bob's blog

Taco was an early riser. On most days he was up before the sun. His morning routine consisted of what he referred to as a “French whore shower”, a combination of a deodorant stick, a tooth brush, and a wet rag that in an early incarnation resembled a face cloth. Your face was the last place in the world you would touch with that cloth. The entire routine took less than two minutes.

“Bring on the next customer” he would sing as he exited McBath on his way to morning coffee.

To the people behind the counter, he could seem like a typical trucker. He disarmed people with a wink and a blink. He studied techniques to present a non-confrontational aura, the inquisitive tourista. “Can you tell me, dear madam, am I on the correct road to Denny’s” he joked as he placed his money on the counter. He answered his own question when the cash-out looked confused. “If this is Denny’s I can be anywhere!” He laughed. More importantly, she laughed.

As he walked toward his Transcraft Eagle, he read the mud flap for the umpteenth time. Intraax Air Ride. Teco was right, we couldn’t have fabricated a more appropriate name for this rig. “How best to put them off the scent? Hide in the wide open!” Teco would say.

They had assumed a last name, and a life story. The Haddad brothers, Teco and Taco. The “I can do” people team. They traveled about like a mobile terror squad. No one could ever be exactly certain if they were looking at a sanctioned special operations team or a pair of delivery guys. “Got to move them refrigerators, got to move them color t.v.’s”. Taco burst into a jingle as he passed groups of strangers that milled about the truck stop. More than half his vocabulary was displaced lyrics spoken with the intent of putting strangers at ease. THEY could be the special ops, he whispered to himself as he walked past.

Morning was news time and Taco was a news junky. He logged on and read e-mail, metro papers from six or more of the world’s biggest cities, and listened to the BBC while he read. Teco would be asleep for another thirty minutes or so. Taco liked his morning time, he could be at ease in his skin, quietly contemplating his next moves, communicating with his handler, taking care of business. Weaving a story of espionage in his mind, to terrorize and entertain.

He sent off a quick e-mail to someone at sover.net. Would that be as in Sovereign or as in Yankee Roots? He wondered to himself.

Vermont is Sovereign, at least Bernie thinks so, he quipped to himself.

The whole thing was meant to say “boo” as if woven in string lights on the floor.

The true situation was that if they had paid assassins wandering the world with garrotes disguised as jewelry, could we be any less active? But then, if we were, would ordinary people be left out in the cold? When war is waged by small teams operating anywhere, anytime, we’re all potential combatants. To not be, is a death wish.

Bob

Posted by Bob at 03:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Covert Operation......"an activity or activities of the United States government to influence the political, economic or military conditions abroad, where it is intended that the role of the United States will not be apparent or acknowledged publicly."

Teco was laboring over the words, trying to read between the lines. He was concerned, ever since he established his mobile workspace. It contained all the ingredients that he had often heard mentioned in Government reports as “bomb making supplies”. A drill press, numeric controlled lathe, saws of various configurations that would cut and shape metal and wood. A compressed air device that could send a three and half inch projectile six hundred feet in three seconds. A black powder device that could insert a projectile in hardened concrete. Pipe, propane canisters, and assorted brazing and welding apparatus and oxy-acetylene cutting torches. He had, quite frankly, all the tools available to make an exact copy of each and every tool he owned and then some. About the only thing he couldn’t make was a watch, not because he didn’t have the tools, but because he didn’t have the patience.

He did have watches, and timers, some mechanical ones for timing how long he cooked his eggs, and some electronic ones for controlling the microwave cooking device which heated most of his meals. He could stay at work for days in the trailer and it was always good to have a small refrigerator full of instant meals and a place to heat them.

"If they came for me today," he often told himself, "I would have trouble explaining why all this is necessary." “It’s the equivalent of a printing press. It’s as effective as printing money.” He would say. “I can pull this baby up to a broken rig on the highway, turn on the generator and my shop could turn new brake rotors, fix flats, install a GPS or burn you a new CD of your favorite country artist.” As he ran through the litany he realized the Government Agents would be impressed. Very impressed. They would want to see more, like a valid license, the amount and type of currency stored in the small corner safe, a registration certificate and a bill of laden. They might be real curious why he felt the need to move about constantly. He didn’t have an easy answer for that one.

Teco was a drifter, a loner, a one man show. It was dangerous to be about, in these dangerous times, as a loner. They could pick you up, park your rig at a rest area and it would take years before anyone even knew you disappeared. The way rigs moved in and out of the parking lot, you could leave it for six months before anyone would notice that one of tires might be a little low. Another three before it was flat. A rig with a flat, now that might raise some suspicion. The fact that the curtains were drawn on the sleeper cab, that wouldn’t be a problem. The only people that would notice, would be the chics making the rounds, knocking on the diesel tanks, looking for a warm spot and some ready cash.

How Teco came to this place in his life was no mystery. Three hundred thousand dollars will buy a lot of security if you work with your hands, and when you need a quick exit, selling your identity for that kind of money could be arranged. There would always be a market for a tight identity. Someone with a valid social security number, a passport, and a clean credit history. With fewer than ten phone calls he could broker YOUR identity. How much do you need? What denominations, whose currency? It could all be arranged.

Teco was a loner, but he knew how to get by. And when the shit hit the fan, he would be a survivor.

Posted by Bob at 02:02 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I remember reading a book by Gregory Bateson, "Toward an Ecology of Mind" about schizophrenogenic parents, and how he thought that schizophrenia was induced by manipulative parents that created double binds to trap their kids. It wasn’t a conscious decision. They were dysfunctional adults, that internalized a technique used against them as children. As some abused children become abusive adults, these children that lived through double binds through their developing years internalized their parents’ behavior and foisted it on their children. An endless cycle of pain and suffering passed from generation to generation by sick and twisted adult role models.

I don’t know that the theory ever gained much credence in medical circles, schizophrenia seems now to be considered a chemical imbalance in the brain, which can be controlled by drugs. Every medical condition seems to have an element of chemical causation that can be controlled by drugs, as is evidenced by watching the sponsors of the evening news. I personally live very near Zoloft Country, not far from Nexium and Prilosec County on some orange pills that I have trouble naming. Perhaps it is a continuing symptom of Al-what’s his name disease. At least it’s not a complex.

The Middle East is suffering a complex. I wish I could come up with a new drug that would help. The closest I have come to diagnosing the problem is that conflicted people elect schizophrenic leaders. The semitic tribes have thousand year histories of love/hate relations that are exacerbated by sharing the principle of ONE GOD, with two very distinct personalities. Allah and Yahweh. Personally I don’t think the one god concept was very much of an improvement over animism, paganism or other fictions of the mind, but nonetheless the principle seems to have adherents. Millions are convinced they have a covenant with their god for a piece of Real Estate, and countless others are convinced that the afterlife, the Spirit Estate can only be enhanced by killing infidels. When they share the same Holy City that doesn’t leave much room for compromise.

We need a new mythology that both tribes can buy into. It’s hard to change mythology. Like schizophrenia, it is handed down from generation to generation as an ultimate necessity of being. You are, after all, an individual made up to two parts. What your mother believed and what your father taught you. Therein is the very beginning of conflict. Should one believe what mother believes or act the way father wants you to? When faced with that dilemma, I did what most normal children do. I left home.

The State of Israel must know in its heart of hearts that peaceful coexistence with its Palestinian neighbors can only come about when both States are based on self-determination, vibrant but intertwined economic systems, separate religious beliefs and shared after school activities. These two peoples are joined at the hip, and no amount of violence will disjoin them. It is incredibly painful to watch these seriously conflicted and confused neighbors try to undo the double bind that it has been their lot in life to inherit their common ancient ancestors.

Schizophrenogenic adults cannot confront the root causes of the double bind and find a viable solution. And if they don’t it will continue

The conflict between these two peoples does not exist in America. The sons and daughters that left home for a new beginning seem to be able to co-exist here and attend the after school activities without shame, hate or violence. That does indicate that a detente is possible.

Bob

Posted by Bob at 07:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Le Cirque de Rome et d’Amerique

The spectators duly assembled at the Coliseum look to the throne as Caesar Caligula rises to speak. “Fellow Romans what say ye? Should the butcher from Baghdad be spared?”

The crowd turning ugly rises to a roar, holding their thumbs down. A chant begins, “DEATH, DEATH, DEATH, to the ultimate loser.”

Caesar summons his man servant, ceremoniously washes his hands and addresses the now standing crowd. “People of Rome, you have spoken.” The Senators, adorned in white, stand silently in witness to the will of the people.

As barbaric as that scene appears to us today, it is being repeated in the electronic circus.

“Impale him,” we demand, “parade his head in our living rooms. If one hundred thousand innocents must die, it is justified! This killing will bring an end to war as we know it. The glory of our god demands it". Is this, Senator Biden, what you had in mind? The consent of the masses?

Saddam Hussein, the evil one, the personification of Satan, the seeker of weapons such as those we possess, must be eliminated. We know he is up to no good. His story will be told in blood. Any action we undertake can be justified in the name of all that is good and holy. If you believe that, you probably also believe that Musharraf is not evil. That a nuclear weapon is a safe weapon in his hand, that the People of Pakistan would elect him tomorrow given the opportunity to vote. That he, unlike Saddam is within our sphere of influence, provided of course that he helps us fight our enemies brand of terror.

The world is a dangerous place. After Saddam is dead and gone, will it be safer? Will we feel more secure? Can we ever feel secure? Or is this but another step in the dismantling of the axis of evil, just another cog in our killing machine. Be like us or perish. The defining imperative of the American Empire. Our brand of terror.

We don’t select the leaders of world. They come from many tribes and many traditions. Surely a democratically elected Hitler is by any measure still Hitler. Evil leaders are not relegated to dictatorships. Is every Republic a good Republic? Is there a benevolent people unlikely to grant consent to a megalomaniac? Or is megalomania merely a definition of a leader with high approval ratings?

If you truly want the People of Iraq to join US in the family of man, then open a dialogue with the people of Iraq. Invite them to attend our Universities. Train their doctors in our medical schools. Educate their teachers. Buy their products. Visit their country. Set up sister cities. Contribute to their humanitarian organizations. In short, treat them as human beings. It is not any different than the Chinese equation. They occupy Tibet, and possess Nuclear Weapons. The people have no effective voice in their own government. Or Korea, divided between the have and the have nots. They also have nuclear weapons. Somehow we think that we can contain their hegemony, but not that of Iraq.

The world is not that black and white. We are the ones that built a country on ethnic cleansing and slavery, that dropped nuclear weapons on civilian populations.. Yes, we did gradually change our ways...let women vote... made reparations for slavery.......or am I getting ahead of history?

Leaders come and go. Some die and are forgotten. Some live in infamy. Alexander was great. That is unless you died at the hand of his army. In that case you might be permitted to have a different view.

Bob

p.s. Oh, by the way, Caesar Caligula was assassinated.

Posted by Bob at 01:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)