Saturday, August 28, 2010

Innocent Dragonfly is Crucified on the Grille of a Jeep Cherokee!




Click on individual photos to enlarge
All photos © 2010 jim otterstrom

Sacrificed to a machine, the haunting corpse of a dragonfly hangs by its wings from the crossbar of a 1995 Jeep Cherokee grille on August 6th, 2010.

I was quite taken aback when I discovered this unfortunate victim of an automobile suspended from a plastic cross---it's fragile body perfectly preserved in graceful form---too reminiscent of familiar images of a more well-known crucifixion.

Most bugs splat unceremoniously into oblivion when they're hit by several thousand pounds of machinery speeding down a highway, leaving us not much to think about except cleaning up the mess, but somehow this magnificent little creature, even after death, has managed to tell us something about the beauty of its existence, and the tragedy of its passing.

Yes, it's just another bug, one of billions lost each day to the unintentional recklessness of human activity.

Yet, perhaps this tiny innocent member of earth's living community has also died for our sins, by our hands, so that we might once again be patiently reminded by Mother Nature of the destructiveness of our way of life.

How many messengers does Nature's Creation need to send us before we finally get the message?

We have already wiped out 98% of our old growth forests, 99% of our native prairies are gone, 80% of the rivers in China no longer support fish life, and 90% of the large fish in the worlds oceans are gone.

Earth is currently losing between 150 & 200 species every single day, and I can only wonder at the bountiful diversity that once graced this planet before our species came stumbling along into fossil fuels, industrialism, and the age of the infernal combustion machine, which may well render the planet uninhabitable for oxygen breathers.

I'm certainly not religious in any traditional sense of the word, but take another close-up look at this dragonfly, it has a message for us, and, it even looks as if it might have been praying when it died...
...praying, possibly, for the rest of us.
So, just in case, I'm keeping it in a box until Easter.
~
Photographed on a cloudy afternoon with a Canon SX10IS on a tripod; manual function, super macro setting, ISO 80, f/8.0, at 3 tenths of a second. Contrast & brightness slightly modified in Photoshop CS3. Some images cropped to show detail.

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Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Big Brother Raids R-Own-Ranch & Condemns Property!!!

At Home On The Smith Family's
'R-Own-Ranch' in 1980 Click on photo to enlarge - ©1980/2010 jim otterstrom

Photo left to right; Thelma Smith, Edgar Smith (gramps), Karen Smith (Miller), Peggy Otterstrom, Jim Otterstrom, Ed Smith, Debra Smith, Clark Smith, with Boots & Chewbacca in front.

Just before Peggy and I moved to Big Bear this is where we lived, in that army surplus quonset hut, on the Smith family's 60 acre 'R-Own-Ranch', a secluded paradise two miles up a dirt road from Mulholland Drive in the Santa Monica Mountains near Malibu Canyon Road.

We moved here shortly after we were married, and the ranch is also where we started our own family, Jimmy came into the world during our time here.

We were quite happy living alongside this down to earth Old Calabasas family who welcomed us into their lives as if we were born & raised right there with them.

Most of us worked for the Post Office, either in Calabasas, or Woodland Hills, which is how we became friends, and we held many unforgettable postal gatherings up at the ranch---far from the rat-race---where people could relax and let their hair down without bothering the neighbors, because there weren't any.

At these large pot-luck get-togethers there was often live music provided by musician friends---from young rockers, to aging big band era players---the majority of whom were working at the Post Office too. The family also---long before my days there---had rigged up a fenced (with chicken wire), night-lighted (with salvaged flourescent fixtures), volleyball court, Ma & Pa Kettle style, where, old & young alike, would often play into the wee hours of the morning.

On more normal quieter nights, the family always gathered in the living room of the original old home-built house where four generations of Smiths would gregariously indulge themselves in hours of playing Scrabble, Monopoly, or any number of board, dice, or card games, until way into the night, and there was also a game room with a pool table off the living room overlooking the vegetable garden.

I loved sitting in on those games and listening to family tales about things like hiking miles to the old Calabasas School on a trail which led from the ranch, over the mountains, and down to the quaint little town of Calabasas. But, I don't believe I ever once beat my ol' buddy, Ed Smith, or his sister, Karen, at a game of Scrabble. Those two were just too damned sharp, but then again, they played the game almost every night for much of their lives.

That's the kind of thing families used to do when they lived in remote rural areas, far from the nearest neighbor, before cable or satellite TV, or computers.

I was absolutely charmed by this unassuming family of self-reliant old-fashioned folks who still lived---even during the 1970s, '80s, & early '90s---much as they had throughout the 1940s & '50s. I felt like I had come home, and I still think of them as family, and their 'R-Own-Ranch' as the country home I always longed for.

During our few years there most of the activity centered around the main house, which apparently came into existence around 1927---long before there were enforced building codes in those unincorporated areas---with several rooms obviously added on, maybe as late as the early 1950s. Also, of course, was the war surplus quonset where Peggy & I lived---which had been erected in 1956---35 years before the city of Calabasas was incorporated. And there were a couple of small trailers there too, available to family members who sometimes came and went depending upon their situations at any given time.

Living at the ranch was always an adventure, and definitely not for the faint of heart. The day we moved in was during the midst of a wet winter, and the private road leading up to the ranch had just washed out about a 1/2 mile down from the house, so Peggy and I had to trudge back & forth up that last muddy 1/2 mile with all of our belongings. That would've been late 1979, the year I bought my first 4-wheel drive Toyota, for obvious reasons.

The Smiths owned a tiny, ancient, rickety Caterpillar bulldozer which could, periodically, be patched into some semblance of working order to assist with road repair during washouts, which came in handy because the 1.2 mile dirt section of the road was almost completely wiped out twice during our 3 year stay at the ranch. Those are rewarding and memorable experiences in my life, working side by side with the Smiths to rebuild their road, and this is also when Peggy learned how to use a chain saw and I got to know her rugged hard-working side.

Then there were the fires. A couple of years before we moved to Big Bear a fire broke out to the north of us in the middle of the night, near highway 101, and we were awakened by a call from the fire department warning us to be prepared because it was moving in our direction.

There was a fire hydrant on the property near the main house---the cost of which was surely added to the R-Own-Ranch tax assessment, but the fire department would no longer allow their equipment up the narrow road to protect just one old house. They did however offer to provide us with some fire hose, a nozzle, and a bit of safety instruction if we wished to defend the place ourselves, an offer we gladly accepted.

Over that tense ensuing day the fire moved slowly toward us and some of the Smiths decided to drive down and talk with the firefighters stationed by the big fancy houses at the lower paved section of the road near Mulholland Drive, to see if they might change their minds about sending a truck up. What happened instead, was that a sheriff wouldn't allow the guys back up the road, which left me and Peggy, along with Thelma Smith, probably in her late 50s then, and her son Clark, in his early to mid teens, to defend the place.

I suggested to Peggy that she should leave and told her I was going to stay and fight the fire. She said, "I'm not going anywhere without you"! So, Peg and I followed the fire department advice, wrapping our heads & faces in wet towels as the fire advanced over the hill and moved in upon us. We kept the house and everything around it soaking wet, and when the smoke got too thick we'd adjust the nozzle to a fine spray over our heads and breathe, through the wet towels, the oxygen that was emanating from the misting spray of water falling around us. A few times I had to leave Peggy in charge of the hefty fire nozzle so I could run back to the quonset and use the garden hose to extinguish small fires that had ignited in knot-holes of the leafless deciduous 'Trees of Heaven' growing along the side of the metal building, which was otherwise rather impervious to fire. That's when I discovered how strong and courageous Peggy is.

The fire burned around us for a couple of hours but eventually moved on and the Smith homestead was spared for the time being. Then, in March of 1983, just a few days before Peggy & I moved away, another fire headed toward the ranch, and we were prepared to man the hoses again, but the previous fire had cleared most of the underbrush so this one just burned on past us.

Sadly, in 1996, a third fire finally burned the original family home to the ground while the Smiths stood by helplessly at the bottom of the road where the police, once again, wouldn't allow them up to defend their uninsurable property.

The quonset hut and trailers survived though, and members of the family, including Thelma's now 70 year-old brother, Lloyd Smith, and his son Gary, continued living on what was left of their scrappy beloved ranch, until, completely unannounced and unexpected, "on July 8th, 2010, the Calabasas Community Development Department, its building officials, code enforcement officers, other employees, personnel and agents, Los Angeles County Animal Control, and armed Sheriff’s deputies — a total of 14 people, eight of whom still remain unidentified despite requests for the City to identify them — descended en masse on one of Cold Creek’s founding families in the heart of undeveloped upper Stokes Canyon, 1.2 miles off the beaten track"*.

*Excerpted from the Las Virgenes Homeowners Federation August, 2010 newsletter. Read the whole creepy story about the raid here.

In more decent times and places, in an America once striving toward democracy, these human beings---long-time historic pioneering residents of their community---would've been treated with a modicum of courtesy and respect, instead of like common criminals. Their old non code-compliant homestead would've been considered grandfathered, and partially exempt from today's strict regulations, and they would've been officially notified as to whatever health & safety issues required immediate attention and given some time to come into compliance.

But no, 11 days after the raid the Smith family's electricity was cut off, and 7 days after that the water too, leaving 70 year-old Lloyd, and his son Gary, homeless. The bastards even came and capped off the fire hydrant!!!

Because, as you can plainly see, the Calabasas of today is a miracle of modern Capitalism, where destructive profiteering defines progress, and appallingly ugly subdivisions of enormous disgusting "mansions" are smeared all over the once lovely hillsides that the Smith kids wandered on their way to school.

There's no room in Calabasas any more for down home folks like the Smith family, or in the rest of the Santa Monica Mountains for that matter, it's all gone to shit now! And the robber barons who run the world these days don't even have the decency to come in and make the family a fair offer for their land. They just send in a bunch of lackey bureaucrats to do a little dirty work, raiding, condemning, and evicting elderly life-long residents, probably figuring they'll be able to get what they want for almost nothing, while these people are suffering under duress. And I sorely suspect they may well succeed, because ordinary folks just don't have the resources it takes to fight powerful monied interests.

Interestingly, this raid was conducted around the same time an out-of-state owner of 300 acres somewhere in the vicinity of the Smith property, was inquiring about having his land incorporated into the city of Calabasas for development purposes, and would it surprise anybody if the Smith acreage just happens to lie between his land and the rest of what is already contiguous to Calabasas?

Whether this turns out to be the case or not, you can bet your ass that somebody's got an eye on making big bucks off the corpse of R-Own-Ranch, where generations of Smiths, through their labors of love, toiled away for 60 some years on their remote little plot of paradise, enlarging their home, one room at a time, planting gardens, building ponds, repairing roads, paying taxes, and raising their kids, all by themselves, without the need for pre-schools, playdates, or ritalin.

As for the people who live in all those sterile new giant Calabastard enclaves---those anti-coyote, anti-clothesline, anti-cesspool civilized newcomers whose filth & excrement flows through a nasty maze of pipes to some oft malfunctioning sewage treatment plant before being dumped into the Santa Monica Bay; whose countless Hummers, Escalades, and Navigators foul the air above the sacred mountains I once called home---I feel sorry for you and can't even imagine living in one of those oversized crapboxes and calling it a home.

In my eyes R-Own-Ranch is a victim of the same corporate driven oppression which has subverted democracy all across America by buying off the government, rewriting the rules to benefit the rich, and redistributing the wealth of a once thriving middle class---who were the backbone of the country---to a small percentage of the population, which is why the gap between the rich & poor is wider today than ever before, and growing by the hour. Pure raw evidence of the class wars the entire world is in the midst of.

And, for the record, these are my own opinions, and neither my thoughts nor my memories were verified, approved, or authorized by any member of the Smith family.

My anger and indignation over human beings subjected to this kind of treatment is my own, and I'll speak my mind about it anytime I damned well please, especially when it hits this close to home.

Finally, to all the members of the Smith family; to Ed & Cindy, Karen & Dan, and all your kids; to Thelma, Lloyd, & Gary, and all the rest of you. Peggy and I hope you will find a way to get 'R-Own-Ranch' untangled from this nightmare. We will always feel like a part of your family and this is very painful for us too.

Edgar Smith in 1980Click to enlarge - © 1980/2010 jim otterstrom

The late, Edgar Smith, patriarch of R-Own-Ranch who bought the place in the 1940s.

'Smitty' in 1980Click to enlarge - © 1980/2010 jim otterstrom

The, late, 'Smitty', son-in-law of Edgar, husband to Thelma, was the sole rural letter carrier for Calabasas, delivering the mail to every residence for several decades.


Peggy in October of 1981 Click to enlarge - © 1981/2010 jim otterstrom

A very pregnant Peggy, with our goat, in front of the R-Own-Ranch vegetable garden in October of '81.



Peggy on Friday, November 13th, 1981 Click to enlarge - © 1981/2010 jim otterstrom

Peggy, in front of the quonset with Smith family dog, Chewbacca, about 16 hours before our son Jimmy was born, and check out the cat on the tin roof above the door.


Quonset Bathroom - 1981Click to enlarge - © 1981/2010 jim otterstrom

The quonset bathroom during a facelift I was doing on the place while we lived there.


Remodeling Our Bedroom - 1981
Click on photo to enlarge - © 1981/2010 jim otterstrom

Ed Smith, grandson of Edgar, son of Smitty & Thelma, helps me (in the middle) with the drywall in our bedroom while, Debra Smith, looks on from the doorway to the bathroom.



Peggy - 1981 Click to enlarge - © 1981/2010 jim otterstrom

Peggy, just days away from motherhood, poses for me in our newly remodeled bedroom in the quonset hut at R-Own-Ranch.

Postscript

If you think this post simply describes an unfortunate isolated incident please follow this link to see a short audio slideshow about ex-Marine & Viet Nam vet, Joseph Diliberti, a stunningly creative human being who may lose his 4 acre property in San Diego County, as well as his magnificent hand-crafted ceramic home, under somewhat similar circumstances.

This kind of stuff happens every day, to good people all around the world, who are victimized by the thievery of empire builders who are now beginning to run out of resources to steal; and by classism, elitism, racism, and sexism.

If you lived along the Yangtze River in China, they came and took millions of your ancestral homes for a huge dam to power the industrialists factories, an engineering monstrosity which, at best, will silt over in a dozen decades or so. If you live in Tennessee, they may soon come for the coal under your feet---if they haven't already done so---removing the mountian tops around your home, destroying the landscape and displacing the wildlife who live there, while ruining the watershed and poisoning your water and your air. If you live in Sumatra, and survive a tsunami, they will come and confiscate your land, replacing your fishing villages with luxury resorts. If you live in Central America, they will come and confiscate your homeland for banana or coffee plantations and put you to work in sweatshops making designer shoes or T-shirts for a few bucks a week. If you were a Native American, they might have brought you gifts, like blankets intentionally infected with smallpox, to kill off your people and take over your land with much less resistance. If you live in Iraq, they will come and destroy your country to procure the oil you're sitting on.

And the list of victimization goes on forever, from East Timor, to the Tar Sands of Alberta, Canada, to the Gulf Coast of America; from the brutality of the British, Spanish, Japanese, Russian, Chinese, & American empires, to the murderous history of religious fanaticism; from the Crusades, to witch burning in America, and the horrific radical muslim fundamentalism of the Taliban.

I believe, as Dan Quinn wrote in his best-selling novel, Ishmael, that some humans are takers, and some are leavers, and for the past 10,000 years or so, the takers have been winning big, but I think they are running out of time. The planet can't afford them anymore...

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Saturday, May 01, 2010

'MAYDAY! SOS! MAYDAY! SOS! MAYDAY! SOS!' I'm Trapped In A Psychotic/Psychopathic Civilization Of Serial Killers...

Click on photo to enlarge - photo credit unknown, image courtesy of Erv Nichols
Warning!
Rant Ahead!
~
"Take the rag away from your face, now is the time for your tears"
from 'The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll' © 1964 Bob Dylan
~
It's way past time we took the rags away from our eyes and looked directly into the horrific reality of our petroleum addiction.

Ours is an insidious addiction, mostly hidden from us beneath layers of lifelong denial, which enables us to mindlessly murder our mother, the living earth, with the sick vengeance of a deranged serial killer.
We talk a good line though, like so many addicts in denial do, claiming to care most deeply about our families and the environment, about freedom, democracy and the quality of life. But our actions speak much louder than our words, and those actions prove us to be hopelessly dependent upon the destructive extraction and consumption of the world's ever more scarce resources, a cultural co-dependency created over a dozen or so decades by mixing great quantities of oil with our short-sighted desire for comfort, convenience, self-gratification and security.
Our habitual dependency upon this ever more frenzied oil-driven civilization of reckless consumption has undermined democracy and freedom at home and around the world. It's destroying our environment and ruining the future, not only for our children, but for every species on earth. So we lie to ourselves when we say we care about these things above all, because it's obvious that what we really care about is stuff.
We want a continual fix of stuff; more, bigger, cheaper, labor-saving, convenient, stylish, sexy stuff!
Americans are fond of the term, "Put your money where your mouth is", and we do exactly that. Just look at the billions of dollars you and I have squandered on the destruction of Iraq in our country's futile attempt to monopolize their oil.
Our former president said, "the American way of life is not up for negotiation", and we've forcefully demonstrated that anyone who gets in our way is totally screwed.
As we display increasingly antisocial behavior in our relationships with the other people and species we share the planet with, we reveal that, in fact, we have become a psychotic/psychopathic civilization, a species of sociopathic ecocidal maniacs to put it bluntly.

Yes, I mean all of us! The symptoms of psychosis are clearly defined; a loss of contact with reality, grandiose delusional beliefs, paranoia, defensive aggression, thought disorders, hallucinations and antisocial behavior.

Our disease is systemic throughout society, a classic substance-induced psychosis resulting from our 150 year addiction to petroleum and its associated derivatives.

We can no longer imagine living without our daily fix of oil even though every shot we take further destroys the world which made our lives possible in the first place.

Through our addiction to this cheap abundant (although quite temporary) energy packed substance, we've fooled ourselves into believing we're super-beings, exempt from the laws of nature and the limits to growth. In other words we have lost contact with reality.
Under the influence of the happy-juice we call oil we've experienced a euphoric rush that has kept us obliviously stoned for a century and a half, which by comparison, leaves the high from any other addictive substance paling to utter insignificance.
The manic hyperactivity induced by that rush of oil into the arteries of our society allowed us, in very short order, to transform our primal insecurities, and our creative wet dreams, into a monstrous civilization whose monolithic edifices will stand for centuries as eroding monuments to the ostentatious arrogance of a narcissistic species gone mad with self-absorption, over-consumption, and obsessive compulsive disorders.
We have deluded ourselves into the grandiose belief that this pile-of-crap civilization we've plastered across the planet is a modern miracle, evidence of our manifest destiny as masters of the universe.
We Americans make up only about 4.5% of the world population yet we consume 25% of the world's resources. We are the world's number one trash producers, generating 40% of humanity's trash, and we're number two in climate altering CO2 emissions (just recently displaced from #1 by China), responsible for over 20% of global atmospheric accumulations.
We are---and have been for over a century---the development model for a civilization that has spawned the 6th greatest extinction episode in the 4.5 billion year history of earth and it is estimated that we are now losing around 200 species a day, or 70,000 species a year, through habitat loss and the pollution of ecosystems.
You and I are the ones responsible for this latest round of extinctions; for the climate change happening now; for the melting of the polar caps and glaciers; for the coming rise in sea levels, and the subsequent displacement and homelessness of billions of human beings.
We may also be primarily responsible for the very existence of those unsustainable billions of people because of increases in the world food supply created by our development of an international industrial/agribusiness model.
A model completely dependent upon the petrochemicals used for fertilizers, pesticides and herbicides, a model which also requires the production & maintenance of gargantuan fleets of farm equipment and transportation networks to produce those agricultural products and get them to markets around the globe.
All of this has unleashed global-wide opportunities of unprecedented magnitude for greedy profiteering by a select few at the expense of everyone and everything else. So, as a matter of course, the world economy is now managed by a gang of legalized thugs & racketeers, rivaled in greed and ruthlessness only by illegal drug cartels, fundamentalist religious fanatics, and an emerging flotilla of Somalian pirates.

~

"Steal a little and they throw you in jail, steal a lot and they make you king"
from Sweetheart Like You - © 1983 Bob Dylan
~
Capitalism is a Ponzi/Pyramid Scheme which robs the larger populace of the commons to benefit a handful of elites, where obscene profits perpetuate unlimited growth on a finite planet. One of the results has been the contemporary hallucination that our destruction of the planet somehow makes us wealthy.
The wealth of America is now nothing but an imaginary bubble kept aloft by the printing of money, which becomes ever more worthless by the moment. Before long that debt bubble is going to burst into flames like the Hindenburg Blimp, as we might gather from the precedents unfolding in Iceland, Greece, Portugal, and Spain (not to mention California---the 5th largest economy in the world---which is essentially bankrupt).
The perpetual wars we're now waging have deepened not only our national debt, but our national paranoia as well, resulting in over 6,700 military installations--- bases, warehouses, or support facilities in nearly 150 countries (under the guise of defending freedom & democracy)---all to enforce our world dominance and gain control of dwindling resources in the interest of "national security", or what I call our assumed national supremacy.
Meanwhile, here in the "land of the free, the home of the brave", we have the highest per-capita imprisonment rate in the world, 25% of the incarcerated human beings on planet earth are behind bars right here in the good ol' USA.
Is this the definition of Democracy and Freedom?
Is this what the Statue of Liberty stands for?
We all know better...
True freedom lies in the unspoiled bounty of nature where all species are created equal, where those who can't, or won't, adapt to the limits of their environment eventually perish.
We're so deep in denial of our collective addiction that we've kept shooting petroleum into the bloodstream of our lives without facing those limits until we have, quite suddenly, found ourselves up against a wall, with the limits of our ecosystems staring us in the face, point blank.
Perhaps this will wake us up, most addicts need to bottom out before they can face reality and attempt some sort of recovery, but sometimes it's too late for that, when the damage is beyond repair.
So, go ahead my fellow addicts...
Drill Baby Drill!
Buy Baby Buy!
Drive Baby Drive!
Kill Baby Kill!
...but beware, our chickens are coming home to roost.
~
My name is Jim, I'm in recovery from the Petroleum Age*
*Thank you, Chellis Glendinning, for the societal recovery concept.

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Sunday, January 31, 2010

Celebrating 13 Years Without A Car

Click on photo to enlarge - © 2005/2010 jim otterstrom
Today is the 13th Anniversary of our decision to live without a car.
Peggy and I truly love knowing that we can live quite comfortably without a gas-guzzling, CO2 belching, atmosphere destroying, infernal combustion death-trap parked in our (no longer existent) driveway.
We are proud that our decision means we haven't spewed approximately 163,000 pounds (or 81.5 tons) of carbon dioxide into our atmosphere during those 13 years.
It makes our hearts feel good that we actually enjoy life without an automobile as much or more than we did when we owned one.
It was another step toward freedom from servitude to the corporate state.
We don't buy their cars, we don't buy their gasoline, we don't buy their oil & tires, we don't buy their auto insurance, and we don't borrow their money for car loans.
But, for me, the most important aspect of all this, is that, in a couple of decades when our kids are facing the ever worsening consequences of this culture's destructive behavior, they will know that mom & pop gave enough of a damn about their future to at least make dramatic and constructive changes in our own lifestyles now.
We are leaving our descendents an unimaginable mess and future generations will not look back on us favorably.
The graph below, borrowed from Wikipedia, shows the rise in atmospheric CO2 concentrations over the past 50 years. I have slightly modified the chart by circling the maximum 300 to 350 ppm target we need to achieve if we are going to avert irreversible climate catastrophe (read a related up-to-date article here), and by placing a black X at the point where Peggy and I stopped owning cars.
As you can see we got rid of our climate killing vehicle a full decade after that 350 ppm target was exceeded, so---fully realizing by that point in time that we could no longer live at peace with ourselves if we didn't take personal responsibility for our own emissions---we took action.
We're trying to do our part and I'm renewing my pledge right now, to all the species of planet earth, that I will not own another fossil fuel powered vehicle during this lifetime.
On that note, Peggy and I will toast each other tonight with glasses of Pinot Noir over a spaghetti dinner by candlelight.



Click on graph to enlarge
The photo at the top of this post, of a 1940 Chevrolet Master Deluxe 4 Door Sport Sedan, was made on April 18, 2005, at Goffs, a historic railroad town on old Route 66 near Needles, California.
The town is being restored by the Mojave Desert Heritage And Cultural Association, of which Peggy's stepbrother, Phil, is Vice-President.
Peggy, her sister Penny, and I, were out there for the weekend as part a of a volunteer crew to do some weed abatement and other work.

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Monday, January 04, 2010

The Court Jester...

...overstepping the bounds
Click on photo to enlarge - © 2010 jim otterstrom
"His characteristic idiom suggests he is a 'natural' fool, not an artificial one, though his perceptiveness and wit show that he is far from being an idiot, however 'touched' he might be.
His folly could be regarded as the raving of a madman but was often deemed to be divinely inspired.
He holds up a mirror to make us aware of our times, mocking politicians and public figures of power and authority.
He served not simply to amuse but to criticize his masters, or mistresses, and their guests.
Jesters could also give bad news to the King that no one else would dare deliver."*
Perhaps this is my calling, Court Jester to the Evil Empire, but then again, there are so many of us...
...so many fools dancing to the tune of our masters while cautiously poking fun, as best we can, without provoking any fatal consequences.
Keep 'em laughing, keep 'em amused, but whatever you do, don't overstep the bounds...
Alas, when I get too near the edge, I can always change hats and revert to my cover as an artsy-craftsy garden gnome.
But not just yet, these are the cold dark days of winter and I'm still feeling a tad bit cranky...
;~o
(Stay tuned for 'Looking Back From The Future', Part 3)

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Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Looking Back From The Future, Part 2:

The Magic Bus Hobbles Along...Click on photo to enlarge © 1972-2009 jim otterstrom

...But The Emperor Has No Clothes.

Yep, that is definitely me---26 years old, stark naked, and in charge of an abandoned bus---while smoking a Camel, with the rest of the pack stuffed in a paper-bag turban on my head!

We are now over 37 years into the future from that moment, in October of 1972, when I made this rather amusing self-portrait.

Amusing to me now---from a decade into the succeeding century---not so much because I was still smoking cigarettes, or because I was starkers, but simply because a poorly executed photograph, recorded while spontaneously clowning around, with no forethought whatsoever, now seems almost prophetic.

I don't remember consciously trying to make a statement about peak oil or a post-petroleum world with this picture. I had merely discovered a derelict old bus at a remote burned-out homestead deep in the Santa Monica Mountains, which seemed like a perfect location for another of my irreverent photographic diatribes on the obvious (to me) consequences of our industrial civilization.

And, characteristically, I made those statements with a thumbing of my nose toward conformity, conventions, and the narrow-minded short-sightedness that I believed brought our culture to that point.

My photographs from the late-middle 20th Century often depicted blighted decaying urban or industrial locations, juxtaposed with naked humans, which I preferred to be women.

To my eyes, the lovely graceful female form lent more impact to the contrast I was attempting to illuminate between us---a single, vulnerable, mammalian species---and the ugly wreckage we were leaving in our wake as we subdued this magnificent planet.

Besides, I was a young male with a lot of lead in my pencil and the perpetuation of life on earth is all about biology, chemistry, pheremones and sexual attraction---just ask the birds, bees, and flowers---so naturally, I was quite taken with the anatomy of the opposite sex, but there wasn't a lady to be found when this picture was made, so you're stuck with me.

Where I lived, in the 1960s and early 1970s, young people spent a good deal of time naked together, outdoors, diving off rocks into secret swimming holes, or body-surfing, sunbathing, and playing volleyball at nude beach hideaways, until the gawkers, perverts, and cops discovered us.

We weren't preparing ourselves for careers, or advancement in the corporate world, we had temporarily escaped the nasty oppressiveness of materialism and competition, and were just living life to the fullest, while we could.

Change was coming though, Alvin Toffler's 'Future Shock' was written in that era, but most of us hadn't read it yet, because we liked it right where we were. Many of us had read Orwell though, and Huxley, so we had a pretty good idea of what was ahead for humanity if our civilization continued along the established path.

So, today, people of that age have their faces stuck to computer screens much of the time, fingers to the keyboard, and ears to the cell-phone, gaming, texting and tweeting in their cyberspace social networks, while constantly being electronically profiled, saturated with personalized corporate come-ons and media-hyped celebrity worship, as they're fed a steady stream of ads reeking with images of luxury, glamour, and "bling bling", that promise to make their lives more fulfilling.

All that's happening right here in the midst of a collapsing civilization now engaged in ceaseless wars over the earth's rapidly dwindling resources!


RETCH!!!


One might ask how I can be so pessimistic about our culture and yet so seemingly optimistic about life and nature?

Well, let's start with my negative outlook on our corporate owned military industrial civilization, because that perspective is the culmination of a 64 year self-guided contemporary history course.

~~~~~~

November 14th of 1945---exactly 100 days after my country dropped the world's first atomic bomb on Hiroshima, instantly incinerating 80,000 men, women, and children---I was yanked from my mother's anesthetized womb with a pair of forceps, slapped on the ass, and had a latex nipple shoved in my mouth so I could suckle a bottle of imitation breast milk until some Doc Frankenstein came along and chopped off my foreskin.

Welcome to Life, in modern America!

I got past that initial shock and started adapting to my new world, learning how to crawl, climb, and walk, in pretty short order, all of which were a big help in enabling my escape. My escape from the bars of the crib, from the playpen, from the four walls and the fenced yard. From the arguing, the bickering, the spankings, and the rules & regulations.

Fortunately for me, in 1949, when I was 4 years old, we moved from the city to the rural farming area of the West San Fernando Valley (now the porn capital of America), and my playtime quickly evolved into outside explorations of the natural world, away from people, in the company of frogs, tortoises, butterflies, birds, flowers, and creeks full of dragonflies & pollywogs.

I was in paradise, for a little while...

...but I was learning to read & write too.

All the while discovering that most activities involving other people were conducted on their terms. Someone puts a pencil in your right hand, saying, this is how it's done, so I would immediately put the pencil in my left hand, because I had my own ideas about things.

Like most kids of those days, I liked to draw, color, and paint the flowers, butterflies, bugs, and all the other magical things I saw in the natural world around me, I just did it left-handed.

Too soon, came the big yellow machines, grading, scraping, and compacting the earth, digging ditches, laying pipe, paving roads, and building houses; hundreds, and thousands, and then tens of thousands of houses. Little boxes all the same, laid out row after row, upon land I had previously shared with tumbleweeds and grazing sheep as I roamed the open prairies, the wheat fields, the vineyards, the orchards, and the rocky crags of the long lost San Fernando Valley I remember so fondly.

In fifteen years it was all gone, paved over with the destruction of progress.

By 1964, a place I loved had vanished into thin air and I was questioning everything people did, I was becoming a critic of my culture.

In school I was taught that this land of ours was once occupied by primitive savages who had to be moved out of the way to facilitate progress and development, and, by the time I was 8 or 9, I wanted to run off and live with those Indians.

Another thing I remember vividly from elementary school is seeing a cheery uplifting film, produced by a paper company, about how companies like theirs were responsibly managing America's forests, selectively cutting trees and carefully replanting, to preserve those forests in perpetuity for us, and all the wildlife which lived there. There was no mention of the clearcutting, the chemical pollutants, or the habitat and watershed destruction we would later associate with that industry.

I remember too being taught that our American democracy was a Beacon of Freedom for the rest of the world, and another specific 'educational film' still sticks in my mind, about our partnership with friendly brown neighbors to the south, in Central America, through which we exchanged their delicious tropical foods for our help in modernizing their countries.

But we didn't hear about Allen and John Foster Dulles, or the United Fruit Company (now Chiquita), or the fact that we were displacing entire populations of indigenous people from their homes and their land so a few businessmen could get rich supplying Americans with bananas, pineapple, and coffee.

And we were clueless too, about the Dulles brothers involvement in the 1953 CIA coup which overthrew Mohammed Mosaddeq, the Western friendly democratically elected Prime Minister of Iran, reinstating the Shah Of Iran, an authoritarian oil company friendly dictator, who would reign for the next 26 years, fueling the flames of the radical Islamic Revolution of 1979. That ill-conceived greed-motivated '53 coup was a mistake which would culminate in much of the terrorism we endure today, including the 9/11 destruction of the World Trade Center in 2001.

But something else was being drummed into my head at school---every month when the air-raid sirens went off, and we did our duck & cover drills, cowering under our desks---and that lesson was that the Russians were evil people who wanted to rule the world, and they were very likely going to send nuclear armed missiles to destroy our country.

We had to be prepared...

On several weekends my family actually went out window-shopping for bomb shelters. I clearly recall climbing down into those stuffy claustrophobic oversized tin cans and wondering how long I could stay in there before going crazy, or if the air filter would really keep out the radiation.

I was also taught, in Junior High School---when I was considered old enough to know about such things---that slavery was a tragic scar on American history which had been rectified by the Civil War. But I wasn't told, that, in the South, schools, restaurants, public transportation, restrooms and drinking fountains etc. etc. etc., were still segregated.

Nor was I taught---even though the Fifteenth Amendment to the Constitution had been ratified nearly a century earlier, in 1870, giving African Americans the equal right to vote---that the great majority of blacks were still excluded from voting by discriminatory State voting regulations.

None of this was in the textbooks of the 1950s, nor was it spoken of at home, and what little reporting there was on television, or in newspapers, was miniscule, biased, and trivialized.

There were no black people where I lived, in fact there were very few people who weren't as lily-white as me and my family. I had almost no multi-racial/multi-cultural experience until I was in my teens, except for one uncle who was married to a Native-American woman that actually breast-fed her babies right there in front of God and everybody else, including me. I was in awe of her!

Our 1950s world was portrayed to us on television screens, where we shared the life experiences of Lucy & Ricky, Timmy & Lassie, Ozzie & Harriet, Amos & Andy, and the Cleavers; June, Ward, Wally, 'The Beaver', and the neighborhood troublemaker, Eddie Haskell (Boy there's a double entendré innuendo for you, 'Beaver Cleaver').

These light-hearted situation comedies made us feel quite comfortable & cozy about our world of glamorous looking '56 Chevys & '57 Fords and our labor saving washers, dryers, and garbage disposals. It was all brought to us by the good folks from Kellogg (who nourished us with "wholesome" highly processed sugar-laden breakfast cereals), or General Electric (who urged us to "Live Better Electrically"), or DuPont ("Better Living Through Chemistry"), and many other fine upstanding companies.

It all looked so nice on the little black & white TV screen, while, behind the scenes, General Electric was contaminating our world with PCBs, DuPont was producing DDT (which very nearly sent Bald Eagles, Pelicans, and many other bird species to extinction), and Kellogg was morphing into part of the Frankenfood industry which today makes consumer products (I can't call it food) contaminated with GMOs, "not approved for human consumption".

Around that same time, our government was conducting experiments in biological warfare, and it was revealed---in the mainstream media many years afterwards---that my hometown, Reseda (once voted one of the 10 best places in America to raise a family), was among many other towns in the San Fernando Valley which were subjected to that experiment. We were unknowingly bombarded with mild cold or flu virus germs, released from airplanes, to test the effectiveness of spreading airborne viruses for military purposes.

I didn't know all of this at the time, but I was becoming aware enough of the real world around me to realize that much, if not most, of what was being spoonfed to me by my culture was a big stinking pile of pure unadulterated bullshit!

At this point, I not only questioned authority, I came to see our authority figures and experts as contemptible charlatans, nobody was speaking the truth!

Around 1955 or '56, we started hearing about some greasy rebellious singing hoodlum called, Elvis Presley, or 'Elvis the Pelvis' as he was known after his Milton Berle Show appearance. He was a big sensation, but not allowed to be viewed or listened to in our house, because he sang "jigaboo music" and gyrated his hips like a sex maniac!

I immediately sought out his records!

Another considerable influence on my own rapidly developing distrust and sense of rebellion was the reality of my parents divorcing when I was 12, and my diabetic father proceeding to drink himself to death by the time I was 15, in 1961.

He was 36 years old.

Then, just eight days after my 18th birthday, in 1963, President Kennedy was assassinated. Four and a half years later, Martin Luther King Jr. met the same fate, and two months after that, JFK's brother, Robert, was also killed.

By this point in time, me, and a sizable chunk of my generation had already turned on, tuned in, and dropped out!

When I made the photo above all of this ancient history was less than 10 years behind us, as fresh in my mind then as 9/11 is today.

Nixon was in the second term of his presidency, a few months away from being impeached over Watergate. He had just removed the dollar from the gold standard because America was too deep in debt from the Viet Nam War to be able to pay off our foreign obligations in gold.

The war was raging full-steam as draft-age American kids rioted in the streets, and four students at Kent State University had been gunned down by our own National Guard during an anti-war demonstration just a couple of years earlier, in May of 1970.

1970 was the same year America reached Peak Oil production (exactly on schedule with Marion King Hubbert's much ridiculed 1956 prediction), which received very little press in light of everything else that was going on in the country, I don't even remember hearing about it at the time.

Then, precisely one year after the above photograph was made, in October of 1973, the Arab members of OPEC, along with Egypt and Syria, began an oil embargo against the United States (related to American support of Israel), driving gasoline prices up something like 400% and creating fuel shortages, long lines, and gas rationing all across the country.

The embargo lasted 5 months and life in America would be changed forever...

"The 1973 oil price shock and the resulting 1973-74 stock market crash are said to be the first events since the Great Depression to have a persistant economic effect" (from Wikipedia).

Inflation (or stagflation---high prices and a stagnating economy), tied to rising energy costs, was the bane of the 1970s and early '80s.

That got people's attention, and cash-strapped Americans began buying inexpensive, fuel-efficient, foreign-built compact cars in large numbers, causing considerable consternation to the Big Three domestic automakers. GM, Ford, and Chrysler cried foul play and demanded government intervention which eventually resulted in import quotas on Japanese cars.

Buy American backlash gripped the country and budget-minded fuel-conserving owners of foreign cars (like me) were labled as traitors by some of our more over-zealous patriots.

The roots of road rage had been sewn...

It was also becoming quite obvious that American manufacturers couldn't compete with the cheap labor markets we had long exploited once these developing countries had their own modern industrial economies in place. So we began exporting our technology, and our jobs, leaving once thriving factories and towns to decay into the poverty-stricken rust-belt wastelands they are today.

One solution to the rising oil prices was the Trans-Alaska Pipeline, completed in 1977, 4 years after the Arab Oil Embargo. The pipeline, over the past 32 years, has conveyed a total of 16 billion barrels of oil from Prudhoe Bay to Valdez, Alaska, enough to supply America for about 26 months, and the Prudhoe Bay reserves are now in steep decline.

In 1989 the Exxon Valdez spilled 11 million gallons of that oil into Prince William Sound, killing between 250,000 and 500,000 seabirds, 1,000 Sea Otters, 300 Harbor Seals, 250 Bald Eagles, 22 Orcas, 12 river otters, and billions of salmon and herring eggs, not to mention the ruination of a pristine ecosystem.

Are Americans willing to accept that scale of environmental destruction for 26 months worth of oil (or maybe 52 months by the time the wells are dry)? Apparently so!

Over the past 37 years, since this picture was taken, we've endured no less than 6 recessions and a sober look into the causes reveals that oil prices played a central role in each of them.

Petroleum is the trump card upon which our entire economy is founded and the myriad of intertwined vested interests who speculate (gamble) in a stock market based on artificial currency can be brought down in minutes by any hint of instability.

And our economic house-of-cards is anything but stable...

Economic pressures, tied to energy prices and inflation, drove reactionary California voters, on June 6th, 1978, to pass Proposition 13 (the Jarvis Tax Amendment) which virtually destroyed the State's economy and infrastructure, including our school systems, police, and fire departments. California's education system went from being among the top 5 in the nation to among the bottom 10 in very short order. And the tax burden of my parents generation (who benefitted greatly from the property value gains they accrued during the inflationary years) was simply transferred, in multiples, to the shoulders of my generation who were also paying highly inflated interest on our mortgages.

In the early 1980s, during Ronald Reagan's deregulation years (America's most cherished president), we descended from the world's largest creditor nation to a debtor nation, and by 2006 we would be the world's largest debtor nation.

So the redistribution of wealth, from the working-class to the upper-class---once so skillfully manipulated by the robber-barons of the late 1800s & early 1900s---was reborn and supersized, as was the the political polarization between the rich and the poor, and between 'so-called' conservatives & liberals (so-called because the conservatives don't conserve & the liberals don't liberate).

In times of economic crises, when upward mobility is out of reach of the average person and resources are scarce and expensive, the ultra-rich and powerful quickly expand their holdings to become even more so. Today, as during the Great Depression, surviving companies are in a feeding-frenzy over the corpses of their former competitors, buying them up as fast as they can (often with taxpayer dollars).

Consequently, you might notice, the market for exotic super-high-dollar luxury cars is booming right now, while the rest of the industry is either bankrupt or teetering on the edge.

As of 2005, out of 30 industrialized countries studied, the U.S. had the 3rd highest inequality and poverty rate, with Mexico at number 2 and Turkey at number 1.

As billionaires increase in numbers, and corporations become bigger and more powerful, that power is used to exert more control over the governments of the world by demanding less regulatory oversight, which leads to more social and environmental irresponsibiliy, and less accountability.

Over these past 37 years we've also witnessed countless corporate caused disasters of unprecedented magnitude, such as industrial accidents, oil spills, toxic waste spills, and economic meltdowns.

Details of many of these tragedies are engraved in my memory and they're also readily accessible on the internet for anyone who cares to educate themselves about the hard realities of our civilization.

There's no need for me to repeat all the gruesome details here, but I will post links to a few of them in case someone is interested in a refresher course.

1978 The Italian Dioxin Crises (Roche)

1978 Love Canal (Hooker Chemical/Occidental Petroleum)

1978 AMOCO Cadiz Oil Spill (AMOCO)

1979 Three Mile Island (Metropolitan Edison-Babcock & Wilcox)

1984 Bhopal Disaster (Union Carbide)

1985 Savings & Loan Crisis (deregulation)

1986 Chernobyl (regulatory failure)

1986 BSE Crisis-Mad Cow Disease (regulatory failure)

1988 Piper Alpha Platform Explosion (Occidental Petroleum)

1989 Lincoln Savings Bankruptcy (Charles Keating/Keating 5)

1989 Junk Bond Scandal - (Michael Milken)

2000 Dot-Com Bubble (venture capital speculation)

2001 Enron Bankruptcy (Kenneth Lay - accounting fraud)

2008 The U.S. Housing Bubble & Subprime Mortgage Crisis (deregulation)

2009 Bernie Madoff Securities Fraud (regulatory failure)

2009 General Motors & Chrysler Bankruptcies ("The Great Recession")

OK, so those are just a sampling of the most memorable anthropogenic calamities of the past several decades, and they truly only hint at the destructive chaos reverberating exponentially throughout our economies, our ecosystems, and our civilization as a whole.

The cost of all this to our society in economic terms is staggering and our descendents will be paying for our stupidity for generations to come.

But the real tragedy is the destruction we're wreaking upon the living diversity of this planet. 20% of mammal species, and 25% of bird species are expected to be extinct before the end of the century. Many of the worlds fisheries have already crashed and many more are on the brink. Our air and water is polluted, even in the most remote parts of the world, and our climate is warming, melting the polar ice, and raising sea levels.

All of this is being hastened by a single species which has lost its bearings and no longer has the capability of living sustainably upon the planet it evolved from, and with.

It should be easy to hate such a selfish and destructive species, but I can only find empathy and compassion in my heart for my fellow humans.

I can see that, as a civilization, we are quite helpless at this point to reverse the momentum (or even slow it significantly) that is leading us toward collapse and die-off. A hundred years from now our population, as well as the plentiful bounty we inherited, will have been severely decimated.

I have instinctively felt this my entire adult life and nothing I've witnessed in 64 years has done anything but intensify that feeling.

Nevertheless, I can't live a life dominated by doom & gloom, people want to enjoy their lives, and I'm no exception.

Like everyone else I need to experience happiness and joy in my heart, to know beauty and love.

After a very difficult adolescence, trying to come to terms with the awful mess the world was in, I turned back to nature, to pollywogs, butterflies, and banana slugs, where I rediscovered the beauty I desperately needed to survive amidst the ugliness of my civilization.

Once I immersed myself in the natural beauty around me again, for the first time since childhood, I also began encountering thoughtful sensitive human beings, mostly through their writings or conservation work, kindred souls who share my love of the natural world and abhor its destruction.

Now, all those shining lights among my species are too numerous to list here, but I want to acknowledge the ones that stand out right this moment.

First and Foremost

~ Bob Dylan ~

Because the bard of my generation long ago refreshed my ability to listen and to think, and he still does!

And then there's

John Muir

John Lennon (Imagine)

Edward Abbey

Henry David Thoreau

Gandhi

Rachel Carson

Aldo Leopold

Dave Foreman

John Burroughs

Gary Paul Nabham

E. O. Wilson

William R. Catton

Charles Darwin

Arne Naess

Wendell Berry

Alexander Von Humboldt

David James Duncan

Charles Francis Saunders

Bill Devall

David Quammen

Stephanie Mills

George Sessions

David W. Orr

Paul Shepard

Barry Lopez

Richard Heinberg

Gary Snyder

Peter Matthiessen

John Michael Greer

Without these voices, and so very many others, my spirit would've perished many years ago and surely taken my body with it.

They helped restore my faith in humanity and expanded my capacity for love and compassion.

Wild Nature, and lover's of the wild & natural, are the most inspiring companions I've found during my continuing journey through parts of two centuries.

And my empathy for all concerned stems from the realization that we're all victims trapped in the same out of control vehicle.

A civilization is simply a vehicle created to get you from one place to another, from yesterday to tomorrow, so to speak. A few civilizations have traveled several millenium before running out of gas, and a few very old ones haven't perished yet.

Today's industrial civilization burst upon the scene barely 250 years ago, as we began taking advantage of the energy available in refined coal, one of our most abundant fossil fuels. But things didn't really get rolling for another century when Colonel Edwin Drake drilled the first oil well in the United States, in Titusville, Pennsylvania, in 1859, exactly 150 years ago.

I'm 64, and have witnessed unimaginable changes during my life, and I remember much of it as if it were yesterday. If you simply double my current lifespan, you get 128 years, add another 22 years and we're back to the dawn of the Petroleum Age.

Basically, the day before yesterday on the scale of human history, or a fraction of a second in geological time.

During that blink of an eye, by best estimates, we've used up about half the oil available to us, oil that was millions upon millions of years in the making, and the half we've used was the stuff that was easy to procure, thus cheap to produce.

Modern civilization is completely dependent upon the kind of growth enabled by that cheap abundant energy source, it's how Capitalism and the economic myth of unlimited growth came into dominance.

Planet Earth now harbors more than 6.5 billion souls whose survival requires the perpetuation of an obsolete system on the brink of collapse.

We are always led to believe, by those who make lofty political promises, by those who can afford to make glitzy media presentations, by those who want to sell us something, that our future is rosy if we'll just knuckle down long enough to get over the current hump.

Well, we're at the apex of a hump now alright, and ironically, it very much resembles the hump of that Arabian Dromedary Camel on the cigarette pack in my turban. Our hump is known in peak oil circles as the Hubbert's Peak Bell Curve, and we are about to slide down the slippery slope of its backside, and things don't look so rosy.

World oil production has recently peaked (see chart), 39 years after America reached peak oil production in 1970.

Our civilization, the vehicle we are currently traveling within, is steered by emperors who would have us believe that we ride a magic bus, exempt from the laws of nature or any limits to growth.

But the truth of the matter is, our magic bus is just a broken down heap, headed for the junkyard, and the emperor has no clothes once again.

Journal entry

December 15, 2009

© 2009 jim otterstrom

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