Kinda Blue by Cathy Dellinger

The sun is in denial,
The May moon fades away,
Enraptured June and now July
Watch summer fade today.

The corn stands less than knee high
The rain clouds sit and sigh
As August reaches far and wide
It coughs a sweet goodbye.

Counting down, counting down,
Each summer day that dies
Watch every leaf that turns its face
As fall begins to cry.

Go now into the meadows
Run quickly through the fields

Steal moments of the season
If nothing more will yield.

Before you laugh before you smile
Cold nights will reappear
Through cracks, and drafts and open doors
Through silent, softened years.

Embrace the chills at fires knee
Speak softly of the snow
The seasons speak, and always see
They know..they know..They Know.

Good Bye Kansas!

Contributed by Mark, a Kansas Boy!

My friend and I were getting ready for our trek to California. He went to court on Monday afternoon and was told he had to spend 48 hours in the hooch. For two days I sat with his girlfriend as she popped pills and drank constantly to stay in a mellow state about the fact that she wasn't going with us and they were breaking up. She got so mad, she contacted an old friend with biker connections and was told he would have 12 hours after getting out of jail to get in his monster truck and leave or he would leave in a box.

On Wednesday, she and I went to get him. She had been drinking of course and taking pills. She was so dingy when we went to pick him up that I thought she was going to pass out in my car and was talking nonsense. They fought all the way to the house. Upon arrival I tried to hurry him up during the packing process without telling him the reason for the hurry. He is a very powerful, confrontational person who would probably stay if he knew he was threatened and most likely send up to five or six guys away in a box themselves if they came at him. Her medication was wearing off and she was getting angry.

Made a phone call. Told me she was going to meet the "guys" at a bar and she couldn't "guarantee" his safety. Mine yes. She had explained that I would not be harmed. Well, that is a good thing to hear. I guess. I just hope they don't get mixed up on who they are after. She was still to messed up to drive so I took her to bar and told him I was leaving when I got back, with or without him. I finally got him in his truck, me in my Jeep Cherokee and headed out of town.

An hour and a half later we were gone. We made it 20 miles and his truck was overheating. Stopped to change coolant in radiator. He was mystified at the problem since he built the engine. We got to Topeka and still was overheating. Spent the night there in a cheap hotel. I was worried about the whole situation since he doesn't have a license and his car has California plates that expired in 2000, along with him being an ex-con. I would think if he got pulled over for driving without a license may be a problem being an ex-con.

In the morning we noticed that a dealership was just across the street. Service manager looked at his truck made a couple suggestions and after going to auto parts store and an hour of repair we continued on our journey.

We stopped at a U-haul to inquire about renting a tow bar and the lad told us there wasn't one from Topeka to Colorado. A tow dolly wasn't wide enough to put his monster truck tires on anyway, the front tires were too big. Anyhoot, we left and after stopping every 15-20 miles because of continuous overheating problem, we knew we were not going to get to California at this rate this century. The additional problem of the truck's dash lights not working made it impossible to drive at night when it was cooler. The temperature gauge was not working so he could only tell the truck was over heating when the oil pressure dropped. We were driving in 110 degree heat, pulling off at every exit on I-70, and he was driving like mad to the gas station to find the hose to spray down his radiator. This cooling off method had me somewhat worried.

We finally made it to a KOA campground outside Salina, Kansas. Spent an hour on the phone and found a car dolly in Salina. Went to get it. Had to lie and say the truck was pulling my jeep to get it rented because the other way around was listed as to dangerous. We paid $300 to rent the dolly all the way to San Diego. Drove back to campground only to find yes, truck was too wide in front to put on dolly, even with tires removed!! 110 degrees of Kansas sticky heat and now we are making stupid decisions. So we jacked up the truck in back, took off monster tires, and then spent the next 2 hours in the blazing heat trying to get the jack stands stacked on wooden blocks under some part of truck to be out of way and high enough to slide dolly underneath and lower the truck upon. I don't think I was ever so hot and sweaty. We finally did it!! We could be on our way. Cleaned up in campground bathroom, thanked the good people there for their patience, and headed for the highway.

Two miles to highway and we were off....but couldn't get much speed. 6000 pound truck way to heavy for my old jeep Cherokee with 240,000 miles. Got down highway 3 miles and.......front tire on jeep blew out. Nice. We took everything out of jeep to dig out the spare tire, but of course, it was flat. PERFECT!! Here comes a trooper to help. The trooper was very nice and took my friend to town to get another tire. I waited by the vehicles in the heat for another hour, wondering the entire time if the trooper was going to ask my buddy for his ID and run him through the computer. He was a hot head and who knew if there was a warrant out for him. They came back and all was fine. The officer explained that with the heat there were flats up and down I-70 all day. Got it changed and were on the road again. So we are finally on the road. Pulling the truck was not easy. 60 mph max, 45 up hills. With each mile we drive, it is apparent in our minds we are not getting over the mountains in Colorado. It is also mind boggling that we have been gone for over 24 hours and are only 4 hours from what was our home. I drove in the heat until nightfall. It had cooled to about 90 degrees and we were sticky, sweaty, hot, and hungry.

Everyone was complaining about the heat at the gas station. They were very busy and out of bread so we sat in the parking lot eating crackers, cheese, and water. Tried to ration the water and laughed about how we might need it for the car. As we checked the jeep for oil since it always seemed to leak some, we noticed one of the plug wires was arcing against the manifold and so we were traveling on 5 cylinders which could of been a lot of the power problem. We were in a little truck stop so we decided to fix the problem about 30 miles down road in Hays, Kansas and my companion took over driving.

We were just 1/2 mile outside Hays, getting off the ramp to get gas, when our exhaustion was interrupted by flashing lights in the rear view mirror. Oh shit, I'm not driving and he doesn't have a license. Officer informs us that the lights on our dolly are not working. We recognize this problem, thank the kind chap, and tell him we will get off at this exit and fix. Just before leaving us he says "can I see your license". I show him mine and my friend explains that he has lost his. He asks for insurance info and tells me to look for it as he and my traveling buddy take a seat in his car. Now we have a BIG problem. As I am looking for my papers, I expect he is being charged with Driving While Suspended and maybe some other outstanding warrants and either way going to jail. This would leave me in the middle of hell and very hot and lost. To my amazement, they both get out of car and walk toward me. I ask the officer if he still needs to see insurance and he says "is it legal?". I told him yes and he said to fix the lights and have a good night. This made me smile for the first time in awhile.

We got off exit and went to gas station. My friend just got a warning for not having proper lights. We celebrated. Our funds were dwindling fast because of all the chaos and bad decisions, but we splurged on bottled water. Found some tape to fix plug wire problem, got gas, pulled over to check lights on dolly which were working fine. Left gas station and checked lights again. Not working. Now midnight, we spent the next two hours trying to track down the short in the wiring system of the dolly to no avail. I had a Conoco gas card to charge a few hundred dollars in gas so we thought we could still make it on what we had. Later, we learned that there are no Conoco gas stations past Utah. Until then, one every town. Decided to chance it driving with the dolly lights flickering on and off and get further. I drove.

The jeep was pulling hard but it was tough driving. The whole do-dah was very squirrely and we still couldn't get much power. We were getting close to Colorado finally, but I was getting very tired. We decided we needed some rest and pulled in to campground to get a few hours of sleep. We parked on a side road. I slept in jeep while my pal slept on the toolbox on the back of his truck. We were only 30 miles from Kansas border but couldn't stay awake any longer. About an hour and a half into our sleep we were awaken by a thunderstorm. My friend was getting wet, awoke, and discovered he had mosquito bites all over his forehead. We started rolling a bit and couldn't see well due to the rain, so we pulled off in Goodland, Kansas.

The Conoco station wasn't open yet so we went over to another station. We got coffee, asked if they had bread to make sandwiches and when the dude said "no, we are out" I thought we were both going to kill the man over a loaf of bread. We went to the Conoco parking lot , waited for them to open, slept some, and attempted to talk about our predicament rationally (Ha). Instead of taking dolly to California, we would remove truck from the dolly, put tires back on the truck, repair it with probably a radiator from a salvage yard and drop the dolly off in Denver and try to get refund so we could replenish some funds. This actually made some sense.

It was now Friday, July Fourth and finding anything open could be a problem. Conoco opened and as I pumped gas, I noticed my friend over behind the building losing his "cookies" (coffees and donuts) in the bushes. Either the heat or the stress or both had taken it's toll on his stomach. He washed up and we drove for the border...

We made it out of Kansas!!

Colorado

Now we were faced with a little bigger inclines than the rolling hills of Kansas. We were just inside the Colorado line when, of course.....the Jeep overheated. We pulled over and let it cool for a half hour. We were so hot and tired and worn down at this point we were not really talking. We were not arguing, yelling, or even cussing. Just not talking. we put some water in the radiator, it was fine. This bad luck streak had to cease and now seemed like as good a time as any.

We got to Limon, Colorado, pulled into town at ten in morning and spent 55 of our last $125 on a motel room. We spent the fourth of July watching television, sleeping a lot, reorganizing jeep contents, getting all tools back in respective places, calling people to send more money, and letting our minds, bodies, and souls rest from the 36 hours of pure hell. Wait till I tell you about Saturday the fifth of July. Ha!

We woke up refreshed. Made an appointment at Western Union, picked up money my sister sent, and started a new day. Ate a good breakfast. Thought about truck and with no hang ups at all, had it off dolly in 20 minutes with tires back on. Took truck to auto repair place that was opened on forth of July weekend and they confirmed it was a bad radiator. Went to auto parts store and guy said he saw one at salvage yard, called them and yes, he'd have it ready for us. We met a guy in motel parking lot trying to get a ride to Denver cause he had a tire blow out and totaled his vehicle and needed to rent another in Denver an hour away. We told him we would take him for a tank of gas and he agreed. WOW, things were starting to go right! We had to back track on highway 45 minutes to get radiator. $75 no problem. Got back, parked truck under tree and replaced radiator. It was still torching hot, but now we had hope. Picked up chap at motel, gassed up, and took off for Denver. Everything running smooth except I was reminded the truck had expired tags and driver no license. We dropped dude off at Denver airport.

As we gassed up, my traveling partner said transmission was getting real hot in truck. He put a lot of transmission fluid in and it ran all over place. Great! Hopefully, just too full and not a leak. We took off, finally on our own, with two vehicles and headed to California. We were out on the road about five miles and the truck was smoking REAL bad. Transmission fluid was leaking back on exhaust and billowing black smoke like the whole truck was on fire.What a surprise! I am behind him in my jeep and have to drop back so I can see. We get to Denver and it wasn't smoking, so I figured it was just too full and leaking out top. This was a very wrong assumption.

We found a Western Union office in Denver to get more money sent by friend of his. We found U-haul place, waited an hour to get helped and got our $60 deposit back but was told the rest of refund had to come from place we rented it. No problem. We had more money and the clanging ass empty dolly was now off my jeep. On the road again. 15 miles through Denver to base of mountain. Truck smoking bad. Pulled off in rest area up mountain but not very far up. Determined we had a crack in transmission at top of it. Filling it up and going uphill caused it to leak. Waited awhile for it to cool. We bought 6 more quarts of tranny fluid and decided to give it a go up mountain 10 miles at a time. About an hour to crest and mostly downhill the rest of way. The fear of breaking down completely and having imperial entanglements with the law was very stressful. Got a couple of good runs going. Mountain was taking it's toll like usual on many vehicles. Tow trucks and breakdowns all over the mountain. We kept stopping and letting transmission cool, adding more fluid, and wiping the crap off my windshield every 15 miles or so. Had to follow truck as close as possible as to not let any legal dudes with badges behind him. Finally we made it to top of the mountain without any additional problems.

My friend was flying down other side of mountain. Really making tracks.I was not staying up, because I just wanted to take it easy for awhile. I was going 75 and he was leaving me behind. We finally slowed and I caught up. About 5 miles on other side of crest we came to Vail, and he signaled that we needed to pull off to get gas. We headed down the ramp and all of the sudden the truck engine went KABOOM!! Pieces of metal hitting my windshield, smoke everywhere, and he coasted it barely into gas station parking lot. Jesus, what next! Pulled it over to Wendy's parking lot next door. They said we could leave it there for a day or two. He called some friends in Glenwood Springs, Colorado. They said they would help but not until Monday. We spent a hour unloaded everything important into and on top of jeep, left the truck, drove to Glenwood Springs, and slept for 3-4 hours in a parking lot. I am not sure if it was sleep or just total mental numbness.

We got up in morning and ate the continental breakfast at a motel even though we didn't stay there and then went to another motel and did the same thing. I guess the person on duty in the morning doesn't have any idea who checked in the night before, so we had our fill of toast, juice, coffee, and danishes.I would have never thought of this, but my pal seemed to think this was routine when running out of finances.

We drove back to Vail, and illegally towed truck with chain down mountain to Glenwood Springs early enough in morning so there wasn't much traffic or coppers. We pulled it onto street in front of friends house.

They were very friendly. Couldn't keep truck there but could spend night, get cleaned up, and figure out what to do the next day, Monday. We needed the rest badly. Could not believe we left on Wednesday night at 8 p.m. and it was now Sunday. Glenwood Springs was only 16 hours from where we started in Lawrence. 16 hours had turned into three and a half days. We had a good meal, slept, relaxed on the deck in mountains, ate breakfast, found storage yard to put truck for $45 a month $25 deposit and had tow truck take it there for $60. Thanked the beautiful folks that helped and took off again.

Did I mention trying to take a short cut through Yosemite Forrest with $10 left and went through gate cause it was middle of night, with no one was attending only to drive forever wondering if we were going to be seen without a sticker on our window and get fined. The entry fee was $22 on the sign. If we ran out of gas, they would surely find us and notice we should not be there. We spent 2 hours driving up and down and around mountains, stressing about the situation and not much gas left. When we get to the booth on other side of Yosemite with sign that said "pull thru".......THERE WAS NO TOLL TODAY!!

We drove from Glenwood Springs to our final destination in Santa Cruz in 24 hours, taking turns driving straight through. The Jeep overheated once more on trip. We also pulled over once, hearing knocking, to find valve cover loose, spraying oil and jeep completely out of oil. We caught it just in time. At some point of the long flat highway in Nevada, we stopped to get a bite to eat and my traveling companion came over and told me he put 75 cents into a nickel slot machine. I looked at him in amazement. Then he held out his hand and said, "I won $3.55". I shook my head and headed for the car.

We drove 1950 miles and ran out of money 50 miles short. Had to sell $160 saw of my buddies carpentry tools in parking lot of auto parts store to worker for $20 to have enough gas to make it. Although we pulled in drive way at our final destination with a quarter tank of gas and .75 cents, I have to say that old jeep cherokee did a great job.

Goodbye, Kansas!

Written-By-Me In Memoriam

I fondly remember the good old days when WBM writers were involuntarily organized into metallic feudal orders, allegedly to reflect the quality of their writing. Whereafter divisive critics arose from the baser ranks to express the commonplace objections. Of course the insubordinate members wanted to be of the highest ranking - they wanted to be Gold Members, aka Golden Lords. A certain Dumb Duck went so far as to post his criticism of WBM policy at another thriving site, to the effect that only "abusers" at WBM had been appointed Gold Members "because of their abuse." Yet none of the nouveau aristocrats had had the slightest say in the matter, nor were they notorious abusers.

One fractious faction, reportedly prompted by a dissident who was banned by the WBM staff for exhibiting a photo his pecker on his profile page, abandoned WBM altogether. They went to graze on the slime accumulating on a devious hulk captained by Bob - it had lost its mooring at Themestream.com some time before and had ran aground on a Florida sand bar. A few defectors became firmly encrusted as barnacles there because they could not take their beloved work with them if they jumped ship - if they complained about the policy and deleted their work, they were barred from the site and their work was restored from backup. Ironically, those who remained were governed by the very epitome of the so-called "fascist" policies they had objected to at WBM - they loved Captain Bob's site and joined in the abuse of anyone who protested. And even worse, now they had to pay to be highly ranked writers at the new site. Furthermore, their Editor-in-Chief awarded his own virtual identities with prizes for excellent writing!

But back to the ranch at WBM: of course the Golden Lords who were awarded the gold by the WBM staff were loyal to the noble cause of mounting quality of writing at WBM - none defected that I know of. And most of the Silver and Bronze members remained and behaved in the honorable and loyal manner befitting to their relative positions. And the Commoners or Newbies gradually worked their way up to the first rung. However, a raucous rabble preponderated in the WBM forum - no Newbies allowed - many Newbies were formerly banned members who rejoined with new handles. The forum chambers frequently resembled a dungeon of vipers who believed they were dragons. It was dominated by four brazen hussies known as the Gang of Four even when they were at each other's throats too.

When the forum clouds over the new orders dissipated, the dragons were obviously crickets. Golden Lord Lap0530 compared the croaking crickets with crotchety crabs in an open bucket who, instead of crawling out of same, prefer to exercise their pincers on each other to the end that each may be equal instead of inferior to their superiors. Notwithstanding the anti-social socialist theories young Sir Conspiracy learned at a prestigious British university, a democracy of equality tends to boil all differences down to dinner for the new aristocracy - if the old one is overthrown. Anarchy per se is chaos or nothing; people are equal only before they are born and after they die.

There was much truth in Lord Lap0530's crab-bucket analogy. Nevertheless, as a fan of the French Revolution who is personally related to both sides of the question and who does not eat crab, I protested his figurative speech. After all, he offered no solution and he seemed to be a crab himself, albeit a more sophisticated and lucid one - no doubt inherited qualities. But I, Golden Lord Walters, was constructive: I recommended that the squabbling riffraff take up bowling instead of incessant crabbing.

My proactive suggestion was based on a farmer's solution to the damage his piglets were doing to each other in their nursery pens - biting each others tails and ears off, and worse. He went to the bowling alley, got some broken bowling balls, and put the balls in the pens for the pigs to play with - the problem was solved. Well, why not give the crabbish cliques at the WBM forum a new bowling ball? Their feelings would not be hurt so often; they would believe they are getting something done together. At least they would enjoy playing around. And of course they would be fattened up rather nicely and maybe even discovered by the media aristocracy.

The Bowling Ball I recommended to keep members preoccupied and entertained with was an exceptional rating system, a heuristic method whereby raters could train themselves to focus on standard critical criteria instead of personal likes and dislikes. Instead of putting each other down in comments and in the forum because of jealousy or for no reason at all except for the hell of it, writers would have an effective device to not only raise truly worthy authors to lordly status, but would at the same time learn how to employ the best standards to their own scribblings. I viewed this device as a better funnel or a net which would use free labor to lift up excellent writers, buried in the lower depths under the mountains of garbage erected by the Most Popular trash kings who cater to vulgar taste. Thus would all boats would be lifted, ala Ortega y Gasset.

Of course the positive aspects of my suggestion were ignored by all except Lord Lap0530. He, a gentleman and a scholar, was very helpful and encouraging. Oh, there were numerous nasty ad hominem remarks made by others simply because I was a Golden Lord, but never mind the impertinences.

Soon thereafter, I figured WBM was doomed as a writing site but not as a community. Mind you that, prior to the establishment of the metallic orders, I had not visited the forums nor had I given anyone less than a perfect rating - only a fool tries to rate or criticise fairly on such sites. But I felt I had a duty as a Golden Lord to participate; hence I visited the WBM forums. Other than one glorious thread soon deleted by the staff because it was hampering the server, the WBM forum was initially the most disappointing experience of my life. I became convinced the community had no future either in the virtual or the real world. I threw some mud back. Sullied, I visited the site less frequently until the decision was made to fold the site, at which point I engaged in raunchy misbehavior in the forums and had a great deal of fun in the process. In retrospect, it is true: I was stuck up.

There is nothing left of WBM except fond memories of the golden days there, especially of the days when I was a Certified GO(l)D Member, fell from grace, and became a forum jerk. Now, as I approach real Equality, I grow fond even of the bad times, of the abuse I was subjected to just because I was a Golden Lord. I am comforted by the knowledge that I was universally despised by the forum clique, and I have no hard feelings whatsoever.

What the hell, nothing is perfect anyway - that is why I worship Nothing. Okay, then, Now I will return to my opus, The World is a Bowling Ball.

Ø¿Ø

Who will cooperate?

When I studied cooperatives some years ago, I found evidence that they were effective, for instance, among laborers in England and small farmers in America - when and where the "little" man is confronted by the disadvantage of "robber baron" combines. But gradually the economic advantages were diminished through further rationalization" of the economy via industrialization and democratization. Certain co-ops still work, but given the higher integration of the economy as a whole, most of them simply are not "efficient", at least not wherever money is god. Such is progress, and its material benefits are undeniable.

Too many of us have fallen under the spell, that "progress" is complete, that evolution is at an end, that This Great Nation of Ours is in fact a political and consumer democracy, that we vote for politicians and products with ballots and dollars. That we do, but the candidates and the products produced are actually chosen by a minority of a minority of a minority, and that is rationalized as a planning process necessary to the consumptive ends of mass society, where anything goes as long as it gets done, regardless of the immorality or the vulgarity in taste involved.

Most recently the wonderfully decentralized machine called the Internet, originally designed for war, came into the civilized hands of people who dreamed of real democracy, of a genuine participatory democracy. It was believed that the incredibly flexible machine would rid us of the mindless bureaucracy and middling management behind which a cynical power elite feasted its insatiable lust for power and obscene luxury.

But it now appears the hopes and dreams were pipe dreams, just another craze and panic of Crazes and Panics, to be included in another edition of The Madness of Crowds. The Bubble burst, and, with enthusiasm deflated, the crowd submits once again as it slips back from the New Paradigm of a Different Order into the Old Stinking Mundane Morass of Reality. In the final financial analysis, somebody is going to have to pay for the party out the proceeds, namely those with the most wealth and other forms of power who are in a position to scoop up abandoned liberties some time after the screams of Fire!

Thus the Internet loses its lustre as a liberating tool, and remains as a more efficient instrument for top-down rationalization of the mob, for the mass manipulation of production and consumption, for a new and expanded version of Business as Usual.

And what type of cog is being manufactured? An all-consuming, cynical cog fashioned in the image of the shopping-cart. The superstore is presided over by gluttonous and cynical gods, who reign from gentleman's ranches and corporate board rooms over the spiritual wasteland - they would waste as well the natural resources as soon as humanly possible. And this is all for free trade, or so they see, at least as long as it lasts: the mob, preoccupied with trash, gorges itself with garbage, and the power elite get glory and more enduring treasure to hoard in luxurious compounds.

As writers concerned with the mental life, and maybe even the spiritual life, we might wonder, What sort of mentality prevails back at the ranch and within other inner sanctums to which we are not invited but can only enter by tooth and claw - and then only if Fickle Fortune is on our side as we face the mountains of inherited wealth. It is not the high mentality we would expect in high places. Karl Mannheim noted that well:

"A new factor has entered into the moulding of human nature. Up to now we could believe that relatively free competition between different forms of education and propaganda would, by natural selection, allow the rational, educated type of man, best fitted for modern conditions, to rise to the top. But when the instruments of propaganda are concentrated in a few hands, they may be monopolized by the more primitive type, and then the spiritual regression which has appeared becomes permanent."

That is to say, those who are on the top are morally primitive and are the very "forces of darkness and tribalism" they worry about. Observe them seizing the Internet with the help of their political cabinet and their media, the instrument of propaganda that propagates, among other things, despite the technical education, a stunted, primitive mental type. And in that image we are made, since we have abandoned once again our dream, and would not re-make ourselves as individuals. High technology, low morality.

Now those of us who call ourselves writers should think much harder than we write. Alas, too many want a short and easy read, reflecting the inability to concentrate, a shallowness of thought, a fragmentation of consciousness and hyphenated dumbing-down perpetuated by the "multi-tasking" lauded by "fast-paced" businesses. And if we think about publishing as it could be, as we once thought about it in the context of the Internet, which was supposed to free our expression and to bring the best thoughts above the highly educated scum at the top which now clouds our vision, we will see we are derelict in our duty to realize our dreams. Instead, we defer again to Business as Usual between puffs off the old opium pipe while the jazz band plays the democratic consumer anthem.

Oh, no, no, no! Let us not forget Kropotkin and cooperation. Let us think of the ideal authors' Co-op, of the Authors' Pod, of mass co-op sales of POD books or even distribution to glass books. But who among us will cooperate? Yes, despite what some anarchists say, leadership is required, and leaders are few and far between - call them "facilitators" if you must. Others must meritoriously follow merit, if you will, in order to cooperate. Who will lead, who will follow, who will raise some money to get started? The circumstances are opportune for the success of a cooperative publishing pod or two, and I hope someone builds a better funnel for the Funnel Publishing Company before the fruit of our labors go right down the orthodox drain.

BLOSM brought authors and publishers together

October 12, 2000 Interview with the president of BLOSM, a new dot com dedicated to bringing authors and publishers together.


by David Arthur Walters
Honolulu, Hawaii

Professional writers will certainly be interested in BLOSM, a new dot com whose reason for being is to make it easier for publishers to find writers and for writers to find publishers.

If the concept works, relatively unknown professional writers will no longer have to sit around on other sites waiting to be discovered like a needle in a haystack. Nor will they have to depend on direct submissions to a publisher's funnelling system that all too often rejects excellent saleable work because of subjective opinions on what will and will not sell. Instead, BLOSM proposes to build a broad focus audience to do the sorting for publishers, not with the subjective guesswork of a few people, but with the objective assessment of the reading public.

It's a neat concept. But good ideas are a dime a dozen. The proof is in the execution, and that calls for a considerable investment. This brilliant author is glad someone else put up their money to implement this good idea.

No, BLOSM is not a free site. Newcoming authors are now being asked to pay $5 per month to upload and maintain their work. The published rate schedule indicates a fee of $15 to upload and maintain 10 items over three months. For fees to stick, some real value must be added, namely an improved chance for an writer to make some serious money at his or her art or craft.

One of BLOSM's key selling points is that its "objective"rating system will be more efficient and effective than the systems now being used by publishers to funnel the daily avalanches of submissions coming in. BLOSM's "powerful, sophisticated rating system...measures not only what a user says about a manuscript, but also measures the actions a user makes surrounding the manuscript." The emphasis is on "quantity" rather than "quality", since it is up to publishers to decide how "good" the content is. BLOSM proposes to provide the publisher with a real gauge of "potential popularity" to supplement their usual "subjective" educated guesses.

According to BLOSM, aspects of manuscripts are point-rated from least to most favorable. The aspects rated in one category are: plot, character development, language, focus on thesis. Points are added for comments, page views, unique downloads, and purchases by viewers of more attractive formats. The scoring is weighted and summed.

More extensive information is immediately available at BLOSM.com. After perusing that information, I wanted to find out if there was anyone at home behind the pages, so I shot off a few questions to the site's Customer Service department. I was answered within the hour by Michael "Mac" McCarthy, President of BLOSM, Inc. His bio states that he has 25 years of experience in publishing as a writer, book company founder, magazine publisher, online publisher, and start-up manager. Mac gave me permission to quote his responses to my questions, which I have done
below.


INTERVIEW WITH:

Michael "Mac" McCarthy
President, BLOSM Inc.
www.BLOSM.com

DAVID: I have read your pages with great interest. I have three areas of concern that I ask you to address with your QUOTABLE responses:

My first impression of BLOSM was that your firm is only interested in "book-length" manuscripts, but then I noticed that poems, screenplays, outlines, and short stories were included in the definition of "manuscript." Therefore it seems you will be glad to have anything at all, whether it is a book or not. That might give your audience cause to believe BLOSM is another vanity publisher, not that there is anything wrong with that, as long as that is made perfectly clear.

MAC: Oh dear. Our initial focus is on book publishers. That's what we know, that's where our experience is, and those are whom we've got as beta publisher testers. However, one of our principles is not to make the member/authors do anything in particular or to fit into any definition. They post what they think is best. Initially, we are targeting the book publishing industry, so what we want most is books -- that is, book-length manuscripts, proposals for same, sample chapters, whatever the author thinks is right for the purpose of generating strong interest from among our members in order to get higher ratings. But they *can* post anything they want, and many have uploaded short stories and poetry and somewhat indefinable things. Fine the members like reading some of that, the rest they will ignore, and the book publishers will too. Short story and poetry writers are desperate because it's really really hard to sell anything, especially for money (instead of copies).

So now this week we launched our commerce system, which means NOW it costs you money to upload and maintain things on the site -- five bucks a month, basically, although we'll be experimenting heavily with that, because of course NOBODY wants to pay anything. But WE have to pay for the business, don't we? It's my guess the less relevant stuff will be first to drop off (beta testers get to leave their work up until December 31 without charge, in appreciation for their help beta testing). Someone with a promising book might pay $5 to upload it I wouldn't think many poets would. But let them decide. For all we know, nobody will pay at all, book authors *or* poets. We'll see.

As to the hurtful remark about vanity publishing -- we aren't a publisher, in any way shape or form. We are a service and mechanism that (if it works) will give authors a real opportunity to stand out from the crowd -- unlike other upload sites, which are just slush piles. Think of ours as a *filtered* slush pile -- with the public doing the filtering.

DAVID: Exactly what sort of relationship do you have with publishers? Are publishers paying your firm or will they pay your firm for organizing a focus-group audience and attracting content? Are you in fact entering into a definite relationship with publishers? How many publishers are currently examining authors' works? How many works have actually been selected for consideration thus far?

MAC: No, unfortunately, the publishers aren't paying, nor the editors, nor the agents. For many reasons, not least of which is that we need the editors and agents, the more the better. I can afford to cut the number of author-submissions in half when we charge fees I can't, for the authors' sakes, cut the number of participating publishers in half.

The relationship with the publishers and agents is informal partnership -- as you can see from elsewhere on the site, we have a couple dozen publishers (some quite well known) we've visited personally to sell them on the idea of what BLOSM can do for their acquisitions process -- and I have been very happy with the fact that we've been able to make every publisher we've met with understand what we're up to, and they all like the idea. As a tool to help them deal with unsolicited manuscripts, especially ones that might get overlooked, or ones on the margin of topics or handling, it's a really cool idea. And it costs them nothing and obliges them to do nothing. So we have a couple dozen editors checking the site from time to time.

We have several publishers whose editors are actually including a reference to BLOSM in their rejection letters. And we have two publishers (Berrett-Koehler and IDG Books) who are using BLOSM as a posting tool for electronic manuscript submissions.

We've only been up since late July, and have 700 manuscripts and 2,000 rating members, on a small budget, testing the waters in hopes of supporting our business plan so we can get another round of financing from the VCs. We have no works that have been selected for publication by our publisher-partners yet, but we aren't expecting that this early (we would of course welcome it because it would be the only really convincing demonstration of the efficacy of our proposal). Though we have had editors and agents tell us they find some of the higher-rated works "interesting." It will take time.

DAVID: Please provide a more complete description of your rating system. I am particularly interested in what questions you are asking readers so that I may ascertain what theory of rhetoric you are employing if any.

MAC: The rating system is based on specific rating using a Simple form (thumbs-up or -down), and a longer form that lets the rater be more specific. We put up an initial list of questions, based on nothing in particular (let alone any theory of rhetoric), and we need to tinker with it, as some of the questions are clearly less useful than others. Works also earn ratings points for actions of the rater-members, such as reading pages, adding comments, moving a work into MyLibrary, or downloading a copy for offline reading, or using the Tell a Friend feature to draw attention to someone's work.

Don't be distracted by the details of the ratings or the actions. The object is to show interest by large numbers of people. The publishers aren't expected to read the comments and be impressed by what the readers say at its crudest level, we will end up with one work with 75,000 BLOSM rating points in a category where the average number of points is 5,000 -- then the editor says to self "Hmm, 10,000 people are interested in this work. I should take a closer look." The acquisitions editor still makes his/her own decisions.

DAVID: Thank you very much. I need your permission to quote you in my article.

MAC: Of course. Please refer to my full name and title.

EMPIRICAL PRAGMATICS
"Truth Comes True

What if serious writers cooperate?

Nordette Adams asked this question at Writers.com:

"What if serious writers who've had trouble getting published formed groups that polished each others' work and pooled their money to publish and promote member books on rotation as the books turned a profit?"

Good idea. Cooperation is the way to go, but many "temperamental creative artists" do not seem to go for it. In forums, for instance, they tend to form cliques or vicious nose-to-tail circles that exclude others, and the process spins into a private club of serious back slappers who really do not appreciate serious criticism, if you know what I mean.

We tried variations of your notion, which was THE plan at the outset of the writing sites, and the applications did not pan out.
I noticed that you emphasized "serious." I could not help but notice that serious writers who set themselves up as helpers at TS, WBM, TC, WS, ETC were not really competent critics, were not even acquainted with many of the orthodox principles of criticism worked out over the years, and worse, many of them buttered up friends and put down enemies as part of the community activities, trying to make a public impression on everyone.

Hence we saw the need for a more informed and objective critical process behind the scenes, conducted by focus groups with rotating membership, "self-trained" in basic principles via drop down instructions in pertinent categories, Q&A, Mini Courses, and the like. Other data, of the quantitative sort such as traffic data, would be used in conjunction with the critical process. Those works sifted out of the mass would them be reviewed by an editorial panel, all but one of whose members would also rotate. One editor could "veto" one selection and replace it with his arbitrary choice, even if a piece of nonsense (might be a best seller). At first, two books would be published each month. And so on, the actual details to be discussed and worked out.

Of course there is no truly "scientific" critical method as to quality, nor any one way to determine what will sell best even if it is "vulgar", but there are sociological aids that can be employed to make a better funnel, so to speak, than the constipated funnel now being used by orthodox publishers. At least that is our proposition.

An official from one major publisher said our notion was generally a good one, but way ahead of its time, and that publishers themselves might employ it themselves, but tend to drag their conservative feet because they fear for the bottom line and are reluctant to invest in something that might result in self-cannibalization.

D.A.W.

Smacking down socialism

I really don't think many American writers are that interested in co-operative enterprises, especially those that smack of 'socialism,' and I really don't blame them, for to each his own, and going it alone is the American Way except in combat, but I think if their books were selected by the co-op they would be very interested. If one has a better funnel, it's best to just use it and see what sells, which would, after all, prove the funnel is better than the one used by orthodox publishers.

Spreading the Risk of Writing

Now here is an interesting idea, a notion that the select authors who survive the better funnel we build might be interested in, as a way to spread risk and gain an income.

This little blurb appeared in Business Week's INNOVATION edition:

"RISK A Scheme for Starving Artists to Hatch a Nourishing Nest Egg:

"At 28, Zak Smith is a successful artist. His frenetic pieces go for $8,000 a pop. But even if buyers suddenly go cold, art will sustain him, thanks to a clever bit of risk-sharing that could have uses in other fields. Smith is among what will eventually be 250 young New York artists, chosen by an expert panel, who are pooling some of their works in Artist Pension Trust. Created by an entrepreneur, an economists, and a former museum director, the program banks on the fact that some of the artists will hit it big, raising the value of the trust. Half the payments, which start at retirement, come from sales of the artist's own work; the rest come from the shared sales of the others artists in the trust. That way superstars are rewarded and slow sellers aren't left out."

Didactic Fictions

I. MINING FORUMS

Internet forums provide writers with an opportunity to exchange ideas about writing and to practice their writing. However, irate writers have complained that writers are not writing about writing in forums, that they are engaged in heated arguments and in ego-tripping instead.

Well, the art of writing is just one subject among many, a provocative subject that has inspired many heated arguments. In any event, why write about writing per se when one has a golden opportunity to practice writing by engaging in a lively conversation or heated debate with others? Would not such a practice sharpen one's skills and teach one much about dialogue and character if not something about the purported objects of the debates or discussions? Yes, indeed, in retrospect forum exchanges are gold mines for many writers and actors who study dialogue. We even harvest the flaming wars. No form of exchange is beneath us, not even the inane chit chat.

A few writers are well aware of the value of written forum conversations. They are making articles out them or including them in books without even bothering to edit the dialogue. That is a serious mistake. First of all, there are copyright considerations: forum content might not be in the public domain. And publishing someone's forum conversation elsewhere might be at least an unethical invasion of their privacy. In any event, editing and revising the dialogue, or writing one's own dialogue to develop the ideas, will most likely result in a production far more entertaining to the audience, providing that an audience can be found given all the cacophony clamoring for attention nowadays. One also might be better off finding counterparts and exchanging dialogue by email in a joint-production effort; however, there is nothing like live improvisations in front of an audience: a person may learn more in private, but performs better in public.

For instance, I encountered some dialogue in a forum at now-defunct Writtenbyme. I manipulated it and put it into a different setting, It is the first act of a skit which takes off from that act according to my imagination, to an absurd conclusion in the fourth act. It is nothing great, but I am using it here as an illustration:

Alice Packer's Shadow




Location: S&M Art Studios, Ltd.

Cast:

Alice Packer: Art Director

Walter Davidson: Senior Vice President

Harry Heckler: Computer Graphics Designer

Sheri Sands: Head Photographer

Susan Sockwith: Fashion Director

Angela Songerson: Human Resources Director

[It was time for lunch. Walter Davidson is about to adjourn the regular Monday staff meeting. Alice Packer had seemed distracted throughout the meeting. She suddenly proceeds to laugh hysterically]

ANGELA SONGERSON: Good heavens! Alice, get a grip. What's so funny? What are you laughing about?

ALICE PACKER: I'm laughing because I saw my shadow this morning at Raven's Nest. [She bursts into tears. Angela, stupefied, blinking characteristically, leans over and hugs Alice.]

ANGELA SONGERSON: Holy Moses, Alice, I'm sorry. What are you talking about? [ She continues to bat her eyelashes.]

ALICE PACKER: My shadow is dying to be me and she's been shadowing me for weeks now. So I go into Raven's Nest Cafe this morning for coffee and a bagel, and there she is, standing in line right in front of me, chit chatting with people, pretending to be me..."

ANGELA SONGERSON: Pretending to be you?"

ALICE PACKER [angrily brushing away her tears]: Yes, trying to look like a professional art director without even giving me credit. Professional liar, that's what that hussy really is.

HARRY HECKLER [snickering]: Now, now, sweetheart, you're just imagining...

ANGELA SONGERSON: Lay off, Harry, and if you say sweetheart one more time I'll file a harassment complaint. Go on, Alice.

WALTER DAVIDSON: This staff meeting is adjourned. [to Alice, jokingly.] When you said you saw your shadow, I thought you meant you needed a shave. I saw my beard this morning...[Nobody pays attention to him - everyone is gathered around Alice Packer]

ALICE PACKER: I was livid. I tapped her on the back and asked her for her name. "Moana," she said. I looked the lying hussy up and down, and said, "I don't know how long you've been lurking around the art business, Moana, but you should get a real life. The only person you're fooling is yourself. You don't even know what an art director is. Quit being such a wannabe." Well, she doesn't say a word, reaches into her fake leather briefcase, takes out and hands me a copy of her portfolio, picks up her coffee and struts out as if her tail doesn't stink just because men stare at it. So I look at the trash she gave me - it's a cheap knock-off of my own portfolio, she copied all my ideas!

ANGELA SONGERSON: Even your bio's are alike?

ALICE PACKER: Absolutely. And my logo too!

ANGELA SONGERSON [blinking furiously]: I feel for you, Angela, that's really scary. There's gotta be something you can do? That is outrageous. Oh, let me give you another hug... [Alice backs away.]

SUSAN SOCKWITH [nodding her head sagely]: I know her. She used to shadow me when I was shopping on Fifth Avenue. I'd see her reflected in the window, wearing the same dress as me. Moana is the worst nightmare a woman can have. She will copy your every gesture for years. Just keep in mind that everything this person says is a lie. Would you believe she started taking Qi Gong classes when I did? - there she was, trying to mirror my every move.

SHERI SANDS: I've seen her too. She is a pretty but pathetic young woman.

WALTER DAVIDSON: I think I know your shadow too. Some forger was using my name and style at several studios. I filed suit and got an
injunction.

SHERI SANDS: Well done! That'll teach them!

HARRY HECKLER: C'mon, Walter, we know what was up with that. You signed your name to blank sheets, gave them to your students and forgot about it, for crying out loud!

ANGELA SONGERSON:[grasping Alice's hand.] She's not worth thinking about any more, Alice. Frankly, she's a human leech. The best thing one can do with her is ignore her and smack her down when she comes around. There's nothing she can do, really. She's just your shadow and can never be an true art director like you. Come now, let's have a long lunch together - Walter won't mind - it's on me. [all file out of the meeting room except Walter, who stays behind to write up the
Minutes.]

-Curtain-

I wrote the following skit within a forum discussion one evening, a little satire on the bellicose attitude of patriotic writers, including that of an acquaintance of mine who has a knack for intuiting which side of a conflict is on the highest of moral grounds; namely the United States and any of its allies at the moment. I exaggerated the tenor of the patriotic position for effect. When the skit was performed, the voiced reactions ranged from hysterical laughter to angry remarks including "Traitor! If you don't like this country, get the hell out of it and live with the scum!"

The High Altar of Intuition

SCENE: On the High Moral Ground of Intuition

HIGH PRIEST: We are gathered here today beside the Altar of Intuition on High Moral Ground to make our Humble Petition in the Spirit of Unity to the Presiding Officer of This Great Superpower of Ours.

PRIESTS: Hail, Lord Mighty Almighty, the Might is with Thee!

BROTHERS: Might is Right! Might is Right! Might is Right! Unite in Hate! Unite in Hate! Unite in Hate! Roll out the Big Gun, Roll out the Big Gun! Roll out the Big Gun! Hail to the United Hates of America!

CHORUS: Moo, moo, moo... baa, baa, baa... moo, moo, moo... baa, baa, baa... moo, moo, moo... let us go along and be safe... what channel is this, by the way?

HIGH PRIEST (to priests): Reveal the Bull Dung that it may be offered to Lord Mighty Almighty on the Altar of Intuition and go up in Holy Smoke.

PRIEST A: Our Superpower is the only Superpower, the Acne of Civilization.

PRIEST B: You mean Acme I think.

PRIEST A: Huh?

CHORUS: Moo, moo, moo... what is true? what should we do? has anyone seen the latest poll?

AN ANONYMOUS PRIEST: Any attack on Our Great Superpower is an attack on Civilization itself.

CHORUS: Baa, baa, baa... rah, rah, rah, Go Military, Go!

BROTHERS: That is Right and Might is Right. Unite in Hate, Unite in Hate! Unite in Hate!

PRIEST C: Anyone who disagrees is wrong, as every casual observer intuitively knows.

BROTHERS: Right, right, right, fight, fight, fight!

PRIEST D: They hate us because they are dead wrong, so let them die! They are jealous of our wealth and power, that is all there is to the absolute truth.

BROTHERS: Right, right, right, fight, fight, fight!

CHORUS: We have done no wrong, we never have nor will we ever, for we are always right and never wrong, moo, moo, moo, baa, baa, baa...

BROTHERS: Right, right, right, you've done no wrong, you've done no wrong, we must fight, fight, fight!

CHORUS: We hate the enemy. Only traitors love the enemy.

BROTHERS: Unite in Hate, Hate the Enemy, Might is Right! The Enemy is wrong! The Enemy is guilty.

HIGH PRIEST (to a priest holding torch): Light the Bull Dung and let the Holy Smoke cloud the Altar of Intuition. (priest sets fire to the Bull Dung)

CHORUS: Holy Smokes! How beautiful! Our intuition is good.

BROTHERS: (behind the smoke screen): Bombs away, boys and girls! Kill! Kill! Kill!

HIGH PRIEST: Let us now bow our heads in humble group love and offer up our petition to Lord Mighty Almighty, President George Bush, Junior.

CHORUS: Who needs a god in heaven when the President is in the White House?

HIGH PRIEST: Our President in the White House, hallowed be thy name, the Might is with Thee. Lead us into the Valley of Death to fight the War on Terrorism....

Smoke Screen

Of course when a writer becomes bored with forum discussions, she can simply make up her own dialogue. The following skit is based on my studies of the ancient oracle at Delphi - I might flesh it out some day:

Pythia Screams Again




Scene: a vault filled with treasure. Two priests are playing chess at a table downstage center. Piercing screams are heard coming from beneath the stage.

FIRST PRIEST [annoyed]: Pythia is screaming.

SECOND PRIEST: No kidding. I'm not daft.

FIRST PRIEST: What do you make of it? It's not that time of the month.

SECOND PRIEST: How should I know? Maybe she's high on the gas again, or had too many laurel leaves for breakfast. It's your move.

FIRST PRIEST: We've got to fix that gas leak. She's been drinking a lot lately too.

SECOND PRIEST: From the sacred cellar spigot?

FIRST PRIEST: Cheap red table wine from Athens. Aha, your time is almost up - check!

SECOND PRIEST: Maybe we should lay her off for counselling?

FIRST PRIEST: I don't think so, it would violate the contract with Madame Dragon. So what's your move?

SECOND PRIEST: No problem, I'm blocking you with my bishop.

FIRST PRIEST: Excellent, kiss your Queen good bye!

SECOND PRIEST: Damn!

FIRST PRIEST: Scream on, Pythia! You're bringing me good fortune!

SECOND PRIEST: She's still at it, for crying out loud. What is the meaning of this?

FIRST PRIEST: Wait a minute, wait a minute, maybe we can interpret these screams to answer the U.S. President's question!

SECOND PRIEST: Is peace possible in the Mideast now?

FIRST PRIEST: Right. Checkmate!

SECOND PRIEST: That figures, with all this racket around here. So, what do you think?

FIRST PRIEST; How much tribute has come in from the U.S.?

SECOND PRIEST: I don't know the exact amount, but that stack of U.S. dollars on the skid over there just came in.

FIRST PRIEST: I thought that was from Baghdad or Tel Aviv.

SECOND PRIEST: What's the difference? Sorry, Just kidding!

FIRST PRIEST: Let's check with the auditors and see what's up with the numbers. I'm sure we can come up with something ambiguous enough to suit everyone after taking everything into account. [The piercing screams below grow in intensity] For Pete's sake, could you shut her up?

SECOND PRIEST [gets up, walks upstage, opens up a basement door flush with the stage, and shouts into the basement]: PYTHIA! THAT'S ENOUGH ALREADY! SHUT THE (EXPLETIVE DELETED) UP!

-Curtain-

II. DIDACTIC FICTIONS

Everyone has the general idea by now. In fine, forums stimulate the creative imagination; they provide a place to write live and to extract conversational styles and sketches. Forums are indeed a valuable source of ideas, just as were the salons of old; however, forums lack the personal presence of all those involved and the personal skills of a brilliant and often beautiful hostess. We are certainly not breaking revolutionary ground. The ancient plays were conversations providing a cultural education for all who could attend or talk about them. The Greeks are famous for their forums and Socratic dialogues. Socrates did most of the talking; the intention was obviously didactic. Socrates learned that he was the wisest man of all those he questioned because by that questioning he discovered that he did not know the absolute truth about anything; that is not to say we should preach ignorance as a virtue, but that we should encourage the continuance of the great conversation of humankind.

Today didactic dialogue is not much admired in non-fiction: direct statements are preferred. Nor is it cared for much any more in fiction except to explain the setting or what is going on in a play or film. People do not care for long-winded conversations, especially those of the moral sort. But not long ago, before telephones and televisions, long conversations were the main attraction. Periodical articles took on the form of conversational essays to make things interesting. Religious sermons and political writing was vicious, but the purpose of such famous eighteenth century publications as Richard Steele and Joseph Addison's Tatler and the Spectator were designed for the moral edification of their readers: vice, cynicism, ungenerosity, and infidelity were held in contempt as unbefitting to man's true self. Indeed, the purpose of a genuine essay was believed to be the uplifting of moral virtue and the teaching of science. Fictitious characters such as 'Mr. Spectator' of the 'Spectator's Club' were used to present ideas in conversational tones. The Spectator agenda included popularizing science "as a reinforcement of religions faith": the evolutionary adaptation of animals was presented as demonstrative of God's beneficience. The Tatler 'Trumpet Club' was headed by 'Sir Roger de Coverley', a kind and elderly country squire. One of the aims of Tatler was to bring philosophy out "to dwell in clubs and assemblies, at tea-tables and in coffee-houses." By 'philosophy' was meant comprehensive knowledge and wisdom.

Publications such as Tatler and Spectator had quite a civilizing effect on its audience. But people eventually tired of the pious moralizing. Didactic fictions became terribly boring to most people. They wanted entertainment, not sermons. But the form did not disappear.

H.G. Wells, who considered himself to be first and foremost a teacher, was a master of didactic novels. We know him best for War of the Worlds and The Time Machine, yet most of us do not know him very well at all. He considered himself to be a journalist rather than a novelist. He could not restrain himself from writing about current topics, the interest in which was bound to rapidly fade in time, as opposed to artful novels which might attain to immortal fame. He was criticized for turning to non-fiction and didactic novels. Virginia Woolf thought Joan and Peter was too didactic for fiction. Thomas Hardy, though, loved it so much he read it aloud to his wife, and said Wells had a "preternatural knowledge of what people do" in their houses. The English biologist, Sir E. Ray Lankester, who was chairman of the Committee on the Neglect of Science and was involved in educational reform for the purpose of making better people and better governments, told Wells to ignore the petty and jealous critics "making their puny efforts to crab the book declaring it to be all schoolmaster and no story...." H.L. Mencken took Wells to task in his inimitably caustic fashion, for heaving larger and larger doses of theory into his work. In an essay dated 1918, Mencken, uncomfortable with Wells' "Flabby Socialism", that of the English lower class, has this to say in regards to a few of his didactic novels:

(But it) was not enough to display the life of his time with accuracy and understanding; it was not enough to criticize it with a penetrating humor and sagacity. From the depths of his being, like some foul miasma, there arose the old, fatuous yearning to change it, to improve it, to set it right where it was wrong, to make it over according to some pattern superior to the one followed by Lord God Jehovah. With this sinister impulse, as aberrant in an artist as a taste for legs in an archbishop...

"...And under all the rumble-bumble of bad ideas is the imbecile assumption of the jitney messiah at all times and everywhere: that human beings may be made over by changes the rules under which they live, that progress is a matter of intent and foresight.... "

So much for the snobbery of my favorite critic. To better discern what he is speaking about and to close my own essay in the didactic mode, I shall quote from H.G. Wells' Undying Fire (1919).

The protagonist, a progressive schoolmaster named Job Huss, suffers trials similar to the biblical Job in regards to the traditionalists who want to close his progressive school and return to the old educational ways that inculcate going along with an "all-wise and amiable" Providence like a "trustful child which need only not pester the Higher Powers" while doing "its simple congenial duties"; or, on the other hand, teach that the "Process is utterly beyond control and knowledge... It has scrawled our race across the black emptiness of space, and it may wipe us out again. Such is the quality of Fate."

Job Huss claims the two approaches have the same effect in practical matters. The child-like attitude of his antagonist, Sir Eliphaz, and the fatalistic attitude of his fellow debater, Sir Barrack, amount to bowing to the status quo: the former, "gladly and trustfully", the latter, "grimly - in the modern style." Wells writes:

For some moments Mr. Huss sat with compressed lips, as though he listened to the pain within him. Then he said: "I don't.

"I don't submit. I rebel - not in my own strength nor by my own impulse. I rebel by the spirit of God in me.... I am a rebel of pride - I am full of the pride of God in my heart. I am the servant of a rebellious and adventurous God who may yet bring order into this cruel and frightful
chaos....

"... I differ from you all. You see that the spirit of my life and of my teaching... is a fight against that Dark Being of the universe who seeks to crush us all.... It is a fight against disorder, a refusal of that very submission you have made, a repudiation altogether of that same voluntary death in life..."

He moistened his lips and resumed.

"The end and substance of all real education is to teach men and women of the Battle of God, to teach them of the beginnings of life.... to show them how man has arisen... to draw men together out of themselves into one common life and effort with God....

Huss continues at length. He repudiates the gentlemen's claims that the world has learned a lesson from the war, and that setting up League of Nations will put an end to war. "But on what foundations have you made in the last four years but ruins?" Huss asks. "Is there any common idea, any common understanding yet in the minds of men?" No, says Huss, and because the traditional schools are failures. "What common thought is there in the world? A loud bawling of base newspapers, a posturing of politicians. You can see chaos coming again...." He provides the analogy of French and American forces battling back and forth with the Germans: "Which side may first drop exhausted now, will hardly change the fact. The supreme fact is exhaustion..." Wells then writes:

"What's the good of such despair?" said Mr. Dad.

"I do not despair. No. But what is the good of lying about hope and success in the midst of failure and gathering disasters? What is the good of saying that mankind wins - automatically - against the spirit of evil, when mankind is visibly losing point after point, is visibly losing heart. What is the good of pretending that there is order and benevolence or some sort of splendid and incomprehensible process in this festering waste, this windy desolation of tremendous things? There is no reason anywhere, there is no creation anywhere, except the undying fire, the spirit of God in the hearts of men... which may fail... which may fail... which seems to me to fail."

He paused. Dr. Barrack cleared his throat. "I don't want to seem obdurate," said Dr. Barrack. "I want to respect deep feeling. One must respect deep feeling... But for the life of me I can't put much meaning into this phrase, the spirit of God in the hearts of men.... I would like to ask you, Mr. Huss - frankly - is there anything very much to it, than a phrase?"

Ø¿Ø

Seize the Internet!

Social scientists have said much about the impoverishment of our language and therefore of our minds since the last world war, but few people were listening to social scientists as the radio and the boob tube became ever more ubiquitous and popular.

I fondly remember how my family gathered around the radio in the evening to listen to our favorite programs. But my father was dead set against having a television set. It was some time before he caved in to the sulking around the house concerning what the Joneses had--much to the wounding of our pride--and brought home a TV. You know the drill back then: there was only one channel with a few programs. I watched the shows sometimes, but I mostly followed in my father's footsteps: I read books for my entertainment and edification; they are really one and the same thing to me, for learning is my greatest pleasure.

I like nothing better than a good hard read, and the denser the better. Plain English bores me to no end, even more so than soaps, sitcoms, and commercials. My father read difficult books too, yet he still loves the art of plain English most of all. Yes, I know, plain English can clearly express very complicated ideas, say those in metaphysical tomes; but no, thank you, philosophy that reads like a technical manual is not my cup of tea: I prefer mine with sugar and cream and romantic frills and thrills.

Oh, yes, I mentioned the boob tube. I must confess that I put down my books and really got into TV during the Eighties. It was more or less of an escape from thinking about a life that was not too pleasing at the time no matter how much beer I drank and sex I had. In fact, I actually became a boob for a few years.

I think most of us have realized by now the many dangers of passive entertainment; it seems that some of the social criticism did get through the popular noise-making. Why, it even became fashionable to criticise TV before and after watching it. And some parents who had time to be parents insisted on getting rid of it or turning it off for long periods of time. Still, TV is the major influence on people's lives.

But now we have the Internet! We can be interactive now! Those of us who could hardly compose a decent letter have become writers in order to communicate with each other and perhaps to gain some fame and fortune to boot. And now that everyone is letting it all hang out in virtual space, those who still have three eyes can see what is really on people's minds, the sorry results of the very mass culture social scientists were warning us about.

In plain English, What a mess!

Those of us who enjoy extended arguments, narratives, and expositions are confronted with readers who have the attention span of a gnat. But I exaggerate; studies have shown that the average Internet reader does not like to invest over thirty seconds of his time on any one article, so eager is he to click onto something else lest he miss something or the other--he knows not quite what.

It seems that years of boobtubery and newsmindedness has resulted in dirty foreshortened brains with truncated minds incapable of thinking cogently or carrying an argument in any one direction for more than half a minute or a minute at the most. Only the concrete dots, the objects, the facts, warrant attention: the line, the subject, is ignored.

Since there is no sustained drive in any direction, there is no resistance to the milling herd or to the authorities who thrive on its dull-mindedness. There is no unity of consciousness, either projected as God, or introjected as human identity. Thus we witness in Internet writing the chaotic results of a sort of madly scrambling, scrambled mentality of scatterbrains, of fragmented personalities coordinate to a vast wilderness of consumer products advertised by sound bites and fleeting concrete images.

Furthermore, the experts who preside over the prevalent bite-sized, take-out mentality chant a dead, practical language that provides the status quo with an fatalistic aura of scientific inevitability. In turn, the mass, like a chorus of demented magpies, drinks the verbal formula and repeats the refrain of hackneyed phrases. Most of all, the lobotomized mass must have its easy read, its preferred narcotic, the dimwittedness drug. Easy reading presents no challenge, no stimulus to wilfully think; by its means mass man is buried in heaps of trash, garbage and junk. Yet anxiety is not completely smothered: some become discontented with the life of walking, talking maggotry, and become mean junk-yard dogs; they are disgruntled but they lack alternative vocabularies: they wind up protecting the barbed-wired status quo.

Yes, the social scientists were correct. Much damage has evidently been done. The situation is dire but not hopeless. We have the Internet now; its faults are ours, and we can do something about that. Reading and writing on the Internet does not offer some of the spontaneous advantages of a good conversation, but we still have a golden opportunity to collect our thoughts, to take our language back, to restore our sanity, to literally save our world.

Therefore seize the Internet before it is too late, before it is downgraded and dumbed-down to just another idiotic sequence of commercials and massive heaps of stultifying stuff.

Speaking Freely on the Internet

Notwithstanding the fact that speech is not entirely free under the Habla Libremente por Cuba program of constructive criticism on the Internet, which I shall politely recommend to Fidel Castro as soon as possible, the program as I conceive it is certainly more liberal than the imperial policies set forth by certain open publishing companies in the United States of America at the outset of the Dotcom Craze. No doubt Mr. Castro will be interested in hearing something about the development of those policies and the revolutionary struggle against them on the Internet, especially since the Internet supports a virtual world that offers us opportunities to conduct revolutionary experiments without bloodshed. After all, Fidel Castro, unlike President Bush, is not above admitting to his mistakes - he has in fact admitted to quite a few over the years. And he has even apologized for falling down on the job. If only he had blundered by way of experiment in virtual reality instead of reality, he and his people would have avoided a great deal of embarassment and suffering.

As Fidel knows very well, Yankee Imperialists invented the Internet with militant intentions. In 1969 the Advanced Research Projects Agency, funded by U.S. grant money, proceeded to develop a bomb-proof computer network for defense-related research. A long-distance military communications network (MILNET) was built using the results of the ARPA research. The National Science Foundation created a similar network (NSFnet). As everyone knows by now, the academic use of the networks evolved to include commercial and popular use.

The cooperative technological achievement dubbed the 'Internet' along with its political and economic ramifications certainly is not lost on Fidel Castro, who is reportedly interested in upgrading the Mass Consciousness of the New Man foreseen long ago by The Che and comrades. Indeed, the Internet, which is a network connected by a common addressing system and communications protocol, is the ideal medium for the dialectical upgrading of Cuban Socialism for the common man that he may become the New Man. Wherefore the experience of Internet freedom fighters during the initial revolutionary period of Internet popularity in the United States should be of keen interest to the Commandant and Cuban Yummies (young urban Marxists) as well as Cuban dissidents, for the synthesis of their struggles will overcome the current impediments to social progress.

According to Francis Bacon, knowledge is power. Since the Universal Power Source had not yet been prepared for democratic distribution, the power was initially condensed by members of the power elite and held in power stations for equitable distribution at such time as the distribution field was prepared by the scientific-industrial revolution. The rest - the Information Age - is ongoing history:

Everything is information; all we have to do is know Everything and humankind shall be free at last. But there is a lot to know, which calls for a World Brain or a global distribution of knowledge so Everything can be known. The more minds the better; indeed, all minds should be put to good use. Since knowledge is power, everybody involved in the global distribution of knowledge will be powerful. Wherefore the objective of all true Radicals, the equitable distribution of power over the entire population in such a way that no minority can monopolize the power plants, may be accomplished.

Revolutionary thinkers imagined that a decentralized network system, made friendly to the common user via the operational method called the World Wide Web, would be a wide-open wilderness for the free expression of ideas and exchange of knowledge. That communications medium would no doubt empower the people to achieve the democratic utopia of their dreams, sometimes envisioned as an "anarchic commune" or "leaderless society." Once Utopia is established, the revolutionary elite will no longer be required, hence they shall triumphantly distribute their forms of power and resign.

Knowledge, then, would no longer be censored by the "gatekeepers" of the neo-imperial elite, the so-called corporate fascists who presently preside over the monetary demoralization of the globe. Down with corporate board tribalism! The advancing forces of darkness will be arrested and rehabilitated. Speech will be free! At last! Freedom is nigh! Or so it seemed before the Internet censors stepped in to curb the abuse of free speech. And then the service providers started charging for freedom.

The basic scheme of those service providers were, alas, not so radical after all; they were in reality "neo-liberal imperial coporatists"; the scheme: be generous up front, appear to give everything away, get people addicted to free speech and surfing on the Internet, and then charge them an arm and a leg for the services provided and for ongoing service. Anyone not willing to pay would be denied access and their files automatically deleted. The combinations, alliances, mergers and acquisitions of the service providers would eventually enable them to get much more than their fair share of the power - in fact, they would own the virtually indestructible, bomb-proof power utility. After all, there can be no such thing as truly free lunch nor free rent and health care, not even in Socialist Cuba.

Chat rooms and forums set up on the Internet were all the rage for awhile. They still are in some quarters, but we shall attend to a higher level of discourse here, that of the literature produced by those who profess to be professional writers but rarely make a dime since the demise of pioneer open-publisher Themesteam.com, who literally gave away $5 million of investor's money then went teats up - more on that below.

Several Internet service providers set up free websites where writers could self-censor and publish their work to their heart's content. Suddenly everybody and their brothers and sisters and cousins to the third degree became free lance writers - no editors were required - even a monkey became an Internet writer. Vanity ran rampant since the service providers were not charging for publication, at least not yet.

A number of service providers, bless their hearts, believed they could avoid charging writers for the publishing medium: they would collect advertising fees for advertising placed on the sites. The ads eventually wound up smack-dab on the articles themselves: first at the top and bottom of articles; and then the articles were squeezed into narrow columns so ads and marketing links could be put on one side or on both sides. Eventually almost everyone not in a charitable frame of mind eventually figured out that the writers themselves would have to pay for their own vanity.

Well, the quality of literature was not so great, but it was great fun, and there was always the community to enjoy along with the prestige of being a writerly!

An orgy of free speech ensued, a cacophony the likes of which has not been heard since the fall of the Tower of Babel. The service providers were deluged with complaints about free speech, hence they devised and handed down rules of conduct. Prohibited speech was called "abuse," a term that confused a number of concrete thinkers, who associated it with child and spousal abuse. They were astonished when they were banned for "abuse" because they had negatively criticised another writer, perhaps one who had "attacked" them first, or even worse, because they had criticized the service provider, perhaps calling the site managers "corporate fascists" for cracking down on free speech in the first place. One banned writer/self-editor, who had used a photo of a penis on his profile page, started his own writer's site.

Of course the 'Terms of Service' (TOS), namely the "agreement" between the service providers and content providers (writers), prohibited all speech contrary to law. Pornography involving children was of course not allowed. Adult pornography was at least questionable on sites not specifically dedicated to it - erotic literature suggesting the same sexual behavior was permitted on some sites. The advocacy of terrorism was expressly prohibited. Naturally the advocacy of war or mass terrorism on foreigners, presumed to be "terrorists" and "enemies of freedom", was not only permitted but was encouraged by many site operators, not only for political reasons but because local Patriotism is great advertising.

Many writers became preoccupied with attacking fellow writers. Insulting behavior was generally permitted as long as the insults were "politically correct" or "polite." Calling a spade a spade was disallowed: intemperate, obscene, or "abusive" language was prohibited. Of course racial and ethnic slurs and the like were specifically barred by the TOS.

Last but not least was the ultimate clause, a dictatorial clause Fidel Castro would no doubt greatly appreciate, giving all rights to the service provider, who could change the TOS at will and bind everyone to it simply by posting the "agreement" on the Internet. The definition of "abuse" included anything that the service providers might think would hurt their ability to turn a profit. More specifically, writers could not criticise the site or its management.

For instance, an open publishing company called Themestream.com was founded by a founding executive of Netscape. To procure its 'literature' (content), Themestream intitially paid writers a dime for each "hit" on posted articles. There was no quality control - each "writer" was responsible for her own editing. To get more clicks and therefore more dimes, short and sweet was the rule. Little poems and recipes predominated. "Serious writers" who posted anything in excess of 200 words were scoffed at as idiots. The competition for dimes was won by the most technologically adept writers, some of whom merely copied and pasted (plagiarized) something found on the Internet onto their Themestream pages. To pull more traffic, they used suggestive (pornographic) key words; employed their linking skills; set up automated "hit rings" to keep clicking on their pages at a dime a pop; and so on. Themestream bled out and went belly up in short order. Several writers tried to warn Themestream's administrators of their folly, but they were ignored, or exiled if they posted a critical article.

Those persons who openly criticized any aspect of Themestream's administration or operations were exiled. For instance, I posted a "politically correct" article objecting to the deletion of the 'Women's Issues' subject category from the site. My article was deleted within five minutes; I was given a notice that if I reposted it, I would be involuntarily exiled and that the monies owed to me would be forfeited. I forwarded a copy of that threat to all of Themestream's advertisers, including the Social Security Administration, and to the major publications then touting Themestream as an example of the "new freedom" provided by the "information revolution."

Themestream pioneered large-scale open publishing for "commercial" writers. Written-by-Me and Webseed followed suit with variations on the same theme, including the exiling of anyone who dared to criticize the open publishing company itself. Anyone who publicly objected to Webseed's administrative policies were publicly accused of having "negative mental attitudes" and of being "terrorists from Themestream." Written-by-Me and Webseed soon folded. Service providers started charging writers a subscription fee for service, causing many of them to flee. Some of them followed formerly exiled writers to free-wheeling, non-commercial (free) sites provided by benefactors - some of whom were exiled writers. A few exiles did proceed to "terrorize" with "free speech" anyone who showed up to post their work and/or to enjoy the free writing communities - several of the benefactors were so beset by complaints and efforts to destroy their free sites that they threw up their hands in disgust and threw in the towel.

As open publishing of all kinds evolved, the content of which none of which the service providers really wanted to be responsible for, "decent" standards - meaning commercial standards or what the conservative masses would tolerate - were being imposed throughout the Internet, and there were few sites for free speech left. The majority of writers supported the dictatorial, top-down censorship policies of the open publishing sites, and they would attack anyone who dared criticize their service provider.

"If you don't like it here, go to another site!" site supporters would exclaim on the message boards and in comment boxes at the bottom of posted articles. Some of the dissenting minority opposed chose to stick it out until they were banished or the sites failed: "Why cut and run when all the sites are doing the same thing, censoring criticism?" they replied. "We choose to stay and fight where we stand! After all, the Internet is supposed to free us from the censorship of the corporate fascists!"

Virtual space soon mirrored "brick and mortar" reality. Employees who criticize their corporation, their company or government agency, are not appreciated by employers and are in many cases fired under some pretext or another. Speech is realtively free in the United States, but anyone who criticized the current right-wing U.S. government's rush to war a few months ago was deemed a traitor by the fearful majority; retaliations were legion throughout the flag-waving country: jobs and contracts were lost, opportunities for advancement disappeared, and so on. Hence the workers of the world should be cautious when publicly criticizing their masters, and citizens had better be careful when the herd is skittish and prone to stampedes.

Nevertheless, there is a dirty little secret about free speech in the United States, something that Fidel Castro should know if he has not noticed already: most people in the United States could care less about what other people think and say unless the speakers happen to be powerful persons, that is, members of the power elite. It didn't used to be that way: there was a time when What Other People Think was a parmount importance, but Americans have been liberated by an increasingly plural, multi-cultural, tolerant society. And thanks to the free press, their consciousness is fragmented by sound bites and video clips, and most people do not have the slightest idea of who the are, although they would not admit it.

Further, despite the rhetoric about "democracy," most democrats and individualists in our open society are so spaced out that they do not realize that their voices count for nothing. Notwithstanding our open channels of communication and our American brand of Glasnost, it matters little what is said and matters much who says it. Nobodies, no matter what they say, are of no threat to the often moronic powers that preside over corporate society. Everybody is talking, few people listen, despite the fact that everyone has two ears and only one mouth. Shooting one's mouth off, however, can be therapeutic, letting off steam and the like, and it also feels good to apologize and make up for being to critical of others, or downright nasty. It is this last aspect that Internet capitalism has not taken sufficient advantage of, by creating a multi-ring circus for scandalous conduct. Many of the folk love to sling mud or to watch people wrestle in it, for example. And when someone is mouthing off in certain arenas, they will show up and indignantly complain about the "toilets" they have their heads in, then stick around and literally lick under the rims. Much money could be made....

Of course the United States is not Cuba. The Revolution is not yet dead in Cuba. If I were the dictator of Cuba, I would not allow my people to drink too many glasses of Glasnost. A glass a day would be fine for starters. Progress to welfare capitalism must be gradual lest all that we wind up with is capitalism and no welfare. I would allow, at the very least, constructive criticism of myself and my government. If Fidel Castro instituted my Habla Libremente por Cuba Internet program, which he could take full credit for, as far as I am concerned, I have no doubt that, if a secret poll were taken after two years of constructive criticism, he would be even more popular in Cuba than he was before the program; and, if a free election were held, he would win it by a landslide.