Jack Burns Lives!

Want to know what “democracy” looks like in the United States?

You should have been in Memphis, Tennessee yesterday, because you could have had a good look. Then again, you could see the same thing in almost any city, but yesterday was special for Memphis because the National Idiot was in town.

Flanked by Karl Rove and his band of toadies, the boy that would be king visited the home of the King to raise money for Repug Senate candidate Bob Corker.

450 Tennessee power brokers, including FedEx Chairman and founder Fred Smith, wined and dined at the home of Autozone founder J.R. ‘Pitt’ Hyde III, enjoying sherry-poached breast of chicken with spiced estragon consomme at a private affair closed to the media. Down the road, safely tucked away by the police and Secret Service in a “protest zone” were 75 or so protesters, perhaps naively thinking their so-called “leader” gave a shit.

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Utah.

Sunday morning.

Most of my neighbors back in Dixie are getting ready for church. Dressed in their Sunday finest, they’re preparing to meet the Lord in one of his multi-million dollar houses of warship and write the checks that are necessary to keep the devil at bay and Repugs in power.

Gawd help ‘em.

I’m also preparing for church, but I’m leaving Ridgway and headed out Highway 145 to the canyon country of Southeast Utah.

This is my church. Wilderness. Open country. Mountains, trees, red rock, canyons and rivers.

My fellow parishioners? Lynx, cougar, bear, rattlesnakes, picas, elk.

Even skunks.

The pastor? There is no pastor. Pastors should be encouraged to find honest professions. All churches should be taxed.

The dress? Chacos, shorts and a good hat.

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Part One: The San Juan’s

There’s more than a sufficient amount of material that’s been written about the canyon country of Southeastern Utah, so as I started thinking about how I would present my own experience, I was frankly at a loss.

What can I possibly say about the area that hasn’t already been said? Is it even necessary to say something new? The place is, after all, so spectacular, its lovers and protectors probably never grow tired of reading about it.

The only thing better than reading about it and looking at photos is to actually be there in it. In the flesh, with your toes in the sand, surrounded by red rock, blue skies and its bright sun beating down upon your face.

I do believe the view is unique for someone coming from the deep South, because the contrast could not be greater. The South is a humid land with few mountain ranges and dark, rich soil. A land of water and swamps. The West is, of course, just the opposite, an arid land blessed with many mountains, canyons and red rock. And while water is a precious resource in all parts of the world, this is especially so in the West.

My keen interest in the West began with Abbey. The old curmudgeon permanently interrupted my too comfortable life back in 1991 after I discovered him while reading Outside Magazine. The magazine and the West have something in common in that both are not what they used to be. Outside is essentially little more than a collection of advertisements for gear heads, hardly worth even a few seconds of your time. And the West has, as Abbey predicted, fallen prey to creeping capitalism, and struggles to survive with the help of a few brave souls that work long hours keeping the greedy developers and interlopers from bulldozing everything they can get their grimy paws on.

The difference is that the West, specifically Four Corners, is worth more than a few seconds of your time. If you haven’t explored it, I’d suggest you go NOW, while there’s still plenty to explore. Hike through the canyons, climb the La Sals, run the river and then go back from whence you came, because there are too many folks that decide to stay.

Thanks to the National Department of Fear and the recent brouhaha in Britain, airline tickets are dirt cheap, and being the good hypocritical capitalist that I am, I seize the opportunity and book two tickets to Durango.

The airport experience is fairly smooth, but the continued announcements over the loudspeakers were comical and eerie at the same time.

This is, of course, designed to keep the entire nation in a state of Orwellian fear, and fear fuels the engine of empire. It empowers the politico-industrial elite that have planned and are now carrying out the Project For the New American Century. Pax Americana. Ad infinitum. Fuck ‘em all.

I like flying into Durango, because it’s centrally located for the Four Corners region. You can get to almost any place in the region in less than three hours, endless desert, mountains and rivers are all within a short distance.

Heading out of the barbecue capital of the world, Allison and I enjoy a smooth flight, rent a car and head north to Ridgway. The only problem we encounter is a slight bit of confusion over the car. I reserved what I thought was a four wheel drive Nissan Rice Rocket. What I receive is a Ford Behemoth, big enough to seat fifty folks. But it’s the only four wheel drive vehicle available, and last year we definitely needed one on some the approach roads to trails in the Uncompahgre.

Most Americans would just take off and thank the armed forces for protecting their freedoms and for making all this overindulgence and gluttony possible. But I feel extremely guilty, embarrassed even, as I ponder the over 40,000 civilians killed in Iraq and the future deaths that will surely come in Iraq, Iran and gawd knows where else.

It’s more than a national embarrassment. It’s a crime against humanity, and I hope its perpetrators one day face the full wrath of an International court.

Nuremberg would be a nice setting.

I’m told the military is “protecting our way of life,” and I believe it’s clear that driving monster trucks that get ten miles per gallon is the American way of life. I feel complicit in the blood soaked scheme.

As I drive northward on the Million Dollar Highway, I’m once again awestruck by the phenomenal beauty of the San Juan range and its majestic peaks and valleys. On my right are Houghton Mountain, California Mountain and Hurricane Pass, Engineer Mountain and Bridge of Heaven. To the left, Hayden Mountain, Half Moon Basin, Chicago Peak and the well known Sneffles Range, including Yankee Boy Basin.

I begrudgingly admit Yankee Boy is prettier than anything we have in the South.

These are old kings shaped over millions of years through multiple episodes of uplift, ancient seas, volcanic upheavals and glacial activity. Specifically, they are primarily composed of rocks that erupted from Tertiary volcanoes about 40 million years ago and that continued sporadically for another 30 million years.

It’s an old place that has my respect.

Anything over 13,000 feet is covered in snow. Below that altitude was a bouquet of color. Shades of gold, green, red, brown, grey and orange are provided by the impressive array of flora along the ridges. Some Aspen (Populus tremuloides) have reached full color, but most are just starting to change from green to gold. An assortment of fir trees, including Colorado Blue Spruce (Picea pungens) and Alpine Fir (Abies lasiocarpa) are in abundance, and I occasionally catch a glimpse of Rocky Mountain Maple (Acer glabrum trisectum) and Willow.

Temperatures are in the high 40’s as we move northward, but they will warm to the high 60’s by the next day. The blustery skies and a mixture of grays and blues, hint of more snow.

Along one of the few stretches of straight highway, just after Silverton, I notice a figure slowly making its way across the highway. It isn’t moving very fast. I let up off the accelerator and gently braked, eventually stopping since there were no other vehicles anywhere in sight.

Lynx rufus or Bobcat. He or she makes it across, stops and turns around. We face one another, momentarily looking at one another before the cat scampered off into a creek bed.

I wonder what this cat thought as we gazed upon one another. What constitutes the cat-experience and cat-mindedness? The truth is we don’t know. We may never know. Humans often attempt to make other animals resemble ourselves in order to believe that we understand them. Tautologically having projected our limitations we are then constrained to operating within our own transference and can no more understand our cats than we understand ourselves.

All I know is the cat “is.” I was intruding in his or her home and the glance seemed to suggest we needed to move on. We do.

We once again chose Ridgway and Orvis Hot Springs as our first destination. Ridgway is my favorite Colorado town, but there have been some significant changes since last year. The official population figure is still less than 720, but I can state for a fact that estimate is low.

There’s new development in the center of town, including construction on a new retail complex. The sign in front of the complex describes it as part of the “revitalization” of Ridgway, a word that should send chills down the spine of any thinking person, since it’s really a code word for growth and unneeded development.

Ridgway seems pretty vital to me as it is. My suggestion to the current residents is find a way to preserve it “as is” and vigorously fight the real estate lackeys with every tool available before they turn Ridgway into another Telluride.

Thumbing through a local rag that features real estate for sale in the Telluride area, I don‘t see a single home for sale that is less than $1 million dollars. Most are over $2 million and many are as high as $5 million and higher. Today, the average price of a home in Ridgway is approximately $250,000 ($359,000 in the county), but thanks to “revitalization,” that will surely change.

Instead of the sleepy little town it is today, Ridgway will become an overpriced haven for tourists (with plans to stay) and real estate vampires. They’re like alien invaders, killing everything in their path while setting up ill-conceived pods that produce vile, profit motivated offspring.

It’s the War of the Worlds. A quiet, largely agrarian, mountain community trying to hold its own against the megamachine. Growth. Development. Maximum profit and at the expense of all native life forms.

The signs are everywhere that native Ridgway is losing. Many long time residents may no longer be able to live there because of escalating costs, particularly taxes. All over Ridgway and neighboring Ouray, I noticed “Help Wanted” signs in store front windows, a work shortage created by real estate speculation. The bottom line is retail workers cannot afford to live there. They move to Montrose or Durango and find jobs in those communities.

To the north, towering over Ridgway, is Log Hill Mesa. Most of the area is as it was last year with a couple of notable exceptions.

Weapons of Mass Destruction are located, shockingly at the driveway of my fellow Abbeyeistas, Roger and Gail. They’re building a lovely home next to the old cabin, which is apparently too confining for two people, three cats, one dog, several mice and three computers.

It’s well engineered, fits in nicely with the landscape and is in many respects a dream home. Not too big, not too small. Not anything like the 10,000 square foot megastructures being built around them.

As for me, I’ll take the cabin. It’s more my style. Rustic. Adequate and sufficient, although confining for more than one human. The water line being run to the new house would have been a nice addition to the cabin, but Roger and Gail are wise enough to not connect the cabin to the new line. That would have made things a bit too cozy and too easy and resulted in a never-ending supply of guests that don’t know when to leave.

Roger and Gail join us for an exuberant and delicious dinner at The Drake where we are served by a beautiful young lady who charms me into leaving a more than generous tip. She’s a genuine blond genetically blessed with piercing blue eyes, great skin, a warm smile and intelligence.

To me, intelligence is the most attractive quality a woman can possess. I’ve always been more attracted to strong, smart women. Bimbos do nothing for me. I want brains. Women that love books, poetry, music, good food and wine, the outdoors and that will stand and fight when necessary.

Eye glasses are oddly attractive, as well. No makeup. Come as you are.

She’s the kind of girl that used to launch Abbey into what he called “satyrmania,” but I forget her by the time we reach the truck.

Well fed and drunk, I feel like a stuffed anaconda slithering into the water as we return to Orvis for a soak. The hypnotizing, pitch black San Juan sky is filled with a million stars, and the water is soothing and warm, a perfect 103 degrees. But unlike last year, there is a crowd. More people than I have ever seen at Orvis, and Roger concurs it is a high count for him, as well.

Too bad. It seems the secret is out.

Part II: To the Canyonlands Of Utah

Home sweet home.

Not that I didn’t enjoy my time in Abbey country, but there’s nothing like your own bed and the familiar surroundings of your house. Especially after a stormy ride in a turbo prop through the mountains.

Some really nice folks went out of their way to make me feel right at home,and for the most part, I did. They shared an awful lot of their time with me, and for that, I’m deeply grateful.

Gawd willin’ and if the creek don’t rise, I’ll get a trip report with photos posted this weekend. It will contain my unfiltered and truthful observations on what I witnessed.

I’ve reached a few conclusions about the canyon country. Some folks may not agree with them, but it’s the truth and the truth is all that matters.

Check back.

Glad you’re here, especially the visitor from Roseville, CA and his friends that stated this:

“They are a bunch of anarchists like the black shirted anarchists at counter demonstrations, I would like to walk through that crowd swinging a baseball bat.”

Abbeyeistas, if you’re interested in some more information about why Abbey has become so popular again (over 2000 hits in less than 48 hours), please write me at jackburns@riseup.net, and I’ll supply you with a password that will give you exclusive access to some interesting background on this exciting new phenomena.

It’s good to know that the spirit of Abbey is alive and well and demanding so much attention.

Why do I write? I write to entertain my friends and to exasperate our enemies. To unfold the folded lie, to record to truth of our time, and, of course, to promote aesthetic bliss.-
Edward Abbey

9-11-06

Today seems an appropriate day to address the topic of terrorism.

A good place to start might be for us to define terrorism and properly identify the known terrorists and terror organizations.

According to Wikipedia, a highly popular and interesting tool created by our technological exuberance, over 100 definitions of the word “terrorism” are currently circulating around the biosphere. The most recent entry at Wikipedia states that “among these definitions, several do not recognize the possibility of the legitimate use of violence by civilians against an invader in an occupied country, and would thus label all resistance movements as terrorist groups. Others make a distinction between lawful and unlawful use of violence. Ultimately, the distinction is a political judgment.”

So, there’s some confusion and disagreement within the mainstream. And, it seems to also make clear that ordinary human beings fighting for freedom against tyranny are terrorists. No such thing as “freedom fighters,” at least in the eyes of some.

Amongst the “some” is the United States government.

The United States government accepts and promotes the idea that “terrorists are people who don’t belong to any recognized armed forces or who don’t adhere to the laws of war and who are, therefore, regarded as ‘rogue actors’.” This is convenient and self-serving because it removes the possibility that a government or the organized military could be a terrorist organization.

Now, I want you to think carefully about this. Read it again, if necessary, because it’s important.

Ordinary people fighting against oppression and tyranny are terrorists. Governments or states are not terrorists or terrorist organizations.

Think about it a little more. Let it sink in.

Notice how the United States government doesn’t label so-called enemy governments like those in Iran “terrorist.” They are governments that supposedly support terrorism, but are not terrorists.

Why not just call them terrorist governments?

The reason is that any such distinction also makes the United States government a terrorist organization, and even a cursory examination of the facts leads to the indisputable conclusion that the United States government is the largest terrorist organization in the world. The best funded and with more training facilities and outposts than any other organized group. Nearly 1.4 million members on every continent except for Antarctica.

We’re still the only nation to have unleashed the horror of nuclear weaponry upon the world, and we are the greatest exporter of war the world has ever seen. Examine the history in the Middle East. South America. Proxy forces all over the globe, including and complicit participation in genocide. Refer to East Timor for a recent reference.

The health of the state is war.

Hell, for that matter go all the way back to genocide on this continent. The Cherokee an the Trail of Tears. Chiricahua herded off like cattle to Florida. Don’t forget Sand Creek.

But why focus on the past. Let’s look at the present.

In my opinion, terrorism is any act that deliberately and willfully destroys life in support of non-sustainable and unnecessary activities.

Isn’t it reasonable to assume that the non-humans of Prince William Sound that perished at the hands of Exxon experienced terror? I feel certain that if you could ask the people killed by the criminals at Union Carbide in the Bhopal Disaster of 1984, they would tell you they were victims of terror. And if the hundreds of species driven from their homes by the expansion of industrialism and capital could talk, I’m sure they’d say they had experienced terror.

Rachel Corrie was a casualty of terror. State sponsored terror against the individual freedom fighter. She was purposely run over by a coward driving a fucking Israeli military bulldozer.
I believe the amphibians driven out of my community by the poison sold and applied by Trugreen are victims of terror.

I believe the politico-industrialists driving the machine AND the people that support them with their votes and actions are terrorists.

The people that died on 9-11 were victims of heinous, criminal acts carried out by lunatics. But don’t feed me bullshit. Don’t try to tell me that terrorism is some new enemy and that our government is here to protect our “freedoms.” That’s crap. Our government is here to protect the interests of greedy industrialists and the advance of capital.
You should carefully consider how the diction and the definitions have changed, because what’s really happening is a complete erosion of the most basic right in democracy.

These definitions and the overall tenor of our society suggest that the individual no longer has a right to stand up against state sponsored oppression, because to do so is to become a terrorist. And it also means that the official government response, such as what we’re witnessing in Iraq, Iran and possibly beyond are legitimized.

It’s propaganda, pure and simple, and we, the people, have a duty, a moral obligation to resist.

“Be of good cheer, the military-industrial state will soon collapse. Meanwhile, we must do all in our power to oppose, resist, and subvert its desperate aggrandizements. As a matter of course. As a matter of honor.”-Edward Abbey

You may notice some restrictions around here today. There are some cyber stalkers (terrorists) about, hoping to cause trouble and make folks (that don’t agree with their politics) miserable.

This too shall pass.

If there’s something you wish to access and need a password, please write at

jackburns@riseup.net

photo:seema jain

This Friday I leave for the West once again, and this year’s journey, like all the previous ones, is holds special significance.

Each year I pick a place that has some geographical importance or to visit people that are dear to me. Every journey yields its own rewards and lasting memories.

This year’s trip is special because it will be my first visit to the red rock country of southern Utah, and while I’m there, I’ll get to meet some Abbey folx I’ve been corresponding with for some time. Thanks to this fancy pants Internet technology, I’m once again getting to meet friends I’ve never met.

And this, of course, is Abbey country. Home of Canyonlands and Arches, where Abbey “unleashed Desert Solitaire upon an unsuspecting public” in 1968.

Abbey’s writings have obviously had a profound effect on my life, so in many ways, this is a pilgrimage. I expect to encounter many powerful emotions the first time I set foot upon this varied, mysterious land he wrote so eloquently about.

Sometimes, it seems so odd. Me, a Southerner deeply connected to my own land, yet powerfully drawn to the land of rock petroglyph’s. The contrasts are profound. The South is wet, lush and green, blessed with the dark brown soil of the delta. Haunting. The desert is arid, full of color. A land of “red dust and burnt cliffs.” Lonely. Despite the differences, I’m drawn to both and can just as easily envision myself living somewhere in Four Corners as in the Lower Delta.

While Abbey seemed to forever leave Appalachia behind, I’m not sure I could ever completely leave the South. But who knows. The South is firmly in the stranglehold of neo-conservative, Christian fundamentalists that seem to have forgotten the agrarian, rebellious ways of their forefathers. Maybe the time to leave is nigh.

The South and the West share similar histories and a common threat. The South has the burden of slavery, and we share with the West a common history of racial inequity and genocide directed at native peoples. We both face the pestiferous realities of industrialization and human growth, although the South capitulated to those threats long ago. The West may still have a chance.

As I write this, my garden is full of life. Blooming chives are filled with honeybees. Fat-jawed Chipmunks scurry beneath my feet on their way to the feeder to gather fallen bird seed for their winter stash. A few stop at a water bowl to catch a cool drink. Chickadees, Red-bellied woodpeckers, Tufted titmice, immature male Northern cardinals, female Northern Cardinals, a family of Bluejays and Ruby-throated hummingbirds flutter about, each taking their turn at the feeder. Well, except for the hummers.

I’ve noticed some very aggressive behavior in the hummingbirds this season. They’re very territorial, and engage in mid-air combat around the feeder. The chipmunks are the same way around the seed feeder. Maybe they’re Republicans.

The squirrels seem omnipresent and are quite opportunistic.

We’ve had several hawks circling lately. Seems they’ve discovered the high population of birds and chipmunks around the feeder. Yesterday, I found a tuft of Mourning dove feathers scattered on the ground, no doubt the result of a hawk collecting a morning meal.

Soon, these images will be replaced by new ones. Perhaps by a Gila monster. Javelina. Diamondback rattlesnake, scrub jay and canyon wren. Different, yet equally beautiful and wondrous.

There’s a new Abbey book out, Postcards from Ed: Dispatches and Salvos From An American Iconoclast, edited by Dave Petersen (Ghost Grizzlies; On the Wild Edge) and with a forward by the well known Terry Tempest Williams.

This is an interesting collection of more than 150 of Abbey’s unpublished letters.

I don’t reckon we can ever get enough of Cactus Ed, and gawd knows we need him now. Here’s a preview of the book.

A story that came out on Alternet today sums up what war is all about: profits.

Big ones.

As Howard Zinn said, the health of the nation is war. It’s so obvious, and I cannot, for the life of me, understand why more people can’t see this.

The United States military has somewhere between 700 and 850 bases in approximately 60 countries and territories, and on every continent except for Antarctica.

There are approximately 6000 bases in the United States with 1.4 million active personnel. Over 325,000 are deployed overseas.

And we are, by far, the biggest spenders, spending nearly $500 billion according to the 2007 budget, dwarfing the number two country, China. The US military budget was almost twenty-nine times as large as the so-called “rogue states,” (Cuba, Iran, Libya, North Korea, Sudan and Syria) who spent $14.65 billion. (Center for Arms Control)

Global military spending worldwide, for all countries, is a staggering $950 billion.

Just think what the world could do with even half of that money if it wasn’t used for the manufacture of killing machines. Compare what we spend on this shit to what we spend on education, housing, alternative energy research, health, natural resources and environment. It’s simply unbelievable.

For the bill making appropriations for the military (HR 2863) passed last December, 106 Democrats voted for the bill which provides billions for the continued war and occupation of Iraq and Afghanistan. Seven were absent.

What’s more unbelievable is why people aren’t marching on War$hington and cleaning house.

This system exists for one primary purpose: to promote the economic and political objectives of U.S. capitalism. Oh sure, it’s also for peace keeping, but only in areas where the U.S. has economic interests. In countries like East Timor, the United States actively worked to promote genocide, not to stop it.

From Daniel Patrick Moynihan’s memoirs:

“The United States wished things to turn out as they did, and worked to bring this about. The Department of State desired that the United Nations prove utterly ineffective in whatever measures it undertook. This task was given to me, and I carried it forward with no inconsiderable success.” (A Dangerous Place, Little Brown, 1980, p. 247) Later, he admitted that he had defended a “shameless” Cold War policy toward East Timor.-WikpediaAs long as war is profitable and as long as our current capitalistic system supports it, there will always be war.

Let’s dismantle the capitalist machine that drives it.

Chairman of the Committee for Tarring and Feathering