RNC Runs from Itself: Ryan, Akin and the Hate Women Edition

Not much to say except this: The RNC’s strategy is to lie about its take on abortion. Why? If you believe abortion is murder under any circumstances, well, be proud there are no exemptions for rape or incest or even life of the mother. After all, that’s your position. Well, not if you want to win elections. Then you pretend it is not. And, when in office, then it is your position again. In fact, maybe just hold up as a hero the sheriff candidate in New Hampshire who wants to go in, guns blazing, kill doctors and rescue fetuses. That would be consistent. At least those of us in sane, rational places known as the World could admire your crazy consistency. But you’d lose then, and then you wouldn’t be able to do the three things you want most in the world to do: Kick the poor, extol the greedy and control all the Vaginas in the land.

-greg rideout

Hurricane Deniers

Crap. The load of idiots about to pile up in Tampa, Florida, to celebrate JesusFreeedomMoney could get lubricated with seawater, Godtears and more than 70 mph holy winds. There is rejoicing, and blank stares meet reporters who ask whether the GOP Mess-All-Over-Themselves Fest will go on. It is the stare of a cult member in throes of legitimate rape.

“Don’t give us all that science-eeey stuff,” Mittidiot says, “Can’t you see we’re skinning poor people in here. By the way, how does my new WelfarePersonSkin coat look on me?”

Is it wrong to hope they don’t get their fucking Ark built in time?

greg rideout

Abortion, Todd Akin, and Dumbassery of the Right Wing

The first political opinion piece I wrote nearly 30 years ago concerned abortion. It was an earnest effort by an eager liberal. I threw in John Stuart Mill and used sophomore philosophy to back up a point that still holds: Humans decide when a fetus becomes a life. That’s the best we can do. It’s the smartest position. We could and have defined life many other ways, but those attract the drag of complexity.

Humans fight over this because of the realm of magical thinking that possesses a great deal of us right now. This Good Book says this and that Good Book says some other shit. Science just gives us the facts: Babies become separated from moms and then live on their own — mostly at nine months via a journey down the birth canal, but sometimes someone becomes alive after a doctor pluggles you through a surgeon’s cut in the lower abdomen. From time to time, that happens after seven or six or even five months gestation. Well, that fetus is now a person. Yes, it’s arbitrary but it’s quite simple.

If a woman gets pregnant and doesn’t want to be, well, what right is it of mine or yours or anyone’s to say differently? How does that even matter to you or me? I mean, fuck, this is where American Libertarians’ falseness just eats up into their underwear, exposing them as sex-o-crites.

Missouri GOP U.S. Senate candidate Todd Akin is just telling us something he believes is true: He should have the right to control a woman’s babymaking. And most of his friends believe this, too. It comes from a deep place that all of us possess to some degree: Sex makes us uncomfortable. Just look at the history of criminalizing sex behavior, and religion’s zeal to squash it, tamp it down or disown it. Why? Because sex reminds us of the real reason we are all here, and it isn’t to worship magical bearded men in the sky or start make the planet a better place or even be kind to children. Nope, the reason is to fuck and make more of us, end of story. Everything done by humans feeds into that end. The day we accept that truth is the day we get on with getting this thing going.

-greg rideout

Nan Wigmore, Great Grandmother for Freedom, Arrested to Stop Obama from Prosecuting Bradley Manning

Wigmore, Bradley ManningLook, I’m going to vote for Obama. You are, too. Corporatist, sure. Picking off people with drones — yes, true. But also: health care. And, end war in Iran, Afghanistan. And Gay Marriage, well, there’s some leadership and also the abortion rights stay protected.

A given: Romney is a privileged peculiar prick who seems to think he should be wiping his ass with us, not asking for our votes.

Sure, Obama can’t seem to close Guantanamo, and he certainly is clued into keeping the secrets of power. That’s where Bradley Manning pushed out some secrets we all need. Obama is wrong on prosecuting him and wrong on Assange.

I’ll vote for him, sure, but I’ll celebrate this Grandmother. She fights for us. She got arrested at his Portland, Oregon HQ. Thanks, Nan.
-greg rideout

Return of Nothing, Assange Style, Bollocks to the Brits

Secrets. Fuck secrets. Secrets lube power. Secrets damage people and contort community. Secrets dilute democracy, leaving it vulnerable to lies, which, as we know, kills The Freedom.

Does it matter, really? No, but that’s the wrong question. The right question is: How do you want to make this thing go? How do you want this world to play out while you spend your 70 years and change? Maybe plowing through taking everything you desire without regard to others makes sense for you. That’s kind of fucked up, but on the spectrum. And that’s happening.

Busting the secrets makes Power kind of mad. Look what’s happened to Assange. All the powers cut off credit cards as a form of payment to Wikileaks; the United States threw Bradley Manning in solitary confinement and Assange is mixed up in a battle to have Sweden send him to U.S. authorities.

I don’t know what kind of man Assange is in his personal life. I know the rape laws under which he is charged in Sweden are quite broad, and he is only wanted for questioning. Too bad Sweden chose not to come to the Ecuadoran Embassy in London to interview him. And, they’ve refused to rule out extradition to the United States. (Which, of course, has nothing to do with the alleged rape and everything to do with Power.)

But as a public man, with Wikileaks, Assange gave the world a hammer to break the secrets. It’s working, and that’s the most plausible reason they’re trying to get him.

A Universe from Nothing by Lawrence M. Krauss

Crouch low and whimper or make a fuss. Sit back and relax or howl at the moon. All appropriate; all irrelevant. The universe is from nothing. It is stretching itself flat, propelled on by weakness, massive stars dwarfed by the emptiness of space and laughed at by time. Reading the latest science about our universe in Lawrence M. Krauss’ “A Universe From Nothing: Why There is Something Rather Than Nothing” leaves one in awe of the human ability to know. We propel ourselves through time with curiousness, inventing language and cities, discovering the secrets of geology and chemistry, all in an effort to understand why we exist. And, in the end, no answer really matters. The joint we inhabit will go on for at least 2 trillion years, and the people who might inhabit distant corners of all that there is will have no way of knowing, no scientific way, we ever existed. It would be tragedy if tragedy mattered. So, beat on, be magnificent, just don’t expect it to matter.

Anti-Capitalists v. SWAT in Chapel Hill

Back at the cop station, excitement. Strapping on vests and helmets, loading up on guns and grenades. Lastly, swinging machines across their shoulders. You’d think it was war, but you’d be wrong. In fact, some folks were questioning the system, and such questions can’t be asked. Time to display a lesson in power.

Americans are in the nascent stages of looking at their own mess. Ours is a system that gives a slice of us a lot and most of us next to nothing. Perfectly good buildings – like the vacant Chrysler dealership on Franklin Street in Chapel Hill some anarchists took over — go to waste while families sleep in the streets because they have no home. In fact, this week 842,000 people in America are sleeping in the streets. Each year, more than 3 million people in this country have no place to live.

The Chrysler building is private property, and thus is sacred unto the System. The cop-guards must protect it all costs. The idea that it might be used for something helpful is laughable. You just can’t take it over. Can you?

The anarchists that took it over think you can. They get that it’s illegal in our system. But systems change. Really. Go back in your head to five hundred or two thousand years ago. It’s all different now. But it didn’t happen without someone breaking some rules. Might might have won this time, but Right just might come out on top the next.

-greg rideout

Election Round-up: Craziness Takes A Punch To The Gut, Cries Like Little Girl

Since 2010, the CRAZY has felt strong. The CRAZY’s anus has drooled with the blood of its conquests, roaming from state to state, gnawing on health care, stomping on “Mexicans” and stacking gay people like firewood in a shed, hoping to use them for kindle at first frost. But the November cold came yesterday, riding in on Election Day, and America stared down the CRAZY. Millions of straight-ahead eyes were determined to stab the beast in its ugly, putrid heart. People ignored the CRAZY this time as it licked its cracked lips; as it spit vomit into the streets. Citizens stood firm and marched forward, with votes like daggers in their hands.

And in the dawn, the CRAZY lay wounded though alive, needing to be pulled to safety by its minions (Gingrich and Limbaugh and Cain and Palin). They washed the crazy with semen and prayer. But it still may die. Here’s why:

In Wake County, North Carolina, mi casa, sane-minded Democrats completed a sweep of five races needed to pull the School Board from the shit-encrusted bowels of the CRAZY. Kevin Hill, a mild-mannered former principal kept his seat on the board in a run-off against a local but more stupid and vapid version of Sarah Palin. The upshot: Bigotry and selfishness got put in the corner, and the CRAZY slinked away, its small mind unable to comprehend the slap-slap-slap of the Sane.

Over in the desert, citizens of Mesa stuffed state Senate President Russell Pierce back up the devil penis from which he sputtered. Pierce’s CRAZY got a hard-on every time he hurled a Mexican child back over the border. He authored Arizona’s racist immigration law, SB1070, and generally acted like a cock-ringed Dick about the legislature, with all the self-awareness of a Cro-Magnon dragging his bigoted ball-sack through the halls of democracy. His constituents didn’t like being complicit in stupidity, so they voted Pierce out in an historic recall election.

Over in Ohio, Governor Fox-News-Boot-Licker, John Kasich, didn’t count on Ohio voters waking up and seeing the CRAZY munching on their limbs. The Unbalanced and Mean shills for the CRAZY at Fox found their bull-shit pumping stations clogged up by alert voters. By a nearly two-to-one margin, voters understood Kasich aimed to fuck them silly. Now, collective bargaining rights saved, cops and teachers and firefighters — now that’s some All-America shit — can still get a decent wage if they band together. Kasich might want to find some ice and a plug for his Anus, for surely the CRAZY is sad and might need some lovin’ to feel better.

And down in Mississippi, the state that exists only to make the rest of the 49 feel better, the CRAZY failed to get the rest of us to call an egg-and-sperm sandwich a human. The Personhood Amendment got clobbered 60 to 40 percent. Who knew there was an actual bottom to right-wing ass-clown ideas? When Mississippi says, “hey, the CRAZY, that’s some fucked up shit,” well, you know it’s true.

I’d say things are looking up. The CRAZY will be back, but, like the voters around the country, I’ve had enough and I’m ready for it.

-Greg Rideout

“Lucretia” by Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn

I will go back to be with “Lucretia.”

“Lucretia” hangs among a host of Rembrandt paintings in the “Rembrandt in America” exhibit now starting a three-month engagement at the North Carolina Museum of Art. She rests alone toward the end of the show, placed on a jutting wall, literally pushed into our path by the curator. Rembrandt painted her in his twilight, when his style had coarsened. But here, he retains some delicate lines to match the rougher strokes, which brings a stark, intimate immediacy. Lucretia’s predicament becomes our predicament; her great sadness ours to hold. It is, to use the word most associated with Rembrandt, masterful.

“Lucretia” demands we wrestle with big questions. Rembrandt gives us a historical moment — the suicide of a Roman wife after her rape by the king’s son — and portrays a universal anguish. He renders Lucretia’s pale, blood-drained face with a courageous vulnerability. From his portrayal of shadow and light and tone and color, Rembrandt allows reflection and introspection. The painting grasps your brain chemistry, firing off unknown synapses and turning your world, for a moment, into remembrance of this one thought: pain lies behind all things.

Perhaps it is the dagger held loosely in her right hand or the crimson streak spreading on her chemise from the wound under left breast. Her pale sternum peaks intimately from her clothes, a detail binding “Lucretia” to the viewer, as if she were your dying lover. And, her left hand on a rope, perhaps the pull to close the curtains of her bed chamber, but certainly a pull to close her off from the world and from us. She is our last glimpse of our own demise, given early, as a gift from Rembrandt’s dying hand.

Other paintings by Rembrandt may claim more fame. This exhibit contains an iconic late-period self-portrait that certainly will be surrounded for the duration of the show. And, I’ve stood before “Night Watch” at the Rijksmuseum, mesmerized. Both of those more famous Rembrandts moved and impressed me. Yet, “Lucretia” gave to me that special, fleeting moment of understanding my predicament here among infinity.

A painting shouldn’t be able to do this. Rothko’s Seagram’s series at the Tate gives this to us. As does Caravaggio’s “St. Jerome” at the Borghese Gallery in Rome.

Even great masterpieces, paintings I can sit for hours and stare into, don’t give me this placement within the universe; though they come so very, very close: Pollock, Richter, Van Gogh.

So, I’ll be heading back to the NCMA for more time with “Lucretia.” I’ll need to hurry. She’s here with the rest of the “Rembrandt in America” show through Jan. 22, 2012.

– Greg Rideout

Synchronous Objects, Move

I chanced upon an art installation, a video seeking to decipher movement. The piece enhances and recreates the beauty of one piece of art into another similar, but different, thing entirely. “Synchronous Objects,” a three-year-long project at the Ohio State University, takes choreographer William Forsythe’s “One Flat Thing, reproduced (2000)” and digitally dissects it, producing video-ized creations that reveal, destroy and reassemble the beautiful dance into a new aesthetic entity, one that retains the values of movement and renders it through the prism of the computer into a beautiful new thing.

One that reminds us that we move. Constantly.

We move muscles hidden beneath layers of skin, which instantaneously take and execute orders from our brains. Millions and millions of signals repeated infinitely yet uniquely to get us out a door or into the water. We caress, shove, pull, grab, rub, jump, throw. We masticate and gesticulate. We digest our food. At this moment, you and I move our fingers across plastic keys, pushing each one down separately, our brain arranging the order of movement to make words appear on a computer screen in front of us.

Movement defines us in the world as physical beings.

Movement is pre-language. When we watch movement — a ballet dancer lifted above a partner’s head, a sprinter nearing the finish line — it is felt first. Our viewing of human movement connects us to each other without using the cerebrum. It is pure brain stem. It is the stuff of flee-or-fight. To watch movement is almost to move ourselves; when I see you move, I twitch. I want to move.

Technology conspires to plant us. So, our modern world invents ways to move. We run races or climb mountains or play games. Movement has become unnecessary for survival. In fact, there are those among us capable of little or no movement: paraplegics and quadraplegics who live a life outside of physicality. Before civilization, such immobile humans would have been abandoned to the elements, dying either violently or just wasting away.

Movement is incorporated in our essence. We admire it when it glides and pushes and arranges itself it ways that tell us stories, in a manner that digs into who we are as humans.

Most studies of movement decipher the science of it. Most practictioners of movement create and explore the beauty or the power of it. Sports kinesiologists break down an athlete’s moves, finding flaws and removing resistance until the task at hand becomes streamlined. A baseballer uses his muscles, eyes and brain to create the coordinated swinging of a rounded bat connecting with a speeding, thrown ball within the space of one, single second.

Synchronous Objects” delineates the beauty of the movement, deconstructing its parts and patterns. It is mesmerizing. To watch such a thing outside of ourselves — meaning, that it is “real” and made for all of us — is as if the artistic team plucked from my head many of my different ways of seeing. It is as if the act of watching a ballet — or game — or kids running around in the yard — is now imbued externally with the sublime nature of subconscious thoughts.

The piece is at the Contemporary Art Museum in Raleigh, N.C., as part of the “Deep Surface: Contemporary Ornament and Pattern” through January 2, 2012.

- greg rideout