Thursday, April 30, 2009

I Saw The Virgin Mary In A Cracker

It was not the first time I saw the Virgin Mary. But it was the first time I saw her in a cracker. I understand she’s been seen in Dorritos, tortillas, on toast, and even in a biscuit. Partial to snacks, I guess. I’m not going to say anything here about women and food. Maybe the Virgin Mary figures appearing in snacks is the best way to communicate with Americans. I understand that in England she appears in tea bags. She’s also been seen periodically on walls, and in trees. I can understand why she might be in a tree, but can’t quite figure why she’d want to appear on a wall, unless maybe to speak to graffiti artists, or spread-eagled crime suspects waiting to be frisked.

I think I remember seeing her in a video, but, oh wait, that was Madonna. Sorry. Easy to confuse them, y’know, with the veil and all. Similar names, unblemished reputations, and complexion.

The question I have is “Why would the Virgin Mary want to appear to anyone anyway?” It’s not like she’s wanting to be popular, or anything like that. If that were the case she could open a MySpace or FaceBook account like the rest of us. No, I think maybe she just likes the notoriety of popping up for a few minutes here and there, get people talking about miracles again, keep herself in the news just enough to not be forgotten, then she’s gone. You know, kinda like Michael Jackson.

Or maybe it’s not about her at all, maybe it’s really about getting people to remember that, even though she’s a virgin, she’s got a pretty cool son. Maybe she’s curious if anybody cares about him anymore, or even remembers him. You know how mothers are about their kids, always looking out for them.
And I understand he takes after his mother. I remember reading that he showed up not too long ago in a grilled cheese sandwich.

Yeah, like mother, like son.


My new CD 'Acoustic Disposition' is now available.
You can order it through the Home page of The Old Coyote website.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Social Justice

Oh, and then there’s what is being called “Social Justice”. You’ve been hearing the term for a long time coming out of the camps of the political extremists. It is the blueprint ideology for global Social Engineering. Now you’re hearing the term in the California State Legislature, throughout the Federal Government, and the United Nations, and you will be hearing it more and more from the leading political figures in this country and around the world. They are getting you used to the idea of the re-distribution of wealth with a seemingly benign, harmless, and even attractive term that appeals to the sensibility, and conscience of good-hearted people everywhere. “Social Justice”. Who wouldn’t want social justice? What the term really means is “Things are not fair. Some people have a lot of money and stuff, and some people don’t. So we’re going to take the money from those who have earned or inherited it, and we’re going to give it to those who haven’t."
They are now, and will be doing it, on an individual, on a National, and on a Global level.

But regarding ‘Social Justice’, economic fairness, if you will, may I remind you that ‘fairness’ in life is essentially an adolescent sensibility. It is one of the indicators of the transition, or lack of, from adolescence to adulthood. An adolescent measures life by a social-equality standard. “It’s not fair that I can’t stay out till midnight on Saturday night when Jessica gets to.” And “Why do I only get $35 per week allowance, when Jason gets $40? It’s not fair.” An adult accepts differences as inevitable, necessary even, and having emerged from a myriad of circumstances, for innumerable reasons, and relating to a host of diverse philosophies, ideologies and governing practices, of families, communities and nations. No individual, community, or nation of people enters life with the same opportunities, prospects, hindrances, restrictions, or parameters. And life does not treat anybody equal. Everybody, and every group of people, enters life with what they have, and does the best they can. People help people along the way. Some get more breaks than others. Some have to make their own breaks. Some are blessed with better health than others, some live longer, have better families, belief systems, and more interesting lives. There is no such thing as ‘social justice’, anywhere. And there never will be. It is a term invented by the privileged to assuage the guilt of their own privilege, and to make themselves feel better about their elitist positions in life. And, of course, to buy votes and control the people.
Oh that!

With doctrines such as ‘Social Justice’ being put forth in the Halls of Power, it has become apparent that many of our politicians, and the political groupies who shine their cheeks and lick their boots, are stuck in adolescence. Pay attention folks, don’t let them continue to pull the wool over your eyes, or the money out of your pockets.

Have you heard about the ‘International Monetary Fund’? It’s a private International Organization that oversees the Global Financial System. It offers financial and ‘technical’ assistance to its members, making it, for all intents and purposes, an International lender of last resort. Haven’t heard of it? Well Obama has, and he is proposing a One Hundred Billion Dollar contribution to the account. A contribution of your money, I might add. And do you remember being asked if you wanted to contribute? And do you suppose you’ll ever see a return on your investment? Oh, I forgot, it’s not actually an investment, it’s a contribution. Funny, I was always under the impression that contributions were supposed to be voluntary. Y’know, like when you choose whether or not to put a dollar in a panhandlers coffee can. Well, it seems to me that this is nothing more than a big international coffee can, except that nobody’s sitting on the sidewalk asking you for money. You just kind of have to ‘pony up’ if you want to be part of the lovely ‘Global Community’, then the ‘Fund Managers’ (political mafia) can go ‘invest’ it in any liquor store they want to eventually collect protection money from. But, like I’ve always said, “What do I know? I’m just an old coyote.”

Watch out folks. There is nothing just about “Social Justice”.

Talk about Social Justice? The following item was sent to me by someone I know, but written by someone I don’t know:

“I work, they pay me. I pay my taxes, and the government distributes my taxes as it sees fit. In order to earn that paycheck I work on a rig-site for a Fort McMurray construction project. At any time I am required to pass a random urine test, with which I have no problem. HOWEVER, what I do have a problem with is the distribution of my taxes to people who don’t have to pass a urine test. Shouldn’t one have to pass a urine test to get a welfare check since I have to pass one to earn it for them?

Understand, I have no problem with helping people get back on their feet. I do, on the other hand, have a problem with helping someone sit on their ass, drink beer and smoke dope. Could you imagine how much money this country would save if people had to pass a urine test to get a public assistance check?”

Social Justice? How’s that for Social Justice?

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Everybody Feeling The Pressure

Everybody feeling the pressure of feeling the pressure these days?

Most of us would be able to live our lives just fine without the constant drum beat of the media, without the 24/7 coverage of the economy, with its politics of fear, emergency, and global catastrophe coming down from on high, but with just enough ‘don’t you worry though, the government is coming to your rescue’ thrown in for good theater. How much of this propagandist disinformation do they think we are willing to take? Does anybody but me want them all to just shut up and go away? The truth is that our government is in bed with the global power brokers, the democratic dictatorships (which we are fast becoming), and the major financial institutions of the world, to subjugate our country to the will of a One-World-Government. C’mon people, we all know that, but we are in such shock, such mass denial, that we refuse to believe it. Does anybody hold our independence in any regard anymore?

Has anyone noticed the diminishment of control of our own futures, or the spoon-feeding of propaganda to each of us as if it were our daily vitamins? It is more than disturbing that many in this country (mostly young people, I’m sad to say) like the idea of being part of this bogus, bullshit, global ‘community’. I’m not talking about a social website community here, I’m talking about an International subjugation of our country. Some have bought the propaganda like children following an ice cream truck on Saturday afternoon in the suburbs. And now they’re going to follow that truck wherever it goes to insure themselves a continuing supply of ice cream.

Remember when we used to make our own decisions, live our own lives, cultivate our own values, and chart our own way? Do you remember those days, the days when government was an afterthought, rather than an all-encompassing force in our daily lives? Do you remember when we’d go weeks, months even, without having a concern about the Federal Government, or the State Government for that matter? The days before it was decided for us that government knows best. The days before government gave itself autonomy over us, control of our lives and future. How, and when, did they become so omnipotent, so omniscient, so self-important, so driven by greed, and the need for notoriety and power? Maybe we should have been paying better attention.
Could it be that, in collusion with the banking (credit card) and mortgage institutions, they encouraged an unsustainable economic condition for all of us in order to create a mass reliance on government, in order to wrest control of our lives from our own hands? Just asking.

If the government can seize corporate businesses, do you really think they’ll stop there? Do you really think they won’t seize your own family business, or fine you heavily, if you hire your own kids, spouse, aunts and uncles, rather than a politically correct quota of ‘ethnically diverse’ workers? Do you really think they won’t tell you how much you must pay those workers? Do you really think they won’t tell you how much water to use, how much power, what kind of food you must eat, what kind of products you can and can’t buy, what you can and cannot build, can and can’t sell, what doctors you may or may not use, what medical procedures you may or may not have done? Do you really think they won’t tell you whether or not you can burn wood to keep warm, or run the fan to keep yourself cool? Do you think they won’t dictate what words you may, and may not say? Oh, they already are? How silly of me. Imagine that, fascism right here in America? Who woulda thunk?

This is only the beginning folks. It hasn’t even scratched the surface. Emasculate the men, keep the women happy with Zoloft and Chablis, the children manageable with Riddelin, indoctrinate them with revisionist history beginning in kindergarten, and feed them a government-sanctioned-worldview ideology. A recipe for effective governmental control if ever there was one. We’re much closer than you might imagine.

And another thing, has anybody noticed Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama traveling around the world blaming our own country for all the ills of the world, effectively picking up where John Kerry left off after his unsuccessful run for the Presidency, demonizing the U.S. as if we were Nazi Germany, China, or the former Soviet Empire. In fact, in the history of modern civilization the United States has been a greater force for good in the world than the sum total of all other countries combined. We have freed more people from repressive regimes, (including Muslims), taken in more refugees, fed more people, educated more people, offered more medical and other humanitarian assistance, and hope, than anybody, ever. EVER. Who do the countries of the world call on when military protection, or intervention, is needed? Us. That’s U.S. If we withdrew our presence from around the world, the world would fall into social, economic, and political chaos. Countries already existing under repressive regimes would be brutalized beyond imagination by their greed and power-driven dictators. Everybody knows that. And yet our own self-serving politicians continue to diminish our contributions, and subject us to the humiliating self-flagellation that is more characteristic of their own psychosis than of the true nature and character of the American people. Personally, I’m sick and tired of being party to the self-loathing of unscrupulous politicians. These people have had to make so many deals with the devil to get to the elevated positions they have achieved that there is nothing left of their integrity, character, or psyche, but the capacity for self-loathing. Of course it’s all clothed in their own personal ‘goodness’. Saint Hillary (read some books, some actual historical accounts, about Bill and Hillary, other than the ones they made up about themselves).
And sweet talking Barrack, the humble Savior.

Those of you who know me know that I’m not an alarmist, or a conspiracy nut. I don’t live my life that way, but you also know that I do pay attention. Well, I’ve been paying attention folks, and it’s alarming. And it is conspiratorial. And we don’t want to believe it. We have been seduced into first becoming comfortable, and then made to be fearful, and, as our eyes glaze over, we will gladly accept (ultimately with great personal regret) all the government handouts, bailouts and bribes that they are willing to render. Of course they’ll get it all back, and more, with fees, fines, tariffs, confiscations, ownership, penalties and (we won’t call them) taxes? But those handouts will come with an enormous price, my friend. How long do you think it will take before the same government that feeds, clothes, houses, employs, nurses and insures us, actually owns us?

Fortunately, I have faith in young people. I’m holding on to the faith that they will not allow this to continue, that they will find some pride in self-determination, that they will come to understand the importance of our sovereignty, of our independence, our autonomy, even though their ordained, I mean ‘elected’, messiah is at the forefront of this unscrupulous charade.

I’m hoping they will choose independence over fascism, no matter what politically correct rhetoric it is clothed in.
Obama has a lot of good to offer this country. But, concerning his emerging policies, let us be sure to separate the wheat from the chaff.

And, as I’ve always said, “OK now, no more politics”.


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Saturday, April 18, 2009

The First Step Is The Steepest

I never know what’s going to come out the ends of my fingertips when I sit down to write. Never know if I’ll even agree with what I have to say. I just listen, and type what’s coming through my implant. If it scares me I dress myself in a rubber suit, and have nightmares about it when I sleep. If it flatters me I take it home to meet my mother, hoping to assure her that I haven’t lost my marbles, just my favorite shooter. If it aggravates me I beat myself to death with clip-on ponytails left over from the slumber party. If it insults me I ignore it until it impales itself on my disinterest. Reaching these conclusions is a dangerous and difficult thing to do, not suited for everybody. They are not attainable goals for the chronically disengaged, the deranged, or the psychologically malnourished. You should never try these things at home, especially not alone. They are treacherous slopes to try and navigate, dizzying heights for the unqualified to conquer, hazardous stairways to the sky, without the benefit of handrails.

And for any amateur adventurers you might know, or social climbers, better tell them to watch themselves, the first step is the steepest.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Throw Away Thoughts

-Needless to say, not a day goes by that I do not become a day older than I was the day before. I wonder if that’s true of everyone, or if it’s just me? Seems like everybody over the age of 40 just keeps getting younger looking.

-Ever notice how often people will preface what they have to say by saying ‘needless to say’? I think if it’s ‘needless to say’ it should probably not be said, so please disregard my opening statement.

-When I alluded to the fact that we could all benefit by elevating our consciousness, somebody said to me “Ah, you just have some kind of ‘Jesus complex’.” I replied, “Funny, that’s what they said about Him”.

-Isn’t it about time somebody crawled up to the bar, and said “Hey, can we raise this goddamned bar back up to where it used to be”?

-Some people say Obama is in over his head, but I think WE’RE in over his head.

-If we fail to restrain ourselves from even ‘minor’ indiscretions, doesn’t that leave us with compromised discretion, thus uniquely qualifying us for public office? And as far as giving the politicians free reign with discretionary spending? Well, never mind.

-They’ve been searching for life on Mars, and other planets in the universe, but I’m still hoping that someday they’ll find signs of intelligent life in Washington.

-Ever notice how some women who wear really low cut blouses exposing a lot of breast pretend to be offended if you notice, but actually get offended if you pretend you don’t?

-Have you ever considered that pleasure might just be a precursor to pain? In which case, if we forgo the pleasure we just might avoid the pain.

-But then again, have you ever considered that pain just might be a major stress reliever?

-We can actually do whatever we want, but who would want to be known for some of the things that we actually do?

-Trees grow up, or out, towards the light, always towards the light. But many of us seek the company of darkness, the secret places where a tree would never want to be for fear of inhibiting it’s own growth.

-Be careful where you lead the ones you love. Some of those alleys are pretty hard to turn back around in.

-It seems I’ve always got something to say, but better that, than always having something to drink. I guess.

-Time goes by at the same pace for everybody, but for some it’s gone in a flash, and for others, every moment is more like a lifetime. Time just isn’t fair?

-The hummingbirds flit around the feeder looking for sweets, sucking the fake nectar from the fake plastic flower, but remaining remarkably authentic themselves. Like artists trying to eke out a living in a Corporate cubicle.

-Don’t you wish that TV was interactive enough that you could hand-pick your own news team? Y’know, take the lead anchor from one station, the weatherperson from another, the sportscaster from yet another, etc. Put them all together for a team of your liking. I don’t know who assembles these crews, but it seems like there is never a complete group that anyone finds particularly competent, professional, and appealing. Mix and match, that’s gotta be the wave of the future. Select, copy, and paste the ones you like together onto a blank screen for an individualized newscast.

-People always say “Don’t criticize somebody until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes.” My question is, “What if they won’t lend you their shoes? Or if they will, what if you can only walk a half-mile in them? Or a maybe a hundred yards? Does that mean you can only refer to them with guarded criticism?” And then, wouldn’t you at least be qualified to criticize the shoes?

-Who’s really under that big Jack In The Box head anyway? Has anybody ever seen him? Probably somebody profiled on Americas Most Wanted. A good place to hide.

-I was driving through the farmland of California’s Central Valley the other day. It was really hot and dry, and I thought to myself, “Oh, this is where they grow all those raisons, and the other dried fruit I get at Trader Joes. I wonder where they grow the fresh fruit I find at Safeway.”

-Busy: “Fully occupied in a particular activity.”
-Body: “The physical remains of a dead person.”
-Busybody: Our own life gets perilously neglected when we’re busy living someone else’s. That’s what I think.

-I’d rather do something for myself, learn how to do it well, learn something about myself in the process, and understand its significance in the scheme of life, than to have all the servants in the world at my every beck and call. Otherwise, the only thing I’d have of my own to take pride in would be the skill with which I was able to beckon and call my servants.

-Some things I just know, whether I know them or not.

-These are throwaway thoughts. Please feel free to discard them. I will not be held responsible for any that you may choose to keep.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Who Is Sandra Cantu?

Sandra Cantu is a child of ours. She was born in 2001, beginning of the new millennium. She was eight years old when she was last seen. 2009, the heart-rending end of the proverbial innocence. Sandra was not alive for very long, but long enough to be loved by many, all those who knew her really, her family, her classmates, her friends and neighbors. Who among us would not love this eight-year-old child? And who among us would not wish to protect her?

Sandra lived in a Mobile Home Park in Tracy, California with her mother. They did not have very much money, and consequently, mom had very few life options from which to choose. But, like any mother, she had the hope and expectation that her child would be happy, and that with inspiration, motivation, and some fortuitous breaks, she could find her way to adulthood, and a satisfying life. Sandra would never realize her mother’s dreams, or the dreams she had of her own. Her life was taken from her prematurely. She did not die, however, in an accident, or of a childhood disease, but at the callous hands of someone who steals the souls of children because he does not have a soul of his own. Sandra was taken from her neighborhood, by an, as yet, unknown abductor. She was missing for about two weeks, and later found stuffed in a suitcase that had been discarded like garbage in a muddy irrigation pond on a dairy farm two miles from her home. Between the moment she was taken, and the time she was abandoned, Sandra suffered an unspeakably frightening and horrifying series of events, experiences no child should ever be subjected to. EVER. NOT EVER, god dammit.

Who are these people, these heartless predators who take our children from the security of the ones they love, who use and abuse them for the sake of their own perverse gratification, for the twisted pleasure of subordinating a child to their virulent fantasies? Who are these devils with devious smiles? Where do they live? And where can I go to kill them? You know this little girl. She is the pride and joy of your life. Sandra Cantu is your next-door neighbors daughter. She is the apple of your best friends eye. She is the voice of innocence in an increasingly treacherous world. She is a child of ours. She is a child of yours.

She was murdered by a bad man. We can call him sick, and we might call him pathetic. We can even call him a product of his environment. Yes we can do that, and many of us will. But I will not. I will call him what he is, a bad man who put his wants and imagined needs above the wellbeing of a blameless little angel of God. He did that because he could. Not because he needed to, and not because he was incapable of self- control. Impulse control is not his problem. He murdered Sandra because he could. What is it that nourishes that kind of wickedness in such a man? What is it that peaks the interest of, and cultivates, that kind of malevolence? If there is any complicity by our culture, it is that we have, and continue to, sexualize these children to suit our own fantasies. Not my fantasy, and probably not yours, but certainly the twisted fantasies of men bereft of conscience, men of vacuous character who have gone on to become lifeless vampires voraciously feeding on the souls of only the most vulnerable.
There are those among us who have sympathy and pity for these men. There are those among us who find them redeemable, but I’m here to say that their minimal standards of redemption are what have enabled these predators to exist outside of prison, to wander among us, and to multiply like rats in an alley. Obviously, their little son or daughter has never been sexually brutalized, tortured, killed and then discarded in a fucking swamp.
Where do these self-righteous, morally bankrupt, politically correct, and mentally crippled ‘progressives’ live? I want to kill them too.

The child-rapist/murderers, the self-loathing enablers, and the fashion, music and entertainment executives who sexualize our children are all of the same repugnant character, as far as I can see. And I can see pretty clearly.
Who would not want to kill them?
Who among us would not wish to protect Sandra Cantu.

Postscript: This blog was written after the police found the body of Sandra Cantu, but before an arrest was made for her murder. The police have since arrested Melissa Huckaby, 28, Sandra’s Sunday School teacher. I have not edited the writing to reflect that discrepancy because the vast majority of these abduction/murders are committed by male sexual predators. I feel it to be worthwhile to let my initial assumptions of the continuing story stand as written. A thousand different names can be inserted in place of Sandra Cantu’s. I trust that, as a victim, she would not feel dishonored by the inaccuracies I’ve made in assuming her killer was male, and that her ordeal was sexual in nature. Unquestionably, most are.

God bless Sandra Cantu.

Monday, April 6, 2009

Life Review

People who have had what have come to be known as ‘Near Death’ experiences usually speak of a ‘life review’, an instant awareness of, and understanding of, every moment of ones life up until that point. They speak of the people they encountered, even briefly, of the feelings they had, the experiences, the joy, and the regret. They tell of the words they spoke, and the ones they didn’t. Conscious people, those who do not live in denial, tend to accept that there will be some kind of review in the final moment. People differ on the source of the review, or what it all means, but most embrace the idea, and acknowledge that they expect it to happen. Some say it is a projection of our own belief system, and some say it is an illumination prompted by the presence of divine light. Some say it is a reaching back over time to come to grips with ones conflict, guilt, or inadequacy. Some say it is the final judgment, and that our sudden, and complete, awareness is the mechanism for self-judgment. Some say it is God replaying our lives, presenting evidence of our worthiness, or unworthiness of the kingdom. There are many other explanations put forth, but these are some of the more common ones.

In any event, I have always been mindful of the importance of life-review while still alive. It is a means of governing ones own life and actions. It is an encouragement towards integrity in ones way of living. If one accepts that he will be facing himself in the figurative mirror each morning, one tends to want to be OK with what he’s going to be seeing there. In my life, I have been as unkind, at times, as the next person, as intolerant, and as imperfect, but, because of a continuous life-review, I have been less unkind, less intolerant, and less imperfect than I might have been otherwise. That’s my only point here. What can it hurt? It can only help.

We have a long way to go on the road to getting it all worked out, we all do, but the road is less rocky, less calamitous, and more forgiving when kind hearts and positive intentions become the steering mechanism of the vehicles in which we ride, when a ‘life-review’ is not something that we put off until our time on earth is over.

At least that’s what we hear from those who have supposedly been there.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Moderate Hysteria

I had to wait about an hour and a half the other day while an automotive shop was fixing a tire on my travel trailer. I went across the street to a Starbucks to have coffee and read the morning paper. Now, through the years I’ve spent my share of time in café’s and coffee shops (and yes, there really is a difference between the two), but I’ve only been in two or three Starbucks coffee shops, ever. It was kind of an alarming experience, really, a culture of moderate hysteria, not even considering the people rushing in from the parking lot. Determination? You’ve never seen determination until you’ve seen the frantic migration of women, young women in particular, rushing to get from their cars to the door to the counter, and then to the table with their coffee. Young mothers tearing kids from their car seats, hurriedly packing their shoulder bags with stuff they’ll need, as if they’re trying to get out of town ahead of a tornado or something, all the while trying not to make the kids feel rushed, but rushing them along, nevertheless, like a dog herding sheep into a pen across the field. Workin’ it double time, triple time even. Faces twisted with anxiety and stress, like Edvard Munch’s ‘Scream’. Now, I’m thinking, “They’re coming in for coffee? Damn, they should be coming in for sedatives. Looks to me like they had about a pot of coffee before leaving home just to be able to make the half-mile drive down the road to get here”. It occurred to me that the kids must have been rushed out of the house and into the car with even greater resolve than was being demonstrated here, in full view of all the other mother rushers and caffeine cowboys. Men were hurrying in also, in full-on hyper-mode, but usually without the kids.
It was about 10:30 in the morning, so these people were not just rushing to get to work, or anything like that. As a matter of fact, as it all played out, it turns out they were rushing to get to their tables so they could get to their computers and cell phones. The coffee is just what they needed to make it all work.

Surrounded by one-way phone conversations, the frantic click of computer keyboards, patience-trying kids vying for their moms attention, and the counter help calling for pick-up of a double-shot-espresso with chocolate sprinkles (or whatever), I had to just withdraw inside myself, set the slow-mo switch on my brain, and absorb my surroundings for what it really was; a fascinating, but full-functioning dimension of hot-wired dysfunctional actors waiting for a more significant part in the play.
To put it mildly.

Made me wish I could have spent the time in The Last Café,
from my novel “Wilderness”.

I didn’t get much of the morning paper read.