Dusty Dog Reviews
The whole project is hip, anti-academic, the poetry of reluctant grown-ups, picking noses in church. An enjoyable romp! Though also serious.

Nick DiSpoldo, Small Press Review (on Children, Churches and Daddies, April 1997)
Children, Churches and Daddies is eclectic, alive and is as contemporary as tomorrow’s news.

Children, Churches and Daddies

Volume 97, November 1997

The Unreligious, Non-Family-Oriented Literary and Art Magazine

ISSN 1068-5154

cc&d v97

magazine ISSN Barcode


editorial


DNA Versus Emotion


As technology moves forward, there always seems to be people who wish to contradict science and push it backward.
Such is the case with the new trend in discounting the use of DNA testing in criminal trials.
In the past ten years scientists have used DNA tests to determine if someone who is accused of a crime actually committed it. Testing usually does not positively identify an accusor as guilty of the crime, but it can exclude an accusor from committing a crime. DNA evidence is hard, scientific evidence that can show that someone did not commit a crime.
And in trials, edivence - hard, scientific evidence - is what is needed to decide a verdict.
DNA testing has been very useful in shedding light on a trial. Especially in rape or rape/murder cases, DNA testing can clear someone’s name.
It’s comforting to know that as hard evidence comes in to a case, that more and more people look at it as irrefutable. That people accept science and trust evidence when coming to a conclusion about a crime.
However, the trend toward accepting this science is now being fought.
“DNA may be important, but it’s not the ace that trumps all other cards,” said Bob Benjamin, a spokesman for the Illinois Cook County State’s Attornoy’s Office.
Why not? Why is it not important that conclusive evidence that the human traces left on a victim from their attacker could not be the defendant’s? Why is the fact that hair, skin, semen or saliva left on the victim’s body could not be the defendant’s not important? No answer.
And cases are increasingly being tried even when DNA tests show that the person in custody did not commit the crime.
Virginia Governor George Allen turned down a plea for a request for DNA tests from a convicted murderer on death row. Allen stated that even if the DNA testing cleared the incarcerated Joseph O’Dell, there was enough evidence to still prove that O’Dell raped and murdered a Virginia Beach woman.
Virginia Governor George Allen turned down the plea, and O’Dell was executed via lethal injection on schedule.
Although prosecutors do not claim to discount the evidence from DNA testing, they do not discount other evidence that may lead to the opposite conclusion.
But two different pieces of evidence cannot contradict each other - one must be wrong. Which is more likely to be wrong - an eye witness account, for instance, or scientific evidence with fingerprint-style accuracy?

DNA testing is is nearly infallible if done properly. Only human error, such as mishandling materials, would cause DNA testing to come into question.
But that’s one of the strongest points DNA testing is argued on. Recall the O.J. Simpson trial, when hard evidence was refuted with claims that evidence was mishandled.
However, in the O.J. Simpson trial, hard evidence was also refuted with unfounded claims that there was a police conspiracy or the theory that this was a drug hit. And the sad thing is, it was these emotional pleas, and not DNA evidence, that won over the jury and decided the case.
And that’s the only way you can argue against logic and science - by making a plea to emotions.
If a defense lawyer’s job is to free his client, then fighting science would have to be done by any means possible - discounting the science: DNA testing is too young. Discounting the way the data was collected: the blood was tampered with. Emphasising other contradictory evidence: O.J. Simpson was in his home during the murder. Listening to testimonials and opinions from friends and experts: O.J. Simpson loved his wife, he couldn’t do it. introducing additional theories with or without merit as to what may have happened, pleading to the jury based on the character of the defendant. Pleading to their emotions.
But remember that all of these pleas are just that - pleas - and evidence cannot contradict science.

People try to balance science and mysticism, or faith, every day. Scientists shed more and more light each day on the creation of man and this planet, but religion denies it, for instance. Once I had a conversation with a religious woman, and she stated that dinosaurs never existed and that “science was the tool of the devil.” Another religious woman told me that she sinned once and got pregnant while out of wedlock, but God saved her by giving her a miscarriage.
Amen.
Obviously logic and reason won’t win over a person who blatantly rejects logic and reason, but most people - especially in the United States, where science and technology have proven that people can live good lives - most people do believe in logic and reason, even if they have been taught otherwise. So their “philosophical lives” are spent trying to come up with a balance to these two opposing beliefs - of which there can be no compromise, but people still try. Okay, maybe the world wasn’t created in six days, maybe that was just a metaphor for the order and timelime things were created on the planet, one may decide. Okay, maybe there wasn’t a man made out of sand and a woman made from his rib, but maybe God started the ball rolling in the creation of man, one may think.
It is this belief in logic, science and reason, coupled with this clinging to faith and tradition that tries to allow both sides to be right. And it is this philosophical mindset that allows people to be sways by emotional pleas away from hard, scientific evidence.
That doesn’t change the fact that the evidence is there. It just changes how you look at it.


humor
\


Have you ever compared a full-time job to life in prison?
In prison you spend the majority of your time in an 8’ X 10’ cell. At work you spend most of your time in a 6’ X 8’ cubicle.
In prison you get three meals a day. At work you only get a break for one meal and you have to pay for that one.
In prison you get time off for good behavior. At work you get rewarded for good behavior with more work.
In prison a guard locks and unlocks all the doors for you. At work you must carry around a security card and unlock and open all the doors yourself.
In prison you can watch TV and play games. At work you get fired for watching TV and playing games.
In prison they ball-and-chain you when you go somewhere. At work you are just ball-and-chained.
In prison you get your own toilet. At work you have to share.
In prison they allow your family and friends to visit. At work you cannot even speak to your family and friends.
In prison all expenses are paid by taxpayers, with no work required. At work you get to pay all the expenses to go to work and then they deduct taxes from your salary to pay for the prisoners.
In prison you spend most of your life looking through bars from the inside wanting to get out. At work you spend most of your time wanting to get out and inside bars.
In prison you can join many programs which you can leave at any time. At work there are some programs you can never get out of.
In prison there are wardens who are often sadistic. At work we have managers.

HELP DESK LOG

Monday
------
8:05am
User called to say they forgot password. Told them to use password retrieval utility called FDISK. Blissfully ignorant, they thank me and hang up. God, we let the people vote and drive, too?
8:12am
Accounting called to say they couldn’t access expense reports database. Gave them Standard Sys Admin Answer #112, “Well, it works for me.” Let them rant and rave while I unplugged my coffeemaker from the UPS and plugged their server back in. Suggested they try it again. One more happy customer...
8:14 am
User from 8:05 call said they received error message “Error accessing Drive 0.” Told them it was an OS problem. Transferred them to microsupport.
11:00 am
Relatively quiet for last few hours. Decide to plug support phone back in so I can call my girlfriend. Says parents are coming into town this weekend. Put her on hold and transferred her to janitorial closet down in basement. What is she thinking? The “Myst” and “Doom” nationals are this weekend!
11:34 am
Another user calls (do they ever learn?). Says they want ACL changed on HR performance review database so that nobody but HR can access database. Tell them no problem. Hang up. Change ACL. Add @MailSend so performance reviews are sent to */US.
12:00 pm
Lunch
3:30 pm
Return from lunch.
3:55 pm
Wake up from nap. Bad dream makes me cranky. Bounce servers for no reason. Return to napping.
4:23 pm
Yet another user calls. Wants to know how to change fonts on form. Ask them what chip set they’re using. Tell them to call back when they find out.
4:55 pm
Decide to run “Create Save/Replication Conflicts” macro so next shift has something to do.

Tuesday
-------
8:30 am
Finish reading support log from last night. Sounded busy. Terrible time with Save/Replication conflicts.
9:00 am
Support manager arrives. Wants to discuss my attitude. Click on PhoneNotes SmartIcon. “Love to, but kinda busy. Put something in the calendar database!” I yell as I grab for the support lines, which have (mysteriously) lit up. Walks away grumbling.
9:35 pm
Team leader from R&D needs ID for new employee. Tell them they need form J-19R=9C9\\DARR\K1. Say they never heard of such a form. Tell them it’s in the SPECIAL FORMS database. Say they never heard of such a database. Transfer them to janitorial closet in basement.
10:00 am
Perky sounding intern from R&D calls and says she needs new ID. Tell her I need employee number, department name, manager name, and marital status. Run @DbLookup against state parole board database, Centers for Disease Control database, and my Oprah Winfrey database. No hits. Tell her ID will be ready tonight. Drawing from the lessons learned in last week’s “Reengineering for Customer Partnership,” I offer to personally deliver ID to her apartment.
10:07 am
Janitor stops by to say he keeps getting strange calls in basement. Offer to train him on Notes. Begin now. Let him watch console while I grab a smoke.
1:00 pm
Return from smoking break. Janitor says phones kept ringing, so he transferred them to cafeteria lady. I like this guy.
1:05 pm
Big commotion! Support manager falls in hole left where I pulled floor tiles outside his office door. Stress to him importance of not running in computer room, even if I do yell “Omigod -- Fire!”
1:15 pm
Development Standards Committee calls and complains about umlauts in form names. Apologizing for the inconvenience, I tell them I will fix it. Hang up and run global search/replace using gaks.
1:20 pm
Mary Hairnet from cafeteria calls. Says she keeps getting calls for “Notice Loads” or “NoLoad Goats,” she’s not sure, couldn’t hear over industrial-grade blender. Tell her it was probably “Lettuce
Nodes.” Maybe the food distributor with a new product? She thinks about it and hangs up.
2:00 pm
Legal secretary calls and says she lost password. Ask her to check in her purse, floor of car, and on bathroom counter. Tell her it probably fell out of back of machine. Suggest she put duct tape over all the airvents she can find on the PC. Grudgingly offer to create new ID for her while she does that.
2:49 pm
Janitor comes back. Wants more lessons. I take off rest of day.

Wednesday
---------
8:30 am
Irate user calls to say chipset has nothing to do with fonts on form. Tell them Of course, they should have been checking “Bitset,” not “chipset.” Sheepish user apologizes and hangs up.
9:10am
Support manager, with foot in cast, returns to office. Schedules 10:00 am meeting with me. User calls and wants to talk to support manager about terrible help at support desk. Tell them manager about to go into meeting. Sometimes life hands you material...
10:00 am
Call Louie in janitorial services to cover for me. Go to support manager’s office. He says he can’t dismiss me but can suggest several lateral career moves. Most involve farm implements in third-world countries with moderate to heavy political turmoil. By and by, I ask if he’s aware of new bug which takes full-text indexed random e-mail databases and puts all references to furry handcuffs and Bambi Boomer in Marketing on the corporate Web page. Meeting is adjourned as he reaches for keyboard, Web browser, and Tums.
10:30 am
Tell Louie he’s doing great job. Offer to show him mainframe corporate PBX system sometime.
11:00 am
Lunch.
4:55 pm
Return from lunch.
5:00 pm
Shift change; Going home.

Thursday
--------
8:00 am
New guy (“Marvin”) started today. “Nice plaids” I offer. Show him server room, wiring closet, and technical library. Set him up with IBM PC-XT. Tell him to quit whining, Notes runs the same in both monochrome and color.
8:45 am
New guy’s PC finishes booting up. Tell him I’ll create new ID for him. Set minimum password length to 64. Go grab smoke.
9:30 am
Introduce Louie the custodian to Marvin. “Nice plaids” Louie comments. Is this guy great or what?!
11:00 am
Beat Louie in dominos game. Louie leaves. Fish spare dominos out of sleeves (“Always have backups”). User calls, says Accounting server is down. Untie Ethernet cable from radio antenna (better
reception) and plug back into hub. Tell user to try again. Another happy customer!
11:55 am
Brief Marvin on Corporate Policy 98.022.01: “Whereas all new employee beginning on days ending in ‘Y’ shall enjoy all proper aspects with said corporation, said employee is obligated to provide sustenance and relief to senior technical analyst on shift.” Marvin doubts. I point to “Corporate Policy” database (a fine piece of work, if I say so myself!). “Remember, that’s DOUBLE pepperoni and NO peppers!” I yell to Marvin as he steps over open floor tile to get to exit door.
1:00 pm
Oooooh! Pizza makes me so sleepy...
4:30 pm
Wake from refreshing nap. Catch Marvin scanning want ads.
5:00 pm
Shift change. Flick HR’s server off and on several times (just testing the On/Off button...). See ya tomorrow.

Friday
------
8:00 am
Night shift still trying to replace power supply in HR server. Told them it worked fine before I left.
9:00 am
Marvin still not here. Decide I might start answering these calls myself. Unforward phones from Mailroom.
9:02 am
Yep. A user call. Users in Des Moines can’t replicate. Me and the Oiuja board determine it’s sunspots. Tell them to call Telecommunications.
9:30 am
Good God, another user! They’re like ants. Says he’s in San Diego and can’t replicate with Des Moines. Tell him it’s sunspots, but with a two-hour difference. Suggest he reset the time on the server back two hours.
10:17 am
Pensacola calls. Says they can’t route mail to San Diego. Tell them to set server ahead three hours.
11:00 am E-mail from corporate says for everybody to quit resetting the time on their servers. I change the date stamp and forward it to Milwaukee.
11:20 am
Finish @CoffeeMake macro. Put phone back on hook.
11:23 am
Milwaukee calls, asks what day it is.
11:25 am
Support manager stops by to say Marvin called in to quit. “So hard to get good help...” I respond. Support manager says he has appointment with orthopedic doctor this afternoon, and asks if I mind sitting in on the weekly department head meeting for him. “No problem!”
11:30 am
Call Louie and tell him opportunity knocks and he’s invited to a meeting this afternoon. “Yeah, sure. You can bring your snuff” I tell him.
12:00 am
Lunch.
1:00 pm
Start full backups on UNIX server. Route them to device NULL to make them fast.
1:03 pm
Full weekly backups done. Man, I love modern technology!
2:30 pm
Look in support manager’s contact management database. Cancel 2:45 pm appointment for him. He really should be at home resting, you know.
2:39 pm
New user calls. Says want to learn how to create a connection document. Tell them to run connection document utility CTRL-ALT-DEL. Says PC rebooted. Tell them to call microsupport.
2:50 pm
Support manager calls to say mixup at doctor’s office means appointment cancelled. Says he’s just going to go on home. Ask him if he’s seen corporate Web page lately.
3:00 pm
Another (novice) user calls. Says periodic macro not working. Suggest they place @DeleteDocument at end of formula. Promise to send them document addendum which says so.
4:00 pm
Finish changing foreground color in all documents to white. Also set point size to “2” in help databases.
4:30 pm
User calls to say they can’t see anything in documents. Tell them to go to view, do a “Edit -- Select All”, hit delete key, and then refresh. Promise to send them document addendum which says so.
4:45 pm
Another user calls. Says they can’t read help documents. Tell them I’ll fix it. Hang up. Change font to Wingdings.
4:58 pm
Plug coffee maker into Ethernet hub to see what happens. Not (too) much.
5:00 pm
Night shift shows up. Tell them that the hub is acting funny and to have a good weekend.


Dusty Dog Reviews: These poems document a very complicated internal response to the feminine side of social existence. And as the book proceeds the poems become increasingly psychologically complex and, ultimately, fascinating and genuinely rewarding.
C Ra McGuirt, Editor, The Penny Dreadful Review: cc&d is obviously a labor of love ... I just have to smile when I go through it. (Janet Kuypers) uses her space and her poets to best effect, and the illos attest to her skill as a graphic artist.
Dusty Dog Reviews: She opens with a poem of her own devising, which has that wintry atmosphere demonstrated in the movie version of Boris Pasternak’s Doctor Zhivago. The atmosphere of wintry white and cold, gloriously murderous cold, stark raging cold, numbing and brutalizing cold, appears almost as a character who announces to his audience, “Wisdom occurs only after a laboriously magnificent disappointment.” Alas, that our Dusty Dog for mat cannot do justice to Ms. Kuypers’ very personal layering of her poem across the page.


IN MY WORLD

by jason pettus

In my world, professional sports are a seedy, underground profession, taking place in back rooms and slum tenements, while porn starts perform at the United Center and sign multi-million dollar endorsement deals.
In my world, you can drink a beer, smoke a joint, or pull the handle of a slot machine and never have to worry about becoming addicted to any of them.
In my world, your job performance is based on how well you perform your job.
In my world, there is a television station called “JTV” which runs nothing but shows I like, 24 hours a day. Then, when I got out and get drunk, I come back home and forget the channel exists and I’ll be flipping through the stations and there’s nothing but shit on until I get to my station and I go, “God, I love this show.”
In my world, non-smokers have to stand outside.
In my world, women are overwhelmingly attracted to kinda geeky guys who are intellectually pure and possess an insight into the human condition. Really, did you expect it any other way?
In my world, rape is a capital offense. Of course, so is whistling in public.
In my world, everyone at Kinko’s is well-trained, know what they’re doing, and never overcharge or destroy your originals in the copy machine. For that matter, all employees of McDonald’s always say “thank you” instead of me, and when I say, “I’d like a Big Mac and a Coke,” they never say, “And what kind of drink would you like?”
In my world, if you see someone across the el who you think is really attractive, you can walk up to them and say, “You know, I’m really attracted to you.” They then have the freedom to say, “You know, so am I!” or “I’m sorry, I’m not attracted to you,” and your feelings are never hurt.
In my world, fourteen year old boys are allowed to buy Playboy, because, real ly, they’re the ones who need them the most.
In my world, every poem at every open mike night is amazing and groundbreaking and just makes you go, “Wow.”
In my world, Robert Mapplethorpe never died. And neither did Keith Haring. And neither did Andy Warhol.
In my world, Liz Phair knows how much I love her. And... she loves me back!
In my world, you can buy pitchers for four bucks at Sweet Alice. Oh, I’m sorry, that’s in your world, too.
In my world, Sting is still putting out cool albums.
In my world, there is a special section of Chicago set aside where you can take acid. It is full of trees and grass and sand and there’s no rave music and there’s no virtual reality movies and no guys trying to fuck with you, waving their hands in your face, going, “Okay, you see anything? Okay, how ‘bout this? You see anything now? Huh? How ‘bout this?”
Oh, and in my world minimum wage is 16 bucks an hour, and middle management doesn’t exist even though the middle class does, and the phrase, “You got time to lean, you got time to clean” doesn’t exist, and if your boss says something stupid, you have the legal right to slap them as hard as you can and say, “What are you, on the dope train?”
In my world, the Personals section actually works.
In my world, men have an “on/off” switch for their penis. Then, if they wake up one day and think, “You know, I really don’t want to deal with my libido today, they can just turn their penis off, and the rest of the day beautiful women can walk by them and they can still remain focused and concentrated and productive.
In my world, there are hoards of “straight bashers” that roam the streets of Lincoln Park on Saturday nights, stopping guys on the streets and yelling, “Hey, what are you, some kind of hetero? You like to fuck women? You do, you like to fuck women, don’t ya?” Of course, instead of beating them up, they just yell, “Shame on you! You don’t know what you’re missing!” then go down the street and have a drink.
In my world, I never have to finish my stories at open mike nights, but instead I can just


crazy

by Janet Kuypers


This dialogue is transcribed from repeated visits with a patient in Aaronsville Correctional Center in West Virginia. Madeline*, a thirty-six year old woman, was sentenced to life imprisonment after the brutal slaying of her boyfriend during sexual intercourse. According to police reports, Madeline sat with the remains of the man for three days after the murder until police arrived on the scene. They found her in the same room as the body, still coated with blood and malnourished. Three doctors studied her behavior for a total period of eight months, and the unanimous conclusion they reached was that Madeline was not of sound mind when she committed the act, which involved an ice pick, an oak board from the back of a chair, and eventually a chef’s knife. Furthermore, she continued to show signs of both paranoia and delusions of grandeur long after the murder, swaying back and forth between the two, much like manic depression.
For three and a half years Madeline has stayed at the Aaronsville Correctional Center, and she has shown no signs of behavioral improvement. She stays in a room by herself, usually playing solitaire on her bed. She talks to herself regularly and out loud, usually in a slight Southern accent, although not in a very loud tone, according to surveillance videotape. Her family abandoned her after the murder. Occasionally she requests newspapers to read, but she is usually denied them. She never received visitors, until these sessions with myself.
The following excerpts are from dialogues I have had with her, although I am tempted to say that they are monologues. She wasn’t very interested in speaking with me, rather, she was more interested in opening herself up to someone for the first time in years, someone who was willing to listen. At times I began to feel like a surrogate parent. I try not to think of what will happen when our sessions end.
* Madeline is not her real name.
I know they’re watching me. They’ve got these stupid cameras everywhere - see, there’s one behind the air vent there, hi there, and there’s one where the window used to be. They’ve probably got them behind the mirrors, too. It wouldn’t be so bad, I guess, I mean, there’s not much for me to be doing in here anyway, but they watch me dress, too, I mean, they’re watching me when I’m naked, now what’s that going to do to a person? I don’t know what they’re watching for anyway, it’s not like I can do anything in here. I eat everything with a spoon, I’ve never been violent, all I do, almost every day, is sit on this bed and play solitaire.
Solitaire is really relaxing, you know, and I think it keeps your brain alive, too. Most people think you can’t win at solitaire, that the chances of winning are like two percent or something. But the thing is, you can win at this game like over half the time. I think that’s the key, too - knowing you can win half the time. I mean, the last four rounds I played, I won twice. Now I’m not saying that’s good or anything, like praise me because I won two rounds of solitaire, but it makes a point that as long as you know what you’re doing and you actually think about it, you can win. The odds are better.
I think people just forget to watch the cards. Half the time the reason why you lose is because you forget something so obvious. You’re looking for a card through the deck and the whole time it’s sitting on another pile, just waiting to be moved over, and the whole time you forget to move it. People just forget to pay attention. They got to pay attention.
You know, I’d like to see the news. I hate t.v., but I’d like to see what acts other people are doing. Anything like mine? Has anyone else lost it like me? You know, I’ll bet my story wasn’t even on the news for more than thirty seconds. And I’ll bet the news person had a tone to their voice that was just like “oh, the poor crazy thing,” like, “that’s what happens when you lose it, I guess.”
But I want to see what’s happening in the real world. I just wanna watch to see what, you know, the weather is like, even though I haven’t seen the sun in a year or two. Or, or to hear sports scores. They won’t let me have a t.v. in the room. I think they think that I’m gonna hot-wire it or something, like I’m going to try to electrocute the whole building with a stupid television set. They let me have a lamp in the room, like I can’t hurt someone with that, but no t.v. They won’t even let me have a newspaper. What can a person do with a newspaper? Light in on fire or something? If I had matches or something. But it’s like this: I’ve never been violent to nobody in all of the time I’ve been in here. I haven’t laid a hand on a guard, even though they’re tried too many time to lay a hand on me, and I haven’t cause one single little problem in this whole damn place, and this is what I get - I don’t even get a t.v. or a newspaper.
You know, I don’t really have a Southern accent. See? Don’t I sound different with my regular voice? I picked it up when I started sounding crazy. See, I’m not really crazy, I just know the kind of shit they do to you in prison. I think it’s bad enough here, I would’ve had the shit kicked out of me, Id’ve been sodomized before I knew what hit me. I think this voice makes me sound a little more strange. I’m actually from New York, but I mean, changing the voice a little just to save me from going to prison, well, I can do that. Here it’s kind of nice, I don’t have to deal with people that often, and all the crazy people around here think I’m some sort of tough bitch because I mutilated someone who was raping me. Oh, you didn’t hear that part of the story, did you? Those damn lawyers thought that since I wasn’t a virgin I must have been wanting him. And he wasn’t even my boyfriend - he was just some guy I knew, we’d go out every couple of weeks, and I never even slept with him before.
What a fucked up place. You see, I gotta think of it this way: I really had no choice but to do what I did. In a way it was self-defense, because I didn’t want that little piece of shit to try to do that to me, I mean, what the Hell makes him think he can do that? Where does he get off trying to take me like that, like I’m some butcher-shop piece of meat he can buy and abuse or whatever? Well anyway, I know part of it all was self defense and all, but at the same time I know I flipped, but its because of, well shit that happened in my past. I never came from any rich family like you, I never even came from a family with a dad, and when you got all these boyfriends coming in and hitting you or touching you or whatever, you know it’s got to mess you up. Yeah, I know, people try to use the my-parents-beat-me line and it’s getting to the point where no one really believes it anymore, but if a person goes through all their life suppressing something that they shouldn’t have to suppress then one day it’s going to just come up to them and punch them in the face, it’s going to make them go crazy, even if it’s just for a little while.
Society’s kind of weird, you know. It’s like they teach you to do things that aren’t normal, that don’t feel right down deep in your bones, but you have to do them anyway, because someone somewhere decided that this would be normal. Everyone around you suppresses stuff, and when you see that it tells you that you’re supposed to be hiding it from the rest of the world, too, like if we all just hide it for a while, it will all go away. Maybe it does, until someone like me blows up and can’t take hiding all that stuff anymore, but then the rest of the world can just say that we’re crazy and therefore it’s unexplainable why we went crazy and then they can just brush it all off and everything is back to normal again. It’s like emotion. People are taught to hide their emotions. Men are taught not to cry, women are taught to be emotional and men are told to think that it’s crazy. So when something really shitty happens to someone - like a guy loses his job or something - and he just sits in front of a friend and breaks down and cries, the other guy just thinks this guy is crazy for crying. Then the guy rejects the guy that’s crying, making him feel even worse, making the guy bottle it back up inside of him.
I think people are like Pepsi bottles. You remember those glass bottles? Pop always tasted better in those bottles, you could just like swig it down easier, your lips fit around the glass neck better or something. I wonder why people don’t use them anymore? Well, I think people are like Pepsi bottles, like they have the potential for all of this energy, and the whole world keeps shaking them up, and some people lose their heads and the top goes off and all of this icky stuff comes shooting all around and other Pepsi bottles want to hide from it and then the poor guy has no Pepsi left. And how can you do anything when you have no Pepsi left? Or maybe you do lose it, but you still have some Pepsi left in you, and people keep thinking that you don’t have any left, and then they treat you like you shouldn’t be allowed to tie your own shoelaces or you should be watched while you’re getting dressed.
Can’t you turn those cameras off?
I heard this story in here sometime about Tony, this guy that was in here for murder, and after he was in here he went crazy and cut off his own scrotum. I don’t know how a man survives something like that, but I guess he did, because he was in here, and from what I hear he was using the pay phones to call 1-800 numbers to prank whoever answered at the other end. Well, I guess he kept calling this one place where these women would answer the phone, and they got fed up with it, I guess, and traced it or something. They got the number for this hospital, and talked to his doctor. I think he told them that Tony cut his balls off, now I thought doctor-patient records were private, but I suppose it doesn’t matter, because we’re just crazy prisoners, killers who don’t matter anyway, but he told these girls that Tony cut his balls off a whole two months ago. And then he called them back, talking dirty to them, not knowing they knew he was a murderer with no balls and they laughed and made fun of him and told him they knew, and he hung up the phone and never called them back. True story, swear to God. Can you just imagine him wondering how they knew? Or were they just making a joke, or...
Did you know that I write? I figured that if they won’t let me read anything, maybe I could put stuff down on paper and read it to myself, I guess. I try to write poetry, but it just don’t come out right, but I’ve been trying to write a thing about what I went through, you know what I’m talking about? Well, I just figure that if other people that are in prison can get best sellers and make a ton of money, then so can I, I mean, my story is better than half the stuff that’s out there, and I know there are a lot of women who have a little part of them that wants to do what I did. I think all women feel it, but the most of them are taught to suppress it, to keep it all bottled in like that. But now that I think of it, what am I going to do with a bunch of money anyway? I’m never going to get out of here to enjoy it or anything. Anyway, how would I get someone to want to read it in the first place, now that everyone thinks that I’m crazy?
Sometimes I get so depressed. It’s like I’m never going to get out of here. I think I wanted to have kids one day. It’s easier, I guess, not having to see kids, I guess then I don’t miss them too much, but...
For the longest time they tried to get doctors to come in here and talk to me, and you know what they did? They got men doctors - one after another - and then they wondered why the Hell I didn’t want to talk to them. Amazing. People really just don’t think, do they?
I guess it’s hard, being in here and all, I mean. I was going to go back to school, I had already taken the GED and graduated high school, and I was going to go to the local community college. It was going to be different. Sometimes I wonder, you know, why this had to happen to me, why I had to snap. I really don’t think I could have controlled it, I don’t think any of this could have happened any other way. It’s hard. I have to find stuff to do, because otherwise all I’d want to do is sleep all day and night, and I suppose I could, but then what would happen to me? At least if I write a book about my life, about this whole stupid world, then maybe everyone would at least understand. It wasn’t really my fault, I mean, I think we women have enough to deal with just in our regular lives and then they keep piling on this sexism crap on us, and then expect us not to be angry about it because we were taught to deal with it all of our lives. Maybe this guy was just the straw that broke the camel’s back or something, maybe he was just another rapist, maybe he was just another drunk guy who thought that he could do whatever he wanted with me because he was the man and I was his girl, or just some chick that didn’t matter or whatever, but shit, it does matter, at least to me it does.
I know I’ve got a lot of healing to do, but I haven’t really thought about doing it. I mean, what have I got to heal for anyway? To get out of here and go to prison? Then I’ll just get abused by guards over there, have to watch my back every second of the day. At least here people watch my back for me. They think everything and anything in the world could harm me, even myself, so they’re so overprotective that nothing can go wrong, unless it goes wrong in my own mind.









Gabriel

by Janet Kuypers


She had lived there, in her fourth floor apartment on the near north side of the city, for nearly three years. It was an uneventful three years from the outside; Gabriel liked it that way. She just wanted to live her life: go to work, see her new friends, have a place to herself.
But looking a bit closer, it was easy to see what a wonderful life she had. Her apartment was impeccable, with Greek statues and glass vases lining the hallways, modern oil paintings lining her walls. She was working at her career for a little under two years and she had received two hefty promotions. She served on the board of directors for the headquarters of a national domestic abuse clinic and single-handedly managed to increase annual donations in her city by 45%, as well as drastically increase the volunteer base for their hotline numbers. She managed a boyfriend, a man who was willing to put up with her running around, working overtime for her job, visiting clinics. A man who loved and respected her for her drive. Not bad for a woman almost twenty-five.
Yes, life seemed good for Gabriel, she would dine in fine restaurants, visit the operas and musicals travelling through the city. And she had only been in the city for three years.
Eric would wonder what her past was like when he’d hit a nerve with her and she would charge off to work, not talking to him for days. She had only lived in the city for three years, and he knew nothing about her life before then. In the back of his mind, he always thought she was hiding something from him, keeping a little secret, and sometimes everything Gabriel said made him believe this secret was real. She told him her parents lived on the other side of the country, and even though they dated for almost two years there never was talk about visiting them. She never received calls from her old friends. There were no old photographs.
This would get to Eric sometimes; it would fester inside of him when he sat down and thought about it, all alone, in his apartment, wondering when she would be finished with work. And then he’d see her again, and all of his problems would disappear, and he’d feel like he was in love.



One morning he was sitting at her breakfast table, reading her paper, waiting so they could drive to work. “Hey, they finally got that mob-king guy with some charges they think will stick.”
Gabriel minded her business, put her make-up on in the bathroom mirror, hair-sprayed her short, curly brown hair.
“Hey, Gabriel, get a load of this quote,” Eric shouted down the hallway to her from his seat. He could just barely see her shadow through the open door to the bathroom. “’My client is totally innocent of any charges against him. It is the defense’s opinion that Mr. Luccio was framed, given to the police by the organized crime rings in this city as a decoy,’ said Jack Huntington, defense lawyer for the case. ‘Furthermore, the evidence is circumstantial, and weak.’ What a joke. I hope this guy doesn’t get away with all he’s done. You know, if I-”
Gabriel stopped hearing his voice when she heard that name. She had heard Luccio over and over again in the news, but Jack. She didn’t expect this. Not now. It had been so long since she heard that name.
But not long enough. Her hands gripped the edge of the ceramic sink, gripping tighter and tighter until she began to scratch the wood paneling under the sink. Her head hung down, the ends of her hair falling around her face. He lived outside of the city, nearly two hours. Now he was here, maybe ten minutes away from her home, less than a mile away from where she worked, where she was about to go to.
She couldn’t let go of the edge of the sink. Eric stopped reading aloud and was already to the sports section, and in the back of her mind Gabriel was wondering how she could hurt herself so she wouldn’t have to go to work. She would be late already, she had been standing there for over ten minutes.
Hurt herself? What was she thinking? And she began to regain her senses. She finally picked her head up and looked in the mirror. She wasn’t the woman from then, she had to say to herself as she sneered at her reflection. But all she could see was long, blonde straight hair, a golden glow from the sun, from the days where she didn’t work as often as she did, when she had a different life.
She had to pull on her hair to remind herself that it was short. She pulled it until she almost cried. Then she stopped, straightened her jacket, took a deep breath and walked out the bathroom door.




Eric started to worry. As they car-pooled together to work, Gabriel sat in the passenger seat, right hand clutching the door handle, left hand grabbing her briefcase, holding it with a fierce, ferocious grip. But it was a grip that said she was scared, scared of losing that briefcase, or her favorite teddy bear from the other kids at school, or her life from a robber in an alley. If nothing else, Eric knew she felt fear. And he didn’t know why.
He tried to ask her. She said she was tired, but tense, an important meeting and a pounding headache. He knew it was more. She almost shook as she sat in that car, and she began to rock back and forth, forward and back, ever so slightly, the way a mother rocks her child to calm her down. It made Eric tense, too. And scared.


Work was a blur, a blur of nothingness. There was no meeting, the workload was light for a Friday. But at least the headache was there, that wasn’t a lie. She hated lying, especially to Eric. But she had no choice, especially now, with Jack lurking somewhere in the streets out there, winning his cases, wondering if his wife is dead or not.
She never wanted him to know the answer.
Eric called her a little after four. “Just wanted to check if we were still going to dinner tonight. I made the reservations at the new Southwestern place, you said you wanted to go there. Sound good?”
Gabriel mustered up the strength to respond, and only came up with, “Sure.”
“Do you still have the headache, honey? Do you want to just rent a movie or two and curl up on the couch tonight? Whatever you want to do is fine, just let me know.”
She knew at this point he was doing all he could to make her feel better. She didn’t want to put him through this. He shouldn’t have to deal with her like this. She searches for her second wind. “No, Eric, dinner would be fine. We can go straight from work to save the drive. Thanks, too. You really have a knack for making my days better.”
Eric smiled at the end of the line. And Gabriel could feel it.
They got off the phone, she finished her work, turned off her computer, started walking toward the elevator when it finally occurred to her: Jack might be there. She can’t go. Even if he’s not there, she could see him on the street, driving there. She just couldn’t go.
She pressed the button for the elevator. And he could just as easily see me walking out of work, getting in Eric’s car, she thought. I have to stop thinking like this. This is ludicrous. And he won’t be there, he won’t see me, because, well, the chances are so thin, and Hell, it’s a big city. I have to try to relax.
But she couldn’t. And there was no reason she should have.


At the restaurant, they sat on the upper level, near one of the large Roman columns decorated with ivy. She kept looking around one of the columns, because a man three tables away looked like Jack. It wasn’t, but she still had to stare.
The meal was delicious, the presentation was impeccable. She was finally starting to relax. The check arrived at the table right as the place began to get crowded, so Gabriel went to the washroom to freshen up before they left. She walked through the restaurant, feeling comfortable and confident again. She even attracted a smile from a man at another table. She walked with confidence and poise. And she loved life again.
She walked into the bathroom, straight to the mirror, checking her hair, her lip stick. She looked strong, not how she looked when she was married. She closed her purse, turned around and headed out the door.
That’s when she saw him.
There he was, Jack, standing right there, waiting for a table. He had three other men with him, all in dark suits. She didn’t know if they were mob members or firm associates. Or private eyes he hired to find her. Dear God, she thought, what could she do now? She can’t get to the table, he’ll see her for sure. She can’t stare at him, it’ll only draw attention to herself.
And then she thinks: “Wait. All I’ve seen is the back of him. It might not even be him.” She took a breath. “It’s probably not even him,” she thought, “and I’ve sat here worrying about it.”
Still, she couldn’t reassure herself. She took a few steps back and waited for him to turn around.
A minute passed, or was it a century?, and finally he started to turn, just as they were about to be led to their table. She saw his profile, just a glimpse of his face. It was him, it was Jack, it was the monster she knew from all those years, the man who made her lose any ounce of innocence or femininity she ever had. She saw how his chin sloped into his neck, the curve of his nose, how he combed his hair back, and she knew it was him.
By the washrooms, she stared at him while he took one step away from her, closer to the dining room. Then she felt a strong, pulling hand grip her shoulder. Her hair slapped her in the face as she turned around. Her eyes were saucers.
“The check is paid for. Let’s go,” Eric said as he took her jacket from her arm and held it up for her. She slid her arms through the sleeves, Eric pulling the coat over her shoulders. She stared blankly. He guided her out the doors.


She asked him if they could stop at a club on the way home and have a drink or two. They found a little bar, and she instantly ordered drinks. They sat for over an hour in the dark club listening to the jazz band. It looked to Eric like she was trying to lose herself in the darkness, in the anonymity of the crowded lounge. It worried him more. And still she didn’t relax.


And she drove on the expressway back from dinner, Eric in the seat next to her. He had noticed she had been tense today, more than she had ever been; whenever he asked her why she brushed her symptoms off as nothing.
The radio blared in the car, the car soaring down the four lanes of open, slick, raw power, and she heard the dee jay recap the evening news. A man died in a car accident, he said, and it was the lawyer defending the famed mob leader. And then the radio announced his name.
And she didn’t even have to hear it.
Time stopped for a moment when the name was spread, Jack, Jack Huntington, like a disease, over the air waves. Jack, Jack the name crept into her car, she couldn’t escape it, like contaminated water it infiltrated all of her body and she instantly felt drugged. Time stood still in a horrific silence for Gabriel. Hearing that midnight talk show host talk about the tragedy of his death, she began to reduce speed, without intention. She didn’t notice until brights were flashing in her rear view mirror, cars were speeding around her, horns were honking. She was going 30 miles per hour.
She quickly regained herself, turned off the radio, and threw her foot on the accelerator. Eric sat silent. They had a long drive home ahead of them from the club, and he knew if he only sat silent that she would eventually talk.
While still in the car, ten minutes later, she began to tell him about Andrea.


“Three years ago, when I moved to the city, my name wasn’t Gabriel. It was Andrea.
“Seven years ago, I was a different person. I was a lot more shy, insecure, an eighteen year old in college, not knowing what I wanted to study. I didn’t know what my future was, and I didn’t want to have to go through my life alone. My freshman year I met a man in the law school program at school. He asked me out as soon as he met me. I was thrilled.
“For the longest time I couldn’t believe that another man, especially one who had the potential for being so successful, was actually interested in me. He was older, he was charming. Everyone loved him. I followed him around constantly, wherever he wanted me to go.
“He met my parents right away. They adored him, a man with a future, he was so charming. They pushed the idea of marrying him. I didn’t see it happening for a while, but I felt safe with him.
“And every once in a while, after a date, or a party, we’d get alone and he’d start to yell at me, about the way I acted with him, or what I said in public, or that the way I looked was wrong, or something. And every once in a while he would hit me. And whenever it happened I thought that I should have looked better, or I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. This man was too good for me. And I had to do everything in my power to make him happy.
“Less than eight months after we met, he asked me to marry him. I accepted.
“We were married two years after we met; it was a beautiful ceremony, tons of flowers, tons of gifts-and I was turning a junior in college. My future was set for me. I couldn’t believe it.
“And as soon as we were married, which was right when he started at the firm, he got more and more violent. And instead of thinking that it was my fault, I started thinking that it was because he was so stressed, that he had so much work to do, that sometimes he just took it out on me. I was no one’s fault. Besides, if he was going to climb to the top, he needed a wife that was perfect for all of his appearances. I had to be perfect for him. Take care of the house and go to school full time.
“Money wasn’t a problem for us, he had a trust fund from his parents and made good money at the firm, so I could go to school. But he started to hate the idea that I was going to college in marketing instead of being his wife full time. But that was one thing I wasn’t going to do for him, stop going to school.
“He’d get more and more angry about it the longer we were married. After the first year he’d hit me at least once a week. I was physically sick half of my life then, sick from being worried about how to make him not hurt me, sick from trying to figure out how to cover up the bruises.
“I’d try to talk to him about it, but the few times I ever had the courage to bring it up, he’d beat me. He’d just beat me, say a few words. Apologize the next morning, think everything was better. I couldn’t take it.
“I threatened with divorce. When I did that I had to go to the hospital with a broken arm. I had to tell the doctors that I fell down the stairs.
“A long flight of stairs.
“When it was approaching two years of marriage with this man, I said to myself I couldn’t take it anymore. He told me over and over again that he’d make me pay if I tried to leave him, I’d be sorry, it would be the worst choice I could ever make. This man had power, too, he could hunt me down if I ran away, he could emotionally and physically keep me trapped in this marriage.
“So I did the only thing I thought I could do.
“I wrote a suicide note. ‘By the time you find my car, I’ll be dead.’ I took a few essentials, nothing that could say who I was. I cut my hair-I used to have long, long hair that I dyed blonde. I chopped it all off and dyed it dark. Then I drove out to a quarry off the interstate 20 miles away in the middle of the night, threw my driver’s license and credit cards into the passenger’s seat, put a brick on the accelerator, got out of the car and let it speed over the cliff. Everything was burned.
“So there I was, twenty-two years old, with no future, with no identity. My family, my friends, would all think I was dead in the morning. And for the first time in my life, I was so alone. God, I was so scared, but at the same time, it was the best feeling in the world. It felt good to not have my long hair brushing against my neck. It felt good to feel the cold of the three a.m. air against my cheeks, on my ears. It felt good to have no where to go, other than away. No one was telling me where to go, what to do. No one was hurting me.
“I found my way two hours away to this city, came up with the name Gabriel from a soap opera playing in a clinic I went to to get some cold medication. I managed a job at the company I’m at now. Did volunteer work, rented a hole for an apartment. Projected a few of the right ideas to the right people in the company. I got lucky.”


She told him all of this before she told him that her husband’s name was Jack Huntington.


She brought him home, sat on the couch while he made coffee for her. He tried to sound calm, but the questions kept coming out of his mouth, one after another. Gabriel’s answers suddenly streamed effortlessly from her mouth, like a river, spilling over onto the floor, covering the living room with inches of water within their half hour of talk.
She felt the cool water of her words sliding around her ankles. And she felt relieved.
Gabriel, Andrea, was no longer Mrs. Jack Huntington.
Eric told her that she could have told him before. “I’d follow you anywhere. If I had to quit my job and run away with you I would.” It hurt him that she kept this from him for so long, but he knew he was the only person who knew her secret. He smiled.
There was a burden lifted, she felt, with Jack’s death, the burden that she didn’t have to hide who she was anymore. She didn’t have to worry about public places, cower when she felt his presence, following her, haunting her. It’s over, she thought. She can walk out in the street now, and scream, and run, and laugh, and no one will come walking around the corner to force her back to her old life, to that little private hell that was named Andrea.
But sitting there, she knew there was still one thing she had to do.
She put down her coffee, got on her coat, told him this was something she must do. Gabriel got into her car, started to head away from the city. As she left, Eric asked where she was going. She knew she had done what she could for the last three years of her own life to save herself; now it was time to go back to the past, no matter what the consequences were.
He thought she was going back to her family. She was, in a way.


She drove into the town she had once known, saw the trees along the streets and remembered the way they looked every fall when the leaves turned colors. She remembered that one week every fall when the time was just right and each tree’s leaves were different from the other trees. This is how she wanted to remember it.
And she drove past her old town, over an hour and a half away from the city, passing where her parents, her brother could still be living. She didn’t know if she would ever bother to find them. Right now all she could do was drive to the next town, where her old friend used to live. Best friends from the age of three, Sharon and Andrea were inseparable, even though they fought to extremes. And as she drove toward Sharon’s house, she knew she’d have to move quickly, if her husband was still there.
She double checked in a phone book at a nearby gas station. And she turned two more corners and parked her car across the street. Would she recognize her? Would she believe she was there? That she was alive?
Gabriel saw one car in the driveway, not two; she went to the window, and looking in saw only Sharon. She stepped back. She took a long, deep breath. She was a fugitive turning herself in. She was a fugitive, asking people to run with her, running from something, yet running free. She knocked on the door.
Through the drapes she saw the charcoal shadow come up to the door. It creaked open. There they stood, looking at each other. For the first time in three and a half years.
Sharon paused for what seemed a millennium. Her eyes turned to glass, to a pond glistening with the first rays of the morning sun.
“Andrea.” She could see her through the brown curls wrapping her face. Another long silence. Sharon’s voice started to break.
“You’re alive,” she said as she closed her eyes and started to smile. And Gabriel reached through the doorway, and the door closed as they held each other.


They sat down in the living room. In the joy, Sharon forgot about the bruises on her shoulder. Gabriel noticed them immediately.
They talked only briefly before Gabriel asked her. “Is Paul here?”
“No, he’s out playing cards. Should be out all night.”
“Things are the same, aren’t they?”
“Andi, they’re fine. He’s just got his ways,” and Sharon turned her head away, physically looking for something to change the subject. There was so much to say, yet Sharon couldn’t even speak.
And then Gabriel’s speech came out, the one she had been rehearsing in her mind the entire car ride over. The speech she gave to herself for the years before this very moment. “Look, Sharon, I know what it’s like, I can see the signs. I know you, and I know you’ll sit through this marriage, like I would have, this unending cycle of trying to cover the bruises on your arms and make excuses-”
Sharon moved her arm over her shoulder. Her head started inching downward. She knew Andrea knew her too well, and she wouldn’t be able to fight her words, even after all these years.
“I went through this. When Jack told me I’d never be able to leave him, that I’d be sorry if I did, that I’d pay for trying to divorce him, that’s when I knew I couldn’t take it anymore. No man has a right to tell me-or you-what you can and can’t do. It hasn’t gotten better, like you keep saying, has it? No. I know it hasn’t. It never does.
“I know this sounds harsh, and it is. If I was willing to run away, run away so convincingly that my own family thought I was dead, then it had to be serious. Do you think I liked leaving you? My brother? Do you think this was easy?”
Gabriel paused, tried to lean back, take a deep breath, relax.
“No. It wasn’t easy. But I had to do it, I had to get away from him, no matter what it took. In spending my life with him I was losing myself. I needed to find myself again.”
They sat there for a moment, a long moment, while they both tried to recover.
“You don’t have to run away,” Gabriel said to her. “You don’t have to run away like I had to. But he won’t change. You do have to leave here. Let me help you.”


Within forty-five minutes Sharon had three bags of clothes packed and stuffed into Gabriel’s trunk. As Sharon went to get her last things, Gabriel thought of how Sharon called her “Andi” when she spoke. God, she hadn’t heard that in so long. And for a moment she couldn’t unravel the mystery and find out who she was.
Sharon came back to the car. Gabriel knew that Sharon would only stay with her until the divorce papers were filed and she could move on with her life. But for tonight they were together, the inseparable Sharon and Andi, spending the night, playing house, creating their own world where everything was exactly as they wanted.
And this was real life now, and they were still together, with a whole new world to create. They were both free, and alive, more alive than either of them had ever felt.
“I want you to meet Eric. He’s a good man,” Gabriel said.


And as they drove off to nowhere, to a new life, on the expressway, under the viaduct, passing the projects, the baseball stadium, heading their way toward the traffic of downtown life, they remained silent, listened to the hum of the engine. For Gabriel, it wasn’t the silence of enabling her oppressor; it wasn’t the silence of hiding her past. It was her peace for having finally accepted herself, along with all of the pain, and not feeling the hurt.
Andrea. Gabriel.








facts from U.S.A. today article, Friday, 10-7-94, written by Barbara Reynolds



1. 85% of hysterectomies of the 550,000 performed annually are elective - and other options do exist
2. women are less likely to get cancer-screening tests from their physicians than males.
3. 90% of women with breast cancer are eligible for lumpectomies, but over half undergo mastectomies.
4. heart disease is the #1 killer of women, but most drugs are tested on men, which may also explain why women who suffer heart attacks often die within the first week.
5. women’s medical complaints are more than twice as likely to be dismissed as “all in the head.”
6. women are beginning to seek out female physicians
7. women receive twice as many appendectomies as men, even though women are less likely to develop appendectomies.
8. As of 1994, about 12 million american women lack health insurance


“Mention women’s health and debate usually focuses on breasts and wombs, as if women were no more than birth machines, without hearts, colons and lungs that need tending.” - Barbara Reynolds@#@#@# Merrilee needed us.
I pulled myself up from my husband’s shoulder and shook my head for the cobwebs. A young Doctor was on one knee in front of our couch.
“Mrs. Hopkins,” the Doctor said again, “we have reason to believe that Merrilee is not going to last much longer. As painful as this is, I must ask if you would consider donating her organs so that others may live.”
This caused me to sob a bit more. John pulled his arm from behind my neck and sat up soberly to speak to the Doctor.
“Just why are you asking us? We are not Merrilee’s next of kin.”
The Doctor looked confused and pulled out a chart. After shuffling some papers, he said that we were, indeed, Merrilee’s next of kin. Her father was an only child with both parents deceased. My mother and father were also deceased. John and I looked to each other with the realization that we WERE Merrilee’s next of kin.
John told the Doctor we would need more time to discuss this.
The Doctor excused himself and I fell helplessly into my husband’s arms to sob again. I told John that I could not begin to make such a decision in my mental state. Whatever John decided was fine with me.
John didn’t take kindly to having this decision thrust on him, but time was a major factor here and I simply could not make any sort of sane resolution.
“Sue, if you really mean this....if you really don’t want any input on this decision and are leaving it up to me...well, I am going to make it. I am going to tell the Doctor that in the event of Merrilee’s death he can take her organs.”
I nodded into John’s shirt. Either way would have been fine with me.
After several minutes, we heard a loud buzzer and saw many people in white clothes running toward Merrilee’s room. John and I ran down as well. The Doctor that had spoken to us about Merrilee’s organs gently led John and I out of the room and shut the door. Through the window, I could see the people in the white clothes surrounding Merrilee’s bed.
“She’s gone, I’m afraid. She had no brain activity so we held little hope.”
Just then John took the Doctor aside to tell him of his decision. I stood in front of the window to Merrilee’s room and watched the flat lines on all of her life monitors.


It was six weeks after Merrilee’s death that my garden leprechaun visited me again. It was Autumn, and chrysanthemums bloomed proudly throughout my well-planned gardens. Only this year, the asters and mums held no fascination for me. As scheduled, they bloomed, but with no assistance or indulgence from me. So far as I was concerned, the gardens could all turn to weeds. I had a raging migraine, not that this was anything new. After the accident, migraines were a daily event.
“Do you want to make a wish yet,” the oddly accented voice said.
I picked up a garden fork that lay haphazardly tossed in a rose bed. I threw the thing at the stupid little guy with all my might. I was in no mood to talk to leprechauns.
“You want to give me a wish you stupid elf dressed in green who visits only when I have a headache?” I scream-asked Ralph, the whole while thrusting the garden fork into the ground somewhere in his general direction. “I’ll make a wish Ralphie baby...I’ll make a wish and maybe you can go home where you belong. Bring Merrilee back to life, Ralphie. There! That’s my wish!”
I had been expanding quite a bit of energy with all this and Ralph was jumping around to avoid spilling green blood at the hands of a garden fork. Finally I thrust the fork deep into the soil, sat down on a landscape boulder and cried.
“Hey,” Ralph said, now standing next to the boulder when he should be gone. “Okay, you’ll get your wish. Next Spring, when new life is sprouting all about....you’ll see...Merrilee will live on.”
I took my head from my hands to better regard this little man. Only as I regarded, he faded from bright green to....nothing. He was gone, though my migraine lived on.


The mums shed their prolific blooms and the Winter snows came. I forgot all about the leprechaun although the migraines still hung around. An unusually mild day in February didn’t rouse my spirits either. I didn’t even browse through the mid-Winter garden catalogues. Since Merrilee died, I got to wondering what good a garden is anyway.
So the tulips eventually made their way through the earth and Spring came. Even then I didn’t work the garden. The garden for this year would only receive my guilty glances.
It was during one such glance that I noticed some unusual growth that I didn’t remember planting. It was a plant with very broad leaves, growing up against the fence that separated my yard from the neighbor. In fact, there were several of these plants. In fact, there were hundreds of these plants, growing all along the fence and I had not a clue what they were or how they got there.
It was an early June day that I found myself in the library and checking out garden books. I was determined I would figure out just what was growing in my yard. Whatever they were, they were getting ready to bloom.
Before I could lug my garden book bounty into my house, I was greeted by a young teenage girl just outside my walk.
“Are you Mrs. Hopkins?” the girl said.
I shifted my books in my arms and told her that I was. Then a car drove up and a handsome little black boy jumped from the back seat. “Are you Mrs. Hopkins?” the child asked. And before I could answer him, yet another voice asked if I was Mrs. Hopkins. This from a young man in his late teens.
“Goodness,” I said, “who are all of you.”
It was Donde who responded first.
“We received a message along with this pin,” Donde said as he held out his lapel for my inspection. I glanced down to see a pin and a happy little boy. “The message said to meet you here today to show you Merrilee was still alive.”
With this I almost dropped my garden books. As Joseph Barker Jr. grabbed the books from my aching arms, he explained.
“I received Merrilee’s liver. Emma May received a kidney. Donde here has Merrilee’s heart. We each received a message, addressed to us as a group, to meet you here today. We were told to wear these pins.”
I could barely see the pin but was not concerned . I was certainly nonplussed at these strangers now at the base of my porch and all of them bearing Merrilee’s organs. I invited them in.
I offered them some refreshments, but they were all eager to see the gardens. Not that they looked like much, what with my neglect. Emma May led the group out my back screen door and let it slam in much the same manner as Merrilee. Joe and Donde followed, each slamming in turn. As I hastened to go out with them, I heard Emma May’s gasp of joy.
“Hollyhocks! Just look....all these hollyhocks!”
I looked around the fence at the plants I couldn’t name. As foliage I hadn’t recognized what in full bloom could only be the hollyhocks of Merrilee’s angels. I had never planted a rambunctious hollyhock in my garden. Not ever. They were too untamed for my taste. Yet there they stood, tall and proud and beautiful.
I turned to look at this little group and now paid more attention to the pins they received with the strange message. The pins were little angels with hollyhock bodies.
That day we laughed and sang and I noticed entirely too many weeds were making themselves at home in my garden. Bumblebees visited the hollyhock blooms and Donde plucked a few for his Mom. Emma May told me of her dream of being a writer. Joe was in his first year of college and planned to pursue a medical career. I receive regular letters and phone calls from the group and am eager to monitor their progress. And every year we all get together in early June when the hollyhocks are in full bloom.
Merrilee lives, just like the leprechaun promised me.









exerpts from the novel
the Electronic Windmill
by Pete McKinley
Chapter III



After Kang left him at the ship, Cole went aboard. A seaman met him at the head of the gangplank and took him to the first officer who checked a passenger list and found C. Rain with the assigned stateroom. The stateroom was larger than he expected. On the dresser there was a bowl of fruit surrounded by three bottles of booze - scotch, bourbon and gin. At the moment Cole wanted a beer but decided to unpack his clothes first. Opening a door in the dresser, he discovered a refrigerator with soda, soft drinks and beer. He pushed the gear into a corner and opened a bottle. After a couple of cool swallows, there was a light tap on the cabin door, which sounded sort of sinister. “Yeah, who is it?” he asked, his voice taking on new character.
“This is Mike Crowder. Is everything 0.K?”
“It couldn’t be better, Mike. Come on in,” he said.
Mike had been looking after the other passengers and had just learned that Cole was aboard. “Everybody dresses pretty casual,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable and come into the main salon when you’re ready.”
After Crowder left, Cole dressed in dark blue slacks, a blue knit tee shirt, dark suede crepe-soled shoes and a blue car coat. Stepping on deck, he decided to take a walk around before going to the salon. He didn’t want to be conspicuous or make any noise. Quietly turning port, he walked towards the bow of the ship. He didn’t really expect to find anything, his purpose was merely to get the feel of the ship. The ship had passed through the Gate and was beginning to hit ground swells. The wind and spray was so cold that Cole wondered if he should keep a sharp lookout for icebergs. The moon shone through wisps of fog, and you could make out that the deck was very orderly and clean. The life-boats were in their davits and Cole figured they could be checked later if they became suspect.
He circled the deck once from bow to stern and was ready to turn into the cabin to use the head before going on to the salon - beer and cold weather are dynamite on kidney function - when, about thirty feet beyond the cabin door, he saw a peculiarly shaped object. The object itself wasn’t peculiarly shaped because it was just square and sort of box-like, but it didn’t fit into the surrounding contours of the deck and super-structure. He approached to examine it, but found it covered by a tarp and lashed in place by lines tied to ringbolts set in the bulkhead. He expected the tarp to be securely fastened so that there would be no way to expose whatever was inside to view. However, it was merely tied down on each corner with a simple bowknot. This was a fairly smart maneuver, using a bowknot so that it wouldn’t draw undue attention. Untying the binding he lifted the tarp and saw the front side of a black box that was open; it contained the damnedest piece of machinery that one can imagine, and Cole was sure it had no connection with the proper operation of a ship. It was black machinery with springs and wheels, a circular plate and even an electric motor, then there was a long lethal-looking arm. How could a ship use this kind of stuff? There didn’t seem to be any plausible reason for it; then it came to him what its function must be. It was a launcher; it could launch missiles, grenades or small depth charges at pursuers.
But even if someone on the Crescent Moon were engaged in smuggling heroin, they obviously couldn’t use this from the deck of the ship. Then he remembered the motor launch braced on the after-deck. That had to be it. Whoever used the motor launch took this deadly-looking piece of machinery along for protection. It was sitting on casters, the kind that were used to roll guns in and out of the firing embrasures of old wooden fighting ships. He wondered what reasons the captain would give to explain its presence on board.
He pulled the tarp down around the lethal box, retied the fasteners and turned to go to the cabin. There was a scream as he collided with someone in the dark. Dancing back and crouching, he heard a body fall, and then someone wailed, “What did I run into? I can’t see a damn thing.” A man’s voice said, “It’s one of the crew, dear.” Then moving out of the shadows, he said, “Coming from the bright lights onto this dark deck, I couldn’t see anything either.”
Cole straightened up and approached the two dark forms. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?” he asked, and then introduced himself.
They turned out to be Mr. and Mrs. Ederle, the only couple on board. The Ederles decided that another drink was needed more than a walk, so they all headed back to the salon.
When they entered there were two tables of bridge in progress. One table was finishing a hand, and Cole was introduced. The story of their accident was told, embellished somewhat by Mrs. Ederle. Letha Ederle went on and on with the story and then lifted her skirt and pulled down her pants to show a dark bruise on a well-rounded and otherwise unblemished hip. Waldo Ederle made no comment, but with a look of bemused tolerance, tossed off the first drink the steward handed him and signalled for another. Cole excused himself and went to the head.
When he returned there was both a bartender and a steward in attendance and, since Cole was interested in every member of the crew, he watched their movements closely. Lew, the steward, just under six feet, slender and wiry, glided quickly with no jerkiness in his action. He hoisted a tray, moved among the furniture and guests, and swooped the tray down. Even with the slight roll of the ship, no drop was spilled. It appeared the steward was born to do exactly what he was doing. Cole couldn’t think of any other occupation where his talents would show up to better advantage. But it was hard to reconcile all this talent being wasted on the Crescent Moon. If he wanted to be a waiter, he could have chosen and got a hundred better-paying jobs; maybe he liked the sea.
The Ederles left to continue their walk. Cole went over to the bar and sat on a stool. The bartender moved a bowl of peanuts closer and continued polishing a glass. He commented on the weather and then said that the long-range forecast predicted good weather for the entire trip. He enjoyed talking and told Cole he’d been born in San Francisco, had gone to sea at seventeen, and had sailed on the Crescent Moon for two years. His name was Chet, his wife’s name was Marge, and they wanted to buy a place, a ‘little spot of land’, near Guerneville, and raise chickens. Lew, the steward, was new, had been on board a little over three months, was a bachelor, and even though he was a strange one, he was the best man he, the bartender, had ever worked with. Then he got into a soliloquy on sports and pretty soon, Cole was ready to bet that if there was any smuggling going on, Chet the bartender didn’t know anything about it.
The Ederles returned from their walk and Mike Crowder requested one of them to sit in for him while he went to see the first mate. Letha begged off and came to the bar, sitting next to Cole. She ordered coffee and kahlua topped with whipped cream and then taking Cole’s hand, she placed it on her hip and asked, “Do you feel anything?”
“No, I don’t feel a thing.” Cole assumed she was talking about lumps. She let go his hand and Cole glanced at the table where Waldo sat; but he was absorbed in the bridge game.
Letha rambled about the blandness of life; she didn’t like to hunt or fish but hadpornography


The language of sex that is forbidden used to be a language like this:
Bitch,” he snapped, pulling away from her, yanking his dick out of her mouth. “You’re trying to make me come before I’m ready...” She ate up that kind of talk.
John Stoltenberg, “Pornography and Male Supremacy - the Forbidden Language of Sex,” “Refusing ... Essays on Sex and Justice.”



Think of some woman in a porn magazine or movie. You probably be able to think of one in particular, so just think of the general notion of a woman in porn.
Here’s a woman, which you probably wouldn’t even think to call a woman, doing whatever the said man in the movie wants her to do, on film, for others to derive pleasure from. Now in general, when men or even women look at her, they don’t wonder about her intellect, her personality, even the sound of her voice. You don’t even wonder if she’s a good cook. When it comes to the viewers of this woman, all they’re thinking about is sex - her body parts and what she does with them. That’s all you’re supposed to be thinking about when you watch it - that’s the whole point of porn.
Okay, so now you’re looking at this woman and you’re thinking of her as, well, not even as a human being as much as some sort of object with legs and tits and other things. You’re not thinking of her on any other terms, you don’t want to think of her on any other terms. Her express purpose is your sexual satisfaction. You begin to objectify this woman - you don’t even know her name, and you are shown to think of her as and object derived to fulfill your needs.
Now, you watch a porn more than once, you see different porn movies, you see these naked women more than once, you see them in magazines as well as in movies. For your purposes, they could even be all the same person - they’re just legs and tits anyway, right? For all you know, you could have been looking at the same woman on numerous occasions without even knowing it. They have no personality to you in this form, in pornography. And you may even become accustomed to seeing them this way - seeing the women in these videos and pictures as objects of pleasure for the male viewer.
Now tell me, who is to say that on some levels there aren’t men who don’t begin to look at women in general in terms of the images they’re seeing of women - as objects, as sexual creatures? Do men begin to think of all porn stars as women whose personality doesn’t matter to the male, then think of all naked women as objects without feelings, then think of all women in general as tools for men’s satisfaction?









Skin flicks and porn reading matter market women as commodities, denying physical uniqueness, women are presented as “tits and ass” with bulging breasts and painted-on smiles. This caricature of the female body and its reduction to a few sexual essentials is presented undisguised in the “hard core” material and covered up with sophisticated packaging in Playboy, Penthouse, and “soft core” porn films. Whether explicit or implied, the underlying message is the same: women are to be treated by the consumer (the male reader) as pieces of ass.
Michael Betzold, How Pornography Shackles Men and Oppresses Women, Male Bag, March, 1976


This woman in the porn movie, on the pages of the magazine, she’s probably not even the type of girl the average guy would want to take home to introduce to mom and dad. For some reason she is acceptable for sexual purposes, but not for relationships. She’s acceptable for what men, in general, prefer for interactions with the opposite sex, but she is the opposite of what women in general want for interactions with the opposite sex.


Pornography promotes our insecurities by picturing sex as a field of combat and conquest. The sex of pornography is unreal, featuring ridiculously oversized sexual organs, a complete absence of emotional involvement, little kissing and no hugging...
Besides reinforcing destructive fantasies toward women, porn promotes self-destructive attitudes in men. By providing substitute gratification, it provides an excuse for men to avoid relating to women as people. It encourages unrealistic expectations: that all women will look and act like Playboy bunnies, that “good sex” can be obtained anywhere, quickly, easily, and without the hassle of expending energy on a relationship.
Michael Betzold, How Pornography Shackles Men and Oppresses Women, Male Bag, March, 1976


The male viewer is turned on by her, but these men wouldn’t want to actually have to spend time with her. Now why? Because what she does is unacceptable? Why is it acceptable for her to make these movies, take these photos for the pleasure of men, but because of that she is not respectable enough to date?



But how to chart the pressure sensed by women from their boyfriends or husbands to perform sexually in ever more objectified and objectifying fashion as urged by porn movies and magazines?
Robin Morgan, Pornography: Who Benefits


Now tell, me, what is to say that men don’t begin to look at women in general in terms of the images they’re seeing of women - as objects, as sexual creatures, as legs and tits, but as something they don’t respect?


I want the world to know that I have a brain. I want the whole damned world to know that I have ideas, and talent, and intellect, that I’m hard-working, that I’m interesting. But how am I supposed to fight these notions that men have of how women are? Of how I am, or am supposed to be, according to their standards?
Do you have any idea how sick it makes me feel when I see some guy leering at me in the street? But you have no idea why. No, the typical male response of “She just doesn’t want to be flattered” doesn’t make sense, because you’re not flattering me by reducing me to something you can abuse. To tits and legs. To something like an object in a porn magazine or movie, someone who wants to solely be a vehicle for the man’s pleasure. No, I don’t think finding someone attractive is a bad thing, in fact, it’s a very good thing. But that isn’t all there is to a human being, and that surely isn’t all there is to me. If someone is going to stereotype me into one category, I would rather be thought of as smart, or hard working, than a potential fuck.
Every time I see a pornography magazine, I wonder if the owner, or the men looking through it, expect me to look like that, or expect me to perform like that for them. Or if they think I like the submission and degradation. I don’t. Most women don’t.









Janet kuypers, How Pornography Affects Me, 1994.



“But the women who are porn models and actresses like it, I mean, they’re not being degraded, they’re being paid for it.”
Would you enjoy having a photographer take pictures of you so everyone could fixate on your penis? (maybe you would.) Let me put it this way: would you like it if every interaction you had in the world related and depended only - and I mean only - with your penis? That the only way you could achieve anything in life was only if you exploited your sexual organs? If your brain didn’t count? If your abilities didn’t count? If you as a person didn’t count?
Would you enjoy it if you were trying to apply for a job and all through the interview your potential employer was more interested in how you looked naked than your skills applicable to the job? It would be so frustrating, because that wouldn’t matter to the job, and you wouldn’t be able to prove to these people that you are qualified for the job. It would be so frustrating, because there would be nothing you could do to make these people see you as a person.
You probably think it sounds funny, but in all honesty, these things all relate. Pornography objectifies women, and these views of objectification translate to other parts of society, from looking for a job to walking down the street. And in my opinion, it’s just not fair that women should be treated that way, simply because that’s the way it is, simply because that’s the way men and women have been taught in this society think.



Many men, knowing intimately the correspondence between the values in their sexuality and in their pornography - share the anxiety that the feminist anti-pornography movement is really an attack on male sexuality. These nervous and angry men are quite correct: the movement really does hold men accountable for the consequences to real women of their sexual proclivities. It is really a refusal to believe that a man’s divine right is to force sex, to use another person’s body as if it were a hollow cantaloupe, a slap of liver, and to injure and debilitate for the sake of his gratification.
When one looks at pornography, one sees what helps some men feel aroused, feel filled with maleness and devoid of all that is non-male. When one looks at pornography, one sees what is necessary to sustain the social structure of male contempt for female flesh whereby men achieve a sense of themselves as male...
John Stoltenberg, “Pornography and Male Supremacy - the Forbidden Language of Sex,” “Refusing ... Essays on Sex and Justice.”



“But women like porn movies, too, and there’s naked men in the pictures. It’s eroticism, it turns everyone on, not just men. What’s wrong with that?”
First of all, the way pornography depicts sex is different from eroticism - the one difference is that pornography is by nature degrading towards women. How? By her submissiveness, her subservience. Is she tied up? Is her aim to please the man? Is rape a common fantasy in pornography, or physical pain, or very young women (even more weak that full adults), or more than one woman serving a man? Eroticism does not rely on one sex submissive and subservient to the other. Pornography relies exactly on just that degradation of one sex.



statistic: 75% of all women involved in pornography were victims of incest.



Think about this, which is one of the most common fantasy scenes when the tables are turned: would you, as a man, like to be naked with another man, the both of you working to satisfy one woman? Would you really feel comfortable being with another man in that situation? No, I’m sure you wouldn’t want to compete. And I’m sure you’d want to know that you are capable of bedding a woman and don’t need to share the responsibility of satisfaction with another man. Would you want the woman deriving pleasure from another man while she was with you? No, I’m sure you’d want to know that she was dependent on you, and not someone else, for her satisfaction. Imagine that situation, really think about it, and tell me honestly that the fantasy of two women having sex with one man is fair, or accurate, or considerate, or even enjoyable for women.



Both law and pornography express male contempt for woman: that have in the past and they do now. Both express enduring social and sexual values; each attempts to fix male behavior so that the supremacy of the male over the female will be maintained.
Andrea Dworkin, Pornography and the First Amendment.



Pornography supports, encourages these situation if submissiveness, like multiple women, or bondage, or rape. And in my opinion, any medium that eroticizes rape is completely inaccurate. Women don’t like it. No women do. A woman may fantasize about rough sex, which could be played out in the bedroom like a rape scene with a trusting partner, but that is definitely not rape, and it doesn’t feel like rape. Why would men want to fantasize that women actually enjoyed an actual rape? To feel secure that women enjoy their oppressed place in the society? Because the men want to rape someone? That’s hard to believe, but if that’s really a possible answer, then where do they get the fantasy of raping a woman? Pornography.



statistic: it is currently is legal to sell tapes of real rapes in this country.



And if women like pornography, it might be because they have grown to like it. It is one thing to be sexual, and it is entirely another to support this kind of degradation toward women. In our culture, pornography exists, but eroticism barely does. Women don’t have the choices for pleasure in this society that men do. Playgirl and other similar magazines are designed mostly by men - and revolve around the same fantasies that men have. It is assumed that women enjoy the same fantasies. No one questions whether or not they do. And in fact, the vast majority of readers of Playgirl are gay men.



Pornography contains hidden messages. For example, the recent surfacing of sadomasochistic material in more respectable publications such as Penthouse illustrates how reactionary sexism gets mingled in with the turn-on photos. The material suggests that women should not only be fucked, but beaten, tortured and enslaved-triumphed over in any way. Penthouse gets away with this murderous message by casting two women in the S/M roles, but it’s no problem for a man to identify with the torturer-the victim is provided.
Michael Betzold, How Pornography Shackles Men and Oppresses Women, Male Bag, March, 1976



Does pornography produce these subservient, submissive, sexual, non-human notions about women in men, in all different levels in society? It may be one of many forces that produce these notions - and all these different factors feed upon one another. Sexism pervades every pore of our culture, and pornography reinforces these barriers, as do other forces in our day-to-day lives.



There is little understanding that pornography is not about sex but rather is a fundamentally misogynist expression of patriarchal rights...
Gary Mitchell Wandachild, Complacency in the Face of Patriarchy, Win, January 22, 1976



Women are portrayed as sexual objects in almost every form of media today. There are so many more strip joints for men than women, and there are so many restaurants and bars with female employees wearing next to nothing. Women make 63¢ for the man’s dollar in the work place. Women are abused in marriages and relationships, physically and sexually. A single 30-year-old man is considered sexy while a 30-year-old women is considered a hag. One in three women in their life times will be raped, one in four before they even leave college. Over 80% of the rapes that do occur are committed by a man the survivor knew, a friend, a relative, a boyfriend - someone they trusted. Playboy and Penthouse outsell Time and Newsweek twenty times over.
And the word misogyny exists - it means “to hate all women” - and a similar term does not exist for hating men.



No, I don’t believe that pornography should be banned - I also believe in the First Amendment, and I believe in freedom of expression. I just wish that people didn’t support it so much. I wish that these notions weren’t forced on to me by men I interact with, by society in general.
No, I suppose I can’t change the world, but I’ll do what I can to make people understand me. Because every day I have to live with these notions in society, these stereotypes about me. And I don’t like them, and I don’t want to live by them. Most women don’t want to live by them, but they figure it’s easier to go along with it than fight the system. I can’t go along with it. That is who I am - a person who cannot be submissive, who has her own thoughts, her own brain. And if these notions are in my way, than I’ll do what I have to to get rid to these things. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.







Janet kuypers, How Pornography Affects Me, 1994.



The rallying cry of porn dealers is freedom of speech and the press ... Yet we would be appalled if movies showed blacks being lynched or castrated, Chicanos being systematically beaten and tortured, and we would quickly protest. But we say nothing when the same activity goes on with women as the victims.
Michael Betzold, How Pornography Shackles Men and Oppresses Women, Male Bag, March, 1976



“Women don’t like pornography because they’re afraid to say they really like it. Women are just jealous of better looking women being sexually active, doing what they think they cant.”
Women don’t like pornography because as human beings they don’t like being reduced to an object for men’s pleasure, a receptacle for a man’s penis. They don’t like being reduced, and in such a graphic way, to a non-thinking, non-feeling pile of rubble. And they don’t like the fact that men can go into many newsstands or video stores and get something commonly sold, or even popular, that supports this. That harbors this. That encourages this.



Rrape education one


I sat in on a seminar
being held at a university
about acquaintance rape



when the woman behind the podium
asked if there were any other questions,
a woman raised her hand



she was a pretty woman



she asked what a woman
could do through the university
to prosecute the man



she sounded tough
she sounded professional



and the woman behind the podium
asked if this woman was raped



and she said yes



and the woman behind the podium
empathized with her,
told her she was raped
when she was thirteen



told her that she could tell this
certain department at the university
and they would bring a hearing on him



and then the woman behind the podium
asked, well, if you don’t mind my asking,
when did this happen to you



and by the tone of the woman’s voice
she was so calm so collected
I expected her to say
a few years ago



and her response was
six days ago



now, I know the healing process for rape
I’ve studied it in books
first there’s denial, then anger, fear
some of these steps last for years



and here was this woman
so calm so collected
to tough so professional
and I just knew
that one day



all of her defenses would fall
and it would all hit her
and she would fall
apart



I felt like her mother



she was my baby
and I wanted to deliver her
from the pain
but there was nothing I could do
I felt so helpless



nothing I could have taught her
would prepare her for this










rape education two


I told a friend
that I worked for
acquaintance rape action groups



she confided in me
told me that she was raped
when she was sixteen



you see, it went like this:
her boyfriend was 23
she was just in high school
and she was drunk
and she didn’t know what to do



and all I could think
was that more and more people
are telling me
stories like this


ledge



they pushed me over the edge
this was not my preference
it is because of their indeference
could this be
all because of their apathy
i fell



Curva Peligroso
Caron Andregg
caron@ktb.net



Some women can sense electric men
Even in crowds, even in the dark
Feel their uniqueness
Like a torch blazing
Smell them
Like a horse smells the barn
But I only smell the barns
Which are already burning.
Tonight, some big Irish felon
Oozing unconscious pheromones
Snapped my head around.
He might as well have had a little label
Suspended within his magnetic field
Like those delicate white placecards
Perched upon tripods at wedding receptions
One which warns of ‘Dangerous Curves.’
Like those road signs
Along the ragged Baja highway
Yellow as radiation warnings
Reading ‘Curva Peligroso’
The ones which I believe but still ignore
The ones which sing me out
Into the dangerous night.



By Proxy



Caron Andregg
caron@ktb.net



They encountered each other
Publicly, at a party
Packed with clients and friends
Embraced, chastely
With a superficial brushing of the cheek
Careful to conceal themselves
Yet still betrayed
By the swirl of her dress
Which reached around his thighs
And clung to him
On her behalf.



Burn It In



janet kuypers
ccandd@shout.net



Once I was at a beach
off the west coast of Florida
it was New Year’s eve
and the yellow moon hung over the gulf
like a swaying lantern.
And I was watching the waves crash in front of me
with a friend
and the wind picked up
and my friend just stared at that moon for a while
and then closed his eyes.
I asked him what he was thinking.
He said, “I wanted to look at this scene,
and memorize it, burn it into my brain,
record it in my mind, so I can call it up when I want to.
So I can have it with me always.”
I too have my recorders.
I burn these things into my brain,
I burn these things onto pages.
I pick and choose what needs to be said,
what needs to be remembered.
Every year, at the end of the year
I used to write in a journal
recall the things that happened to me
log in all of the memories I needed to keep
because that was what kept me sane
that was what kept me alive.
When I first went to college
I was studying to be a computer science
engineer, I wanted to make a lot of money
I wanted to beat everyone else
because burned in my brain were the taunts
of kids who were in cliques
so others could do the thinking for them
because burned in my brain were the evenings
of the high school dances I never went to
because burned in my brain were the people
I knew I was better than
who thought they were better than me.
Well, yes, I wanted to make a lot of money
I wanted to beat everyone else
but I hated what I was doing
I hated what I saw around me
hated all the pain people put each other through
and all of these memories just kept flooding me
so in my spare time
to keep me sane, to keep me alive
I wrote down the things I could not say
that was how I recorded things.
When I looked around me, and saw friends
raping my friends
I wrote, I burned into these nightmares with a pen
and yes, I have this recorded
I have all of this recorded.
What did you think I was doing
when I was stuffing hand-written notes into my pockets
or typing long hours into the night?
In college, I had two roommates
who in their spare time would watch movies in our living room
and cross-stitch. I never understood this.
In my spare time, I was not watching other’s stories
or weaving thread to keep my hands busy
I was sitting in the corner of a cafe
scribbling into my notebook.
I was sitting in the university computer lab
slamming my hands, my fingers against the keyboard
because there were too many atrocities in the world
too many injustices that I had witnessed
too many people who had wronged me
and I had a lot of work to do.
There had to be a record of what you’ve done.
Did you think your crimes would go unpunished?
And did you think that you could come back, years later,
slap me on the back with a friendly hello
and think I wouldn’t remember?
You see, that’s what I have my poems for
so there will always be a record
of what you have done
I have defiled many pages
in your honor, you who swung your battle ax
and thought no one would remember in the end.
Well, I made a point to remember.
Yes, I have defiled many pages
and have you defiled many women?
You, the man who rapes my friends?
You, the man who rapes my sisters?
You, the man who rapes me?
Is this what makes you a strong man?
you want to know why I do the things I do
I had to record these things
that is what kept me together
when people were dying
that is what kept me together
when my friends went off to war
that is what kept me together
when my friends were raped
and left for dead
that is what kept me together
when no one bothered to notice this
or change this
or care about this
these recordings kept me together
I need to record these things to remind myself
of where I came from
I need to record these things to remind myself
that there are things to value
and things to hate
I need to record these things to remind myself
that there are things worth fighting for
worth dying for
I need to record these things to remind myself
that I am alive










Tommy’s Tale
by Erin Bealmear



I was always looking for something
to do. When I was thirteen I spent a year
planning a way for Gilligan to get off
the island. Every time the Skipper
got angry and started to perspire
I thought he was going to hack up Gilligan.
My mother said I was too attached
to the show. “Tommy, you’re like a dog
fucking another dog, you can’t let go.”





LAST THOUGHTS OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON



Alan Catlin



Heat rose in layers
through the low,
hanging palm trees.
Black nightbirds
skimmed the skin off
his dreaming and left
a raw pain like fever
inside his black,
festering eyes.
Breathing was slow
and mechanical, a steam
engine at full throttle
with nothing left
inside to generate heat.
What he heard outside
was a pegleg tapping
on a boardwalk
of his imagination
disappearing precipitously
into a vacant, absorbing sea.
Every other step resounds
in his head like a
nightmare of a Treasure
Island for which he has
lost the map.



Knots



Tim W. Brown
audrelv@tezcat.com
http://www.tezcat.com/~audrelv/



I still hear the BOOM!
of sixteen-inch guns
lobbing shells big as cars
toward the Korean coast
when I think how they



sunk you in a coffin
of battleship gray.
Or maybe it’s the CLAP!
of you boxing my ears
not with fists, but words



that began at age eight:
every post card you sent
while working on the road
said, “Be a straight shooter,”
meaning to pee in the pot.



Up until age twelve I told
my friends I wanted to join
the navy, drink beer,
get tattooed like my Dad.
But I was born a land lubber.



Pushing a lawn mower through
a sea of grass was for me
like breaking in a horse.
Shaking your head, you called me
a “left-handed Jap bazooka shooter.”



When I grew up, you still
believed I wasn’t “working
with a full sea bag.”
Now I see you tried to pack
a sailor suit in a saddle bag



built for a bucking mule.
Those sea dogs sure taught you
some fancy knots, one
you used to hang yourself.
Unlike you, none will lasso me.



because this what we do



janet kuypers
ccandd@shout.net



we arrive to our parties and hour after they start
we know full well when we are supposed to be there
but we show up late anyway
we don’t have any prior engagements
but we act like we do



and we make sure we’re dressed well,
but not too well
enough to impress,
but not enough to be over-dressed
you can’t overdo it
you have to look good, you know
but not like you tried to



and we don’t talk to anyone we don’t know
and we make sure our gaze
doesn’t wander for too long
because we have enough friends and lovers
and we don’t need you



and as soon as the party is starting to decline
we make our way to a bar,
bring a few friends with us
because we can’t stay in one place too long
because we have other places to go
we must move on to bigger and better things
we must get out of here



this is how we keep our friends
and this is how we keep our social standing
because this is the way it is
because this what we do










ALMA’S DOGS
David E. Cowen
Ripford@aol.com
http://members.aol.com/ripford/homepage/cowen.htm



panting in a pack
as if watching a hand
waiving a piece of moist, bloody meat



she seems to savor the moment
standing behind the wrought iron fence
with spiked posts
seeing them laugh at any jokes she tells
watching their eyes follow her hips and breasts
as she exaggerates her movements



some flexing their arms
some pruning their hair
some stroking themselves



she chooses one for the old mattress
under the crawlspace under the house
admonishing the others to return the next day



confident in her power
she lays back on the soiled bedding
as the chosen dog has his meal



her scapular of the virgin
folded neatly in her shoes.


The Haunting
Rachel Crawford
luna@pacbell.net



copyright (c) janet kuypers


”[AaddzzÊstatsÊLogo]”






On the shores of Tripoli
As the master said to me
Look in side yourself
And see the haunting
Try the buddha and the zen
Try the miracles of men
But you must look into yourself
And see the haunting
You must look into it’s eyes
You’ll be scared
And you will cry
You must look into
The face of the haunting
You have to see
Through the dark
Past the fire and the spark
You will see
With your soul
You are the haunting



AFTERMATH



Richard Fein
bardbyte@chelsea.ios.com



Her lips
are drawn tight.
Her eyes
are turned away.
Sunlight exposes
pimples on our skins
which
we had not noticed
the night before.
Everything
we said
was said
to create the moment
which just ended.
She rises
and opens the blinds.
The morning glare
blinds me.
Her nude form
no longer
lures my eyes,
and she is quickly
gathering her things.
Alone
I lie uncovered.
The blanket lies limp
off the side of the bed.





PIVOT



Holly Day



I can feel your bones through
your pale flesh beside me
curled like a baby bird
against my body unconscious
that you are touching me
and it’s not sex
and it’s not love
in your church of streetlights and stop signs
I had tried to forge a union
between metals that don’t allow
and in your sermons of candy and sweat
I have learned to give up on abstracts
contracts
love
blind faith


climbing trees.



janet kuypers
ccandd@shout.net



(written with D.J.)



I
you see, I was a girl, I didn’t climb trees,
but I arape education three


I told a friend
that I worked for
acquaintance rape action groups



she told me she tried
to start a group of her own
at her college



her catholic college



and they told her she wasn’t allowed
to do it
because acquaintance rape
is not a problem
here



she tried to write an article
about it for her paper
they wouldn’t print it



what else was she supposed to do



Stalker


And she got out of her car, walked across her driveway, and walked up the stairs to her porch, trying to enjoy her solitude, trying not to remember that he had followed her once again. She thought she was free of him; she thought he moved on with his life and that she would not have to see his face again.
Why did he have to call her, on this one particular day, years later, while she was at work? Maybe if she could have been suspecting it, she might have been braced for it. But then again, she didn’t want to think about it: she was happy that she was finally starting to feel as if she had control of her life again.
It had been so many years, why would she have expected him to follow her again? Didn’t she make it clear years ago that she didn’t want him waiting outside her house in his car anymore, that she didn’t want to receive the hang-up calls at three in the morning anymore? Or the calls in the middle of the night, when he’d stay on the line, when she could tell that he was high, and he’d profess his love to her? Or the letters, or the threats? No, the police couldn’t do anything until he took action, when it was too late. Why did he come back? Why couldn’t he leave her alone? Why couldn’t it be illegal for someone to fill her with fear for years, to make her dread being in her house alone, to make her wonder if her feeling that she was being followed wasn’t real?
All these thoughts rushed through her head as she sat on her front porch swing, opening her mail. One bill, one piece of junk mail, one survey.
It was only a phone call, she had to keep thinking to herself. He may never call again. She had no idea where he was even calling from. For all she knew, he could have been on the other side of the country. It was only a phone call.
And then everything started to go wrong in her mind again, the bushes around the corner of her house were rustling a little too loud, there were too many cars that sounded like they were stopping near her house. Her own breathing even scared her.
I could go into the house, she thought, but she knew that she could be filled with fear there, too. Would the phone ring? Would there be a knock on the door? Or would he even bother with a knock, would he just break a window, let himself in, cut the phone lines so she wouldn’t stand a chance?
No, she knew better. She knew she had to stay outside, that she couldn’t let this fear take a hold of her again. And so she sat.
She looked at her phone bill again.
She heard the creak of the porch swing.
She swore she heard someone else breathing.
No, she wouldn’t look up from her bill, because she knew no one was there.
Then he spoke.
“Hi.”
She looked up. He was standing right at the base of her stairs, not six feet away from her.
“What are you doing on my property?”
“Oh, come on, you used to not hate me so much.” He lit a cigarette, a marlboro red, with a match. “So, why wouldn’t you take my call today?”
“Why would I? What do I have to say to you?”
“You’re really making a bigger deal out of this than it is,” he said, then took a drag. She watched the smoke come out of his mouth as he spoke. “We used to have it good.”
She got up, and walked toward him. She was surprised; in her own mind she never thought she’d actually be able to walk closer to him, she always thought she’d be running away. She stood at the top of the stairs.
“Can I have a smoke?”
“Sure,” he said, and he reached up to hand her the fire stick. She reached out for the matches.
“I’ll light it.”
She put the match to the end of the paper and leaves, watched it turn orange. She didn’t want this cigarette. She needed to look more calm. Calm. Just be calm.
She remained at the top of the stairs, and he stood only six stairs below her. She sat at the top stair.
“You really think we ever got along?”
“Sure. I mean, I don’t know how you got in your head -”
“Do you think I enjoyed finding your car outside my house all the time? Did I enjoy seeing you at the same bars I was at, watching my and my friends, like you were recording their faces into your memory forever? Do you think I liked you coming to bother me when I was working at the store? Do you -”
“I was.”
She paused. “You were what?”
“I was logging everyone you were with into my head.”
She sat silent.
“At the bars - I remember every face. I remember every one of them. I had to, you see, I had to know who was trying to take you away. I needed to know who they were.”
She sat still, she couldn’t blink, she stared at him, it was just as she was afraid it would be.
And all these years she begged him to stop, but nothing changed.
She couldn’t take it all anymore.
She put out her right hand, not knowing exactly what she’d do if she held his hand. He put his left hand in hers.
“You know,” she said, then paused for a drag of the red fire, “This state would consider what you did to me years ago stalking.”
She held his hand tighter, holding his fingers together. She could feel her lungs moving her up and down. He didn’t even hear her; he was fixated on looking at his hand in hers, until she caught his eyes with her own and then they stared, past the iris, the pupil, until they burned holes into each other’s heads with their stare.
“And you know,” she said, as she lifted her cigarette, “I do too.”
Then she quickly moved the cigarette toward their hands together, and put it out in the top of his hand.
He screamed. Grabbed his hand. Bent over. Pressed harder. Swore. Yelled.
She stood. Her voice suddenly changed.
“Now, I’m going to say this once, and I won’t say it again. I want you off my property. I want you out of my life. I swear to God, if you come within fifty feet of me or anything related to me or anything the belongs to me, I’ll get a court order, I’ll get a gun, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you away forever.”
“Now go.”
He held his left hand with his right, the fingers on his right hand purple from the pressure he was using on the open sore. He moaned while she spoke. She stood at the top of the stairs looking down on him. He slowly walked away.
She thought for a moment she had truly taken her life back. She looked down. Clenched in the fist in her left hand was the cigarette she just put out.



the martyr and the saint


they gave their daughter the name
of the Patron Saint of television



and the television’s always been
one thing she hated about him



or was it the drinking that he needed
more than her



the business has gone bad
I’m a failureI’m not a man



he said he respected her
then he’d call her



a twenty dollar whore from Vegas



and the mother would hold
the child, the saint, the pure angel



hold her ears and hope she
couldn’t hear



ways women hurt themselves to make themselves beautiful


long hair
hair brushes
hair dryers
hot rollers
curling irons
crimping irons
flat irons
perms
hair coloring
hair clips, barrettes, banana clips
rubber bands
hair spray
hair gel
hair mousse
shampoo
conditioner
hot oil conditioning treatments
tweeze their eyebrows
remove via electrolysis a moustache
washing the face
soap
astringent, toner
moisturizing creme
wrinkle treatments
makeup
foundation
touch-up stick
powder
rouge
lipstick
lip liner
eye shadow (up to four shades)
eye liner
eye brow pencil
mascara
eyelash curler
eyelash brush
eyebrow brush
growing fingernails
pushing back cuticles
applying cremes, lotions
painting nails
applying fake fingernails
press-on plastic nails
powder-and-chemical sculpted nails
gel and ultra-violet light hardened nails
painting and manicuring toe nails
perfume
at neck
at wrists
at backs of elbows
at knees
at ankles
underarm deodorant
feminine deodorant
shaving hair on the legs
shaving hair at the bikini line
via a razor
via hot wax
via electrolysis
via tweezers
via rotating coils
suntanning
tanning creme
lotion
hand creme
elbow and knee lotions
foot cremes
jewelry:
earrings
clip on
pierced (putting holes in your ears and hanging metal from them)
necklaces
bracelets
rings
watches
ankle bracelets
clothing:
brassieres
decorative panties
corsets
teddies
slips
short or tight-fitting dresses
tight-fitting tops, sleeveless tops, strapless tops
tight-fitting pants, tight-fitting shorts, tight-fitting skirts
short shorts, short skirts
cinched belts
garter belts, garters
panty hose
heels, pumps, shoes with pointed toes



...
“When will you be back?”
She looked at me with disappointment or hatred. She said with her eyes that she’d told me That before too. But I needed to ask if she would return at all. She took a lot of money. Sure, we always took a lot of money on trips. But this looked like more. Or I wanted it to look like more. Was I getting some kind of pleasure out of this? I didn’t feel like it.
She’d called a cab already. I said I’d drive her. I’m sure I’d said it before as well, when she’d told me about the trip, if she’d said it.
“Just so I know,” I repeated, “when will you be back? - I’ve had a lot on my mind, lately, Vera.”
“Oh.” She struggled with the suitcases. More than two. I didn’t count them. “That’s all right then.”
How long was this going to be? I’m hoping they had a lot to say at that conference. It’s been a month yet.


in the projects



janet kuypers
ccandd@shout.net



I saw a woman in the projects, by the apartments you were looking at. I was driving toward the lake, stuck at the intersection in traffic, and she walked across the street, in front of my car. She was wearing a blackjacket, falling off of one shoulder. She was wearing a black and white striped shirt. She was carrying a clear plastic cup in her left hand, like the kind you get in a bar. It was filled a quarter of the way with beer. And she walked across the street, holding her beer at the end of her straight left arm, and the sleeve of her jacket almost covered her hand. And her eyes darted back and forth, as if she knew she wasn’t supposed to have open alcohol in public but she’d do it anyway, not caring for the law, but still being cautious. And I thought: I’ve done that before. We both have things we’re running from. What makes her, in the projects, living off the government, any different from me, in the ugly new houses, living off someone else’s ideals.









“Really”



D. Michael McNamara
RFDD36C@prodigy.com



I’ve seen you shake your guilt
like last month’s skin,
banging that tambourine
to the rhythm you dance to
inbetween smiles off-set
by calculated sickle glances
telling me it’s nothing. Really.


Japanese Television
janet kuypers
ccandd@shout.net


as reported in the New York Times:



one new television show in Japan
boasts young women in bikinis
who attempt to smash aluminum cans
in between their breasts



another television show in Japan
brings a young boy on stage
to tell him his mother
has been shot and killed
to see how long it takes him
to cry



I wonder what they’d think
of Rosanne
and Married With Children



SUDDEN NEAR DEATH



c ra mcguirt
cramcguirt@aol.com


it had been a fairly stressful weekend.
i was pissed off at myself
for being pissed off at various people.
i’d been up & writing all night,
mostly about being pissed.
i’d tried, but i couldn’t get sleep:
i was too wired from the fight.



in the evening, i called a very good friend
to read him my poems, which explained
why i was so fucking angry.
he & his lover were very patient
& decent & enthusiastic
for a very long time.
they said they would call me back later,
so i thanked them & kicked back
to try & chill out.



i’d given myself one quart of beer
to sip at very slowly
while i taped a movie for me & my wife
to watch together later that night.
on the side, i had a good new book
about Jim Morrison, & figured
that i’d mostly read the book
& sip on the beer while i waited.



i sighed & knew i was getting crazy
over things of little importance
& decided that it surely couldn’t hurt
to take a mild muscle relaxer...



i threw one into my throat
with a sip of beer
& it stuck there.



i swallowed, & it didn’t go down.
i tried to take a breath, & failed.



the pill felt like my death.
i knew it was my death.



i was going to die in the kitchen
where i’d recently been so pissed
over poetic politics. shit, i thought.
if i could laugh, i would...



then i coughed the pill across the room,
took a deep tortured breath
death flew west without me
& i was left to write this poem.



goddam. that was pretty intense...


NON-PC POEM #1



c ra mcguirt
cramcguirt@aol.com



ross is a racist
who flies the stars & bars
from his front porch. ross
doesn’t care about my songs,
poetry or politics.



r.d. is a rainbow warrior
who proves it every month
by beating his drums & gums
at the readings.



r.d. cares about the things
i do. he says he doesn’t want
to save me from myself.



if i had no choice
between the two,



were I forced to pledge allegiance
to one flag or the other:



ross, you may not be PC,



but keep ‘em flying,
brother.










joe putz-a-vucki
janet kuypers
ccandd@shout.net



my mother told me
about one of my father’s clients
ed kazinski
he had a studder
and you couldn’t mistake his voice



well he called the house one night
and my father was out with the boys
and so my mother decided to play a trick



she told ed “my husband is out
with ed kazinski
and he won’t be home for a while”



and ed studdered, tried to make an excuse
cover up for my father
and said, “uh, well, tell him
joe putz-a-vucki called”
and he quickly hung up
the telephone
thought my mother didn’t know his voice



later he told my father
he covered up for him
and my father said, my wife knows



your studdering voice, silly
everybody can recognize your voice
she was justplaying a joke



and by the way
who isjoe putz-a-vucki



ed told my father
that putz-a-vucki was polish
for “under the sidewalk”
and it was just
what came out
of his mouth
when he didn’t have time
to think










poetry by pete lee



getting up to go



not having slept
much taking
care not to
wake you easing
open the bedroom
door peering
back through dim
light seeping
between shutters
at you sprawled
on the bed hair
tangled nightie
riding up around
your perfect
hips sweat-soaked
sheets tossed
back in your sleep
a pillow already
between your thighs.



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



Girlfriend



You are a range of mountains.
I am at your feet, looking up,
my back to a hundred miles of desert.
Beyond you may be a hundred more, or a thousand.
I will take my sweet time ascending you.
Near your summit I will turn
and look, once, at where I have been.
Then I will find shelter in your near face,
blind myself, and chop off my feet.


good news/bad news



the good news about hell:
wet spots don’t last
nobody singles you out for punishment
junk mail arrives in ashes



the bad news about hell:
too many religious fanatics
and militant non-smokers



**********************************
Groom ‘n’ Clean



Running my hands through my hair,
one hand slips and enters my thoughts.



My thoughts feel like fish guts. Steam
rises from them as in a freeze -



but aren’t fish cold-blooded? I pull
an answer up from the muck: so



there’s no steam rising like an answer
from my fish-gut thoughts. Just a man



running a hand through his head,
dragging a skeleton comb.



**********************************
habit



imagining the worst
yields to pleasant surprise
if only because over
time the worst yields
to the unimaginable


half-bad



those in the basement
of heaven would rest
in somewhat more peace



but for the half-hearted
screams that drift up
from the penthouse of hell



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



Hand



Counter;
pointer;
girl with orchid in her hair;
eager dog at the end of the arm’s leash;
air hatchet;
what hand tools would be nothing without;
fortune teller;
clapper;
drive-by slapper;
change mixer;
born manipulator;
opposed to your own thumb;
knife wielder;
bra strap fumbler;
grasper at straws;
a gripping appendage;
a real page-turner;
what the foot aspires to;
the reason cows don’t rule the world.


hawk



the wind skimming
off the edges
of the hawk’s wing
makes a dull hum -



as if the hawk
were a sailor
alone at sea -



the hawk dives and
the hum sharpens
to a high scream -



then the heavy
beating of wings
as the hawk drags
the rabbit off -



and the hawk hears
beating of wings
the rabbit’s heart
the mind’s low hum.
*******************
her hair



crouches there
on her head
like some half
tamed jungle
animal loyal
only to her
snarling and
clinging who
can blame it
she affects me
that way too



Gary’s Blind Date



janet kuypers
ccandd@shout.net


A friend of mine had a roommate named Gary
and Gary was a man
who was always down on his luck



So on one particular occasion,
after Gary had a dating dry spell,
my friend decided to set Gary up
on a blind date.



Now, he said, this girl
is beautiful, she’s funny,
you’ll think she’s great. trust me.
Pick her up Friday night.


And Friday came, and Gary,
feeling more and more apprehensive,
said, but I’m not feeling well. I’ve
been sick all week.

And my friend said, now I don’t want to hear
any excuses. You’re going.

So Gary got ready for his blind date
and drove over to the girl’s house.
She lived with her parents,
so when Gary rang the door bell
the girl’s mother answered.

“Oh, you must be Gary, please,
come in,” she said.



Once Gary got into the house,
the mother said,
my daughter’s still getting ready.
Would you like to wait?


and Gary, still not feeling well,
asked where the washroom was.
She directed him to the newly remodeled basement.

Gary walked into the brand-new bathroom.
New fixtures. Thick, white,
wall-to-wall carpeting.

Gary sat down on this new ivory throne,
still sick. But when he looked over
there was no toilet paper.
He couldn’t just stand up, he thought,
this isn’t just a regular trip to the bathroom,
I need something
to clean myself off with.
He couldn’t use a towel.
So he took off his pants
and used his underwear.

But he couldn’t leave the underwear
in the small, open trash can in the corner
of this newly-remodeled
bathroom, he thought.
So he
dropped them
in the toilet
and flushed.

Which caused the toilet to overflow,
causing the newly-remodeled bathroom
to look
less than new.


So here was Gary’s dilemma:
he left his underwear in the toilet
and defiled this family’s brand-new bathroom
all without even getting the chance
to introduce himself
to his date.
What are his options, what are his options.

So he did the only thing he thought
he could do in this situation:
he climbed out the small
bathroom window
and
drove
home.

When he arrived at his apartment
so early from his date,
his roommate had to ask.

And after that, he never
set Gary up on a blind date Again.


Monsters in my Dreams
by Tina L. Jens
tina_jen@para-net.com

You’re just a bad dream.
When I turn on the light, you’ll be gone.
I’ll check the closet for monsters with your face.
I’ll peak under the bed looking for your decapitated, talking head.

But you’re just a figment of my nightmares.
Just one more in a long line of bad dreams.
I’ll banish you with a night light.
And if I have to, I’ll stay up all night
And nap tomorrow afternoon.

philosophy


WHAT YOU OUGHT TO DO VERSUS WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO
essay by courtney steele
email Moral judgments often arrive to the conclusion that one person (the subject in a particular situation) ought to do something in a given situation. However, it has also been said in certain cases that a person had to do what he or she did (note the word had, as opposed to the word ought, is the word that makes the difference in the two statements). The question then arises:
Some moral judgments are to the effect that a certain personhad to do what he or she did. How does this differ from thecase where what a person ought to have done was whathe or she did?
To fully understand the question at hand, the question must be appropriately analyzed - what exactly is the intent of the question? What is the question asking? Generally, it can be said that the question is asking for the comparison of two slightly different statements, and these statements are:
a person had to do what he or she did, and
a person ought to have donewhat he or she did.
The differences, then, between these two statements, are the differences between the two concepts of having to do something and of doing what ought to have been done. To then fully understand the differences between these two concepts or cases (if there actually are and differences in the first place), the full understanding of these two phrases or words (had, in the context of “having to do something”, and ought, in the context of “having ought done something”) have to be understood, for the differences in the two parts to the question only boil down to (if any) the differences between the two different words that must be examined.
The definition of the word “had” is as follows:
had: to be compelled, obliged, or required
(considering that “having to do something” can only be applied to the concept of “having to do something” in a specific framework.)
And the word “ought” even has the same words used to describe it, for the definition is as follows:
ought: used to express obligation (ought to pay your debts), advisability (ought to take care of yourself), natural expectation (ought to be here by now), or logical consequence (the result ought to be infinity). Moral obligation, duty.
(the preceding definitions of the word “ought”, particularly visible considering the definition as a moral obligation, can only be considered as, for example, a moral obligation or a duty in a certain framework or society, much in the same way as the definition of the word “had”.)
Even in their definition they share the same words, denoting their similarity in their meanings.
Upon further investigation of each of the singular words being compared, yet more enlightening information arises. In considering the word “ought” as a moral obligation (as one of the definitions of the word implies), the concept of having “ought” do something transfers into having “ought” to do the right thing. The word “right” must then be further examined, for one of the definitions that can be accepted for the word right is
Acting in the most desirable way in a given situation or society
...which is very similar to the definition of the word “conform”, for the meaning of conformity is
Action in accordance to some specified standard or authority. To be obedient or compliant.
The concept of being compelled or required in a given situation to accomplish a specific action (which entails the majority of the definition of the word “had”) is very similar in it’s meaning to the definition of the word “conform” (which has just been defined above). Obligation, which is a word that has been used in the definitions of both the word “had” (in the sense of “had to do”) and of the word “ought” (in the sense of “ought to do”), can also be directly related to the said definitions of
white knuckled

by Janet Kuypers
The hot air was sticking
to her skin almost pulling
tugging at her very
flesh as she walked
outside down the
stairs from the train
station. Just then a
breeze hot and
sticky hit her
in just the wrong
way, brushed against her
lower neck, and she
felt his breath again,
not his breath
when he raped
her, but his stench
hot rank
when he was
just close to her.
Her breath quickened,
like the catch of her
breath when she has
just stopped
crying. All the emotion
is still there not
going away. She
walks to the bottom
of the stairs, railing
white-knuckled by her
small tender hands,
the hands of a child,
and that ninety degree
breeze suddenly
gives her a
chill. They say when
you get a chill it means
a goose walked
over your grave.
She knows better. She knows
that it is him
walking, and that
he trapped that child in
that grave

philosophy monthly


...from A Guide to the Philosophy of Objectivism
David King

Chapter 1: Ayn Rand and Objectivism - Philosophy and Science

Randism vs Objectivism
When Nathaniel Branden was asked (in 1971) if he were an Objectivist, he
replied:
“If you mean, do I agree with the broad fundamentals of the philosophy of
Objectivism, I would answer, ‘Yes.’ But if you mean, as Miss Rand might very
well wish you to mean, do I agree with every position that Miss Rand has taken
and do I regard the sum total of Miss Rand’s intellectual pronouncements as
being equal to what is meant by the philosophy of Objectivism, then I am not
an Objectivist.”
I would like to introduce these two terms:
A Randite is a disciple of Ayn Rand.
Randism is the set of ideas that were Rand’s personal beliefs. (This
includes, of course, some - but not all - of the precepts of Objectivism.)
There is a very important distinction to be made between Randism and
Objectivism. Randism asserts the congruency of Rand’s statements with the
principles of Objectivism: “what Rand says and only what Rand says is
Objectivism.” (Or, as Peikoff puts it: “Objectivism is a closed system.”) The
fact that Rand has made incalculably valuable identifications of certain
philosophical principles does by no means convey upon her exclusive or
infallible domain in the further identification or application of those
principles; nor, on the other hand, do Rand’s incorrect identifications or
improper applications in the least diminish the truth or usefulness of the
principles of Objectivism.
A big difference between the Objectivists and the Randites is that the
Objectivists do not view Objectivism as a dogma i.e., a set of ideas to be
accepted without question. We see it as an intellectual tool that is useful in
helping us to understand the world, in much the same way that the Scientific
Method is. From this point of view, the idea that someone can be “an enemy of
Objectivism” (one of Leonard Peikoff’s favorite denunciations) is as
ridiculous as the idea that someone can be “an enemy of the Integral
Calculus.”
There are many parallels to be drawn between Rand/Objectivism and
Newton/The Calculus. In each case an immensly powerful, beautiful and useful
intellectual tool was derived by a human being who possessed some of the
foibles of humanity. In each case the tool was jealously clung to and
possessively circumscribed by its creator. In each case the tool was rejected
and reviled by some reactionary people. And in each case (as time will
eventually demonstrate) the power and utility of the tool will outlast the
small-minded people who criticize it. Alongside these parallels there is a
significant difference: it would be rather farfetched to regard a set of
mathematical principles as a religion, but it is quite possible (and is indeed
the practice of some people) to regard a set of philosophical principles as a
religion. There are those who adulate Rand almost as if she were a deity and
who regard Objectivism as a sacred dogma.
I believe the important aspects of her life are the philosophical
achievements, not her personal attributes. Her personal foibles will
eventually fade into the oblivion of historical forgetfulness - like
Aristotle’s male chauvinism, or Newton’s alchemy, or Einstein’s socks - and
what will be left for future generations are the valuable philosophical
identifications she made.
I would say this to the Randites: Abandon the attitude that the principles
of Objectivism and the pronouncements of Ayn Rand are congruent sets. Realize
that Objectivism, like the Scientific Method, is an open-ended set of
principles rather than a closed and rigidly defined dogma. Recognize the
importance of the work being done by those scholars who are trying to develop
the ethical and political implications of the Objectivist Ethics. Until you do
this, you will only be ostracizing yourselves from the living and powerful
body of philosophy that is growing on the foundation of Ayn Rand’s magnificent
achievements.

Rand’s incorrect definition of selfish
You will observe that in my essays I do not use the term “selfish,” but use
instead “self-interested.” Here is why.
From the introduction to THE VIRTUE OF SELFISHNESS, by Ayn Rand:
The title of this book may evoke the kind of question that I hear once in a
while: “Why do you use the word ‘selfishness’ to denote virtuous qualities of
character, when that word antagonizes so many people to whom it does not mean
the things you mean?”.... there are others, who would not ask that question,
sensing the moral cowardice it implies....
There are, roughly speaking, three classes of people:
1. Those concerned with their own advantage without any regard for others.
2. Those having no concern for self at all.
3. Those who are concerned with their own self-benefit and who are also
aware of and concerned with their social context.
Rand makes a good case for altruism’s having falsely divided humanity into
just two classes - the first and the second - leaving no room for the third
category, the “self-respecting, self-supporting man - a man who supports his
life by his own effort and neither sacrifices himself nor others.” But if you
consult the Oxford English Dictionary, you will find that Rand’s use of the
term “selfish” to designate the third category is not conclusively justified
etymologically.
Historically, the terms most often used to designate these three categories
are:
1. Selfish: concerned with one’s own advantage without regard for others.
This has almost always been described as wicked.
2. Selfless: having no concern for self. This has always been described as
being ethically laudable.
3. Self-interested: concerned with one’s own well-being. This has only
sometimes been described as a vice.
These three usages are quite sensible terms of classification, enabling us
to distinguish clearly among the three categories. Rand’s insistence on using
the term “selfish” to designate that third category is a mistake, both a
cognitive mistake and a communications mistake.
It is a cognitive mistake because when she usurps the term “selfish” she
does not provide an alternative term for the first category. Thus she commits
the same cognitive error for which she upbraids the altruist mentality:
providing convenient terms for only two out of the three categories.
It is a communications mistake because the three terms enumerated above are
distinctly specified also in Webster’s Ninth Collegiate dictionary, and thus
are the terms most likely to be considered by educated Americans.
It is certainly true that there are many people to whom “selfish” does not
mean the things Rand means, and to question her usage of the term is not, as
she so stridently claims, an act of “moral cowardice” but merely an attempt to
preserve cognitive clarity and communications utility.
Perhaps it is no coincidence that in THE VIRTUE OF SELFISHNESS, Rand places
at the very last her essay on “The Argument From Intimidation.”

Rand’s personal statist views
In the realm of politics we must make a careful distinction between Rand’s
personal views and the implications of the Objectivist ethics.
The Objectivist stand is quite clear:
“The basic political principle of the Objectivist ethics is: no man may
INITIATE the use of physical force against others. No man - or group or
society or government - has the right to assume the role of a criminal and
initiate the use of physical compulsion against any man.” (From “The
Objectivist Ethics,” in THE VIRTUE OF SELFISHNESS.)
But Rand’s personal stand is fundamentally different. We can best see this
in her answers to two questions put to her during her appearance at the Ford
Hall Forum in 1972.
Question: Have you heard of the Libertarian Party and would you consider
endorsing John Hospers and Tonie Nathan as presidential candidates?
Rand: Look, I would rather vote for Bob Hope or the Marx brothers, if they
still exist, or Jerry Lewis - I don’t know who is the funniest today, rather
than something like professor Hospers and the Libertarian Party. Look, I don’t
think Henry Wallace is a great thinker but even he - he’s pretty much of a
demagogue, though with some courage - even he had the good sense to stay home
this time if he wanted to some extent - if he had one ounce of sincerity and
wanted some freedom for his country. To choose this year to start after
personal publicity - and if Hospers and whoever the rest are get ten votes
away from Nixon, which I doubt, but if they do it is a moral crime.
Question: Will you comment on the issue of should amnesty be granted to
draft dodgers?
Rand: I think it is an improper question to be discussed while there is a
war going on. It is a very complex question but you cannot, when men are dying
in a war, say that you promise amnesty to those who refused. On the other hand
I do not blame those who refused to be drafted if they did so out of general
conviction, not necessarily religious, but if they oppose the state’s right to
draft them. They would have a case, and they would go to jail. And they would
be willing to take that penalty.
Both Rand and her disciples have continually asserted this strong
opposition to the political implementation of libertarianism. And her
acceptance of the legitimacy of government authority was repeatedly expressed
both in word and deed.

Rand’s failure to distinguish between politics and economics
The last criticism I wish to present against Ayn Rand involves a failure
that was expressed not just in her personal behavior but which also shows up
in her philosophical writings. It is that she never made a distinction between
Politics and Economics. She almost always referred to capitalism as “laissez-
faire capitalism” or “free-market capitalism,” thus inexorably integrating
this primary economic concept with a political institution.
In my writings I will try to make a clear distinction between the two
realms of human activity, and provide definitions that will make it easier to
think about them.

What is Objectivism?
In considering the most fundamental ideas about the nature of the universe,
there are two basically distinct ideas:
One, known as subjectivity, asserts fundamentally that existence is created
by consciousness.
The other idea, known as objectivity, asserts fundamentally that there is
indeed a real world that has its own existence, independent of any perceiving
consciousness. Perhaps the best statement of this idea was made by Albert
Einstein:
“Out yonder there is this huge world, which exists independently of us
human beings and which stands before us like a great, eternal riddle, at least
partially accessible to our inspection and thinking.”
In the realm of scientific endeavor, objectivity (in the form of the
Scientific Method) has predominated. But in other realms of human endeavor,
such as Psychology, Ethics, and Politics, objectivity has had much less
influence in human history, mainly because the lack of a solution to the
Problem of the Universals precluded the sort of firm and direct linkage
between concepts of consciousness and reality as exists between scientific
concepts and reality (where truth prevails in a much more immediate and direct
manner).
But in the late 1960s the Problem of the Universals was solved by Ayn Rand.
She showed that Definitions Are Not Arbitrary, and she demonstrated how to
derive them directly from observations of reality. The same cognitive process
that enables you to construct a correct definition also enables you to think
in principles: to identify and classify things by reference to their
fundamental distinguishing characteristics.
This epistemological breakthrough enabled objectivity to be applied to ALL
areas of human activity. The work of Rand and other philosophers who have
taken up this effort has produced a set of principles now known as the
Philosophy of Objectivism. These principles stand in distinct contrast to most
of traditional philosophy and are, by and large, rather unpopular. (But that
is to be expected of any set of ideas that is new and challenges the existing
state of affairs. It has always been this way.)
Objectivism is the only philosophy that is completely consistent with
Physics. The ideas of Objectivism are founded upon a set of (Aristotelian)
Axiomatic Concepts: Existence, Identity, and Consciousness, and are derived
from those concepts by the intellectual procedure set forth in the Objectivist
Epistemology. This is a scientific, rationalist method which subsumes the
Scientific Method of determining truth. It extends the Scientific Method to
include areas of inquiry not usually thought to be amenable to scientific
analysis. In her essay “The Objectivist Ethics,” Rand applies this
intellectual procedure to identifying a rational basis for ethics and
morality. Nathaniel Branden, in his book “The Psychology of Self-Esteem,”
applies the procedure to identifying the bases of human psychology. Harry
Browne gives us a rational explanation of the nature of economics. Hospers and
Rothbard carry the procedure into the field of politics.

It is objectivity that is my area of interest, and Objectivism is the
philosophical context within which I write.
A philosophy is a set of principles which provides a consistent and
comprehensive frame of reference from which to judge man and his environment.
If a philosophy is to be a comprehensive frame of reference it must
encompass the full scope of man’s thoughts and activities. Especially must it
include Metaphysics, Epistemology, Ethics, Morality, Psychology, Politics,
Economics and Esthetics - since all of man’s activities are founded on one or
more of these fields of study. I will give a brief exposition of the
Objectivist principles as they apply to each of these fields. In order to
clarify my presentation I will in each case contrast the Objectivist position
with its contrary or opposite. The general schema looks like this:
Metaphysics objectivity vs subjectivity
Epistemology reason vs faith
Ethics egoism vs altruism
Morality self-interest vs degeneracy
Psychology free will vs determinism
Politics libertarianism vs statism
Economics free enterprise vs socialism
Esthetics romanticism vs anti-romanticism
Let us consider each of these terms and see what they mean.
Metaphysics is the science that deals with the fundamental nature of
reality. As I pointed out above, there are basically only two viewpoints in
this matter. One, objectivity, maintains that there is a real, factual world
which exists independently of the consciousness of any perceiving entity. This
is not to say that there is no interrelationship between consciousness and
reality, or that an acting conscious entity cannot alter and transform the
entities of reality by acting in accord with the physical laws that describe
reality, but rather that the facts of reality have their own existence whether
we are aware of them or not. Subjectivity, on the other hand, maintains that
reality, in its fundamental essense, is not a firm absolute but is instead
somehow dependent on, or a function of, consciousness. The basis of
subjectivity is a denial of the Law of Identity.
(There is another, quite different, sense in which the term subjective is
used: it refers to choices or decisions which are generated by reference to
internal states of consciousness rather than by assessment of external
factors. For example: the choice between chocolate or vanilla ice cream is a
subjective choice. But the choice between an ice cream cone for me or a bottle
of milk for my hungry baby should be an objective choice.)
Epistemology is the study of the source, nature and validity of human
knowledge. Here the Objectivist says that since there is a real world “out
there” (outside myself) it is the job of my consciousness to identify it. To
do this I make use of my faculty of reason - the ability to perceive, identify
and integrate the evidence of reality provided by my senses. The source of all
my knowledge lies in the rigorous adherence to logic, the art of non-
contradictory identification of the facts of reality. The subjectivist,
however, is bound to no such procedure. Since for him there is no firm,
absolute “out there,” his knowledge has its source in some form or another of
introspection (revelation) and its validity is accepted on faith - that is,
accepted without evidence or proof, or in spite of evidence to the contrary.
Concerning Ethics and Morality I make this distinction: Morality describes
intra-personal actions whereas Ethics describes inter-personal actions. For
example: dope addiction is immoral (it is self-destructive) but it is not
unethical. Stealing to support one’s habit is, however, unethical. Drunkenness
is merely immoral; blocking the sidewalk with your stupefied body is
unethical. Refusing to think is immoral, but failing, through this
intellectual laziness, to fulfil your obligations as a husband/father or
wife/mother is unethical. As you probably infer, I believe that most unethical
actions have their basis in immorality. I will save you the trouble of
consulting your dictionary by telling you that this distinction is
etymologically unjustifiable. Cicero was the first to use the term “morals”
and as he did so he noted that he meant this term to have precisely the same
meaning as the Greek term “ethics.” Since that time the two terms have been
used synonymously, but I think it clear that there is a distinction to be made
between two kinds of behavior, and the most appropriate terms to use in
labeling this distinction are Ethics and Morality.
In the field of Ethics the Objectivist position is egoism: that man is an
end in himself, not a means to the ends of others, and that each man should
live his own life for his own sake. The contrary position, altruism, holds
that man must make the welfare of others the primary goal of his social
relationships and that self-sacrifice is the highest virtue.
At this point I am sometimes beset with an argument that starts out: “Do
you mean to say that you’re the sort of wretched brute who tramples all over
other people to gain your ends?” and continues by proposing a kind of false
dichotomy which divides all human intercourse into two categories: sadism and
masochism, and then tries to sell me masochism on the grounds that sadism is
my only alternative. Most people posing this argument refuse to recognize the
existence of a third type of man - the independent, self-supporting, profit-
making trader, who neither sacrifices others to himself nor himself to others.
Morally, this sort of independently existing man is a self-interested
person. That is to say, he is a man who is CONCERNED WITH HIS OWN BENEFIT.
This implies, of course, that he knows what his own interests actually are. Is
it in my own physical self-interest to be a drunkard or a dope fiend? Hardly,
for these activities are clearly self-destructive. Is it in my own
psychological self-interest to be a liar or a thief? Again, no, because these
actions, although not as obviously self-destructive as alcoholism or other
drug addiction, are saboteurs of the mind’s most basic function: integration.
You cannot integrate a contradiction and both lies and thefts are
contradictions. (My second examples - liar/thief - are not merely immoral but
unethical as well, and you can see from considering them that unethical
actions are associated with immoral conditions.) What I’m trying to point out
is that many actions which are usually called “selfish” (lies, thefts, or the
wretched brute trampling on his poor fellow creatures) are not IN FACT in
one’s self-interest at all, and that the truly self-interested man is one who
has carefully examined and rationally analysed his nature as a proper human
being and thereby determined just what is IN FACT in his self-interest. The
liar, thief and brute are not self-interested, they are actually self-
destructive - they are degenerate.
Objectivist morality has two fundamental bases: acceptance of life itself
as the standard of values; and identification of the actions that are causally
required by our nature to achieve that end - to sustain life. The primary task
of morality is to identify the needs that must be satisfied to live
successfully, and the capacities that we have for satisfying those needs. We
prove that something is a proper value by showing that we need it; and we
prove that some course of action is a virtue by showing that it is required
for the proper exercise of our capacities.

In the realm of Psychology, Objectivism holds that man is a creature of
free will. This is to say that he is capable of making choices which are
causal primaries. Determinism, on the other hand, is the principle that all of
man’s choices and actions are determined by forces (heredity, environment,
etc.) which are outside of his control.
In political issues Objectivists are promoters of the libertarian ideal.
Their political goals are based on the ethical principle that no man or group
of men has the right to initiate the use of force against the person or
property of other people. We hold that there are only three proper functions
of a governing agency: the military, to protect men against aggression by
foreign criminals, the police, to protect men against aggression by domestic
criminals, and the courts, to resolve disputes and disagreements, which even
among just and rational men can at times arise. We hold that a governing
agency has no right to restrict a person’s activities in the moral area (thus
we oppose drug laws, laws forbidding sex acts between consenting adults, and
all other “victimless crime” laws) and that it can rightfully act in the
ethical area only when force (or its derivative, fraud) have been initiated
(thus we oppose all subsidies to business - or farmers - all tariffs and
import/export restrictions, licensing laws, and all other laws restricting the
freedom of production, transportation and trade). In brief, we advocate a
political system wherein each individual has the right to do anything
whatsoever which does not initiate force or fraud against anyone else, and in
which the role of a governing agency is strictly restrained to the protection
of that right. This is contrasted to the statist system, which is widespread
and becoming ever more prevalent today, in which the State exercises
predominant control over the actions of individuals, continually increasing
the scope and intensity of its regimentation and by “a long train of abuses
and usurpations, pursuing invariable the same Object, evinces a design to
reduce them under absolute Despotism.”
Corresponding to its political system, a society has an associated economic
system. Considering the nature of libertarianism, it is clear that its
associated economic system must have a strong foundation in the individual’s
right to own, control, use and dispose of his private property. Libertarians
advocate a capitalist economic organization in which the means of production -
land, capital, etc. - are owned and controlled by individuals (or voluntarily
associated groups of individuals), and in which there are no restrictions on
the freedom of production, transportation and trade. The opposite form of
economic organization, socialism (of which fascism and communism are
variants), is a system in which the economic resources are controlled by the
State and in which individuals have little, if any, economic freedom.
The last philosophical category I will consider is that of art forms. Here,
as before, I divide the field into two major domains. One, subsumed by the
term romanticism, includes all those works which are based on the recognition
that man is a volitional creature - that he has the power to make choices and
that those choices are major determinators of his life. The greatest portrayal
of romantic heroism can be found in the novels of Ayn Rand. The major task of
a romantic work of art is, as Aristotle said, “to show things as they might be
and ought to be.” The other esthetic domain (which, for lack of a suitable
general label, I will simply call “anti-romanticism”) shows things as they
“must be” (or are seen to be) and depicts man as a creature who has,
essentially, no power over his destiny. Anti-romanticism began with
classicism, evolved into naturalism, and is in turn evolving into absurdism.
The best such work of great classical literature is the Greek drama “Oedipus
Rex.” A good example of naturalism is “Death of a Salesman” and a typical
representative of absurdism is “Waiting for Godot.”
If I were asked to express the essence of Objectivism in one short
statement I could do no better than to quote Ayn Rand, the foremost identifier
and expounder of these principles:
“Man is a heroic being, with his own happiness as the moral purpose of his
life, with productive achievement as his noblest activity, and reason as his
only absolute.”

The Relationship Between Philosophy and Science
Scientists are very devoted to the scientific method, and they find that
the scientific method is to be applied most successfully in the world that can
be observed. That is not the world of moral values or the world of
philosophical thought, but in the laboratory where ideas can be tested. So
they regard science as the only really genuine form of knowledge. This leaves
them with an empty spot in their lives. They’re not practiced in applying
logic and reason to questions of value or philosophy. So they move this area
of thought over to the realm of faith. Their very devotion to the world of
fact leaves them hungry for some sort of clear guidance as to their conduct
for the rest of their lives.
On the other hand, philosophers spend their entire lives dealing with a
world of imaginings, conjectures, and fantasies, NOT with the physical facts
of reality - at least not beyond the tap in the sink and the switch on the
wall. They look with disdain upon the world of the physicist and the engineer
as being one of “crass materialism” - beneath the dignity of their lofty
intellectual position and not worthy of any serious consideration. The result
is that their ideas are usually entirely separated from reality and produce a
distortion when applied to the real physical world.
Consider Immanuel Kant, for example. He went to school, then he was a
tutor, then he was a professor at university for the rest of his life. As far
as I know he never even did so much physics as to draw a bucket of water up
out of a well. Thus whereas Thales (who was a bridge-builder) gave us
Aristotle, John Locke, and the United States of America - Kant (who was a pure
philosopher) gave us Fichte and Nazi Germany, Karl Marx and the Soviet Union.
But I cannot place all the blame on the shoulders of the philosophers.
After all, the philosopher does only half the job - he just conceives the
ideas. It is the scientist who creates the means of implementing those ideas.
Both men are equally responsible for the effects of their joint product.
Just as the philosophers are guilty of not knowing science - and thereby of
failing to test their ideas against reality, so the scientists are guilty of
ignoring philosophy - and thereby failing to understand the principles
underlying their actions.
How Scientists Can Build Bombs
Interviewer: “You must feel good, working for peace like that.” [on the
Manhattan Project]
Richard Feynman: “No, that never enters my head, whether it is for peace or
otherwise. We don’t know. You see, what happened to me - what happened to the
rest of us - is we STARTED for a good reason, then you’re working very hard to
accomplish something and it’s a pleasure, it’s excitement. And you stop
thinking [about principles], you know; you just STOP.”
Years ago in Los Alamos I had a hero, Enrico Fermi. He designed and
supervised the first nuclear reaction in the history of the world - in that
squash court at the University of Chicago. Then he built the first nuclear
bomb that was used - the Hiroshima bomb. I worshiped that man. He was dapper.
Jaunty. My God, he even had a sense of humor! And he started this whole
nuclear misery. You expect him to look and act like Mephistopheles, but here
was a marvelous little guy making jokes, while doing everything better than
everyone else. I loved that guy back then. I wanted to be like him. But I
couldn’t. Because I didn’t have whatever it takes for a man to enjoy himself
while perfecting these weapons.
When I first interviewed the scientists and first heard them tell of their
work on weapons, I wondered if it were possible to be so divorced from the
consequences of one’s work. It seemed to me that no matter how subtle the
problem a given weapon presented or how challenging its contemplation might
be, the ashes and the bones in the end would be the same.
Most scientists will, quite unthinkingly, sell their souls in exchange for
a laboratory supplied by loot.

The primary obstacle in developing any ethical philosophy is the lack of a
starting point. The analyst sees a set of “ought” terms: good, well, right,
proper, virtue, should, bad, wrong, etc. - each of which can evidently be
defined in terms of the others, but none of which has an independent, non-
relative existence. Rand’s genius was to identify the connection between the
“ought” of volitional judgement and the “is” of reality.
It is no accident that many of the early Greek philosophers were practicing
engineers, architects, bridge-builders, harbor designers. They were men whose
minds were intimately tied directly to the facts of reality, and that’s why so
many of their philosophical notions are so profound. In an attempt to link
science and philosophy, a reasonable question to ask is “Where can we find a
starting point - a foundation stone of certitude as the ultimate basis of
human knowledge? A place where we can stand in unquestionable certainty and
from whence we can build a structure of sure knowledge?” For a mathematician
this is no problem - he starts by looking at his fingers and counting them,
each symbol in his mathematical system representing an identifiable quantity
that is directly observed by his senses of sight and touch. For the physicist
also this is no problem - he merely refers to the broadest and most universal
concept known to science: the First Law of Thermodynamics (the notion that the
sum total of mass/energy in the universe is constant; that you can’t create
the stuff and you can’t destroy the stuff).
You can see that the physicist’s notion is fundamental to that of the
mathematician: the mathematician quantifies the entities that are composed of
mass/energy, but the physicist deals with the mass/energy directly. Is there
something that is fundamental to the notion of the physicist? Yes, there is,
and we can approach it through such questions as “What is the essential nature
of the mass/energy?” “What is the fundamental nature of the Universe?” “What
laws or principles underly all things - and all the behavior of all the
things?” There is an answer to these questions. An answer which subsumes both
the mathematician’s notion and the physicist’s notion. We might well call it
the Philosopher’s Notion. It was given to us by Aristotle, and it is the Law
of Identity.
The Law of Identity is one of the fundamental, axiomatic concepts
identified by Aristotle. In his Metaphysics, Book 4, Part 3, he observes:
“...for these truths hold good for everything that is.... And all men use
them, because they are true of being qua being.... For a principle which
everyone must have who understands anything that is, is not a hypothesis....
Evidently then such a principle is the most certain of all; which principle
this is, let us proceed to say. It is, that the same attribute cannot at the
same time belong and not belong to the same subject in the same respect.”
Stated as a tautology: A is A. A thing (ANY thing and EVERY thing) is what
it is. This idea is the foundation stone of all human knowledge. It serves to
tie human consciousness to the facts of reality. That it is indeed fundamental
can be seen when you observe that it cannot be escaped, that it is implicit in
all knowledge, that it has to be accepted and used even in any attempt to deny
it. For example, suppose you say “The Law of Identity is invalid.” Observe
that you have made a specific statement and that it has a specific meaning.
(Even within your own mind, you do NOT intend it to have the opposite
meaning!) Therefore your statement is what it is - it complies with the Law of
Identity - in spite of its own contention to the contrary. This is a situation
which you cannot escape, no matter how cleverly you might attempt to rephrase
your contention. The Law of Identity always prevails, in everything that you
think, that you say, and that you do. It is truly fundamental. It is, as
Aristotle said, “the most certain of all” - it is the foundation of certainty.
The Law of Identity is a foundation of objectivity. Any scientist who
probes beneath the First Law of Thermodynamics will soon encounter the Law of
Identity, and there he will find the doorway into the philosophy of
Objectivism. That doorway is the link between science and philosophy.
When you find, in the Objectivist Ethics, the TANSTAAFL principle (There
Ain’t No Such Thing As A Free Lunch): the idea that “You can’t get something
for nothing, unless someone, somewhere, sometime, is getting nothing for
something”, you see the direct link between Ethics and the First Law of
Thermodynamics.
Objectivism is the only philosophy that is completely consistent with
Physics. Indeed, Physics is a subset of Objectivism, for the fundamental
principles of Physics (the Laws of Thermodynamics) are themselves founded upon
the Axiomatic Concepts identified by the Objectivist Epistemology.
Objectivism starts with fundamentals and builds knowledge on a solid
foundation, from the ground up. Adherents of many modern philosophical
perspectives hate this very approach, and eschew the need for “foundations” of
knowledge altogether. They point out that thinkers have been trying to do this
for centuries and cannot agree on anything. Therefore, they argue, what’s the
use? And so THEY start in midair, with some supposedly common point of
reference allegedly agreed upon, but which is in fact controversial,
derivative, and even arbitrary. The result is usually a ramshackle mess which
presupposes an enormous amount that is never discussed, leads nowhere, and
solves nothing. What Objectivism has is a consistent, comprehensive
philosophical framework from which to ask questions about reality, and a
consistent, comprehensive scientific framework in which to seek answers to
those questions. Only this scenario can lead to a full understanding of
reality.

The Scientific Attitude of Mind
Science is not a body of knowledge but a way of thinking - a process - a
method. The body of knowledge is what results from that process. And a
Scientist is not necessarily someone who has a PhD in physics, but is anyone
who practices that way of thinking. It is characterized primarily by being
reality-oriented and flexible. A scientist assumes, as Einstein put it, that
“Out yonder there is this huge world, which exists independently of us
human beings and which stands before us like a great, eternal riddle, at least
partially accessible to our inspection and thinking.”
This is the fundamental premise of science.
The other element of scientific thought - flexibility - is the ability and
willingness to alter one’s ideas so as to bring them into correspondence with
that “independently existing world.” Nature does not necessarily comply with
the arbitrary boundaries established by human conjectures, and when she does
not, we must accept the necessity of modifying the conjectures.

Some History of Science
In the seventeenth century, there arose a mode of scientific procedure
usually associated with the names of Galileo and Francis Bacon. It was based
upon observation, reason, and experiment. Galileo’s work established the
priority of experiment over the Greek deductive science (which was itself a
great advance over the use of myth and religion to explain natural phenomena).
Galileo’s conclusions could not be ignored as a mere intellectual oddity, for
they had to be used in the practical business of pointing cannons at the
correct angle to compensate for the fall of cannonballs in flight.
By insisting on the experimental verification of scientific conjectures,
Galileo and his successors established a general test of scientific truth
which enabled scientists specializing in widely different disciplines to
accept and use each other’s results. The shared method created an organized
scientific community, with a division of labor among scientists in numerous
specialized fields, all contributing to the accumulation of a valid body of
knowledge. By the close of the seventeenth century, the scale of Europe’s
scientific effort was already overwhelmingly greater than that of any
contemporary or earlier culture, and so too was the European civilization’s
progress in understanding natural phenomena.
It has sometimes been maintained that Galileo’s greatest contribution was
his way of thinking about the physical universe. Unfortunately the great
majority of philosophers were (and remain) unable to understand his methods.
They still possess the Greek habit of reasoning from what seem to be valid
basic assumptions and rarely believe it necessary to check their conclusions
against the real universe.
We are so far accustomed to think of organizations solely in terms of
hierarchical bureaucracies like armies, governments, or corporations that it
is difficult to realize that an enterprise so individualistic and
nonhierarchical as modern science can properly be said to be highly organized.
But such a narrow impression of organization would have to be dismissed as
misleading on the basis of the history of science. Without a hierarchy,
Western scientists formed a scientific community within which they pursued
shared goals of understanding natural phenomena with dedication, cooperation,
competition, collective conflict resolution, division of labor,
specialization, and information generation and exchange at a level of
organizational efficiency rarely matched among large groups, hierarchical or
nonhierarchical. Western science had another advantage over contemporary and
antecedent sciences: it arose at a time when political and religious
authorities lacked the power to suppress new ideas incompatible with
conventional explanations of natural phenomena, though they often tried to.

Miscellaneous Comments on the Nature of Science
Goethe: “Nature understands no jesting; she is always true, always serious,
always severe; she is always right, and the errors and faults are always those
of man. The man incapable of appreciating her she despises and only to the
apt, the pure, and the true, does she resign herself and reveal her secrets.”
T.H. Huxley: “Suppose it were perfectly certain that the life and fortune
of evey one of us would, one day or other, depend upon his winning or losing a
game at chess. Don’t you think that we should all consider it to be a primary
duty to learn at least the names and the moves of the pieces; to have a notion
of a gambit, and a keen eye for all the means of giving and getting out of
check? Yet it is a very plain and elementary truth, that the life, the
fortune, and the happiness of every one of us, and, more or less, of those who
are connected with us, do depend upon our knowing something of the rules of a
game infinitely more difficult and complicated than chess. It is a game which
has been played for untold ages, every man and woman of us being one of the
two players in a game of his or her own. The chess-board is the world, the
pieces are the phenomena of the universe, the rules of the game are what we
call the laws of Nature. The player on the other side is hidden from us. We
know that his play is always fair, just and patient. But also we know, to our
cost, that he never overlooks a mistake, or makes the smallest allowance for
ignorance. To the man who plays well, the highest stakes are paid, with that
sort of overlflowing generosity with which the strong shows delight in
strength. And one who plays ill is checkmated - without haste, but without
remorse.”
If you learn what this world is, how it works, you automatically start
getting miracles - what will be called miracles. But of course nothing is
miraculous. Learn what the magician knows and it’s not magic anymore. But it
does no good to try to explain something as being a product of science, rather
than magic, in speaking to people who have no idea what is meant by “science.”
This is not necessarily the fault of the ignorant person. Although there is a
vast untapped popular interest in the deepest scientific questions, for many
people the shoddily thought out doctrines of borderline science are the
closest approximation to comprehensible science readily available. The
popularity of junk science should be a rebuke to the schools, the press and
commercial television for their sparse, unimaginative and ineffective efforts
at science education. This unfortunate situation is compounded by the popular
media’s obsession with controversy and sensationalism. In their rush to expose
“dangers” to the public health, the distortions and outright falsehoods they
present as “science” serve only to corrupt what little factual knowledge the
public does possess. To top it off, we are beset by the quantum mystics, whose
dim comprehension of physics, and abysmal ignorance of philosophy, do not in
any way inhibit their subjectivist metaphysical pronouncements. In fact
however, the ideas of quantum mechanics do not contain any reasons whatsoever
for giving up the concept of a reality that is independent of the mind.

Examples of the Scientific Attitude applied
Nearly four centuries of experience since Galileo’s time has shown that it
is frequently useful to depart from the real and to construct a model of the
system being studied. Some of the complications are stripped away, so a simple
and generalized mathematical structure can be built up out of what is left.
Once that is done, the complicating factors can be restored one by one, and
the model suitably modified. To try to achieve the comlexities of reality at
one bound, without working through a simplified model first, is so difficult
that it is rarely attempted, and usually does not succeed when it is.
Newton started with a mathematical construct that represents nature
simplified: a point mass moving around a center of force. Because he did not
assume that the construct was an exact reperesentation of the physical
universe he was free to explore the properties and effects of a mathematical
attractive force even though he found the concept of a grasping force “acting
at a distance” to be abhorrent and not admissable in the realm of good
physics. Next he compared the consequences of his mathematical construct with
the observed principles and laws of the external world, such as Kepler’s law
of areas and law of elliptical orbits. Where the mathematical construct fell
short Newton modified it. He made the center of force not a mathematical
entity but a point mass. From the modified mathematical construct Newton
concluded that a set of point masses circling the central point mass attract
one another and perturb one another’s orbits. Again he compared the construct
with the physical world. Of all the planets, Jupiter and Saturn are the most
massive, and so he sought orbital perturbations in their motions. With the
help of John Flamsteed, Newton found that the orbital motion of Saturn is
perturbed when the two planets are closest together. The process of repeatedly
comparing the mathematical construct with reality and then suitably modifying
it led eventually to the treatment of the planets as physical bodies with
definite shapes and sizes. After Newton had modified the construct many times
he applied it to the entirety of nature. He asserted that the force of
attraction, which he had derived mathematically, is universal gravity. Since
the mathematical force of attraction works well in explaining and predicting
the observed phenomena of the world, Newton decided that the force must “truly
exist” even though the philosophy to which he adhered did not and could not
allow such a force to be part of a system of nature. And so he called for an
inquiry into how the effects of universal gravity might arise.

In 1830, the Swedish chemist Jakob Berzelius, who didn’t believe that
molecules with equal structures but different properties were possible,
examined both tartaric acid and racemic acid in detail. With considerable
chagrin, he decided that even though he didn’t believe it, it was nevertheless
so.
Charles Darwin: “In October 1838, fifteen months after I had begun my
systematic enquiry (into the mutability of species), I happened to read
‘Malthus on Population,’ and being well prepared to appreciate the struggle
for existence which everywhere goes on from long-continued observation of the
habits of animals and plants, it at once struck me that under these
circumstances favourable variations would tend to be preserved, and
unfavourable ones to be destroyed. The result of this would be the formation
of new species. Here then I had at last got a theory by which to work.”

Some Critiques of Science
“There is no poetry in science.”
“Not all the soaring genius of Shakespeare sufficed to lift him to such
empyrean heights as to reveal to him the vision of the universe that bursts in
upon the dullest scientist who now lives. In every branch of science
fascinations lurk, ready to burst out upon even the most plodding soul.
Peeping from behind the symbols of the mathematician are formulas, such as the
Mandelbrot Set, so beautiful in their subtle symmetry that no artist could
improve on them. Where can one come across forms of things not only so
thoroughly unknown but so majestically unknowable as in the quantum world
within the atom? All the dictates of “common sense” - based upon the ordinary
world about us - break down in the face of the ultimately tiny. Imagine the
poetry of a science that calmly abandons common sense in order to preserve
sense; a science that admits into its fold an ineluctable uncertainty in order
to be more nearly certain. What mysteries, what clanking chains, what dim
ghosts of Gothic romance can compare with the mysterious muon-neutrino? There
is poetry everywhere and in everything, and it is most clearly present in the
world that scientists dwell in.” .... Isaac Asimov

“I question the accuracy and validity of the Scientific Method - Science is
young and clumsy - still too gross to truly measure some things.”
Let us examine the accuracy, validity, and gross clumsiness of science by
taking a look at just a few of its actual accomplishments.
To begin with, here is a measure of the accuracy between a theoretical
prediction and its corresponding experimental measurements:
Experiments measure the electron’s magnetic moment at 1.00115965221. The
theory of Quantum Electrodynamics puts it at 1.00115965246. To give you a
feeling for the accuracy of these numbers, look at them this way: If you were
to measure the distance from Los Angeles to New York to this accuracy, it
would be exact to the thickness of a human hair. I believe we can conclude
that the theory is reasonably close to reality.
As for the validity of scientific hypotheses - surely the most outrageously
unbelievable hypothesis of modern physics is the Quantum Mechanics, and yet a
clever application of the uncertainty principle (which places a limit on the
precision with which position can be known) yields very fine-tuned control
over a type of electron flow known as quantum tunneling. The resulting device
(the Scanning Tunneling Microscope, manufactured by Digital Instruments, Inc.)
uses the quantum tunneling effect both to view, and to perform mechanical
operations on, very tiny objects. Right down to the level of individual atoms.
In its practical application (where the validity of the Quantum Mechanics
can be measured by its commercial utility), an STM is used to monitor the
production quality of an optical-disk stamping machine.
And as for gross clumsiness, these three examples should suffice to dispel
that erroneous view:
The optical telescope on Palomar Mountain can detect a 10-watt light bulb
on the moon. This telescope could also measure the width of a needle - at a
distance of 5 miles. The best infrared telescopes could record the heat from a
rabbit on the moon - were it alive and hopping.
At the IBM Zurich lab, researchers used a Scanning Tunneling Microscope to
cleave a single benzene ring off of a dimethyl phthalate molecule.
Workers at the National Bureau of Standards used a Paul electromagnetic
trap to detect a single quantum jump of the outermost electron on a mercury
ion from its ground state to an intermediate state. That’s one single quantum
jump of one single electron! Not quite the sort of thing you could reach in
and fondle with your finger.
Look again at the criticism - and consider the principle underlying it:
She really should not “question the accuracy and validity of the Scientific
Method” while she is writing with a ball-point pen on a sheet of paper,
probably supported by the plastic surface of a desktop, and illuminated by an
electric light bulb. You see what’s happening - the author is using the very
thing she denies, in the act of denying it. This is an excellent example of
the Stolen Concept Fallacy: she is using the thing while she is rejecting the thing.

If you have difficulty grasping the Uncertainty Principle, consider this:
It is easily possible to construct a square, having specified exactly the
length of a side. When you have done so, you will find that you cannot measure
the diagonal with exactness (because it is a function of the square root of 2).
It is equally easy to construct a square having specified exactly the
length of the diagonal. But in this case you will be just as unable to measure
the exact length of the side.
Thus we are in the position of being able to specify one or the other of
two quantities - but not both simultaneously.
This exercise in simple geometry is a good example of the Uncertainty
Principle in action: the universe is built in such a fashion that we humans
are not omniscient - we can’t know everything.

If you have difficulty with the notion of “mere chance being the instrument
of creation” try this experiment:
Take about a dozen teaspoons and drop them (randomly but with handles up)
into a soda glass. Tilt the glass to about a 45 degree angle and shake it. You
will see the spoons begin to nest together. This nesting is the inevitable
consequence of energy dissipation - of the interplay of the laws of physics -
as the spoons settle into a “least energy content” configuration. When you
consider that the fundamental morsels of matter (atoms and molecules) are sets
of identical objects (every water molecule, for example, is exactly identical
to every other) just like the spoons - then it is not too hard to realize that
they would fit together in certain ways. Just like the spoons. This fitting
together - on a larger and larger scale - can account for many aspects of the
world of living things we see around us.
Always remember this: the words “chance” and “random” do not really
describe the world of Reality. What they DO describe is the state of human
knowledge. To be precise, they are terms that describe a state of human
ignorance. When I say that an event happens by “mere chance” all I am really
saying is that I do not precisely know what are the causal factors of that
event. Personally, I would much rather admit to my own ignorance of the world
than to invent, as an absolution for that ignorance, a Divinity to account for
things I cannot yet explain.

A commonly encountered criticism is “How can you believe in something -
like an electron - which you can’t possibly see?”
No one has ever seen the inside of a brick. Every time you break the brick,
you see only the surface. That the brick has an inside is a simple assumption
which helps us understand things better. The theory of electrons is analogous.
The ultimate justification is that logical conclusions drawn from some
assumptions have led to useful and effective solutions to real-life problems.
From science have flowed all those great inventions by means of which mankind
in general is able to subsist with more ease and in greater numbers upon the
face of the earth. Hence arise the great advantages of men above brutes, and
of civilization above barbarity. The acre of ripe wheat that once took 12 men
with a dozen horses, mules or oxen all day to cut and thresh, is now gathered
up in six minutes as the combine rolls, one person at the controls.
How can we achieve fantastic things in regard to the material world and yet
suppose for one minute that what we are doing is arbitrary and has no
absolute, unquestionable relationship to the facts of reality? If what we do
works, how is that possible if it doesn’t correspond to reality?


peta news


Leather: Beauty Isn’t Only Skin Deep

Every year, the $1.5 billion U.S. leather industry tans approximately 100 million animal skins.(1)
Many animals from whom these skins are taken suffer all the horrors of factory farming, including extreme crowding and confinement, deprivation, unanesthetized castration, branding, tail-docking and de-horning, and cruel treatment during transport and slaughter.


Everything but the Moo
Meat producers joke that they make money from “every part of a cow but the moo,” and indeed, since red meat consumption has been dropping since the late 1970s, the profits of the meat industry are largely dependent on the sale of animal hides.
Skin accounts for approximately 50 percent of the total byproduct value of cattle.(4) When dairy cows’ production declines, their skin is also made into leather; the hides of their offspring, “veal” calves, are made into high-priced calfskin. Thus, the economic success of the slaughterhouse (and the dairy farm) is directly linked to the sale of leather goods.


The Whole Ark
Most leather produced and sold in the United States is made from the skins of cattle and calves, but leather is also made from horses, sheep, lambs, goats, and pigs who are slaughtered for meat. Other species are hunted and killed specifically for their skins, including zebras, bison, water buffaloes, boars, deer, kangaroos, elephants, eels, sharks, dolphins, seals, walruses, frogs, crocodiles, lizards, and snakes. Thousands of endangered olive ridley sea turtles are captured and butchered illegally in Mexico, solely for their skins.(5) It is estimated that 25-30 percent of imported crocodile shoe leather and other wildlife items are made from endangered, illegally poached animals.(6)
Other “exotic” animals, such as alligators, are “factory farmed” for their skins. Ranched alligators are kept in half-sunken tin-sided structures of cinder blocks on concrete slabs.(7) As many as 600 young alligators may inhabit one building, which reeks of rancid meat, alligator waste, and stagnant water. Although alligators may naturally live 40 to 60 years, on farms they are usually butchered before their fourth birthday.(8)
Humaneness is not a priority of those who poach and hunt animals to obtain their skin or those who transform skin into leather. Alligators on farms may be beaten to death with hammers and axes, sometimes remaining conscious and in agony for 1 1/2 to 2 hours.(9) Crocodiles are often caught with huge hooks and wires and reeled in when they become weakened from blood loss or drown. Poachers sometimes kill one species of animal to use as bait to capture another.(10) Snakes and lizards are often skinned alive because of the widespread belief that live flaying imparts suppleness to the finished leather. Flayed snakes have been observed to take more than four days to die.(11) Kid goats may be boiled alive to make kid gloves, and the skins of unborn calves and lambs--some purposely aborted, others from slaughtered pregnant cows and ewes--are considered especially “luxurious.”


Tannery Toxins
Although leathermakers like to tout their products as “biodegradable” and “eco-friendly,” the process of tanning stabilizes the collagen or protein fibers so that they actually stop biodegrading. Until the late 1800s, animal skin was air- or salt-dried and tanned with vegetable tannins or oil, but today animal skin is turned into finished leather with a variety of much more dangerous substances, including mineral salts, formaldehyde, coal tar derivatives, and various oils, dyes, and finishes, some of them cyanide-based.
More than 95 percent of leather produced in the U.S. is chrome-tanned. All wastes containing chromium are considered hazardous by the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA).(12) In addition to the toxic substances mentioned above, tannery effluent also contains large amounts of other pollutants, such as proteins, hair, salt, lime sludge, sulfides, and acids.
Among the disastrous consequences of this noxious waste is the threat to human health from the highly elevated levels of lead, cyanide, and formaldehyde in the ground water near tanneries. The Centers for Disease Control found that the incidence of leukemia among residents in an area surrounding one tannery in Kentucky was five times the national average.(13) People who work in tanneries are dying from cancer caused by exposure to dimethylformamide and other toxic chemicals used to process and dye the leather.(14) The coal tar derivatives used are extremely potent cancer-causing agents. According to a study released by the New York State Department of Health, more than half of all testicular cancer victims work in tanneries.(15) The leather industry also uses a tremendous amount of energy. The Kirk-Othmer Encyclopedia of Chemical Technology states, “On the basis of quantity of energy consumed per unit of product produced, the leather-manufacturing industry would be categorized with the aluminum, paper, steel, cement, and petroleum-manufacturing industries as a gross consumer of energy.”(16) This does not even take into account the waste and pollution involved in raising the animals whose skins eventually become leather. Huge amounts of fossil fuels are consumed in livestock production. (By contrast, plastic wearables account for only a fraction of one percent of the petroleum used in the U.S.)(17) Trees are cleared to create pastureland, vast quantities of water are used, and feedlot and dairy farm runoff are a major source of water pollution.

Alternatives
As evidenced by a May 1990 poll in Parents magazine--in which 69 percent of those polled said they were against killing animals for leather--more and more people are realizing that leather is something we can do without. There are many alternatives, including cotton, linen, rubber, ramie, canvas, and synthetics. Chlorenol (called Hydrolite by Avia and Durabuck by Nike), used in athletic and hiking shoes, is an exciting new material that’s perforated for breathability, will stretch around the foot with the same “give” as leather, gives good support, and is machine washable.
Vegan shoes and accessories are inexpensive--up to 60 to 75 percent less than leather. Some, like Deja Shoes (call 503-598-9171 for retailers near you), are even made from recycled materials.


Where to Shop
Leather alternatives can be found just about anywhere you might shop. But some places, such as discount shoe and variety stores like Payless Shoe Source, Fayva, Kmart, J.C. Penney and Wal-Mart, offer larger selections. Designers like Liz Claiborne, Capezio, Sam & Libby, Unlisted, and Nike (call 1-800-344-NIKE for a current list of vegan styles) offer an array of nonleather handbags, wallets, and shoes.
For more shopping tips, send for The Compassionate Shopper (Beauty Without Cruelty, 175 W. 12th St., #16G, New York, NY 10011-8275) or “A Shopper’s Guide to Leather Alternatives” (The Vegetarian Resource Group, P.O. Box 1463, Baltimore, MD 21203).

References
1.Wolfson, Elissa, “Toward Sustainable Shoes,” E Magazine, November/December 1990.
2.Moll, Lucy, “Is There Such a Thing as a Humane Pair of Shoes?,” Vegetarian Times, January 1989, pp. 42-48.
3.Macauley, Dave, “From Craft to Commodity: Leather and the Leather Industry,” The Animals’ Agenda, September/October 1988, pp. 14-21.
4.Reilly, Lee, “Whether Leather?,” Vegetarian Times, Oct. 1994.
5.Steiner, Todd, “Banned Sea Turtle Products Still Exported From Mexico,” Earth Island Journal, Summer 1994.
6.Macauley, op. cit.
7.Robichaux, Mark, “Alligator Farming Shows There’s a Lot to Be Said for Cows,” The Wall Street Journal, August 2, 1989.”
8.Bencivenga, Jim, “Recession Bites the Gator Trade,” The Christian Science Monitor, February 3, 1992, p. 9.
9.Feral, Priscilla, “Skinning Reptiles for Fashion,” Friends of Animals News, March 1991, p. 12.
10.Macauley, op cit.
11.Reptile Defense Fund, Striking Back.
12.Clinton, Sally, “A Shopper’s Guide to Leather Alternatives,” The Vegetarian Journal, Nov./Dec. 1991, pp. 8-13.
13.Macauley, op.cit.
14.The Lancet, Nov. 14, 1987.
15.Rochester Democrat-Chronicle, June 19, 1988.
16.Clinton, op. cit.
17.Moran, Victoria, “Going Non-leather,” The Animals’ Agenda, March 1992.
From People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.


Chimpanzees at Buckshire Corporation
A Case Report from PETA’s Research, Investigations and Rescue Department

The Case
PETA conducted an undercover investigation of Buckshire Corporation, a U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA)-licensed animal dealer in Pennsylvania with a miserable history of animal care violations. We discovered 42 chimpanzees in a windowless basement, isolated in cages measuring three feet by five feet.
The chimpanzees, some used in show business, some “retired” from New York University (NYU) Medical Center’s Laboratory for Experimental Medicine and Surgery in Primates (LEMSIP), and others caged for future experiments, exhibit behavior indicating extreme psychological deprivation--hair pulling, rocking, and self-clasping. PETA’s investigator carefully noted each animal’s name and videotaped the animals in August 1994, hoping to find something in their individual histories to help them out of their misery at Buckshire. Here are some of their stories:

Bold, Seetee, Lindsey, Charlie Brown, Chas, and Ray
These older chimpanzees, the “Buckshire Six,” belong to LEMSIP, a laboratory with a long history of business with Buckshire. All of them were born in the wild as much as 35 years ago--torn from their mothers and their jungle homes to be caged and experimented on for decades.
Filmmaker Oliver Stone, an NYU graduate, wrote to NYU president Jay Oliva and insisted that LEMSIP stop its dealings with Buckshire. His involvement and PETA’s protest at NYU’s 1995 graduation resulted in a May 19, 1995, agreement to let PETA find sanctuary for these chimpanzees. Even though NYU refused to contribute money for their lifetime care, a California sanctuary agreed to build them an indoor-outdoor enclosure and try to socialize them. As of November 1995, the six chimpanzees have made progress in group living. Bold is fascinated with birds landing in his enclosure and all can now see blue sky and smell fresh air!

Walter-B, Navy Bob, and Little Guy
PETA learned these three older chimpanzees at Buckshire were “owned” by the U.S. Army. Walter, Bob, and L.G. were to have been used in an Army HIV experiment at LEMSIP. In violation of the Army contract, the director of LEMSIP switched Walter, Bob and L.G. with other chimpanzees and put the Army chimpanzees in “storage” at Buckshire until he could use them. Those plans soured when PETA presented its undercover video of the animals to the Army, which ordered LEMSIP to remove the chimpanzees from Buckshire’s substandard facility immediately. Despite PETA’s offer to find homes for Walter, Bob, and L.G. at no cost to taxpayers, the Army transferred them to a chimpanzee laboratory in New Iberia, Louisiana.

Julian
PETA learned that Julian’s misery at Buckshire began in 1988, when the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo (CMZ) in Colorado Springs, Colorado, leased him to a roadside exhibitor for breeding. The exhibitor turned Julian over to Buckshire in a deal that called for every other one of Julian’s offspring to be given to the exhibitor. PETA contacted CMZ, but got a cold reception. The zoo did not want Julian back, having placed all of its chimpanzees in a “conservation barn” out of view of the public. Constant pressure on the zoo resulted in Julian’s being flown back to Colorado in March 1995. Julian’s status as a “prolific breeder” meant Buckshire used him to produce as many baby chimpanzees as possible, consigning them to a life in captivity for experimentation or amusement. PETA discovered several of Julian’s children at Buckshire--Bubba, Otis, and Flash. (See Bubba, below.) CMZ has refused to help Julian’s children get out of Buckshire!

Annie, Bucky, and Bubba
Annie, born at LEMSIP February 6, 1988, “lives” in a cage that measures three feet by three feet, inside a shed at Buckshire. She has been isolated from all other living beings since July 1993, when Buckshire’s owner, Sharon Hursh, claimed Annie had tested positive for tuberculosis and reclaimed her (along with Bucky and Bubba) from a Florida couple to whom all three chimpanzees had been leased for a roadside act. Annie’s tuberculosis tests are, in fact, inconclusive. Buckshire may have wanted to call in all of its leased chimpanzees because LEMSIP wanted to purchase them for experiments. Bucky, born at LEMSIP, will be three years old on October 15, 1995. He was only seven months old when he was removed from his mother and sent to Florida with Annie and Bubba. After Buckshire confiscated the three friends, Buckshire threw Bucky into a bleak, tiny cage, alone. Previously, he had spent his days playing with Annie and Bubba and being reared by human “parents.” USDA reports note Bucky’s attempts to comfort himself by self-clasping and rocking behavior--signs of mental illness. At this time, Annie, Bucky, and Bubba are subjects of a lawsuit filed against Buckshire by the Florida entertainer who leased them. Whether this will result in their release from Buckshire remains to be seen.

Sammy
Sammy, also known as “Woodrow,” was born in 1978 at Oklahoma State University and bought at the age of three by the same Florida couple who had Bubba, Bucky, and Annie. They used Sammy in their act for four years until leaving him at Buckshire when he became too “difficult.” Sammy spent the next ten years caged alone in Buckshire’s dismal basement and now self-mutilates to try to ease the pain of loneliness. As a result of negotiations between the Florida entertainer and Buckshire, PETA was able to arrange for Sammy’s release in November 1995 to the California sanctuary where the Buckshire Six now live, and efforts to rehabilitate Sammy are underway.

Hope for the Future
PETA’s complaint to the USDA about Buckshire is under review by the agency’s Office of General Counsel. PETA has written to over 100 pharmaceutical companies and the National Institutes of Health to ask that a proper sanctuary for chimpanzees be funded and built by those who exploit the animals.
From People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.


Animal Experimentation: Sadistic Scandal

Vivisection, the practice of experimenting on animals, began because of religious prohibitions against the dissection of human corpses. When religious leaders finally lifted these prohibitions, it was too late - vivisection was already entrenched in medical and educational institutions.
Estimates of the number of animals tortured and killed annually in U.S. laboratories diverge widely - from 17 to 70 million animals.(1) The Animal Welfare Act requires laboratories to report the number of animals used in experiments, but the Act does not cover mice, rats, and birds (used in some 80 to 90 percent of all experiments).(2) Because these animals are not covered by the Act, they remain uncounted and we can only guess at how many actually suffer and die each year.
The largest breeding company in the United States is Charles River Breeding Laboratories (CRBL) headquartered in Massachusetts and owned by Bausch and Lomb. It commands 40-50 percent of the market for mice, rats, guinea pigs, hamsters, gerbils, rhesus monkeys, imported primates, and miniature swine. (3)
Since mice and rats are not protected under Animal Welfare Act regulations, the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) does not require that commercial breeders of these rodents be registered or that the USDA’s Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service (APHIS) inspect such
establishments. (4)
Dogs and cats are also used in experiments. They come from breeders like CRBL, some animal shelters and pounds, and organized “bunchers” who pick up strays, purchase litters from unsuspecting people who allow their companion animals to become pregnant, obtain animals from “Free to a Good Home” advertisements, or trap and steal the animals. Birds, frogs, pigs, sheep, cattle, and many naturally free-roaming animals (e.g., prairie dogs and owls) are also common victims of experimentation. At this writing, animals traditionally raised for food are covered by Animal Welfare Act regulations only minimally, and on a temporary basis, when used in, for example, heart transplant experiments; but they are not covered at all when used in agriculture studies. Unfortunately, vivisectors are using more and more animals whom they consider less “cute,” because, although they know these animals suffer just as much, they believe people won’t object as strenuously to the torture of a pig or a rat as they will to that of a dog or a rabbit.

Paying for Pain
The National Institutes of Health (NIH) in the United States is the world’s largest funder of animal experiments. It dispenses seven billion tax dollars in grants annually, of which about $5 billion goes toward studies involving animals.(5) The Department of Defense spent about $180 million on experiments using 553,000 animals in 1993. Although this figure represents a 36% increase in the number of animals used over the past decade, the military offered no detailed rationale in its own reports or at Congressional hearings.(6) Examples of torturous taxpayer-funded experiments at military facilities include wound experiments, radiation experiments, studies on the effects of chemical warfare, and other deadly and maiming procedures.
Private institutions and companies also invest in the vivisection industry. Many household product and cosmetics companies still pump their products into animals’ stomachs, rub them onto their shaved, abraded skin, squirt them into their eyes, and force them to inhale aerosol products. Charities, such as the American Cancer Society and the March of Dimes, use donations from private citizens to fund experiments on animals.
Agricultural experiments are carried out on cattle, sheep, pigs, chickens, and turkeys to find ways in which to make cows produce more milk, sheep produce more wool, and all animals produce more offspring and grow “meatier.”

Bad Science
There are many reasons to oppose vivisection. For example, enormous physiological variations exist among rats, rabbits, dogs, pigs, and human beings. A 1989 study to determine the carcinogenicity of fluoride illustrated this fact. Approximately 520 rats and 520 mice were given daily doses of the mineral for two years. Not one mouse was adversely affected by the fluoride, but the rats experienced health problems including cancer of the mouth and bone. As test data cannot accurately be extrapolated from a mouse to a rat, it can’t be argued that data can accurately be extrapolated from either species to a human. In many cases, animal studies do not just hurt animals and waste money; they harm and kill people, too. The drugs thalidomide, Zomax, and DES were all tested on animals and judged safe but had devastating consequences for the humans who used them. A General Accounting Office report, released in May 1990, found that more than half of the prescription drugs approved by the Food and Drug Administration between 1976 and 1985 caused side effects that were serious enough to cause the drugs to be withdrawn from the market or relabeled. All of these drugs had been tested on animals.
Animal experimentation also misleads researchers in their studies. Dr. Albert Sabin, who developed the oral polio vaccine, cited in testimony at a congressional hearing this example of the dangers of animal-based research: “[p]aralytic polio could be dealt with only by preventing the irreversible destruction of the large number of motor nerve cells, and the work on prevention was delayed by an erroneous conception of the nature of the human disease based on misleading experimental models of the disease in monkeys.” (7)

Healing Without Hurting
The Physicians Committee for Responsible Medicine reports that sophisticated non-animal research methods are more accurate, less expensive, and less time-consuming than traditional animal-based research methods. Patients waiting for helpful drugs and treatments could be spared years of suffering if companies and government agencies would implement the efficient alternatives to animal studies. Fewer accidental deaths caused by drugs and treatments would occur if stubborn bureaucrats and wealthy vivisectors would use the more accurate alternatives. And tax dollars would be better spent preventing human suffering in the first place through education programs and medical assistance programs for low-income individuals--helping the more than 30 million U.S. citizens who cannot afford health insurance--rather than making animals sick. Most killer diseases in this country (heart disease, cancer, and stroke) can be prevented by eating a low-fat, vegetarian diet, refraining from smoking and alcohol abuse, and exercising regularly. These simple lifestyle changes can also help prevent arthritis, adult-onset diabetes, ulcers, and a long list of other illnesses.It is not surprising that those who make money experimenting on animals or supplying vivisectors with cages, restraining devices, food for caged animals (like the Lab Chow made by Purina Mills), and tiny guillotines to destroy animals whose lives are no longer considered useful insist that nearly every medical advance has been made through the use of animals. Although every drug and procedure must now be tested on animals before hitting the market, this does not mean that animal studies are invaluable, irreplaceable, or even of minor importance or that alternative methods could not have been used.
Dr. Charles Mayo, founder of the Mayo Clinic, explains, “I abhor vivisection. It should at least be curbed. Better, it should be abolished. I know of no achievement through vivisection, no scientific discovery, that could not have been obtained without such barbarism and cruelty. The whole thing is evil.” (8) Dr. Edward Kass, of the Harvard Medical School, said in a speech he gave to the Infectious Disease Society of America: “[I]t was not medical research that had stamped out tuberculosis, diphtheria, pneumonia and puerperal sepsis; the primary credit for those monumental accomplishments must go to public health, sanitation and the general improvement in the standard of living brought about by industrialization.”(9)

Changing the System
Write to your legislators today to express your concern for animals used in experiments. Urge them to do everything in their power to push researchers out of the Dark Ages where animals are still butchered in the name of science.
Write to People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals for a free factsheet detailing the many humane alternatives to vivisection.
References
1.Orlans, F. Barbara, “Data on Animal Experimentation in the United States: What They Do and Do Not Show,” Perspectives in Biology and Medicine, 37, 2. Winter 1994.
2.Ibid.
3.Reddy, Kal, THETA Corporation, Research Animal Markets Report, No. 982, September 1989.
4.Soos, Troy, “Charles River Breeding Labs,” The Animals’ Agenda, Dec. 1986, p. 10.
5.Stoller, Kenneth, M.D., “Animal Testing: Why a Doctor Opposes It,” The Orlando Sentinel, June 25, 1990.
6.Krizmanic, Judy, “Military Increases Animal Experiments,” Vegetarian Times, August 1994.
7.Stoller, op. cit.
8.Quoted by William H. Hendrix, New York Daily News, Mar. 13, 1961.
9.Prouix, Lawrence, “A History of Progress,” Washington Post, Feb. 21, 1995.
From People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.


Big Cats Beaten at Animal Training “School”

A Case Report from PETA’s Research, Investigations and Rescue Department

In July 1993, a PETA caseworker received a call from a former student of a big-cat training course at Tiger’s Eye Productions in Oviedo, Florida. The caller said he had witnessed owner/”instructor” David McMillan and his students abusing tigers, leopards, and a lion. A PETA undercover investigator enrolled in McMillan’s “school,” where he documented daily incidents of animal abuse and neglect with videotape, photographs and detailed log notes made over a period of nine months.
PETA’s investigator witnessed and documented many alleged violations of the federal Animal Welfare Act at the compound. While in “class,” McMillan and his students hit tigers in the face with PVC pipes, jabbed a lion with wooden sticks, screamed at the big cats, and dragged them by the neck with shackles and chains to teach them to “behave” and “perform.” Inexperienced “students” confused and provoked the animals who often fell from the perches and barrels used as performance props.
Here is one of many sad incidents PETA’s investigator described in his daily log:
“I watched David hit [a Bengal tiger named] Sampson on the head repeatedly with the large metal ring on the end of the chain. He also hit Sampson on the head with a wooden axe handle at least five times.... It sounded like a wooden bat slamming into a baseball. Sampson was breathing heavily, ... eyes dilated, foaming at the mouth and defecating everywhere....”
Virginia McKenna, Founder Trustee of the Born Free Foundation and star of the film Born Free, wrote the following statement after viewing a videotape of McMillan and his students tormenting the animals at TEP:
“[On the video] I saw men and women hitting, beating, poking lions and tigers--reducing them to trembling, snarling, flinching, pathetic victims.... [W]hat I witnessed in the video breaks [the Animal Welfare Act regulations] on all counts.... Prostrate leopards were forcibly dragged along the ground.... “Students” were instructed to stick a lion hard in the shoulder.... all those concerned with this disgraceful organization [TEP] should be barred from owning any animal,
ever again.”
Tigers in the wild like to find shelter in hollow trees and caves, but the animals at McMillan’s compound are often left outside for hours without shelter against searing heat and raging thunderstorms. Leopards and other strong animals who are natural-born hunters often go for days without food under McMillan’s orders. When not being “handled,” the big cats are kept in cement and steel cages that offer nothing close to their natural habitat. When he sees no more use for them, McMillan sends the used big cats to seedy roadside attractions.
PETA has filed a complaint with the U.S. Department of Agriculture under the Animal Welfare Act.
From People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.


WHAT YOU OUGHT TO DO
VERSUS WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO

Moral judgments often arrive to the conclusion that one person (the subject in a particular situation) ought to do something in a given situation. However, it has also been said in certain cases that a person had to do what he or she did (note the word had, as opposed to the word ought, is the word that makes the difference in the two statements). The question then arises:
Some moral judgments are to the effect that a certain personhad to do what he or she did. How does this differ from thecase where what a person ought to have done was whathe or she did?
To fully understand the question at hand, the question must be appropriately analyzed - what exactly is the intent of the question? What is the question asking? Generally, it can be said that the question is asking for the comparison of two slightly different statements, and these statements are:
a person had to do what he or she did, and
a person ought to have donewhat he or she did.
The differences, then, between these two statements, are the differences between the two concepts of having to do something and of doing what ought to have been done. To then fully understand the differences between these two concepts or cases (if there actually are and differences in the first place), the full understanding of these two phrases or words (had, in the context of “having to do something”, and ought, in the context of “having ought done something”) have to be understood, for the differences in the two parts to the question only boil down to (if any) the differences between the two different words that must be examined.
The definition of the word “had” is as follows:
had: to be compelled, obliged, or required
(considering that “having to do something” can only be applied to the concept of “having to do something” in a specific framework.)
And the word “ought” even has the same words used to describe it, for the definition is as follows:
ought: used to express obligation (ought to pay your debts), advisability (ought to take care of yourself), natural expectation (ought to be here by now), or logical consequence (the result ought to be infinity). Moral obligation, duty.
(the preceding definitions of the word “ought”, particularly visible considering the definition as a moral obligation, can only be considered as, for example, a moral obligation or a duty in a certain framework or society, much in the same way as the definition of the word “had”.)
Even in their definition they share the same words, denoting their similarity in their meanings.
Upon further investigation of each of the singular words being compared, yet more enlightening information arises. In considering the word “ought” as a moral obligation (as one of the definitions of the word implies), the concept of having “ought” do something transfers into having “ought” to do the right thing. The word “right” must then be further examined, for one of the definitions that can be accepted for the word right is
Acting in the most desirable way in a given situation or society
...which is very similar to the definition of the word “conform”, for the meaning of conformity is
Action in accordance to some specified standard or authority. To be obedient or compliant.
The concept of being compelled or required in a given situation to accomplish a specific action (which entails the majority of the definition of the word “had”) is very similar in it’s meaning to the definition of the word “conform” (which has just been defined above). Obligation, which is a word that has been used in the definitions of both the word “had” (in the sense of “had to do”) and of the word “ought” (in the sense of “ought to do”), can also be directly related to the said definitions of the words “conformity” and “conform”. Because of these notes on the meanings of the two words, it can be said that in a number of cases (leaving out cases for the case where this line of reasoning may not apply; however, it does not seem that this safeguarding action necessarily needs to be taken), the word “had” has a similar meaning to the word “ought”, and in some instances the only reason that a person had to do something in a specific setting is because that person ought to have done or accomplished that something in that particular situation.
Put in variable terms, the following statements that have been made as the premise for this argument,
1) X had to do Y in S, therefore X did Y in S. and
2) X ought to have done Y in S, therefore X did Y in S.
(where X is the subject, Y is the action that had to be done or ought to have been done, and S is the specific situation or particular framework that the actions by the subject apply to.)
...are the same statements because of the fact that the definitions of the phrases “had to do” and “ought to have done” are often applied in the same fashion and have generally the same meaning.
In this light, and according to the preceding line of reasoning, it can then be stated that the only reason that a person had or has to do any certain specific action in a particular situation is because according to the standards of morality in the specific framework that they are in, they were acting in a certain way because they OUGHT to have acted in that certain way. In other words, the only way that a person HAS to do something is because they feel that they OUGHT to do that particular something.
The only possible difference in the two different phrases or statements (considering every possible difference in the definitions between the two words) is in the fact that the word “had” doesn’t on the surface seem to entail a sense of a moral obligation (although the true reason for the subject feeling as if they “had” to do something may actually be because of a moral obligation and simply not stated), where the word “ought” has the concept of a moral obligation in it’s meaning and automatically seems to imply it more when that particular term is used.
Therefore, a conclusion can then be drawn about the original question at hand, for now all of the evidence has been thoroughly examined. The question asked what the difference was between the following two cases:
1) a certain person had to do what he or she did in a certain situation.
2) what a certain person ought to have done in a certain situation is what he or she did in that certain situation.
The conclusion drawn from the information gathered is that there are not many differences at all. How do they differ? In most, or even in all cases, they really don’t.
And the only possible difference between the two cases is the fact that the use of the word “had” doesn’t imply the sense of a moral obligation (although there may still be that sense of a moral obligation, even if it is not said) in the same way that the word “ought” does. In any other respect of the definitions or meanings of these words, the phrases or even the entire statements, they two different cases have the same meaning. It is also possible that when the majority of the average people use the word “had” (in the sense that someone had to something), they may not be taking into consideration the fact that the reason that the person “had” to do that specific action was because that that particular person felt the moral obligation within themselves to actually do that certain something, or, in other words, that person may not have realized that they felt that they OUGHT to have done that particular action.
This train of thought not only states that these two cases are extremely similar, but it also states that these two cases or examples my even be more similar than can be described, for the sense of ought may underlie everything that a person does.





Nick DiSpoldo, Small Press Review (on “Children, Churches and Daddies,” April 1997)

Kuypers is the widely-published poet of particular perspectives and not a little existential rage, but she does not impose her personal or artistic agenda on her magazine. CC+D is a provocative potpourri of news stories, poetry, humor, art and the “dirty underwear” of politics.
One piece in this issue is “Crazy,” an interview Kuypers conducted with “Madeline,” a murderess who was found insane, and is confined to West Virginia’s Arronsville Correctional Center. Madeline, whose elevator definitely doesn’t go to the top, killed her boyfriend during sex with an ice pick and a chef’s knife, far surpassing the butchery of Elena Bobbitt. Madeline, herself covered with blood, sat beside her lover’s remains for three days, talking to herself, and that is how the police found her. For effect, Kuypers publishes Madeline’s monologue in different-sized type, and the result is something between a sense of Dali’s surrealism and Kafka-like craziness.



Debra Purdy Kong, writer, British Columbia, Canada
I like the magazine a lot. I like the spacious lay-out and the different coloured pages and the variety of writer’s styles. Too many literary magazines read as if everyone graduated from the same course. We need to collect more voices like these and send them everywhere.

Ed Hamilton, writer

#85 (of Children, Churches and Daddies) turned out well. I really enjoyed the humor section, especially the test score answers. And, the cup-holder story is hilarious. I’m not a big fan of poetry - since much of it is so hard to decipher - but I was impressed by the work here, which tends toward the straightforward and unpretentious.
As for the fiction, the piece by Anderson is quite perceptive: I liked the way the self-deluding situation of the character is gradually, subtly revealed. (Kuypers’) story is good too: the way it switches narrative perspective via the letter device is a nice touch.



Children, Churches and Daddies.
It speaks for itself.
Write to Scars Publications to submit poetry, prose and artwork to Children, Churches and Daddies literary magazine, or to inquire about having your own chapbook, and maybe a few reviews like these.

Jim Maddocks, GLASGOW, via the Internet

I’ll be totally honest, of the material in Issue (either 83 or 86 of Children, Churches and Daddies) the only ones I really took to were Kuypers’. TRYING was so simple but most truths are, aren’t they?








what is veganism?
A vegan (VEE-gun) is someone who does not consume any animal products. While vegetarians avoid flesh foods, vegans don’t consume dairy or egg products, as well as animal products in clothing and other sources.

why veganism?
This cruelty-free lifestyle provides many benefits, to animals, the environment and to ourselves. The meat and dairy industry abuses billions of animals. Animal agriculture takes an enormous toll on the land. Consumtion of animal products has been linked to heart disease, colon and breast cancer, osteoporosis, diabetes and a host of other conditions.

so what is vegan action?
We can succeed in shifting agriculture away from factory farming, saving millions, or even billions of chickens, cows, pigs, sheep turkeys and other animals from cruelty.
We can free up land to restore to wilderness, pollute less water and air, reduce topsoil reosion, and prevent desertification.
We can improve the health and happiness of millions by preventing numerous occurrences od breast and prostate cancer, osteoporosis, and heart attacks, among other major health problems.

A vegan, cruelty-free lifestyle may be the most important step a person can take towards creatin a more just and compassionate society. Contact us for membership information, t-shirt sales or donations.

vegan action
po box 4353, berkeley, ca 94707-0353
510/704-4444




C Ra McGuirt, Editor, The Penny Dreadful Review (on Children, Churches and Daddies)

cc&d is obviously a labor of love ... I just have to smile when I go through it. (Janet Kuypers) uses her space and her poets to best effect, and the illos attest to her skill as a graphic artist.
I really like (“Writing Your Name”). It’s one of those kind of things where your eye isn’t exactly pulled along, but falls effortlessly down the poem.
I liked “knowledge” for its mix of disgust and acceptance. Janet Kuypers does good little movies, by which I mean her stuff provokes moving imagery for me. Color, no dialogue; the voice of the poem is the narrator over the film.



Children, Churches and Daddies no longer distributes free contributor’s copies of issues. In order to receive issues of Children, Churches and Daddies, contact Janet Kuypers at the cc&d e-mail addres. Free electronic subscriptions are available via email. All you need to do is email ccandd@scars.tv... and ask to be added to the free cc+d electronic subscription mailing list. And you can still see issues every month at the Children, Churches and Daddies website, located at http://scars.tv

Mark Blickley, writer

The precursor to the magazine title (Children, Churches and Daddies) is very moving. “Scars” is also an excellent prose poem. I never really thought about scars as being a form of nostalgia. But in the poem it also represents courage and warmth. I look forward to finishing her book.








MIT Vegetarian Support Group (VSG)

functions:
* To show the MIT Food Service that there is a large community of vegetarians at MIT (and other health-conscious people) whom they are alienating with current menus, and to give positive suggestions for change.
* To exchange recipes and names of Boston area veg restaurants
* To provide a resource to people seeking communal vegetarian cooking
* To provide an option for vegetarian freshmen

We also have a discussion group for all issues related to vegetarianism, which currently has about 150 members, many of whom are outside the Boston area. The group is focusing more toward outreach and evolving from what it has been in years past. We welcome new members, as well as the opportunity to inform people about the benefits of vegetarianism, to our health, the environment, animal welfare, and a variety of other issues.




Gary, Editor, The Road Out of Town (on the Children, Churches and Daddies Web Site)

I just checked out the site. It looks great.



Dusty Dog Reviews: These poems document a very complicated internal response to the feminine side of social existence. And as the book proceeds the poems become increasingly psychologically complex and, ultimately, fascinating and genuinely rewarding.

John Sweet, writer (on chapbook designs)

Visuals were awesome. They’ve got a nice enigmatic quality to them. Front cover reminds me of the Roman sculptures of angels from way back when. Loved the staggered tire lettering, too. Way cool. (on “Hope Chest in the Attic”)
Some excellent writing in “Hope Chest in the Attic.” I thought “Children, Churches and Daddies” and “The Room of the Rape” were particularly powerful pieces.



C Ra McGuirt, Editor, The Penny Dreadful Review: cc&d is obviously a labor of love ... I just have to smile when I go through it. (Janet Kuypers) uses her space and her poets to best effect, and the illos attest to her skill as a graphic artist.

Cheryl Townsend, Editor, Impetus (on Children, Churches and Daddies)

The new cc&d looks absolutely amazing. It’s a wonderful lay-out, looks really professional - all you need is the glossy pages. Truly impressive AND the calendar, too. Can’t wait to actually start reading all the stuff inside.. Wanted to just say, it looks good so far!!!



Dusty Dog Reviews: She opens with a poem of her own devising, which has that wintry atmosphere demonstrated in the movie version of Boris Pasternak’s Doctor Zhivago. The atmosphere of wintry white and cold, gloriously murderous cold, stark raging cold, numbing and brutalizing cold, appears almost as a character who announces to his audience, “Wisdom occurs only after a laboriously magnificent disappointment.” Alas, that our Dusty Dog for mat cannot do justice to Ms. Kuypers’ very personal layering of her poem across the page.






Fithian Press, Santa Barbara, CA
Indeed, there’s a healthy balance here between wit and dark vision, romance and reality, just as there’s a good balance between words and graphics. The work shows brave self-exploration, and serves as a reminder of mortality and the fragile beauty of friendship.

Mark Blickley, writer
The precursor to the magazine title (Children, Churches and Daddies) is very moving. “Scars” is also an excellent prose poem. I never really thought about scars as being a form of nostalgia. But in the poem it also represents courage and warmth. I look forward to finishing her book.

You Have to be Published to be Appreciated.

Do you want to be heard? Contact Children, Churches and Daddies about book or chapbook publishing. These reviews can be yours. Scars Publications, attention J. Kuypers. We’re only an e-mail away. Write to us.






Brian B. Braddock, Writer (on 1996 Children, Churches and Daddies)

I passed on a copy to my brother who is the director of the St. Camillus AIDS programs. We found (Children, Churches and Daddies’) obvious dedication along this line admirable.



The Center for Renewable Energy and Sustainable Technology
The Solar Energy Research & Education Foundation (SEREF), a non-profit organization based in Washington, D.C., established on Earth Day 1993 the Center for Renewable Energy and Sustainable Technology (CREST) as its central project. CREST’s three principal projects are to provide:
* on-site training and education workshops on the sustainable development interconnections of energy, economics and environment;
* on-line distance learning/training resources on CREST’s SOLSTICE computer, available from 144 countries through email and the Internet;
* on-disc training and educational resources through the use of interactive multimedia applications on CD-ROM computer discs - showcasing current achievements and future opportunities in sustainable energy development.
The CREST staff also does “on the road” presentations, demonstrations, and workshops showcasing its activities and available resources.
For More Information Please Contact: Deborah Anderson
dja@crest.org or (202) 289-0061

Brian B. Braddock, Writer (on 1996 Children, Churches and Daddies)

I passed on a copy to my brother who is the director of the St. Camillus AIDS programs. We found (Children, Churches and Daddies’) obvious dedication along this line admirable.






Dorrance Publishing Co., Pittsburgh, PA
“Hope Chest in the Attic” captures the complexity of human nature and reveals startling yet profound discernments about the travesties that surge through the course of life. This collection of poetry, prose and artwork reflects sensitivity toward feminist issues concerning abuse, sexism and equality. It also probes the emotional torrent that people may experience as a reaction to the delicate topics of death, love and family.
“Chain Smoking” depicts the emotional distress that afflicted a friend while he struggled to clarify his sexual ambiguity. Not only does this thought-provoking profile address the plight that homosexuals face in a homophobic society, it also characterizes the essence of friendship. “The room of the rape” is a passionate representation of the suffering rape victims experience. Vivid descriptions, rich symbolism, and candid expressions paint a shocking portrait of victory over the gripping fear that consumes the soul after a painful exploitation.

want a review like this? contact scars about getting your own book published.




Paul Weinman, Writer (on 1996 Children, Churches and Daddies)

Wonderful new direction (Children, Churches and Daddies has) taken - great articles, etc. (especially those on AIDS). Great stories - all sorts of hot info!







The magazine Children Churches and Daddies is Copyright © through Scars Publications and Design. The rights of the individual pieces remain with the authors. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.



Okay, nilla wafer. Listen up and listen good. How to save your life. Submit, or I’ll have to kill you.
Okay, it’s this simple: send me published or unpublished poetry, prose or art work (do not send originals), along with a bio, to us - then sit around and wait... Pretty soon you’ll hear from the happy people at cc&d that says (a) Your work sucks, or (b) This is fancy crap, and we’re gonna print it. It’s that simple!

Okay, butt-munch. Tough guy. This is how to win the editors over.
Hope Chest in the Attic is a 200 page, perfect-bound book of 13 years of poetry, prose and art by Janet Kuypers. It’s a really classy thing, if you know what I mean. We also have a few extra sopies of the 1999 book “Rinse and Repeat”, the 2001 book “Survive and Thrive”, the 2001 books “Torture and Triumph” and “(no so) Warm and Fuzzy”, which all have issues of cc&d crammed into one book. And you can have either one of these things at just five bucks a pop if you just contact us and tell us you saw this ad space. It’s an offer you can’t refuse...

Carlton Press, New York, NY: HOPE CHEST IN THE ATTIC is a collection of well-fashioned, often elegant poems and short prose that deals in many instances, with the most mysterious and awesome of human experiences: love... Janet Kuypers draws from a vast range of experiences and transforms thoughts into lyrical and succinct verse... Recommended as poetic fare that will titillate the palate in its imagery and imaginative creations.
Mark Blickley, writer: The precursor to the magazine title (Children, Churches and Daddies) is very moving. “Scars” is also an excellent prose poem. I never really thought about scars as being a form of nostalgia. But in the poem it also represents courage and warmth. I look forward to finishing the book.

You Have to be Published to be Appreciated.
Do you want to be heard? Contact Children, Churches and Daddies about book and chapbook publishing. These reviews can be yours. Scars Publications, attention J. Kuypers - you can write for yourself or you can write for an audience. It’s your call...



Dorrance Publishing Co., Pittsburgh, PA: “Hope Chest in the Attic” captures the complexity of human nature and reveals startling yet profound discernments about the travesties that surge through the course of life. This collection of poetry, prose and artwork reflects sensitivity toward feminist issues concerning abuse, sexism and equality. It also probes the emotional torrent that people may experience as a reaction to the delicate topics of death, love and family. “Chain Smoking” depicts the emotional distress that afflicted a friend while he struggled to clarify his sexual ambiguity. Not only does this thought-provoking profile address the plight that homosexuals face in a homophobic society, it also characterizes the essence of friendship. “The room of the rape” is a passionate representation of the suffering rape victims experience. Vivid descriptions, rich symbolism, and candid expressions paint a shocking portrait of victory over the gripping fear that consumes the soul after a painful exploitation.

Dusty Dog Reviews, CA (on knife): These poems document a very complicated internal response to the feminine side of social existence. And as the book proceeds the poems become increasingly psychologically complex and, ultimately, fascinating and genuinely rewarding.
Children, Churches and Daddies. It speaks for itself.

Dusty Dog Reviews (on Without You): She open with a poem of her own devising, which has that wintry atmosphere demonstrated in the movie version of Boris Pasternak’s Doctor Zhivago. The atmosphere of wintry white and cold, gloriously murderous cold, stark raging cold, numbing and brutalizing cold, appears almost as a character who announces to his audience, “Wisdom occurs only after a laboriously magnificent disappointment.” Alas, that our Dusty Dog for mat cannot do justice to Ms. Kuypers’ very personal layering of her poem across the page.
Children, Churches and Daddies. It speaks for itself.

Debra Purdy Kong, writer, British Columbia, Canada (on Children, Churches and Daddies): I like the magazine a lot. I like the spacious lay-out and the different coloured pages and the variety of writer’s styles. Too many literary magazines read as if everyone graduated from the same course. We need to collect more voices like these and send them everywhere.
Fithian Press, Santa Barbara, CA: Indeed, there’s a healthy balance here between wit and dark vision, romance and reality, just as there’s a good balance between words and graphics. The work shows brave self-exploration, and serves as a reminder of mortality and the fragile beauty of friendship.
Children, Churches and Daddies
the unreligious, non-family oriented literary and art magazine
Scars Publications and Design

ccandd96@scars.tv
http://scars.tv

Publishers/Designers Of
Children, Churches and Daddies magazine
cc+d Ezines
The Burning mini poem books
God Eyes mini poem books
The Poetry Wall Calendar
The Poetry Box
The Poetry Sampler
Mom’s Favorite Vase Newsletters
Reverberate Music Magazine
Down In The Dirt magazine
Freedom and Strength Press forum
plus assorted chapbooks and books
music, poery compact discs
live performances of songs and readings

Sponsors Of
past editions:
Poetry Chapbook Contest, Poetry Book Contest
Prose Chapbook Contest, Prose Book Contest
Poetry Calendar Contest
current editions:
Editor’s Choice Award (writing and web sites)
Collection Volumes

Children, Churches and Daddies (founded 1993) has been written and researched by political groups and writers from the United States, Canada, England, India, Italy, Malta, Norway and Turkey. Regular features provide coverage of environmental, political and social issues (via news and philosophy) as well as fiction and poetry, and act as an information and education source. Children, Churches and Daddies is the leading magazine for this combination of information, education and entertainment.
Children, Churches and Daddies (ISSN 1068-5154) is published quarterly by Scars Publications and Design. Contact us via e-mail (ccandd96@scars.tv) for subscription rates or prices for annual collection books.
To contributors: No racist, sexist or blatantly homophobic material. No originals; if mailed, include SASE & bio. Work sent on disks or through e-mail preferred. Previously published work accepted. Authors always retain rights to their own work. All magazine rights reserved. Reproduction of Children, Churches and Daddies without publisher permission is forbidden. Children, Churches and Daddies copyright through Scars Publications and Design, Children, Churches and Daddies, Janet Kuypers. All rights remain with the authors of the individual pieces. No material may be reprinted without express permission.