Concrete and Clay

The ban is in place so I decided to quit, I suppose smoking cigarettes is like any habit, a habit. I got my bike changed to a one speeder around the same time and I am really feeling the benefits of exercise. I haven't turned into a preacher I just think it's tops saving £80 odd quid a month as well.

At this time of graduations, commencements and diplomas, I find myself wondering how prepared the graduates are to embark on a life of their own. When the president of the United States says, "Rarely is the question asked, is our children learning?" - I suppose the question is asked and answered.

In a topsy-turvy political environment, it's not easy to understand what is going on in the world today; Fighting for peace, being told to just say no to drugs in a country that wants to medicate you for everything imaginable, being told that we must sacrifice our liberties for freedom, allegations of foreign terrorist attacks while the borders remain wide open, etc.

I find myself wondering if the students have been exposed to genuine history. It's a common axiom that the victors write the history. Even in Thomas Jefferson time, he said of history, "A morsel of genuine history is a thing so rare as to be always valuable."

Howard Zinn, author of "The People History of the United States' addressed the importance of a knowledge of history in saying; "If you don't know history, it is as if you were born yesterday. And if you were born yesterday, it is as if anyone up there in a position of power can tell you anything and you have no way of checking up on it."

Winston Churchill said; "Most people, sometime in their lives, stumble across truth. Most jump up, brush themselves off, and hurry on about their business as if nothing had happened." In talking with your parents, grandparents and teachers, I can't help but feel that this is truer today than ever.

In answer to President Bush's question, "Is our children learning", one author writes; "American schools, which have changed only slightly since the 19th century, were modeled on the authoritarian Prussian schools - not much of a recommendation. Albert Einstein was a product of those schools. Considering Einstein's intellectual achievements, that might suggest that the schools in Germany were of high quality. Before drawing that conclusion, consider Einstein's own words."

"One had to cram all this stuff into one's mind, whether one liked it or not. This coercion had such a deterring effect that, after I had passed the final examination, I found the consideration of any scientific problems distasteful to me for an entire year.... It is in fact nothing short of a miracle that the modem methods of instruction have not yet entirely strangled the holy curiosity of inquiry; for this delicate little plant, aside from stimulation, stands mainly in need of freedom; without this it goes to wrack and ruin without fail. It is a very grave mistake to think that the enjoyment of seeing and searching can be promoted by means of coercion and a sense of duty."

John Gatto, 1991 New York teacher of the year and voice for educational reform, emphasizes how the Prussian model set the standard for educational systems right up to the present; "The whole system was built on the premise that isolation from first-hand information and fragmentation of the abstract information presented by teachers would result in obedient and subordinate graduates, properly respectful of arbitrary orders," he writes. He says the American educationists imported three major ideas from Prussia. The first was that the purpose of state schooling was not intellectual training but the conditioning of children "to obedience, subordination, and collective life." Thus, memorization outranked thinking. Second, whole ideas were broken into fragmented "subjects" and school days were divided into fixed periods "so that self-motivation to learn would be muted by ceaseless interruptions." Third, the state was posited as the true parent of children. All of this was done in the name of a scientific approach to education."

On the intentions of the changes in education that were handed down, Gatto writes: "It's perfectly obvious from our society today what those specifications were. Maturity has by now been banished from nearly every aspect of our lives. Easy divorce laws have removed the need to work at relationships; easy credit has removed the need for fiscal self-control; easy entertainment has removed the need to learn to entertain oneself; easy answers have removed the need to ask questions. We have become a nation of children, happy to surrender our judgments and our wills to political exhortations and commercial blandishments that would insult actual adults."

The world is still very much operating under a globalist ideology that espouses the sacrifice of youth in achieving control of populations for political ends. Vladimir Lenin voiced this ideology: "If we can effectively kill the national pride and patriotism of just one generation, we will have won that country. Therefore, there must be continued propaganda abroad to undermine the loyalty of citizens in general, and teenagers in particular. By making drugs of various kinds readily available, by creating the necessary attitude of chaos, idleness and worthlessness, and by preparing him psychologically and politically, we can succeed."

My message to the graduates is that in an intellectual environment that reflects an episode of Homer Simpson, your education and intellectual sovereignty isn't going to be handed to you - you're going to have to want it and to be willing to fight for it. Our individual and national sovereignty can only be preserved by a populace whose character reflects a knowledge of genuine history and principles that we know in our hearts and minds to be true and that we are willing to stand up for. As Mark Twain said, "I never let my school interfere with my education."

Good luck to you all.

Gary Jacobucci
jacob48@citlink.net

Having caught the little critter (or rather, having placed the glue trap in a corner of my room for what must have been months), I felt a rush of shame and remorse running through my person.  I hadn't noticed him at first, but tiny squeaky sounds alerted me to his presence.  Sure enough, he was stuck.  Having consulted Reakes about my options, I thought the best thing would be to take him outside and crush him with a brick taken from the construction site next door.

I just couldn't do it.

He's slowly fading away now, in a Carphone Warehouse paper bag, alone, in the wind.  Goodbye my little friend.  Godspeed.

Werner awoke, scratched his balls and pulled the covers back over his face. It was January 30th. The frost on the windows was now on the inside of his room. He knew that he would have to get up soon, but resisted for as long as he could until he could take the pain of his overfull bladder no more. His sloping shoulders barely holding up his head, he traipsed slowly across the room, narrowly avoiding the cat that had crept in and curled up at the edge of the bed.

On his return, feeling marginally better, Werner slowly dressed and made his way to the kitchen to grab a coffee before heading out. The streets were still quiet this morning and this pleased Werner, the last thing he wanted was the bustle of the early commuters heading into Hamburg hassling him, turning their noses up at him. He also knew that he had to complete his task as surreptitiously as possible.

Armed with a small brush and a pot of black paint, Werner quickly set to his work. He wrote "leg dein ohr auf die schiene der geschichte" - put your ear on the rail of history. But it was too late. History was already in the making. January 30 1933.

The weather is dull.  Haven't felt like changing clothes in days.  Go to bed when my body no longer works right, wake up when it starts to twitch.  I've been without my livelihood for 3 weeks now, 3 days from my 29th.  I skip breakfast now usually, lunch too.  Guinness aroud 1, Guinness around 2.  I read "The Independent" almost daily.  An expensive habit at 70p a pop.  I'm not sure if I read it out of genuine concern, or morbid fascination.  I came to this internet cafe to write this but my voucher, the man from the Horn of Africa advises me, has expired.  It was issued on the 27 and is valid for 3 days.  Today is the 30th and I just don't understand the maths.  A good friend of mine just lost a lot of money (or rather, it was misplaced, then disposed of).  I was hoping he would buy me a Guinness later.

You have to do or die, as pressure mounts to comply,
Ask searching questions - how did Icarus fly?
- Replies come forthwith, make concessions, take and give
Give and take and remake an adaptation based purely on creation,
When do is done you'll have fun, travel never shun cos what's done is done...
bullet point number one
Do or die concerns everyone.
Given the chance to score my "X", 
my pen will press and doing so we shall address
Bullet point number two... "merci, gracias, thank you", 
elected in situation, nothingness bores and creates elation
Next point on the agenda - that the soul must never surrender
No reminder that the holder holds the beauty, 
drop the shackles now you are free
Rightful representation, one voice carried over the nation,
Approbation leads into the nod, 
as Milk and Beef generate the latest need for Head nod
Take a break in procedings, meditate and consult the readings,
Take the right perspective cos Do or Die is a choice to live with.
My Soul guru recognised, emphasised, realised that we are chastised,
Simplified equations reveal our thoughts all caught up in the web of ports
Doing takes you to a new height of thinking,
Ends all the fears of you ever sinking
As bullet point four leads you to a new door
So KC PROJECT had to write a new score
The poorer in the pocket, the richer in the mind one finds
Doing makes one seek out the reason in one's mind
Intertwined, rewind just to reiterate
Your mind's your own state so create - on this point we must elaborate
Make a date to see hate not get a rebate, 
label it, stigmatise it, treat it like a reprobate
Sip a calva, take a thin mint it's after eight
Doing in life gives you the power to create.

(Typed to beats of Sages Poetes de la Rue.)

Home freestyle tips - DJ Drinks MONOSERIES fit well to these lyrics but any beat bandit should be able to fit the fat ones to this.

Herbie 2 - the healing of the NAYSHUN

Your humble Psychlepath nearly met his maker last week after taking his machine to a repair shop for the first time. After an initial inspection proved that the back tyre had been replaced, i took to the roads once again, invigorated by the newness of my wheels and a decision to support small shops.

Approaching Old St roundabout barely two minutes from the shop i started to overtake my seventh cycle in as many seconds when the back wheel of my bike literally fell off and i stumbled into the path of a truck on the roundabout. All the scooters, taxis and cycles i'd ever overtaken flashed before my eyes before i was able to move out of the way.

When eventually i managed to make it back to the repair shop with cycle on shoulder, the formerly amenable proprietor unbelievably gave me a long look of distrust and resentment as i stood once again in his shop, trying to stymie the expletives aching to fall out of my mouth. Perhaps he thought i enjoyed falling in front of trucks because of his spannering.

Moral - Don't take your cycle to Citibikes, Hackney Road if you wish to live longer than your next journey.

As many of my fellow posters may realise, the metropolis, and, so it would seem, the UK in general is currently in the fervorous grip of a deadly pestilence and drought, and hence a lament, after Gray (see last month):

The curfew tolls the hell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly through the street,
The barman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering hope of green so bright,
And all the air a solemn cleaness holds,
Save where the pigeon wheels his moaning flight,
And boozy inklings lull the distant folds:

Save that from yonder council flatted tower
The moping dealer does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret grower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.

Beneath those rugged pylons, that green's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap once lay,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude Forefathers of the city trying, vainly, to sleep.

Part 1. End of summer.

The end of summer makes me happy as fruit and veg is in abundence. However, the return to school and work after the holidays makes less sense as we all know how frustrating it can be to see the mercury hit 80 degrees on the 21st September. As an unemployed person I am able to enjoy such pleasures and have empathy with my urban comrades. I will take these opportunities to note down the diminishing essence of rural life and try to rekindle it in a diary form-a bit like Vivaldi did with the Four Seasons.

Hornets are around in the evening. One of them pestered me as I sipped a fine peachy ale from the Badger brewery. There are also two wasps nests in my thatch buas yet there is no itch down below!

Cob nuts hit you on the head as you pass under the Hazel trees and they say the price of lamb is going up.

On Sunday, after the barn dance, the local vineyard harvested their first grapes- Madelaine Angevine which makes a dry white with very floral notes. I may take part in the next harvest in a couple of weeks when they pick the Baccus and the Pinot. Will I be payed in wine and end up as the local wino? Who can tell.

It is the last week of the season for soft fruit in the south of England. Plums are getting scarce as are raspberries. In sheltered spots, capsicums and cucumbers still thrive, particularly with the warm south westerlys we are getting. Tomatos have a short time to go outside but under glass will go to October.

Remember to plant your garlic on the 21st December and you shall harvest fat bulbs on the 21st June 2007. Take stock of the changing season and stay in tune for the next update in which I hope to comment on the cider harvest and get local farmer's views on organic farming.

Got to go, the Range Rover has just pulled up outside for me. Tatty Bye

Bikes overtaken - 12

Bikes overtaking me - 0

Mopeds overtaken - 1

An epic cut-and-thrust on the highway this morning. Spandex-clad Proper Cyclist with lock around waste and legs like nodding donkeys overtook me at high speed in Holborn and my pulse quickened. Prayers were answered when I realised we would be taking the same turning and so I initiated the slowest overtaking manoeuvre possible. I heard his innards exploding with muted rage at my insolence and within seconds he'd sped past me once again, at a higher speed than I'd admittedly anticipated. It took me longer than I'd hoped, but at a crucial turning moments later he slowed slightly to look for traffic I knew would be stopped by a red light and so I sped past once again, a grin of profound joy daubed across my face. I resisted the urge to banshee scream and instead held my left arm out as I took a left turn as slowly as humanly possible in front of his thwarted wheels.