ISSUE 3, VOLUME I The Seed...Conflict. The Seed W ithout a word of a lie, I grew up in the shadow of a truly eccentric woman. Granny Adams was a capa-cious woman in every sense of

The Seed ISSUE 3, VOLUME I [email protected]

The Seed From Now until Then, 2006

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Mission Statement The Seed is a quarterly publication to be used as a forum for creative thought. The writings are meant to encourage dialogue and debate; con-sciousness over complacency.

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Movie Review: Darwin’s Nightmare by Jena Laske and Arancha Garcia Del Soto

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Short Story: The Granny Box by David Priol

4-5

Say Whaaat?!…: You're Fired by D.S. Yoxtheimer Cartoon: “Huggers” by Jon Jonik

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Book Review: Collapse by Jared Diamond, Reviewed by T.B. Robbins Painting: “All Hands on Deck” Haze McElhenny

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Poem: A Desperado’s Diary: From the Outlaw’s Prayer by John Dorsey Poem: Rolling Planet by Justin Anthony Gailit-Lutz

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Poem: Weston Brehm Poem: Under the Ghost Gums by David Priol

9 9

Poem: Don’t Talk to Me That Way by Mike Hammer The Dysfunctional States of America by John Cooper

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Word Up! Ecofeminism: Resisting Patriarchy’s Stranglehold by Jennifer Landis Poem: Love and Baby Blues by B. Anna Andreassen

10 11 11

Photograph: “The World at Hand” by Haze McElhenny Grooving to the Beat of Heart Based Intelligence by Paul Dooris

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Poem: Prescription by Jef Harvey Poem: Weapons of Mass Destruction by S.A. Griffin

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Short Story: Relatively Fated by Paul Dooris Poem: No Mercy by Scott Wannberg Art: “Project Vanity 2” by Haze McElhenny

14 15 15

The Evolutionary Force of Culture by Mary E. Kohler Cartoon: Jon Jonik Music Reviews

16-17 17

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Inside this issue:

Cover Art by: Matt Macill

We would like to acknowledge and thank the following individuals for their financial contributions towards this issue of The Seed:

Dr. Thomas E. Walker

Jonnee Kohler The Rizzos

Sandy Johnson

The Seed Page 3

W hat do you get when you dump a foreign species of fish into the largest lake in Africa? You get perch that

consume most native species and grow to nearly the size of men. What do you get when you bring foreign investors to capital-ize on the Nile perch flourishing in Tanza-nia’s Lake Victoria? You get Darwin’s Nightmare. Imagine a country of 35 million people, half of whom live on less than a dollar a day, where HIV/AIDS, tuberculosis and ma-laria are common diseases that kill, where life expectancy is 45 years, and where 10 percent of children die before they reach four years of age. Infuse a capitalistic model of development that has become de-pendent on low wage labor for its lifeblood. The resulting images are captured in direc-tor Hubert Sauper’s 2004 documentary. Darwin’s Nightmare brings new signifi-cance to the genre of horror film – that of horrifying reality. Vampirism, spectators learn, isn’t fiction. If vampirism seems too dramatic a description consider the words of a Russian pilot who transports the Nile perch filets to Europe. He says, “Africa brings life to Europe. Its [people are] a source of life, like food.” Tanzania, Sauper demonstrates, has been enslaved by the dark jaws and unquenchable thirst of capitalism. “Capital is dead labour which vampire-like, lives only by sucking living labour, and lives the more, the more labour it sucks.” Sauper brings this quote by Karl Marx to visual, gut-wrenching clarity. He does this by showing us the morbid lives of native fisherman who live scantily clad in shanty towns, street children fighting for fistfuls of rice, and women who sell them-selves to drunken pilots for $10 a night. Darwin’s Nightmare makes visible the violent realities of exploitation, inequality, injustice and hopelessness which often lie invisible in Western societies. Sauper zooms in and focuses close-up on the pim-

MOVIE REVIEW

By: Jena Laske, Arancha Garcia Del Soto

ples erupting on poverty’s ugly face. While two million white people eat Victorian perch everyday, two mil-lion black Tanzanians starve. While the World Bank funds foreign busi-nesses to open fish factories in the country, a famine rages throughout the land. Sauper consistently pre-sents viewers with these dualities, often juxtaposing contrasting images and ideas. For example, audiences learn that 500 tons of fish filets are cleanly packaged and flown to Europe to be consumed. And then they see what a few million Tanzani-ans are left to eat – rotting fish car-casses heaped onto the mud. Critics of Sauper’s documentary point out that he manipulates his au-dience with visual motifs, macabre lighting, and haunting monologues. Some expatriates who’ve lived in Mwanza, the city on the banks of Lake Victoria where the documen-tary was filmed, say they don’t even recognize the city as it’s represented. However, most friends and foes of the film agree that the realities of the lives portrayed are horrifying.

Beneath the waters of Lake Vic-toria the foreign perch have con-sumed in a very short time – to the point of extinction – native species

that have thrived for a very, very long time. This predatory con-sumption in the water mirrors what is happening on the surface of Tanzanian land. Capitalism has encroached on a country that existed for nearly two million years of human habitation without it. The dominant economic sys-tem that has evolved is insatiably hungry: it feeds on the native hu-man population and is affecting their ability to survive.

Africa brings life to Western-ized civilizations, but at what price? This is one of many valu-able questions Sauper asks us to answer.

*********************** The authors wish to acknowledge Program Curator Robert Cargni of International House, Philadel-phia for his contributions to this article. Dr. Arancha Garcia del Soto is Director of Refugee Initia-tives and Jena Laske is Programs Officer at the Solomon Asch Cen-ter for Study of Ethnopolitical Conflict.

The Seed

W ithout a word of a lie, I grew up in the shadow of a truly eccentric woman. Granny Adams was a capa-cious woman in every sense of the word. Sitting in her wing-backed chair, her body quivering with every jazzy ges-ture, she captivated me with tales of her bohemian life. My childhood was spent lurking the back alleys of Montmartre, the casinos of Cap d’Antibes, and the bazaars of Cairo and Alexandria. No sooner had I turned fourteen than Gran was introducing me to her lovers; tall mustachioed Hungarian Counts, dark-haired Corsican pirates and a litany of French artistes. A child of Sydney’s impenetrable inner-west, I would spend my free hours visiting her Victorian terrace in Bal-main. My parents never approved of our afternoon rendez-vous. Father had never forgiven Gran for her many youthful indiscretions. My father was the son of an expatriate painter who had made the Left Bank his home between the Great Wars. Seraphina Adams had been his model for a short time. Time enough to get pregnant, have a son, and dis-patch him post-haste to her sister in the Antipodes. Forty-five years passed before she saw her son again. The rav-ages of time and a destitute sixth husband conspired to bring Seraphina back to the place of her birth. While her re-entry into Sydney society went wholly unheralded, my fa-ther made up for this oversight in a thousand small ways. Pablo (aka Paul) Adams was a plumber by trade. A very good one. Over the course of twenty years, he made his fortune before eventually marrying in his forty-ninth year. Such behaviour would have been of little surprise to any bona fide psychologist, but quite amazed the locals, who were accustomed to their people marrying young. The kids at school were always impressed when I told them my grandfather had been commissioned to paint Gari-baldi’s portrait. In those days, Balmain was home to the Latin masses and this revelation made me very popular with the parents of my best friends. I was made an honor-ary Roman, and all the Mama Mias would pinch my rosy cheeks and say, ‘ah Giacomo, you too skinny boy. Come home and eat with us.’ Granny Adams would have been welcome in any of these happy households, but since returning from Europe, she had seemed content to keep her own counsel and rarely ventured from the old terrace. Apart from the delivery boys and the occasional tradesman, she rarely saw a soul apart from me. She remembered no one from her childhood and my mother remained in a permanent state of trepida-

tion at the mere mention of her name. My father would only visit her on Sunday mornings after Mass when, no doubt, the padre reminded him of his filial duty. I’m convinced there must have been some twisted connection between the two events, but my father would never speak to me about his mother. Once Gran had made noises about wanting a telephone, but nothing came of it. My father had a phone for his business and I’m sure he felt it unthinkable that they both should pos-sess the means for easy communication. They lived a street apart and I’m certain he felt this was where his family obligations ended. He had me, his son Jack in case of an emergency and I was happy to play my part in the family saga. Seraphina Adams had not returned from Paris empty-handed. With her traveled the treasures of a lifetime. The tiny terrace house was stuffed full with objets’ d’ art; clas-sical bronzes, art nouveau figurines, Sevres porcelain, trinkets from Limoges and the finest collection of paint-ings I’ve ever seen. The walls were covered with water-colours, etchings, and the most exquisite oil paintings. Picasso had painted Gran’s portrait in the 1930’s, but in all honesty, it looked more like her now. She was a cube; complete with big twinkling eyes and a fine collection of chins. Her face possessed the only round lines in her en-tire body—or so I thought. In the front room where she spent her days stood an immense credenza of white marble and burr walnut. It contained three doors, each with bevelled mirrors and gilt ormolu mountings. The eighteenth century cabinet had been salvaged from her second husband’s chateau in Lyon. The credenza had survived the marriage, but the gentleman had not. After the Second World War, there had been talk of the Viscount’s war time activities. Granny Adams grieved over him for a long time, but when I pressed the point, she refused to elaborate on the details of his premature death. Her only comment was that she had lost a caring lover. Such statements were quite common and gave me little insight into the man’s untimely demise. Upon this majestic piece of furniture (there was little else in the room apart from two chairs and a pier cabinet) rested a wooden box. Over the years, I’ve often won-dered how one should describe this item. Apart from say-ing, it is extraordinarily plain. Still, I would have never dared make such a comment while Gran was still alive. Now I know better. The box was of red walnut, its only decoration a brass cartouche complete with matching hinges and escutch-eon. It was rectangular and gauchely large. Exactly how old it was, Gran never said. The rich timber panels were highly polished. If the ceiling light had been adequate, I might have been able to see my reflection in it. The box was extremely heavy, but Gran warned me never to lift it. She said the ancient relic contained a great secret and until her dying day, she steadfastly refused to elaborate. ‘My handsome young man,’ she would say, (And I im-

(Continued on page 5)

A SHORT STORY BY DAVID PRIOL

THe grANny boX ©David Priol Australia

Page 4

Volume 1, Issue 3 Page 5

(Continued from page 4) modestly record her good taste here) ‘you will possess my treasures soon enough—so please humour an old lady her little mysteries.’ And so I did. I would spend my free afternoons listening to her stories and all the time I would look at the box in silent envious won-der. My Gran taught me about love, and art, and people, and history, and politics and my imagination grew and grew until I thought my head would burst with the wonder of it all. My Gran heard about my first kiss, my first fight and met my first lover. She did not approve at all. ‘Jack, you disap-point me,’ she said. ‘You should take an older woman. Some-one who can teach you how to love, with patience . . . with sensitivity. These young things know nothing and so you can give them nothing.’ She went on to ask me if I really loved this girl. When I finally admitted that I didn’t, she told me to seek someone more suitable. I protested that I was only fif-teen, but she merely scoffed, ‘that is a blessing. Make the most of it.’ This important lesson will be happily shared with my own son one day. With fear and trepidation, I introduced my fiancée to my family. Only Granny Adams approved. She took Gemma aside and whispered in her ear. Even though Gemma was blushing, they both laughed. My Gran gave me a wicked grin. Her whole face wobbled in amusement and I felt pleased with myself. The day of our wedding was the last time she ever left her little home. The long hot summer became too much for her. She told me she had been dreaming of the long evenings spent with her friends outside Parisienne cafes—where the light breezes once gave relief to her soul as much as her body. I suspected that her dreams had grown stale from the lack of telling them, as I was hardly ever around to hear them anymore. And, although I’d given her a phone, there were few people for her to call. My widowed father removed his phone on the very day he retired. So, Gran finally bought one and would speak to Gemma and Gemma would tell her about our children and how happy we were. I don’t think my Gran ever learnt how to talk to women. No matter how often they spoke to each other, almost nothing else was ever said. Gemma was the last to speak to Gran. After the funeral, and the probate and the weeks of paper-work, Gemma and I took possession of Gran’s house. I would have liked to live there, but it was too small for our needs so we decided to rent it out instead. Gemma was pleased when I said I didn’t want to part with any of Gran’s belongings. Over the years, they had come to mean so much to me that the thought of selling them was totally unacceptable. We spent months packing and unpacking all the items. Most of them were so fragile that we decided it was best to do all the work on our own. Everything except the Credenza. The removal-ists had to remove the front door and use three men to lift it into the van. Now it takes pride of place in our dining room. On the white marble top the red walnut box still sits. My children of-ten stare at it over dinner and ask me where it came from.

‘I don’t know,’ I tell them. I had gone through all my Grandmother’s things, but had never found a key, which would open the box. In my enthusiasm, I was almost tempted to break the lock open, but took it to a locksmith instead. In seconds he released the catch; the box so old that the brass es-cutcheon dropped out as he fiddled with the ancient lock. He swiveled the box around so I could open it. I’m sure he was as curious as me. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I’d been waiting for more than twenty years for this very day. We were stunned when I opened the lid to find noth-ing except a key inside. Two small hooks secured the ornate brass key. I thumbed around the base but there wasn’t any false bottom. There was nothing except that blasted key. I undid the clasps and stared at the key. The locksmith grinned. He took the key from my hand and closed the lid. The key locked the box shut. We looked at each other for a moment. I chuckled. ‘My old Gran was a wicked, wicked lady.’ The locksmith didn’t get the joke. Still, he had never known my Granny Adams.

************

THE SEED’S

RECOMMENDED READING LIST

1. Human Natures by Paul R. Ehrlich (2000) 2. A Natural History of the Senses by Diane

Ackerman (1990) 3. The Blank Slate: The Modern Denial Of

Human Nature by Steven Pinker (2002) 4. The Working Poor: Invisible In America by

David K. Shipler (2005) 5. The Careless Society: Community and Its

Counterfeits by John McKnight (1995) 6. No Logo by Naomi Klein (1999) 7. Deep Water: The Epic Struggle over Dams,

Displaced People, and the Environment by Jacques Leslie (2005)

8. Piercing the Fine Linen by Paul Dooris (2003) 9. The Blind Watchmaker by Richard Dawkins

(1987) 10. No Longer at Ease by Chinua Achebe (1960)

Say Whhaaat?!

You’re Fired! by D.S. Yoxtheimer

R ecently I’ve experienced what most Americans go through several times in their lives. I got fired. My supervisor put it euphe-mistically to me when he said “we’re going to part ways here” and followed with “we’ve been more then fair with you.” I saved my cursing and vengeful plotting for when I was far away from my work place, as I’ve gone through this scenario many times before. It’s something one doesn’t try to take personally even though it ranks somewhere between getting dumped and catching your significant other in bed with someone else. A lot of people get fired, especially if they are low level employees at a large company. My most recent situation found me working in the shipping department at a book distribution company for $7.15 an hour— usually 40 hours a week with some mandatory overtime. My job was simple. I got books from stacks in contain-ers with a bar code on the side and then scanned them. Once the order was entered into the com-puter it was ok to ship. I then shipped the books to libraries across North America so that chil-dren might read them in the hopes of becoming smart enough to avoid having to work my mis-erable soul-crushing job. It was indeed a simple job that involved standing for virtually 8, sometimes 10 hours, lifting and shipping heavy containers full of books. It was tiring, but it was a job so I kept working because there aren’t a lot of other op-tions. Like most small towns, especially ones that once depended on the manufacturing indus-try like my hometown of Williamsport, Penn-sylvania, jobs with adequate compensation and good benefits are few and far between. Most of this problem lies in outsourcing, which always goes back to America’s most en-dearing characteristic... greed. They don’t men-tion that one when the subject “why is the world so incensed with us?” is brought up. Instead, it’s always empty ramblings of “freedom” spouted by some windbag senator that’s been bought by a lobbyist from a chemical company (who are, by the way, putting biogenetically engineered frankenfood on our dinner tables). When are people going to get it...politicians don’t care about you! They listen to what you say and then retort back with empty rhetoric. A lot of people still walk away with some sense that they have a voice and are the employers of our politicians. If we employ our elected officials, then why do they seem to always do whatever they want? Why does the president fly on the safest jet in the world when everyone else is given a thor-ough background check before they board? We

Page 6 The Seed

have to hope that the financially strapped air-lines aren’t letting on the next wave of Al-Qaeda operatives plotting to forfeit everyone on board’s frequent flyer miles. So with our elected officials being a crime syndicate that exploits the little people like us, what is left to do but revolt? Voting has proved meaningless and you can’t reason with the people that do vote. The overworked and underpaid are too tired to organize demonstra-tions, and that’s the way the powers that be like it. With every major corporation, be they in the energy or pharmaceutical biz, having bought the two main political parties, what is some loser making $7.15 supposed to do? I’ve found we can’t do too terribly much because they always have you by the proverbial balls. For instance, in my recent dismissal, my boss let me go before lunch. He paid me for the rest of the day and had the audacity to tell me that I could use the rest of the afternoon to see about getting unemployment. I’m pretty sure he knew full well he was firing me just before I would become eligible for the unemployment benefits that I had been paying into for the past five months. Initially, the only reason I wasn’t too angry was because I had already grown accustomed to smoke being blown up my ass. After being told that I was a good employee and hearing no grievances from my co-workers (which is a rarity in my work experi-ence), what was I to think? It’s something I’m going to have a lot of time to ponder as I at-tempt to find a new job in an area full of em-ployers that typically hire friends or friends of friends no matter how incompetent they are. I’ve heard of this new justification that em-ployers are using to fire seasoned employees. With all the anti-smoking sentiment that’s spread across the country—banning it in bars and within most work places—some compa-nies have actually banned their employees from smoking, period. Scott’s MiracleGro in Ohio is one of these companies that has taken advantage of being one of the 21 states legally permitted to fire smokers. It’s not because the companies’ CEO James Hagedorn is con-cerned about his employees health; it’s just that the company pays 75 percent of their em-ployee’s health insurance. Perhaps one can side with the company on their non-smokers having to pay the same rates as the ones who continue to light up in spite of increased risks to their health. This is something that could be resolved without forcing people to stop doing something that their hooked on and that’s per-fectly legal to do. What’s next, coffee? Couldn’t employees with higher health risks

just pay more into their insurance? Or maybe the employee can seek an insurance plan out-side of the company? It’s certainly less drastic than firing these people for refusing to snuff out their last butt once and for all. This isn’t just about smoking; it’s about how much you have to go along with a com-pany’s draconian policies that in many cases invest as little as possible in you? If Brodart, the company I was recently fired from, told me I had to stop drinking booze and convert to Christianity in order to maintain my employ-ment, I would’ve lied and said that I did in order to keep my job. Why? Because I need money for booze and to donate to atheist causes. All kidding aside, I have in the past two months quit smoking and, as tested at the companies free health fair, my cholesterol and blood pressure were well within healthy levels. Knock on wood, I’ve never been ill to the point of needing hospitalization, so it was a good bet that what I was paying into the com-panies’ health plan would go to one of my many co-workers that smoked incessantly. Between outsourcing jobs to seek higher profits and creating unsafe work environ-ments, I think it’s absolutely repugnant how most companies in America treat their em-ployees. It’s disparaging to hear people who have worked for a company for over 30 years are still working towards poverty. With pen-sions disappearing and social security fading to make way for personal retirement accounts what does the future hold for the average worker? One thing is for certain, it’s time for the American people to start doing some firing of their own!

*******

Page 7 Volume 1, Issue 3

A debate between two camps continues to rage. One side thinks that the modern world is careening toward a non-sustainable future and impending doom. The other group thinks that environmentalists exag-gerate their claims about a coming ecologi-cal crash. As usual, the sides remain some-what unproductively polarized with neither giving an inch. This book's title exposes where Jared Diamond's sympathies stand, but he also takes some surprisingly neutral views. For one, he claims that some contempo-rary businesses have in fact successfully taken environmental concerns into consid-eration, and that these concerns have made them money and boosted their respect glob-ally. Diamond doesn't believe that big busi-ness and environmental groups necessarily remain indissoluble enemies. And he goes further by suggesting that environmentalists should unabashedly praise those companies that have succeeded in balancing econom-ics with ecology. Collapse, though admit-tedly more slanted towards the environ-mental side of the continuum, nonetheless tries to narrow the gap between the two aforementioned camps. Diamond takes the reader on a dizzying historical and global tour. The chapters weave in and out of modern, ancient, and medieval worlds. Along the way Diamond extrapolates which behaviors have threat-ened (or arguably are currently threatening) a significant inexorable decline in a particu-lar society's population. By juxtaposing past and present societies he hopes to reveal the similarities between societies that no longer exist and the trends of the world to-day. The book surreptitiously asks whether our current world is threatened by a global collapse. Diamond uses a "five-point framework" to analyze various societies. These com-prise certain behaviors and characteristics, namely, environmental damage, climate change, hostile neighbors, friendly trade partners, and a society's responses to its environmental problems. With these tools in hand, Diamond travels to Montana, Easter Island, the Pitcairn and Henderson Islands, the ancient and medieval Anasazi cultures in North America, the Maya, Norse Greenland, New Guinea, Tikopia, Toku-gawa-era Japan, Rwanda, Hispaniola, China, and Australia. Each of these socie-

ties, both past and present, receive analy-sis in terms of the five point framework. For example, the Greenland Norse col-lapsed, according to Diamond, due to all five factors. Whereas Easter Island col-lapsed only due to three. But Diamond also discusses past successes such as Tikopia and Tokugawa Japan. These two societies managed to control their re-sources and avoid the others' fate. And those fates included horrifying ends in wars, mass starvation, and sometimes cannibalism. The discussion of Norse Greenland receives three full length chapters (which at times seems a little too lengthy). Why? In a talk that Diamond gave for the Long Now Foundation in 2005 (downloadable from the Foundation's website), he claimed that he wanted to show that collapse doesn't only happen to non-Europeans. Some skeptics may claim that collapse only happens to so-called "primitives". But the Norse Greenlanders were medieval Europeans who desperately tried to hold on to their European Christian roots in Greenland, however, their demise happened some-time in the 15th century. The reasons why remain somewhat mysterious, though archeologists have found evi-dence of starvation and cannibalism at the long abandoned sites. By contrast, the Greenland Inuit long outlasted the Norse. Diamond thinks that societies also need to re-evaluate their values to sur-vive in different climates. In addition, when the elite begin isolating themselves that often spells trouble for a society. Diamond sees this happening in our world today (in "gated" communities and private funding for personal amenities) as well as evidence for all of the above

BOOK REVIEW

listed five points. He argues that our cur-rent course appears unsustainable unless we take action. In the end, he does leave room for hope (as indicated by the socie-ties that saved themselves). Diamond also addresses the refutations often leveled against the environmental side of the spectrum. One-liners such as "technology will save us" or "the environ-ment must be balanced against the econ-omy" receive their own refutations. Fi-nally, he presents arguments for his com-parative method of juxtaposing and ex-trapolating the problems of past societies onto our own. Diamond never argues that the con-temporary world will inevitably collapse. He does admit to seeing many danger signs. In the end, whether or not readers agree with Diamond's conclusions, the book does a good job of presenting col-lapse as at least one of the possible out-comes of a society's actions. Much of the modern world doesn't seem to accept or even to realize this possibility. At the very least, governments and citizens need to be aware that irresponsible actions could lead to a collapse of our civilization. Infi-nite technological progress and expansion isn't always a viable solution. Though this book could have included much more in-formation (along with analyses of many more now extinct societies), it provides a good foundation for thinking and debate on this increasingly important subject. And though it has its flaws Collapse nonetheless represents a book that envi-ronmental skeptics will have to contend with. T.B. Robbins—Minnesota www.getmilked.com

Jared Diamond. Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Survive. New York: Penguin Books, 2005. 592 p. $29.95

Page 8 The Seed

dear mother, may you hold these words close to your heart maybe your womb was a dream or perhaps the first martyred stone cast was a bullet who was revolution's mother? some say she was a pale rider given to prayer during child birth sweet babe cradled in a drifter's arms it's difficult to sing a river to sleep i know i've been bad taking drink in the presence of god my guns crying across the wind in protest last night the muse of pancho villa whispered for me to take her as a lover "a poem is a lullaby of profound hunger All the stars in the sky were once bullets you should know this" she said squeezing my palms with death's hands heart shaped resembling the scent of love some say a prayer is god's way of blessing the moonlight but every time she said "i love you" i remembered what you said right before i left home headed toward topeka quietly on the trail of hell "if you're going to shoot a man remember his song and bury him with it"

A DESPERADO’S DIARY: FROM THE OUTLAW’S

PRAYER by John Dorsey-Toledo, Ohio

Rolling Planet by Justin Anthony Gailit-Lutz (Pennsylvania) Disarm our cultures Spellbound hound Shred the social fabric to the wind While old men with pig hooves for fists Write sweaty, fat checks For business as usual As unusual as that may seem Time for a wake As late as it may seem Money's moral mission To bring joy to the hearts of millions Merchandise fills the void of human contact Objects, not subjects, roll the planet around As unusual as that may seem A value is placed on paper Monopoly breeds apathy Apathy breeds jealously Jealously breeds jealously Souls no longer glow from the tar of smoke and cuts of broken mirrors Roll this planet in reverse, start over; begin a new beginning of cultures As unusual as that may seem

Pain

ting

“All

Han

ds o

n D

eck”

cou

rtes

y of

: H

aze

McE

lhen

ny—

—B

ethl

ehem

, PA

Bravery In the Face By Gregory T. Burgess

joke goes America’s global

trucker has t’move or face death but twenty-four /seven wonna let him stop right

face defensive maneuver out the window freedom turd flies

lands on callateral car’s driver’s jutting jerking arm

in hospital explains t’ UNsurance adjuster biggest wad of mass de-struction I ebber seen spit out wife

corroborating and youns shoulda seen jaws

on the God so many brave t’insure

choice Stop N’ Go or put-whatever-else– here at life’s rear

end

Page 9 Volume 1, Issue 3

Are we of the same mother? Is there an end to the beginning? Are we there yet? Shift the page to a limit May we conceive a new angle on its tone If my wings wore legibility The third chapter would hang myth My words would grow spines Back bones of defense Shatter proof, affordable logic Action resistant chaos They would be property of the eyes, of the mind, of the over priced Overstating the for-told I witnessed my birth in 3-d palm readings I touched her in-tuned gypsy mind She touched and rolled stones with her aged fingers We then spoke of what I was to become and what was already becoming of me The fortunate fool had taken the stage She, assuming I was fearful of her reasons, feared what I was to find within her hands she revealed 11 curtains of mystery I further indulged into her process by masking myself with the ones who legitimately sacrifice their lively hood for the chance to hide from growth, they are the general public They, the blue colored tin men , we, the ones who march in key to the order of society We've been created in the image Therefore we are The ones whom I Am, as I am of you, and you are me They being us and us being we And our footsteps forever cursed the children to come forever there after As did their polite sentences and curious minds make our minds bleed into the mountain top springs The timeless assembly of dreamers bottled our dismay For we are not the seekers of life to say we are the creators of death Magnifying one another’s moments for our own pleasure, unlike thee eternal thirst........ Can you feel? Can you make one feel? Do I talk too much or is the problem that you do not like to hear others talk? Do I invade on the 5 other conversations you’re maintaining in your head with your self-righteous self and former selves? Did I get into your head? Was I listening? Was I listening?

—–By wesTon Brehm,

Williamsport, Pennsylvania

UNDER THE GHOST GUMS by David Priol (Australia)

There are deserts that drive the dead men down, where the mulga bush never sees the plough, and salt lake never sees the dance of dingoes in the noon day trance. A lick of rain to make the soul an ember while in chill of night the bones dismember day in, day out, drear cycles follow all the arid agony in Uluru’s stone hollow. I am the snake, the coloured stone don’t misunderstand or I’ll point the bone I am the emu, the roo, sad wombat too I am the rock from chasm to cave I am the lizard, the bird, which flew I am the peace, I can behave I am the tomb from sky to sand I am the heart of this great land. Where is the soul that lives in chains, where is the word of peace that feigns to bandy promises no written law will keep to visit our children and make them sleep on beds of silk, which hide the nails of satin breasts of milk that fails to give of life from the dark tree where once my father, hung quite free. Copyright ©1994 David Priol

Don't talk to me that way By Mike Hammer

North Olmsted, Ohio [email protected]

You love not I but another

Though I can hurt you

Ten times more Than he ever could

Break you Leave you

Naked Crying on the staircase Scattered into a million

Little...

For Christ's sake His entire

Hopeless love does not Equal the hate I feel

On the dried Flaky skin of another Night alone.

W hat do you call a government that, hearing the advice of knowl-edgeable experts warning of im-

pending disasters, still proceeds for years, for decades, without any meaningfully effective attempt to solve or avoid the problems? I call it a dysfunctional government. What do you call a people who, knowing that their government is failing them irrespon-sibly, ignoring their welfare and inviting disas-ter, kicks back and coasts on, trusting in the competence, benevolent concern and leader-ship of their elected officials? I call it a dys-functional populace. What do you call a country that combines both the elements above? Think now: In the real world, causes have effects; actions, even inactions, have consequences. The denial of the evidence of our senses, the evidence of our experts, the evidence of history lubricates our descent into a morass of unintended conse-quences. I call such a country the Dysfunc-tional States of America. For years experts have been predicting dis-aster along the Gulf Coast as development has been allowed and encouraged in the flood plains and lowlands of the southern US. We were told but we ignored the cautions. Our government, not just Bush's, all our govern-ments have, for decades, been warned but have failed adequately to prepare. Who has been minding this country's shop? And who has been minding the shopminders? Who? Natural disasters happen: again and again. As we ignore the consequences of previous disasters and situate ourselves in the line of action for the next, we fulfill one criterion of insanity: performing the same operation under the same circumstances repeatedly while ex-pecting a different result. If, perceiving the consequences of prior disasters, little or no attempt is made to miti-gate the utterly predictable consequences of each succeeding one, are we not fulfilling that same criterion? Where is our learning curve? Do we have a collective learning disorder, or maybe it's just cultural stupidity. It is as though together we, governments and people, have amnesia, diminished ability to learn from experience, or both. Earthquakes, forest fires, tsunamis, tropical cyclones, tor-nado outbreaks occur cyclically and predicta-bly, both temporally and spatially. Yet over and over again, we continue to return to, and position in, harm's way with at best only mini-mal attempts if any to avoid further repetitions of previously experienced disasters. As a people, we have mastered the princi-ples not only of quantum physics, electrody-

namics and mechanical motion but also sub-atomic- and atomic-structure and molecular behavior. Yet an understanding and acceptance of cause-and-effect seems utterly alien in the everyday lives of most of us at least with re-spect to the major issues that face this country: war; poverty; racial and social inequality; an economy that funnels wealth from the poor to the rich; an injustice system; broken healthcare. Einstein imagined that there were two things in the universe: the universe itself and human stu-pidity. And he wasn't sure about the universe. America, both governments and populace, are those very humans. America's love-affair with delusional politics and policies stems from something termed 'hope', which appears to be a glorified form of wish-fulfilling fantasy that excludes all trace of reason; that functions as a substitute for the ac-quisition of, and reliance on, experience or the use of logic. 'Hoping' that global warming is an error, we continue to pollute our atmosphere with heat-trapping products of combustion. 'Hoping' that earthquakes or eruptions will not occur, we build around faults and on volcanic flanks. 'Hope' seems to be the underlying moti-vator of some of the most irrational of this country's policies: the neglect of the conse-quences of actions or inactions, repeating the same unsuccessful operation over and over again, 'hoping' that the outcome will somehow differ. It's not just natural disasters. There are plenty of our own making. 'Hoping' that the economy will improve, we continue with poli-cies, strategies and economic initiatives that keep the poor increasingly poor, the rich in-creasingly wealthy. 'Hoping', seemingly without end, to control the behaviors of other countries and peoples, we employ direct force to further our ends: violence, injury, death and destruc-tion, instead of reason, logic and compassion. The fact that this never fails to fail is apparently irrelevant. America seems to need war as a dis-traction from our difficulties at home; if we cannot find an enemy, we'll make one, or sev-eral. 'Hoping' that war will somehow end war, we war at every opportunity. More hate, more wars of defense against hate, are reproducible effects of attempting unjustly to impose our will on others: a failed procedure repeatedly tried, unsuccessfully. As a mechanism for effective problem solution, 'hope' just doesn't cut it. 'Hope' is no substitute for innovative, effective action. If legitimate government derives from the consent of the governed, it is long past time to remove our consent from ineffective, self-serving, dysfunctional government. It is long

past time to demand that government function for the welfare and well-being of ALL the people, not just the richest few, not just the corporations. It is long past time to demand that government envision and plan for the long term, not just the next election cycle - based on reason, plausibly effective strategies and rational attempts to avoid undesirable conse-quences, not illusions, delusions and wish-fulfilling fantasies. It is long past time to insist that we, the public, wake up and pay attention to what is being said, done and not done in our names. We must begin to govern ourselves. Long past time. Can we do that? Will we? We must! (c) Copyright 2005 by AxisofLogic.com

Page 10 The Seed

The Dysfunctional States of America By John Cooper

• Bafflegab: (n) gobble-dygook

• Gobbledygook: (n) wordy and generally unintelligible jargon.

• Wimple: (n) a cloth covering worn over the head and around the neck and chin by nuns or women in the late medieval period.

• Ingress: (n) the act of entering or entrance.

• Palooka: (n) an inexpe-rienced boxer.

• Lout: (v) to bow in re-spect or to submit or yield.

• Looby: (n) an awk-ward or clumsy fellow.

• Coruscation: (n) a flash of wit

WORD UP !

Volume 1, Issue 3 Page 11

In many patriarchal cultures women and nature are viewed as commodities. Ironically, both women and the natural environment are not assigned a value for contributing to the overall wealth of soci-ety. Instead, both are exploited in a variety of ways. There is a clear connection, ecofeminists believe, between male domi-nation of women and the exploitation of the earth. Women till the soil, nurture and educate the young, care for the elderly. All of this work holds the social fabric together, yet in many cultures this work goes uncounted and unpaid. Women contribute hours of labor into a system for which they receive no monetary return, nor an equal portion of the wealth they help generate. Without women’s unpaid labor, govern-ments or social agencies would need to provide the same services - and pay for them. In fact, without this “invisible” la-bor provided by women, the economy would have difficulty creating growth. This discrimination occurs not only in un-derdeveloped nations, like Afghanistan, but in modern developed nations such as the Unites States. Most “sophisticated” states configure their economies in ways that neglect women’s work. The gross national product (GNP), a method of calculating a country’s output of goods and services, is usually regarded as a measurement of a country’s economic success. However, this measuring mecha-nism actually encourages social inequities. For example, a woman’s work is not “counted” unless she earns a wage. This means, in order to be valued, she must take on paid work outside the home in addition to retaining her responsibilities in the home. Traditional women’s work includes preparing meals, nurturing the sick and elderly, childrearing and agriculture. These tasks must be done. Yet, when done by women who are not paid for this work, they do not “count” towards a country’s economic verve. The most powerful coun-tries in the world measure success only in terms of dollars. Only things which have a monetary sum attached to them are deemed “valuable” using GNP methodol-ogy.

Ecofeminists assert that nature and women are subjugated by male dominated societies. Environmental destruction is en-couraged by patriarchal economic systems which view nature as a resource to be con-sumed for human use. The natural world is there for the taking. Those who dominate the body of the Earth, and the reproductive body of women, control their resources and retain power. Patriarchy places power relations of su-periority and inferiority as the highest value. Until women are given a voice in their re-spective country's economies they will not have an equal voice in their societies or their homes. Until man begins to care for Earth in a regenerative manner – instead of polluting it and stripping it bare of re-sources – women’s labor and their bodies will continue to be exploited. One way to combat economic oppression that practices unsustainable land use and inequality of the sexes is to concentrate power in the hands of communities to deal with their own resources. This can only be done effectively if women are granted own-ership or property rights of land and a right to earn an income. Women who are empow-ered economically are more likely to be-come involved in other social activities, like participating in elections or running for a local office. Additionally, when women contribute wages to the household, they have more potential to gain a voice at home within the familial structure. Cooperatives, which are worker owned enterprises, promote social and environ-mental sustainability. In recent years, co-ops have become very popular with fair-trade and organic markets. Cooperatives promote a spirit of interdependence, rather than dominance and competition. Local econo-mies can exist within the larger economic system in a way that promotes their own success as well as that of the plant. Co-ops create a stage for individuals to voice their needs and those of the planet while facilitat-ing social change and sustainable business practices necessary to our survival. It is necessary in the age of globalization to promote power at community levels. Ecofeminists believe that the success of movements to value women and develop-ment sustainable ecological practices will determine the fate of our planet. Until soci-

ety shifts to a more egalitarian relationship between the sexes and learns to exist with nature as opposed to dominating it, we will not achieve a sustainable soci-ety or the full potential of humanity.

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Ecofeminism: Resisting Patriarchy’s Stranglehold

By Jennifer Landis Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Photograph courtesy of: Haze McElhenny Bethlehem, PA

Love and baby blues from the fog and rain of the seasonal breakdown…

Our day is cloaked in a thick musky dusk

of fallen leaves curled tight and crisp disrobed from wet black trees –

to dress the yard in red…

Mums are splayed and bursting Still-burning, like fuchsian silk

a sip (a glance) is all I need as I pass from red to gold.

I wish to lie down

under the bare winter whips of the weeping willow.

To dream my own decomposition

The storms forced to dissipate Flesh and thought turn to mud My soul hibernates in marrow.

To gradually rise with the grasses in spring With bright buttons of flesh born from my bones.

With my sleeping soul’s dreams… tiny buds of latent memory

Reborn and unfettered.

B. Anna Andreassen-Williamsport, Pa.

It can be said that there are two forces direct-ing all people’s psyches: the ego-based intellect and the heart-based intelligence. The ego-intellect is the socially conditioned concept of who we are; it is our frame of reference and a useful tool for functioning in this world. The heart-intelligence is comprised of signals that coordinate the processes of the body and brain, encouraging greater complexity and awareness. If a child bonds healthily and heartfully with its mother and is provided with a safe environment for complete development, then the ego-intellect will naturally integrate into the service of the heart-intelligence. Together the heart and ego will coordinate to nurture the innate ten-dency within all beings to grow and evolve into their maximum potential. Unfortunately, this kind of integration between heart and intellect is rare, so as adults we must make effort to heal the schism. There are many important elements on our path toward healing, including meditative si-lence, community involvement, and self-reflection. Another important part of the our healing involves recognizing the natural drive to develop along objective stages that exist within us all regardless of species, race, and background. Biologically, neurologically, intel-lectually, and spiritually, all humans develop along patterns that are universal and cross-cultural. Another aspect of our healing involves un-derstanding those elements of our society and self that actually inhibit this innate tendency. There are two flawed ideologies currently oper-ating within our culture that threaten to destroy full developmental potential. I call the first flawed ideology ‘Social-Intellectualism’ (S.I.). This perspective assumes that intellect can ob-jectively comprehend everything relevant to the human condition, including meaning and pur-pose. All of this knowledge can be processed and expelled as scientific social policies for the purpose of engineering perceived advantageous outcomes for society and humanity. S.I. became increasingly popular during the scientific revo-lution when its miraculous contributions to the world, particularly in the field of medicine, were made obvious. Certainly the scientific revolution is to be hailed as a great advance-ment in human consciousness, however, when the tools of intellect become glorified into a worldview, many problems arise. Shortly after world war two, scientists and doctors insisted that goat’s milk would provide

more nutrients for infants than breast milk. What the social-intellectuals didn’t factor in was the overall purpose behind the heart-intelligence. Although the infants physiologi-cal needs were nourished by the formula, their deeper needs were being neglected—their tiny hearts were separated from their mother’s heartbeat. As I alluded to earlier, the heart’s very cells harmonize their vibration to signals of pure intelligence that coordinate optimal biological and neurological processes to main-tain homeostasis. This is not the only example of S.I. inad-vertently threatening to discourage human evolution. One need only look at genetic engi-neering and pharmacological behavior modifi-cation. There is a always a blind spot within all frameworks of knowledge, perhaps even more so in one that claims pure objectivity. The search for a master race of humans through genetic engineering is S.I’s ugly side. I suspect that someday we may choose to abort children based on a genetic readout of the fe-tus and its quantified future usefulness (or lack thereof) to the social organism. The other dangerous ideology present in our culture, I call ‘Relativistic-Fatalism’(R.F.). This ideology is often a natural reaction against the problems posed from S.I. Where S.I. assumes that all purpose and meaning can be objectively understood by the intellect, R.F. assumes that there is no such thing as objectiv-ity or purpose. R.F. asserts that there is no real objective standard of people, cultures, govern-ments, or opinions. To the relativistic fatalist all perspectives are equally true. Upon closer examination of this theory, a contradiction surfaces. If all perspectives are equally true, then so is the one that claims some perspectives to be truer than others. To the relativistic-fatalist, a human is only better than an influenza virus because the human is in the ethnocentric position to define them-selves as better. Likewise, murder is only mor-ally wrong because the majority of people de-fine it as such. Nazi Germany was inferior to the United States only because the United States defeated the Nazis in a war and were able to claim superiority. Palestinian suicide bombers are only terrorists because the more powerful Israelis (backed by the United States) define them as such. The real danger of R.F. is in its claim to be a ‘progressive’ movement, functioning on a higher level than the status quo. Although ob-jective ‘progress’ is a contradiction in terms of

R.F, many adherents to this ideology can become comfortable holding onto contradic-tions. After all, if objectivity itself does not exist, then why should one submit to the au-thority of logical reasoning? Adherents of R.F. tend to speak with passion and convic-tion in support of some hazy undefined ‘movement’ that does not require reason or justification. I recall how my own fascination with R.F. developed as I explored Mystical Christian-ity, Buddhism, Yogic traditions, and altered states of consciousness. Along with these areas of study I explored expressions found in beatnik and “hippy” literature that seemed to hint toward a higher experience of life. I also became intrigued by the tree-spiking philosophy of Earth First, the hierarchy-hating of the 60’s feminists, and anything else claiming to be a counter-cultural move-ment. I began to envision a great change on the rise. This movement would not be lead by the social-intellectuals; this movement would be paved by the freaks, fanatics and lunatics. Looking back, I recognize the blur I ex-perienced between genuine progress and pas-sionate indulgence, and I would like to clear up the confusion. There is in fact a spiraled ladder of consciousness that includes the highest dimensions consistent with the re-ports of mystics, poets, and prophets. These higher, transrational stages of development are often explained by social-intellectuals as madness. Conversely, the lower, pre-rational states of development are often mistaken by relativistic-fatalists as divine. Artaunt, the French playwright and poet once wrote, “a lunatic is a man who prefers to be socially understood as mad rather than forfeit a rather superior idea of human honor.” This is certainly significant but only partly true. There is the possibility, within at least a small percentage of lunatics, to de-grade any idea of honor or purpose into senselessness. In clinical terms, these rare individuals could be described as the “just plain loony.” In On the Road, Kerouac wrote about the “mad ones” who were “mad to live, mad to die, desirous of everything at the same time, who never yawn or say a commonplace thing but burn, burn, burn like giant roman candles exploding like fireworks across the sky.” He was right on—sort of. Divine madness is a wonderful blessing, but the alcohol-binge-

(Continued on page 13)

GROOVING TO THE BEAT OF HEART-BASED INTELLIGENCE by Paul Dooris——Williamsport, Pennsylvania

“If the Central Question is ‘Eternal Yes’ vs. ‘Eternal No,’ then we can reply with the certainty of a mathematician ‘Eternal Yes.’ Van Gogh’s Starry Night was true, not his suicide note” (Colin Wilson, 1956).

Page 12 The Seed

(Continued from page 12) induced madness that Kerouac described in Big Sur has little to do with divinity, honor, or pur-pose. Ken Wilber calls this common mistake ‘the Pre/Trans fallacy.’ This fallacy occurs because, from the standpoint of the rational ego, both pre-egoic and trans-egoic states of consciousness ap-pear the same. Don’t get me wrong. I commend these maver-icks of the mind for forging into unexplored terri-tory of the psyche, but lets learn from their mis-takes as well as their successes. Then maybe we can pioneer even further than our bleeding ulcers permit. Every moment of our lives we are confronted with the choice between ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ ‘life’ and ‘death.’ Still lurking within our culture’s belly, the viral forces of fatalistic death persistently tempt us toward glorified nay saying. The arrogance of S.I. mingled with the indulgence of R.F. solidifies the ego’s grip of self-importance. With rigor mortis we tightly embrace the ideologies of glorified, yet soulless pessimism. The flawed philosophies of S.I. and R.F. dominate our academic and social in-stitutions. Humans no longer submit to the will of God or any other power higher than their fleeting whims, and everything can be known through the eye of a microscope. Wisdom waits behind the doors of rational perception as our minds expand to touch these truths of consciousness, purpose and meaning. Certainty burns to the depths of our being as we realize, without doubt, that life and the fabric of existence are eternally rooted in wholehearted affirmation. Yet S.I. and R.F. both imply that we are mere complex animals motivated by basal survival re-flexes: “You and me baby ain’t nothin’ but mam-mals so let’s do it like they do it on the discovery channel.” It is in this brutal and indifferent world where destiny, morality, and responsibility hold no substance and where indulgence, destructive deconstruction, and even suicide are often hailed as honorable options. The portrayal of the modern tragedy is a seductive one, glorifying the passion-ate artist standing courageous within the midst of inevitable western decay. Recall the shadow side of the cultural revolu-tion of the 1960s. Hippies, feminists, black pan-thers, and other members of the ‘movement’ often confused and misplaced their pursuit of a creative evolution, and instead identified with lower pre-rational, often violent drives disguised as progres-sive politics. Modern American culture presents a great op-portunity for the divinely mad to play a creative role in defining new social policy that encourages the unity of heart and mind. There is also the dan-ger that this new movement will mistake lower, pre-rational impulses as progress. It wouldn’t be the first time. In this day and age, we can adminis-ter, with scientific precision, a paralyzing attack against the social fabric that would leave us each to freely decay into our own personal lord of the flies.

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Volume 1, Issue 3 Page 13

Let me keep my Restless Legs Syndrome Let me keep my Flaccid penis & my balding head Let me keep my Chemical imbalances & my Dark cloud of depression Don’t make me Like everybody else Don’t make me fit The mold I am oddly-shaped & I like it this way I don’t think of you as evil Necessarily Except for the bloodthirsty Capitalist heart That motivates your every action Where good deeds Are just good public relations Good for sales But let people get old Let them be uncomfortable Let their hair fall out It’s only natural

Prescription by Jef Harvey Palmer, Alaska

My main motivation In writing to you My main concern Is that when you prescribe against Discomfort When you prescribe against Depression Or what you call A.D.D. Or hyperactivity -- Or whatever you’re prescribing against this week -- You’re really prescribing against The Kerouacs of the future The Picassos of tomorrow You’re prescribing against Visionary artists & poets You’re always picking on the poor poets! You’re prescribing against Individuality Eccentricity & freakishness Give us back our freaks We need our freaks With their alien visions That illuminate In fresh & exciting ways This drab old tragic life

RELATIVELY FATED A short story by Paul Dooris

E verything is closing in. I’m just not keeping up. And even though I know that my life depends upon me dancing to the rapid-fire beat of the modern world, I can’t even find the motivation to buy a cell phone, or check my e-mail, or apply for a decent job. My current job does offer me health insurance and a 401K plan, but I have refused to enroll in either of these programs. Now I’m sick, but I won’t seek a doctor. I used to never get sick, but now my bouts with disease are nearly continual. I wonder whether this present illness will prove to be my final death march. What do I expect? For years I have chased some hazy poetic purpose while stretching my body’s resilience with alcohol indul-gence and all-night manic sprints. I’m desperate. I feel desperate. I have no money in my pocket and no money in the bank. Due to my destructive lifestyle, my wife has kicked me out. She tells me I could win her back if only I were to change my ways. “I’m not going to allow you to take me down too,” she says, and I see her point. It’s not that I’m lazy...just this morning I woke up early and trained myself, martial arts style, for two hours, then I meditated, and later I wrote ten pages of great poetry. Oh yeah, I also kicked the hackysac before going to the bars where I jammed with en-thusiasm till they kicked me out. Then I caught a ride to an after-hours party. I rocked hard until the last person left at 5:30AM. After-wards I walked four miles to my parent’s house, where I cooked breakfast--I’m talkin’ home fries and eggs--and then drove to my job that pays me peanuts--I’m talkin’ peanuts unsalted. I have no home. I have no phone. I have no life. My car is on the verge of collapse. This is who I am. This is my destiny to live and die for. I don’t know why. I no longer question why. We humans are a dying breed, but its still possible to embrace and evolve beyond humanity. Most people are not even human at all; they are animals plugged into computers that have cancerized their brains. Cell phones cause brain cancer; did you know that? But everybody needs a cell phone. They need to kill their humanity in order to live comfortably. There is a threshold of pain that few people can press beyond. But for those elite souls who can evolve a little bit more, and then a little bit more still, there awaits a reward that cannot be measured by comfort, wealth, or even happiness. That reward is genuine hu-manity. The more pain and shame that we can ingest without be-coming stuck, stunted, or defeated, the more human we become. I am penniless and my debts are closing in, and I see no ap-pealing prospects for which to save me from this pending doom. Tomorrow is my payday, which, after child support, will leave me with not enough money to pay my bills. It’s time to take this final step into my last days. Tomorrow I will take the few dollars that I possess and disappear forever from this world. I will not return to my job. I will not return to my home. I will not return to my family. These last days will be lived fully, moment-to-moment, until I die. Don’t call me...I’ll call you.

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Page 14 The Seed

Weapons of Mass Destruction she was studying Dante’s Inferno for her senior lit class we sat side by side in third period art “Why are liars in a lower level of hell than murderers?” impressed and curious that she would defer to me on something I hadn’t read I gave it a beat then surprised myself, “The truth is, that the murderer probably only kills one person. The liar can potentially kill millions, like Hitler.” satisfied she had her answer we shifted subjects and continued on with our drawing she was more beautiful than I could have known at the time Vietnam was waiting for me rents were cheap and inflation was just appearing upon the landscape of our yankee lexicon if we only knew S.A. Griffin, 2005 Los Angeles, California

Volume 1, Issue 3 Page 15

You got no mercy in your hair the way you shake it in traffic and cause all those blinded drivers to slam on their bewildered brakes the way your eyes invite one to suddenly snap in half with the thought of it all no mercy on a stick you buy it at the corner convenience no mercy on the tip of your tongue as the air forces of all the belligerent nations involved pile into each other during rush hour when the sky is full of ornery birds back talking each other in strident glee no mercy in the dark room where everyone gets exposed even the quiet ones sitting there by themselves in the oh just let them alone and they will let you live corner you know how it goes they say your name enough times and even you sooner or later begin to believe it is actually your own no mercy in the headlines grabbing you by the throat and the pupils all you wanted to do was digest your goddamn meal anyway but you had to go and open up the paper and the TV turned itself on and spat at you with bullshit and the pretty anchor people were all dead inside and all you could do was fall onto your knees right in front of it all and sing no mercy in the blood stream no mercy in the chorus line no mercy in the richter scale I just wanted to come and play in your sandbox of mercy I just wanted to climb into a comfortable bed alongside your wise sacred mercy no mercy in the playground of nameless children we are their fathers, we are their mothers, we go and rinse them out of our skin but the rinse cycle never ends no mercy in the toothpaste you scrub and brush and scrub and floss but your teeth are not elected your teeth don’t get the lead part they don’t even get a walk on I came here years ago for the mercy I’m sorry, all the mercy is gone

we ran out last night we have it on order how long will it take for my mercy to come in? Oh, well, the distributor is out of it they have it on back order no mercy school just opened the tuition nonexistent you just stand in the middle of the door and if someone is stupid enough to walk up to you and ask you to let them love you all you have to do is either kill them with a weapon or even worse kill them with your heart the one with the sad resume stuck in it soon the underpaid legals and the not paid at all illegals come and sweep up the mercy they put it in plastic bags they seal it so none escapes they mark it toxic this sad mercy and they bury it deep in the hallow ground you where the hallow ground lives the hallow ground has clean underwear on and can buy its way out of any trouble I don’t have any hallow ground to throw at you when I pick it up it burns my hands.

No Mercy by Scott Wannberg Los Angeles, California

“Project Vanity 2” courtesy of: Haze McElhenny Bethlehem, PA

The Evolutionary Force of Culture By Mary E. Kohler

“Natural selection leads to the adaptation of the human species to the present. It builds on the past; it knows nothing of the future. Of course, the opportunism of natural selection is its Achilles’ hell. The commonest end of an evolutionary line is extinction.” -Dobzhansky and Boesiger (1983)

Page 16 The Seed

E rnst Mayr wrote, “Behavior is perhaps the strongest selection pres-sure operating in the animal kingdom (1973:388).” If this is correct, then culture represents one of the strongest selection pressures facing humans at this time. Culture is something that most people don’t consciously think about on a day-to-day basis, however; it is a phenomenon that inundates every aspect of our life. From the mu-sic we listen to, religion we chose, schools we attend, clothes we wear, and generally how we perceive the world around us; culture is the basis for why we think the way we do, and how our life inevitably runs its course. It is such a powerful force, yet one that we are so immersed in, that it’s not surprising how this phenomenon is of-ten disregarded. However, the ac-knowledgement of what culture is and how it guides our behaviors and deci-sions are of paramount importance if societies ever expect to attain such ide-als as democracy, equality, and peace while avoiding environmental degrada-tion, wars, suffering, and ultimately, human extinction.

Culture is usually defined as a learned system of values, beliefs and attitudes that shape and influence per-ception and behavior. Some scientists have asserted that culture is a socially constructed system that exists inde-pendently of our biological makeup (Kroeber,1953.Morris, 1983). How-ever, many scholars now acknowledge that culture is both a social and bio-logical phenomenon. Humans have culture because of the evolution of the brain, and this is a genetic endowment. This is not to be confused with the no-tion that because culture has a genetic

origin that genes predetermine or dic-tate all cultural behaviors or ideas. Anthropologist David Rindos rein-forces this notion stating, “While ge-netic parameters no longer dictate the form of culture, they under-lie our ability to be cu l t u r a l an ima l s (1986).” In their book, Promethean Fire , Charles J. Lumsden and Edward O. Wilson argue that there is a “gene-culture transmission”, meaning that, although a wide variety of infor-mation can be learned, our biological properties make it more likely that cer-tain choices will be preferred over oth-ers (1983:57). The authors contend that the relationship between genes and culture are so interconnected that changes in one will inevitably cause changes in the other. In order to clarify this relationship, Lumsden and Wilson note:.... genes and culture are held together by an elastic but unbreakable leash. As culture surges forward by means of innovation and the introduc-tion of new ideas and artifacts from the outside, it is constrained and di-rected to some extent by the genes. At the same time, the pressure of cultural innovation affects the survival of the genes and ultimately alters the strength and torque of the genetic leash (1983:60). One reason that cul-ture evolved is that it allowed for more creative ways to attain resources from the environment and to survive in a variety of climates. How a society at-tains resources from the environment is part of the economics of that soci-ety. This is perhaps one of the most influential activities affecting and de-termining how a culture is shaped. A pertinent question is, what happens

when the economic activities associated with a culture adversely affect the environ-ment and sustainability of not just human-kind but other species? This is precisely

what capitalism does as it globally permeates diverse cultures and environments. The core mechanisms be-hind capitalism are compe-tition and self-interest; from a biological view-point one could say these qualities have been present in most organisms as they

struggle to attain limited resources. Perhaps capitalism is a social construction born partly out of a biological drive for survival. Self-taught economist, Henry George rec-ognized this when he wrote: …And so, if we reduce to their lowest terms all the complex operations of modern production, we see that each individual who takes part in this infinitely subdivided and intricate network of production and exchange is really doing what the primeval man did when he climbed the tree for fruit or followed the receding tide for shellfish—endeavoring to obtain from nature by the exertion of his powers the satisfaction of his desires. (George, 1879:7) One of capitalism’s weaknesses is that the actions associated with it lack foresight. The future effects of development, pollution, consumerism, and so on are rarely considered in the decision-making processes.

Although the traditional idea of natu-ral selection focuses on the selection pres-sures that fit organisms into their environ-ment, many scholars overlook how organ-isms themselves affect the environment, and therefore affect the natural selection process. Organisms, through their activities and choices can inadvertently destroy their own environment. (The beaver, for exam-ple, developed the behavioral trait of build-ing dams, yet doesn’t consciously think of

(Continued on page 17)

“While behaviors associated with

Capitalism may have been useful in

the past, these behaviors must be

reevaluated to ensure the future

sustainability of resources for the

world’s populations …”

Volume 1, Issue 3 Page 17

(Continued from page 16) the effects he is having on the surrounding environment.) Thomas C. Schelling in his analysis, Micromotives and Macrobehavior, expounds on this by stating, “How well each does for himself in adapting to his social en-vironment is not the same thing as how satis-factory a social environment they collec-tively create for themselves.” (1978) He is referring to the often non-optimal market solutions that arise from individuals making decisions in their own self-interests. This is contrary to how many economists view the notion of Adam Smith’s “invisible hand” guiding people to naturally produce efficient solutions. In fact, it’s not the “invisible hand” that guides people, for as Schelling states, “It is that people are impinging on other people and adapting to other people. What people do affects what other people do.” (1978)

Capitalism pervades every aspect of cul-ture in countries that have adopted this eco-nomic system and has greatly affected socie-ties that have not adopted it. While behav-iors associated with Capitalism may have been useful in the past, these behaviors must be reevaluated to ensure the future sustain-ability of resources for the world’s popula-tions as well as the protection of plant and animal diversity. Furthermore, as the natural environment continues to shrink from over-use and resources become scarce; poverty, drought, and other catastrophes are inevita-ble. We must take heed that there are charac-teristics of our culture that could lead to our own extinction. We must recognize that our efforts of conquering nature will carry a high price. Herbert Marcuse eloquently mirrors these thoughts, stating “The entire realm of competitive performances and standardized fun, all the symbols of status, prestige, power, of advertised virility and charm, of commercial beauty---this entire realm kills in its citizens the very disposition, the or-gans, for the alternative: freedom without exploitation.”

******** Works Cited

George, H. 1879. Progress and Poverty. New York: Courier Printing Company.

Kroeber, A.L., Kluckhohn, Clyde. 1952.

“It is not the strong-est of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change” ~Charles Darwin

“Culture: A Critical Review of Con-cepts and Definitions.” Cambridge, MA: Papers of the Peabody Museum of American Archaeology and Ethnol-ogy No. 47. Lumsden, C.J. and Edward O. Wil-son. 1983. Promethean Fire. Cam-bridge: Harvard University Press. Mayr, E. 1973. Populations, species, and evolution. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

Morris, R. 1983. Evolution and Hu-man Nature. New York: Putnam.

Rindos, D. 1986. “The Evolution of the Capacity for Culture: Sociobiol-ogy, Structuralism, and Cultural Se-lectionism.” Current Anthropology 27:4. Schelling, T. C. 1978. Micromo-tives and Macrobehavior. New York: W.W. Norton & Company.

I have had minimal exposure to Rilo Kiley at the moment. Only having listened to only "Portions For Foxes" and "The Execution Of All Things," I approached Jenny Lewis and her first solo album, Rabbit Fur Coat, not sure what to expect. I'm still not sure what to expect. I can see how some people may be able to praise Lewis for her rich storytelling and powerful country gospel sound, but it is difficult for me to judge a genre that I have little ap-preciation for without being negatively biased. Honestly, none of the songs were able to hit home. Admittedly, the album is pretty. The lyrics are compelling. The pro-duction is subtle. This album, how-ever, does not provide an edginess to capture the audience or a glossed pro-duction for the listener to enjoy. Despite her country charm and raw storytelling, "Rabbit Fur Coat" never manages to capture with its bare na-ture. "The Big Guns" is useless and lackluster. The twang of "Happy" does not save the song from it's miserable performance. If you want to forgo an-esthetics in a surgery, this song is per-fect to put you to sleep. There, however, were some enjoy-able songs on the album mostly for their upbeat nature. With the help of Ben Gibbard of Death Cab for Cutie &Bright Eyes, and Conor Oberst, Lewis enthusiastically tackles the cover "Handle With Care." "The Charging Sky" complements Lewis with its God-fearing lyrics and catchy country rock stance. The song, "Melt Your Heart," highlights the mournful

T o give it to you straight, I've been hav-ing a problem with some of the gunk that passes for music these days. I've been glum. Maybe it's the cynicism I'm hearing from people barely out their teens, but maybe it's crummy songwriting skills too. Whether it's My Morning Jacket's "critically acclaimed" album Z or just about anything else purport-ing to be "new" or "groundbreaking," I'm just a little bored over whatever it is that's supposed to be coming across to me. Most of it's blurry, and barely literate lyrics lie like cowering hamsters beneath avalanches of so many sound effects that the songs might as well not have words anyway, and worse, the musicianship is almost always questionable. Listen: This isn't a problem that comes with maturity. But here I am, speeding down the Mans-field Highway, the one here in Texas hill country, the one named after the legendary Jane Mansfield, heading for a Halloween hootenanny near Stephenville, and my buddy and I are reaching for the volume switch--repeatedly--turning up The Like. For crusty semi-retreads like us, people who've already heard almost all there is to hear, to the point that the homeless guy who goes out and bangs on the dumpster by the apartment window is starting to sound like Ginger Baker, at this point, in this car, my buddy and I are hearing refreshing things from a trio of high school girls. Totally, the music of The Like honestly and unaffectedly captures the lush puerility of early adulthood, and though that's a little jarring at first, especially to a guy who is freakin' old, The Like, more than any group

(Continued on page 19)

Music Review

Group: Jenny Lewis with the Watson Twins LP: Rabbit Fur Coat Team Love Records, 2006

voice of Lewis in a mesmerizing bal-lad. As for the addition of The Watson Twins, the identical sisters who lend their Southern gospel vocals to many of the songs, are a fantastic addition to the album. Their rich vocals make the album incredibly lush wherever they appear, especially in the opening track of "Run Devil Run." The vocals of the twins are, how-ever, not enough to save Jenny Lewis from a country, folk album that I found to be simply mediocre. The evocative lyrics do not make up for a production plagued with lack of oomph and too much departure from her band's history of hooks and com-plex instruments. Go buy the new Roseanne Cash instead.

***************

Alexander Weaver Newport News, Virginia

Group: The Like LP: Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Geffen Records, 2005

Page 18 The Seed

(Continued from page 18) I've heard in years, rates high on my vaunted "chill factor" rating system. If a song gives you chills, the musicians are communicating beyond mere artiness. And this collection is jamming with chilly stuff. I won't compare The Like to The Sun-days--or to anybody else. But I would like to see these chicks live someday, because if they can repeat what they're doing on this album in a setting full of shuffling shoe-gazers and wheezing drunks, then I'll be on board with The Like for a long time to come. Good job, girls. By the way, there are songs on this al-bum. Songs. The musicianship on the songs is often rich, many layered and almost or-ganically electric in a way that conveys, well, songs. Nobody's trying to prove any-thing either. The harmonies are like crystal roses. I am over the age of 13, but you know what? I almost don't feel like it. Gordon Hilgers Dallas, Texas

Music Review

Page 19 Volume 1, Issue 3

Group: My Second Surprise LP: Avoidance as a way of life StagFrenzy Recordings, 2005

A few months ago I was feeling a little bored with the musical selection that was being offered to me via the American music scene. I wanted something new to my ears so I ordered an album from Israel thinking that it would be different and would expand not only my musical horizons but also my cultural horizons. Needless to say, my naivety got the best of me. I popped the CD into my stereo only to discover a band that sounds similar to many other British and American bands! So much for musical/cultural diversity! The album, “Avoidance as a Way of Life” by the band My Second Sur-prise is filled with bittersweet and haunting compositions that simultane-ously give you a heartache and a crav-ing to hear more. Ayal Nistor ‘s voice is dreamy, sometimes sounding like a cross between Tom Waits and Leo-nard Cohen. The first song is a (somewhat misleading) surf rock riff

that lasts for about forty-eight seconds and then your sucked into songs that rely on acoustic guitars, a cello, piano, vari-ous percussion, and some brass instru-ments. What really strikes me about this music is that the production makes it seem as though the instruments are used minimally to enhance the voices and lyr-ics. This gives it an added boost of pure sincerity. I should note here that this al-bum was recorded in a one-bedroom basement flat that the band rented and turned into a studio. Although I was a bit “surprised” when I first listened to this album, I was-n’t disappointed. I highly recommend it to saps like me who like to listen to groups like Mazzy Star and Portishead. Note: The band has recently won “Best Video” of the year at the Israel Music Channel awards for the single “Perfect Cure”. Alison Mitchel Rehoboth Beach, Delaware

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