Dear World, As Charles Dickens would have said,
It is the best of times,
It is the worst of times.
It is the time when heroism rose to its greatest pitch, as simple people, desperate for freedom, faced the mechanized might of treacherous dictators, armed by the world’s greatest power.
It is the time of greatest cowardice when the world’s great powers, by treaties, bribes, and diplomacy hid their complicity in war, terror, torture and murder, to assist in the suppression of those simple people in order to steal their gold, oil, gas and foods.
It is the time of greatest integrity when whistle-blowers faced the armed oppressors of people and told the world the truths they have found.
It is the time of greatest mendacity when leaders of mighty nations deliberately and knowingly, lie to their people in order to create war and mayhem for the profit of corporations.
And it is time to tell you of an apparently un-associated incident, Dear World, about how, as frequently happens when I am cruising along the gravel back-roads of my Canadian home, one day I turned a corner and ran into herd of some thirty to forty cows, ambling along and grazing, en passant, on the grassy edges.
Nature throws up some pretty wild combinations between one life form and another, and the cow is a prime example of one of the strangest –developmentally caught between animal and vegetable, a kind of downgraded grass that left behind it whatever vestigial traces of brain it might have posessed , before it hitched a ride on human’s meat- love, thus delaying its extinction for a generation or so.
This day, for awhile as I braked to a halt, this extended family, turned and with chunks of grass sticking out of mouths concentrated it’s idiot attention on the strange creature that had turned up behind it. My techniques, when these situations arise ,is to slowly edge forward as the rearguard opens up a little to permit me passage. That way I can usually squeeze slowly through and leave them behind.
This time however, something spooked them just as I had nosed about as far as the middle of the herd and the youngsters at the front began to run. In seconds the panic spread and hooves are flying in the air and the cows are crapping as cows do when they run, and the old cows are thundering along, their massive udders slapping their thighs from side to side, and they’ve got the road filled and up the banks and the air is full of road dust and cow shit thrown up in the air by the pounding hooves. The bulls are tagging along in the rear not wanting to be seen as too revolutionary, perhaps, and not having realized that I was supposed to be the chaser in this game.
The youngsters are hearing the pounding of the hooves behind them, and it is literally scaring them shitless. They weave from one side of the road to the other, up the banks and down again. I am trapped in the middle, unable to pass, and the ones on either side of me have quite forgotten, if they ever knew, that I was the cause of the panic. They are doubtless feeling “Dear Cow-Gods, if that spiffy little Japanese thingy is as scared as us, we are in real trouble” Out of my side windows I can see their eyes bulging with pure fear as their heads bob up and down. The ones behind me never knew that I was the Terror since I had passed harmlessly. But there is something scary somewhere.
And then a strange thing happened. In that spiffy little Japanese car I got caught-up in the enthusiasm. For awhile there, I couldn’t stop. If I did they would have run right over the top of me which was a frightening feeling. I couldn’t get past because the youngsters were dodging like Rugby full backs. And all the time there was a thundering vibrato of hooves that filled the air, and the ‘moos’ and the whole shit-kicking, dust-storming stampede was roaring down this little country road, heads and horns and tails and asses rising and falling . And there was I, in the middle of it all—a kind of temporary cow cousin.
It is a strange thing. That excitement can get to you and fill you up. You are part of a movement, a political demonstration, a be-in, an Occupy, and you feel it in every part of your body except your brain: the sheer joy of inclusion. It was part fear, part instinct, and part sheer Cow-Joy. For those ecstatic moments I was one of them, my brothers and sisters and relatives, the Mooers. We were pure Cow. And we were beautiful. We were all part of this family. But every cow in that herd had its own little bit of selfness wrapped up in that communal stampede, and doubtless had brief times of cow-importance, the faintest tickle of intelligence, to be considered some hot day lying down in the field and chewing the cud.
At last I eased into the lead, passed the final prancing calf and pressed the accelerator. At that moment I experienced my Revelation. It was not as elegant as that of Paul of Tarsus and I deeply hope it won’t create another Christianity. One is more than enough for awhile. But if it precipitates some profound social changes on a global scale, the dreaming will have been worth its time. For I suddenly had the vision that this stampede I had just emerged from was to all intents and purposes the perfect metaphor for Western urbanized civilisation.
I saw my own entrapment in rush hour traffic as the spiritual manifestation of a great, terrible stampede, of a spooked species; all of them, billions, leaping out of their beds, gobbling coffee, and roaring down the highways to workplaces to pass their lives in utterly meaningless activities. I saw the factories like that; and I saw the armaments industries, and the whole great maddened war machine, a Blakean Terror crushing all and everyone before it. I recognized herd-madness at its apogee; its mindless brutality and murderous rage. And I recognized that nothing could halt this stampede except a powerful revelation—a mirror held up to us all to show us in our primitive and mindless madness.
In practically every big city on earth one can witness a stampede like this that mimics the Cow Joy crowd. Beginning early in the morning, long before the kids are awake, millions and millions of people pouring down super-freeways filled with a communal terror of being too slow, and losing their tenuous positions, which, they have absorbed as truths, are the sole rituals that legitimize their existence. They hoot, and bleat at each other like the Cow-Joy crowd. They munch slices of toast as they go because they haven’t the time or control to have proper meals. They are filled with an existential fear; and they are dangerous. The most unlikely and slightest rumours of that new great terror, ‘Terror’, can cause them to attack other breeds and slaughter them mercilessly with super technology’s weaponry, made with the tax money they should have been spending on Food, Health, Education and Housing for the poor and under-privileged.
They have forgotten in their panic that the causes of their panic are right inside themselves in the middle of their stampedes, like my car in the middle of the Cow-Joy crowd. They occasionally kill each other. Being innovative cows they have even exported their Fear to other herds, and this has proved to be a good business, since it serves to increase ‘The Terror’ and, since they have cut adrift from the moorings of Morality and Ethics, they have no hesitation whatever about lying, cheating, thieving, and conniving and even murdering at the highest governmental and corporate level: so that at present the only thing one can predict about any government, elected from any party, is that they will serve the interests of Corporate Greed and the one percent with whatever Malfeasance, and Treachery is necessary to sustain the present levels. This must all be conducted with the highest degrees of secrecy, because the slightest hints of transparency can cause the fears of a Mass Moo, and that catastrophic change of crooks called ‘an election.’
But every man and woman in that urban stampede has brief times of cow-importance, the faintest tickle of intelligence, to be considered some hot day lying down on the sofa watching the T.V. and chewing the cud. And in finality they actually like The Terror, which they have created by systemic brutality and crookedness towards other herds. It gives them all a sense of togetherness and inclusion and belonging and shields them from the excruciating pain and shame that The Truth causes them when, like rain on a leaky roof, it drops in uninvited and spoils their comfort.
Inevitably, Dear World the disparities between the currencies of the world will stabilise and level out, because that will be the only way to stem the unstoppable pressure of illegal immigration, caused by poverty with all the discomforts that it entails. For it is that which is the result of the widening gap between the rich and the poor, and that which will daily push us towards a revolution that no one wants. This flattening out of currencies will occur even though the wealthy will kick and scream all the way to the fleecing sheds and, in the long run, it will be for the benefit of us all.
In the interim, militarism, madness and murder prevail and appear unstoppable. But one man, has stepped forward. From our global population of eight billion, only one man with the intelligence and I.T. sophistication combined with the global vision, humanitarianism plus the indominatable courage to stand and confront the United States of America’s formidable and ruthless power. One man, Dear World. One man out of Eight Billion, and only one man!
And at the moment, he is in check to two mindless radical feminist women, a feminist Swedish prosecutor who swears the legitimacy of a rape charge for a broken condom, and seven supreme court judges who have heard the bizarre appeal for his extradition to Sweden and have been deliberating for weeks about the effect of refusing this extraordinary unjust demand. on the EU catch-all protocol for extradition across EU in future cases,– as though such hypothetical cases had anything to do with the inhuman treatment of an innocent man ,who cared too much about humanity, to protect himself from its barbaric institutions.
While they sip port in the super exclusive Club Of The Isles, and mumble about legal precedents, Assange, who has had no charges laid against him , basically waits to see if he will be shipped via Sweden to Guantanamo for life imprisonment, or death, for holding up a mirror for the world to see the rampant brutality and evil of Israel, Western governments in particular, and the corporate world of the super rich.
One man, Dear World, stepping forward to protect eight billion! Let that thought rattle around your heads as we stampede to work! Another Jesus kicking the money lenders out of the temple again and this one totally documented? Mooo, Moooo Mooo? Where’ s the AVAAZ team? Where are the endless legions of motherhood-issue campaigners—protectors of dolphins, fish, rodents etc., ad infinitum who dog my in-mail to enlist my support and signature and money? Not that I oppose most of those issues, but many of them are quotidian and will be with us forever.
But if we are not careful, if we are not active, if we are not determined, we could lose this man forever. America didn’t hesitate for one second about bombing the Chinese embassy, or dropping a Predator robot on Anwal-al-Awlaki an American citizen —charged with nothing, living in another sovereign state. It didn’t hesitate about invading Bermuda. It didn’t hesitate a second worrying about the ‘blow-back’ from invading Ecuador and grabbing Noreiga- a man who was their employee and ally until his and their politics diverged. And where are all the Christians now that we need their support? Mooo! Mooo! Mooo! America doesn’t worry about ‘blowback.’ ‘Blowback’ is the perfect excuse and rationalization for more domestic restriction and suppression of human rights. It is the rationale for Homeland Security, America’s most powerful department. Murdering Julian Assange would tell the rest of the world to keep its interfering mouth shut. It would be a global message to every critic of America or its ally Israel , that the U.S would break every law or protocol it chooses and crush him like an insect.
Now ease out of the daily stampede for a moment to consider this picture and put yourself in Assange’s place. Ask yourself whether or not you would have the cojones to maintain the legitimacy of truth and justice in the face of your own imminent destruction if you do. This is a scenario that has stirred up the most scurrilous and gutless league of lying knaves ever to tread the boards since Shakespeare’s time, and they are nobody’s friends except their own.
One Man. One highly intelligent and highly principled man has stepped out of the crowd of eight billion to tell us how wrongly we were behaving and we have not the intelligence and courage and integrity to support him? One Man stepped out of the teeming multitudes to tell us how drastically we have strayed from the visions of humanity, divinity and love: to tell us that it is evil to machine gun innocent unarmed civilians and children from a helicopter, and to expose the thousand and one conspiracies of governments and corporations, the gluttonies of corporations,the astonishing greed of bankers and stock traders ,the murderousness of the industrial military complex. Imagine YOU were alone.
“How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone ?
[How does it feel, to be on your own” as Bob Dylan sang.
Have you not enough money to put a $20 note in an envelope to the address below. Are you going to let him stand there alone, Dear World. What will you tell your kids if this is the case. What will they think of you? Moooo! Moooo! Cow Joy to you all and power to Assange!
Let me recommend this link and the address it includes to use to send money to Assange to pay his lawyers etc., an address that doesn’t use Pay Pal,Bank of America, Amazon and all the other corporations who have blockaded Assange’s expenses. And by the way try not to use them in future. They are hardcore Cow –Enemy. Moooo~! http://redress.cc/global/cking20101208
Copyright. Laurie Payne .March 12th 2012