americanifesto

updated Monday, Wednesday, Friday | americanifesto.com

prayer and guns

No matter their flavor or doctrine or creed, religious extremists clearly feel the need to tell other people how to lead their lives, how to raise their children, how to dress their wives. This happens not only in the Fertile Crescent but also among American Protestants who claim that their nation is a Christian one then try to enforce it with prayer and guns. To us who’ve kept thinking it is hard to see the forces of ISIS, of Christianity, parading and boasting and spreading by might the teachings and habits that they see as Right. To live life in freedom by my chosen rules to me is worth more than a mountain of jewels; to live life in constant, perpetual fear that there maybe could be an extremist near just takes the wind out of my billowing sails and makes me weep buckets and flagons and pails. So stand up and fight for your right to choose to wear pretty dresses or to drink some booze, to worship in this house or nowhere at all, to stay down or get up right after a fall. This here call to action may not be too loud, it may not much rile up the masses and crowds, it is though a call for more pure anarchy and for less of religious insanity.

© americanifesto /場黑麥

out and survived

The swell we’ve been waiting for has now arrived, we’re lucky to have ventured out and survived. There was so much water just moving around, the current was swift and mostly westward-bound, the whitewash it piled to nearly man-height, obscuring the sets and obstructing the sight. I dare say I will take the next few days off, stay far from the building peaks and plunging troughs, until lord Baruna has vented his rage and wrangled his monsters back into their cage.

© americanifesto /場黑麥

anything but clear

There’s a nasty trick about propaganda – if believed it justifies all types of slander, cruelty and murder, torture, dread and fear of foes whose outlines are anything but clear. It’s easy to shovel men into a box, trap women and children behind welded locks, to group people into a small pigeonhole, to say they’re intruders, that they have no soul. Many nations do it still unto this day regardless of how much for peace they might pray, in public bemoaning the fate of their race, in private bulldozing with a headlong pace. There’s no single answer to lasting problems, no cause for repeating those nasty pogroms that once plagued a people who now, to be sure, are almost as bad as the Nazis once were.

© americanifesto /場黑麥

with moonlight above

There are many things one must be conscious of when driving in Bali with moonlight above. The pavement is pitted and not always whole; one often encounters wide cracks and deep holes. There is also wildlife moving around, dogs darting or sprawled out right there on the ground, and bats by the hundreds that hang from their toes then race through the sky eating up mosquitoes. Animals cross or just chill out on roads – rats, geckos, and lizards; some cats; a few toads – these pale when compared to the tall mounds and heaps of dirt, rock, and soil that fill half the street. In order to avoid the heat and sunlight there are also workers who toil at night, who prop up a small branch, some leaves, or a twig to warn of a massive, car-swallowing dig. Far worse are the riders who drive without lights, or who use nothing but their high-beams, their brights, whose swift, iron horses can’t see or be seen whereby it’s a sure bet their hides will be clean. I have but a few, simple words of advice: drive slowly, use blinkers, and always look twice, have patience and strap a helmet to your dome lest you should be shipped in a box back to home.

© americanifesto /場黑麥

from fearfulness clean

I learned of a method in Twenty Thirteen that’s keeping my spirit from fearfulness clean. Instead of just fleeing or running away from things that once used to plain mess up my day, I’m trying to meet them head-on, sans ado; I know now that, “The only way out is through.” I use this in all types of life situations, when pride, love, and honor beg for short vacations, when I get that feeling from outside to core that I cannot bear what’s occurring much more. I’m slowly beginning to not turn away, to dig in my heels and find the strength to stay, to face down the patterns that once made me bolt, to adapt and conquer, to shape-shift, to molt. This is a long process, I’m still at the start, I feel in my loins though and know in my heart that there is no other, no alternate path, to conquering sadness and harnessing wrath. Some say it takes courage to face down one’s fears, I find it far better than drowning in beers or numbing the senses with substance abuse or other such methods that some people use. Please lend me your patience and pardon my mess; I’ll never be perfect, this much I confess; my aim is to lessen foul memory’s toll and every so slowly to make myself whole.

© americanifesto /場黑麥

on mighty Baruna

There is a short ritual that I perform; it’s become a habit, something of a norm. I have now repeated it for many years through times that were happy and times that saw tears. When reaching a body of vast salt water I stop what I’m doing, say, “Hello, Father,” then walk to the sea just about far enough that one of my toes gets a taste of the stuff. I try to imagine I’m meeting my dad, and calm myself – feeling not happy or sad – then exchange of water by spitting mine out and taking a bit of sea into my mouth. I swallow it, tasting its salinity, then bow to the brutal but beautiful sea, say, “Thank you, Father,” and go strap on my board, then charge boldly in – always headlong, forward. It was not until I arrived in Bali that I understood to just which deity I’d been so long praying and thanking; soon a friend cued me it to majestic Baruna. He rules o’er the land of the aquatic forces, o’er turtles and surfers, seaweed and seahorses; his gaze never falters; he hears everything; will take a lost child under his sea-wing; will strike now with vengeance, now with perfect calm; does hold every seaman tightly in his palm. To thank great Baruna I find is a must, in him I place volumes and volumes of trust, please join in the habit written of right here and let go of torment and worry and fear.

© americanifesto /場黑麥

mass-transit-baron:

Happy Labour Day

mass-transit-baron:

Happy Labour Day

(Source: punk-fuck, via perverserkommunismus)

contours and longitudes

The contours and longitudes of this fine land I’m learning as well as the back of my hand. To do this I drive off and race through the night, with deep breathing exercise conquer my fright, then get lost and trust in my deepest instinct while clearing the dust from my eyes with a blink. It helps that Agung has a strong steady pull, that in her vast presence I feel subtly full of confidence, harmony, stillness, and joy though I may see nothing but rice, corn, and soy. With luck I’ll be able to fully explore this place and her people, their customs and more, their laughter and smiles, their tendencies too, on Bali I find myself daily anew.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥