and break out in a rash. He prefers to get off the main drag for his music and find back alleys and character. The Bard believes that Beatles are ugly bugs that make a nice crunching sound when stepped on. Beatles are watered-down versions of real music which has been made into American Idol versions for mass hysterical consumptives.

The Bard reads Shakespeare, Nabokov, and The Holy Book. These are his foundations and his life rafts upon a stormy sea. When the Bard is sinking he grabs onto these and is lifted up again. These get him out of the tomb and up onto the mountain.

The Bard has strong opinions.

The Bard drinks Borax, Apple Cider Vinegar, molasses, and a special ale; bathes in a bubbling spring, does pull-ups from a lock of Sampson's hair, and cries when he laughs, and admits he will never ever be perfect no matter how many times he is forced to repeat the cycle. It would be better to let me live for ever than to have me return an even more pronounced version of myself, or even as a smaller mite of myself. I'd have far too much fun as a mite.

Keeping the Temple

The Bard has been feeling a bit rebellious and wondering if....

If the body is a temple, whose temple is it? Does it belong to the owner or to a chain of temples, like a fast food chain in which each temple is designed in nearly the same design as the place down the road and serves up the exact same frozen meat briquettes, "toasted" buns, rehydrated onion and shake mix?

If I, the inheritor of this temple own it and don't want to join a franchise, then I should be able to run things as I please, organizing the feast days, the alms giving, and requirements for entry into the Holy of Holies.

Who exactly has decided what the rules for my temple are? Who has said it should look a certain way and what rules it should follow and who has decided what foods, music, and people are permitted within its sacred walls?

Of course,very often the answer is that we're each to be part of the Judeo-Christian group and that God has set the rules and design and has told us how to design the building and how to operate it. The Bard doesn't dispute that God set the patterns out, but the Bard disputes that his temple must conform to a uniform human ideal, for the Bard has not been designed to conform to the uniform ideal, and when he has tried he finds himself a sad and dark temple full of false idols cluttering up his space. He finds himself spending too much time and money buying costumes and other acceptable regalia for the grand boredom of being preached at. And after that he has to prove his pockets are empty by pulling them out and placing the last bit of lint in the offering plate.

Once, when the Bard attended a great temple gathering and all the lint had been placed in the plate a great grey-blue lint cow appeared and we all bowed down to worship it. Moses asked the pastor in charge of the flock what had happened and the pastor said he had no idea. It didn't taste too well when we were forced to eat it. Lint doesn't melt in the mouth the same way that cotton candy does, and on the other end it reminds one of what an owl expectorates.

Of late there has been much talk about other people's temples. Females in leadership roles are even accusing their own beautiful daughters of being fat, somehow hoping that this motherly love will inspire the rest of us to look at all thin children and do the same. If the particular Great Mother I have in mind believes her children are fat, then each of us must be fat too. Perhaps, we've all been blind, imagining that what we see is thin when in reality it is fat. Or perhaps, we are being asked to conform to someone else's "reality."

Anyway, this zealous interest in other people's temples is getting carried away. Who cares? And whose business is it to care? Not mine, not yours. Well, it's somebody's and they must be planning on making a mint on accusing people of the sin of eating. Everyone eats. We're all dependent, addicted, and habituated to food. We're all guilty of the sin, and we all have gathered in little circles to pass the cake and cookies and get the giggles and mumble terms that addicts use, such as "Mmm. This is so good! Mmm. MMMM." And we've all displayed that strange sensation of rubbing our belly after Thanksgiving, or perhaps unbuttoned the top snap to let the pressure loose (a sign of a hardcore addict).

The ineffable state of New York wants a sin tax on carbonated beverages. According to these high priests of health, morals, and science this type of beverage is as dangerous as smoking, and alcohol. Somehow, when something is labelled a "sin" it makes it okay to tax it and ban it from privately owned temple use.

The Bard doesn't believe any state should make money from something if it's considered a sin. Why would those who don't agree with smoking, alcohol, and now pop want to benefit from the bad habits of others? The Bard doesn't believe in taking dirty money for his benefit. Of course, the bard doesn't believe that tobacco, alcohol, or pop are impure; but he doesn't believe the government should benefit from supposedly bad habits.

The Bard thinks that the problem of sin and habits would be eradicated if people were banned, rather than the things they ingest and do. Hitler called this the Final Solution. Of course, then the governments of our states would not have any funding for their programs, but then, they wouldn't need the money because the problems would all be solved, finally they would be effective.

Ideally, the Bard would like it if people not respectful of his temple would stop standing outside demanding their right to entry. He doesn't stand at their gates yelling and screaming about his rights to enter into their temples, or how their temple practices harm his temple practices.

If....if the body is a temple, then it is mine and it is holy. Stop desecrating it with heathen practices and idols, stop eating up my stores, or I may have to send for my temple-home's rightful master. Can I weave and unweave much longer? Beware of the beggar that returns for his Penelope, his Bride.

image: John William Waterhouse, Penelope and the Suitors (1912)

Swimming Against the Current

Here are some snippets from a June 5, 1939 LIFE prediction of life in 1960, inspired by the New York World's Fair and General Motor's "Futurama" display:

"When Americans of 1960 take their two-month vacations, they drive to the great parklands on giant express highways. A two-way skein consists of four 50-m.p.h. lanes on each of the outer edges; two pairs of 75-m.p.h. lanes in the center, two lanes for 100m-m.p.h. express traffic. Cars change from lane to lane at specified intervals, on signal from spaced control towers which can stop and start all traffic by radio. Being out of its driver's control, each car is safe against accident....

".....Off the highway, the driver dawdles again at his own speed and risk."

"The highways skirt the great cities. But the happiest people live in one-factory farm-villages producing one small industrial item and their own farm produce. Strip planting protects the valley fields against erosion. The land is really greener than it was in 1939. Federal laws forbid the wanton cutting of wooded hillsides."

"Cures for cancer and infantile paralysis have extended man's life span and his wife's skin is still perfect at the age of 75."

"Electronic microscopes literally see everything."

"On every front America in 1960 knows more about unleashing the best energies in its citizens. Nearly everyone is a high-school graduate. The talented get the best education in the world. More people are interested in life, the world, themselves and in making a better world. Politics and emotion still slow progress. But these obstructions are treated with dwindling patience in 1960."

I wonder why they were so sure that America would change so quickly in 21 years from what it was in 1939? Was this sheer optimism or a plan in the works? And what made these strange people so sure that such a monotone and boring collective would actually achieve a cure for cancer? As long as people are confined to "happy" farm collectives, and only the "talented" get education, and all traffic is controlled, and emotionless automatons are the norm there will be no cure for cancer.

Curing cancer requires that the parts of the brain intimately linked to emotion are fully operational and creative. Curing cancer requires an unleashing of individuality and freedom, for this is how it will be fought within the body's systems.

I think, we can see a bit how cancer operates on a daily basis in our world. It seems to start small and grow when a population doesn't recognize it as a threat, when individuals are prohibited from defending themselves and kept ignorant. The cancer grows and attacks a weak organ, such as another company or group. It gets the body to attack the weak organ too. Then the energy, or money is sucked from the company or group of people in the form of a settlement or other form. This energy is then given to the cancer to feed upon, thus making it increase in power and allowing it to spread into other systems until it is eating up the body and too late to fight. The host dies, which then kills the cancer because there remains nothing to feed it.

It is very difficult and bloody when a cancer has grown so large that the entire body must unite to fight against it. But if each individual cell were given power and knowledge, it, along with its immediate neighbors could stall or destroy the cancer before it grew and attacked a large organ. This little battle would barely even be noticed and not lead to blood and death.

A completely unified and controlled highway system as envisioned in 1939 is one also susceptible to disaster. Perhaps, it is safer, but it is not free or pleasurable. It also is like pushing a population of handicapped drivers down the road. They forget how to use their muscles and atrophy from lack of use.

Ask a person in a wheel chair if they would rather be pushed around the rest of their life, have doors opened for them, and elevators lift them; or walk even if it meant tripping once in awhile, stubbing their toes, and being called bow legged. Ask the person in the wheel chair if they'd rather be able to ride a bike even if it meant risking that nasty bar in the crotch once in awhile. Chances are they'd laugh and say all those risks are worth freedom and independence. They may cry and say, "Give me the pain. I'll love it because I'm free, I'm standing on these legs, I'm running, and I can carry another if I get the chance."

How does an individual stop to help another on a controlled system that won't let them have that freedom? Doesn't this create a system of people who ignore others because they assume the authorities, Who Ever's In Charge, will take care of the needy? It's an unsafe system that controls our every motion. How do we know the so called higher powers (or powers for hire) will see the problem or that they will have compassion? And how much more will it cost us to pay for this controlling higher power in comparison to what it would have cost a single private individual to be compassionate?

Rather than uniting in giant power groups, rather than driving upon a controlled highway, it would be better for people to get off onto the country roads and dawdle at one's own risk and safety. A giant-controlled highway or social movement is controlled by exterior guides who may not steer us in the correct directions, who may be deceived and deceiving under the guise of safety and public health.

Giant movements do not bring about change, but more of the same. England's Protestants overthrew their monarch for another form of tyranny. Russia's Bolshevik, and France's Revolution were also a despot's dream. The real power is not in confined and controlled power groups who yell and vociferate about morals and speak in us-against-them terms. The real power is when each person as an individual chooses to do the right thing, irregardless of the group, irregardless of the time's moral, political, religious, and scientific values.

A school of fish is netted as a group. A single fish must be caught one at a time. It's quite labor intensive and time consuming for a fisherman to catch every single fish in the pool or in the stream. It's more labor intensive for evil to catch people when they're not in a group to be netted, but must be caught one at a time, and outsmarted with baits and flies. If individuals cannot stand alone, cannot act on their own, then they cannot stand or act as a group either. A group of unwhole and helpless people is a group of mental cripples trampling over town and country, hopped up on false righteousness.

image: Via Appia, Rome, Italy, Paul Vlaar