The Dystopian Age

I watched the entire one hour and sixteen minute Donald Trump speech. I took some notes.I am now blasting Rage Against The Machine. It is 11:06 and my mind and heart are not right.


“Yeah I'm rollin' down Rodeo wit a shotgun
These people ain't seen a brown skin man
Since their grandparents bought one.”


“We hungry but them belly full
The structure is set ya neva change it with a ballot pull.”

…

We have entered the dystopian age.

George Orwell was right and the word Truth no longer has any meaning. We have entered the age where anyone can say anything over and over, only to punctuate the lies with “believe me” and the masses chant and cheer. I cannot think of a political system on the planet that is more dysfunctional, broken or dangerous then the rise of contemporary American Fascism.


The two party corporate system has not only destroyed the voice of the people, but has moved the political system further and further to the right. So that we are now looking at the biggest liar, cheat and bully who is acting like the victim and pretending that he loves the working class, minorities and the LGBTQ communities, all while pushing a platform that targets every one of these communities. Up is down. Lies are truth.


We have entered the dystopian age.


“No one knows the system better than me. That is why I alone can fix it.”


“Believe me. Believe me.”


“WE ARE GOING TO WIN. WE ARE GOING TO WIN FAST!”


“WE DON’T WANT THEM IN OUR COUNTRY.”


“I’ve made billions of dollars and I will make our country rich again.”


“Trillions of dollars will come flowing into our country. We will create millions of jobs.”


“We will completely rebuild our depleted military.”


“I AM YOUR VOICE!”


“Believe me. Believe me.”


“I will be your champion.”


“I’m with you. I will fight for you and I will win for you.”


OMG. OMG. OMFG.


Fuck. He is good. A perfect actor. A perfect candidate. He is a monster. This is not a nightmare. This is not a nightmare. This is not a nightmare. He is good. A perfect actor. A perfect candidate.


We are doomed.


First I almost started crying.
Then I almost threw up. I cannot bare much more of this.
Then I wanted to grab a baseball bat, crank Rage Against the Machine and destroy everything in sight.


Has anyone checked to see if Donald Trump has plagiarised any Hitler speeches? This seems oddly familiar.


We are disgusting and shallow and petty and ugly. There is nothing beautiful or complex about us. We are grotesque and hideous and everyone in the world is repulsed by everything we do. We are not the best or blessed or ever taken seriously. We are the lowest common denominator, but we think we are the golden ticket. We could be the most unintelligent generation of Americans in the history of this country.


truMP. truMP. trUMP. trUMP. TRUMP. TRUMP. TRUMP!


Hey America, quick note, the world doesn’t care that much about us. Tone it down a notch.


Can someone please promise me that after November 9th we will never see Donald Trump again? Like ever.


…




The hope is in the future. Here is a comment from a Daniel a former student of mine I taught him in grade 8 years ago and this is what he has to say,


“As our country, and directly - our world, becomes more globalized, there is no more room for radical opinions. That's not to say their views aren't important - or even relevant. Just that they're dated, and detrimental to society's progress into a globalized network.”


Maybe the work we do as teacher matters.


Ya standin' in line
Believin' the lies
Ya bowin' down to the flag
Ya gotta bullet in ya head


Ya standin' in line
Believin' the lies
Ya bowin' down to the flag
Ya gotta bullet in ya head


A bullet in ya head
A bullet in ya head
A bullet in ya head
A bullet in ya head
A bullet in ya head
A bullet in ya head
A bullet in ya head
A bullet in ya head
A bullet in ya head!
A bullet in ya head!
A bullet in ya head!
A bullet in ya head!
A bullet in ya head!
A bullet in ya head!
A bullet in ya head!


…


The tears are forthcoming.

Duality In Your Mind

Alright! Let’s write this thing. I have been stalling for a while because I don’t know where to start and I am uncertain of my energy reserves. The cup runneth over with ideas, but the eyes are blurry, the tendons are sore and tomorrow is Friday in early June and many of you know exactly what that means.


Reports are done. Grades are in.


Well very close- some proofreading and a few outlier grades to adjust, but the hard push is done and the weight has been lifted. To my colleagues still in the trenches, stay strong. You will survive.


I think this post will be a series of random thoughts and questions:


Prophets of Rage- A “super group” made up by the members of Rage Against The Machine, Chuck D and Be Real from Cypress Hill. Prophets Of Rage combines the sonic firepower of Rage Against The Machine, Public Enemy and Cypress Hill. Their tag line,


“We can no longer stand on the sidelines of history. Dangerous times demand dangerous songs.It's time to take the power back.”


Super rad idea? These guys plan a tour that will donate money to homeless shelters and they plan to subvert the RNC convention in Cleveland. Or are they just a bunch of old dudes going through the motion?


Where is the music of the younger generation that is fighting back against…..anything these days? Do I sound like an old fogey? When I was young we had music that seemed to be saying something about some things. Where did that go?


Gonna put Brock and Hillary on hold for a few days and let the thoughts digest. Jordan mentioned today that, “[She] holds much duality in [her] mind and heart right now; no, a multiplicity of feelings and beliefs and desires and attitudes, and [she] appreciates those people who can and have held more than one idea to be true and possible, joyful and painful, at the same time.”


To which I responded, “I think holding duality in your mind and heart can feel so heavy and difficult and confusing, but it is so important to your personal and our societal growth. It is in these moments of reflection and thought that we build empathy and love and understanding.”


So I am in the midst of juggling opposing views that I find truthful. It is a difficult process, no doubt, but one I hope my life has prepared me for. There are no easy answers to complex problems and broken systems, so it would do us all some good to stop and simply think sometimes. That is where I am right now.


Mairin was researching one of the neighborhoods where will be staying for a week this summer in Bend, Oregon. So prepare yourselves for photos of micro-brews and vegan Mexican food. Tempeh and tofu tacos? Yes please. Apparently we are located near a river, micro-breweries and several fine cheap eateries, with nothing to do but eat, drink and play in the river. My anticipation for our time in America is nearly impossible to hold in.


I think that’s it. I got a book to finish and a weekend to get ready for. Here’s hoping that my wrist is better by tomorrow for the end of the year frisbee golf tournament. Before that the grade 8 Art’s festival and two grade 7 English classes. Fridays have not been my friend this year.

Everything is Fiction

My night after I got home and put the kids to bed and did some prep work for my classes tomorrow, included a healthy dose of self-induced rage absorption as I followed a twitter link to an ignorant racist clip of Bill O’reilly spouting off about how black people are too stupid, crude and entitled to ever be successful in the American Capitalism model. It actually raised my anger threshold to “white-knuckle,” and subsequently put me in a pretty toxic mood. Which was ironic since I had a pretty great day at school working with students learning to read non-fiction about topics as diverse as the creation of the universe, Columbine, the possibility of life on other planets, the effects of eating meat, and the Salem witch trials as an example of how society treats women it doesn’t know what to do with.

Did I mention I teach grade 8?

I grabbed a glass of wine and watched an episode of Full Frontal with Samantha Bee to help alleviate my fury. And now here I am. Sufjan again. This time Wednesday night. The days are a blur again as I plan and teach and meet and think and write and rest and speak and watch and give and take and carry on and on.

The cool part, or the weird part or the irony or whatever you want to call it, is that my classroom during the time I actually teach kids is the place and time that I am the least tired, the most focused and the most present. The blur happens outside and around those times. The planning meetings, the lunch time breaks, the after school chores, the taxi rides home- this is what adds up to make the blur. But the core. The center holds.

…


the things you love are contagious:
tend them with care,
prepare them for others.
the more you give away
the more you’ll grow.

…

Remembering the days in Central Park. Sundays with the hats and the sunglasses. Bottles of wine and hungover snacks. Anja would bring her chihuahua and Ari the frisbee. I laid in the sun with my shirt off, mildly aware that I might be deemed too skinny, but my skin was tan and I had forceful eyes and that had always been enough. The people of the city sprawled on the great lawns, reminiscing about the previous night’s adventures in the alleyways and bridges. Teachers, actors, designers, waiters and financial planners- all we had in common was the privilege of wasting a day in reverie.

…

everything is fiction
and you’d do well
to believe every word of it.

Animal

I remember having a TV in 1993, but I don't remember having TV. The actual device sat in our tiny living room, but I never remeber watching it or having cable. Between the drinking, the working and swimming in the coagulating soup of rage, malaise and ennui, who had time for television. How could Frasier or The Nanny compete with long smoky nights contemplating existential angst beneath the safe umbrella of music and Anthony's friendship? You did not move into your own apartment at nineteen to watch TV. You moved on your own to find out who the hell you were meant to be.

So where did I first watch the 1993 MTV Video Music Awards? It was September and Vs had only been out a few weeks, but Pearl Jam was up for an award and they were to perform a song from the new album. After the success of Ten and the turbulent effects of fame, this was to be the first time we would see the band in months. It must have been at our apartment, but I can't be sure.

I had already absorbed the new album. The constant rotation of the songs at our pad had prematurely reduced the paper case into shreds. Something about Vedder's "primal take on human disconnection," was very appealing to two young dudes living on their own behind a restaurant in their hometown.

The first thing I remember about their set was the stripped down red background. Anthony and I  would see a similar stage a few months later at The Greek theater and The Warfield. The powerful simple red of the stage, stood in stark contrast to the typically flashy VMA acts.  Add to the crimson banner, Vedder's army jacket and this performance was meant to be a message-- Five against one! Us versus them! I for one saw myself as part of the us. Unsure exactly who the them could be, I knew that I'd rather be with an animal too...

The sound of feedback in the darkness sets the scene, and like on Go, an amped up rolling tribal guitar, bass and drum intro set McCready and Jeff Ament bouncing on the stage, while Vedder unmoving, eyes distant and closed, begins his declaration of defiance. Exuding a tension filled rage, he sings with the calm of a bomb about to explode.

One, two, three, four, five against one
Five, five, five against one
Said one, two, three, four, five against one
Five, five, five, five, five against one

A statuesque shorter haired Vedder almost looks bored on the stage. Gone are his antics of climbing the rafters and flinging his body about the stage. This man means business and he is pissed. Snarling and grunting the same refrain over the rolling cacophony created by his equally intense band, one cant help but notice the primal effect his words are having on his demeanor. He just might have become an animal. The band exudes such an intense element of wildness that Jeff Ament is literally attacking his bass! While a crew-cut Stone Gossard, keeps the rhythm in shorts and a T-shirt.

I'd rather be,
I'd rather be with,
I'd rather be with an animal

 In just a few months, these guys had really changed. They had grown.  And so had I. This album then and to this day symbolizes my assault on the world at large. Nearly every song on VS, but Animal in particular is a declaration of war to anyone who dares stand in the way of our individual freedom.

Vedder's performance reminds of an early Pearl Jam line, "He can't help when he's happy looks insane." That far off stare, the nearly exploding bomb, the white knuckle clinched and ready to punch, wrapped in an almost zen like calm defined much of my life in my Twenty's. For nearly a decade much of what I thought, how I felt and how I acted began from the performance of this song on this night and to a larger extent the album as a whole.

As if this performance weren't enough, the band stayed on the stage and were joined by Neil Young for a seven minute performance of Rockn' In the Free World. A multi-generational anti-corporate FU right on the most corporate venue possible, the VMAs. Neil Young nearly has a seizure though his guitar. The set ends with McCready and Vedder destroying the stage in an apocalyptic sound scape. Vedder sips a bottle of wine as they leave the stage. Pearl Jam is back with a new album and nothing in music will ever be the same again.

It is perhaps uncool and a bit immature to talk about idol worship as a grown man, but as a young man in search of heroes, this man and these songs filled a void that little else in my life has done to this day. I didn't need religion or therapy because I had Pearl Jam. Hell at times I didn't even need friends. I made it on my own. "It was their idea, but I proved to be a man." But wait, that song comes later on this album.