Dozer, the bulldog

Dozer, the bulldog
Dozer: Spring training is upon us!

Rockin' and rollin'

Rockin' and rollin'
The author of Mark's Work

Coleus flowers

Coleus flowers
Why I grow flowers

HappyDay Farms bees are happy bees.

HappyDay Farms bees are happy bees.
Air-borne bees

HeadSodBuster and BossLady at the coast

HeadSodBuster and BossLady at the coast
Love is the greatest power.

Beauty abounds!

Beauty abounds!
Heinz tomatoes, used for catsup

If you've seen one butterfly, you've seen 'em all, said no one ever.

If you've seen one butterfly,  you've seen 'em all, said no one ever.
Painted Lady

Fall Jewels

Fall Jewels
Praying mantis, attending services on a zinnia...

My souvenir from Reggae on the River, 2017

My souvenir from Reggae on the River, 2017
Something I have always wanted...

Mahlon Masling Blue

Mahlon Masling Blue
My friend and brother.

Mark's E-mail address

bellspringsmark@gmail.com

Thursday, December 22, 2016

A World of Hurt



A World of Hurt
At a protest in Eureka
or
Be the First One on Your Block

We will be amongst those expressing our First Amendment Rights, during the Women’s March on Sacramento, January 21st of this upcoming year. This event will coincide with the Women’s March on Washington, D.C., on the same date, and countless other protests in major cities throughout our country.


I am no stranger to protest, having gone to high school through the late sixties, and graduated in June of 1970, four weeks after the Kent State Four were gunned down during a protest march against the Vietnam War. 

Country Joe’s immortal line springs to mind, “Be the first one on your block, to have your boy [kid] come home in a box.” Only, that was supposed to refer to the Nam, not Kent State.
Outside the hootch

My friend and current San Dimas City Councilman, John Ebiner, wore a black armband during our senior year of high school, in support of Cesar Chavez and the farm workers, who were battling to establish rights in both the grape and lettuce industries.

John and I were classmates for ten years, from third grade through twelfth grades, attending parochial schools under the firm guidance of the priests and nuns, but nothing prevented him from seeing clearly enough as a seventeen-year-old, just what had to be done.

I was not there yet, but by the time the Big Green Machine had released its twenty-one-month hold on me, and I was up in NorCal, attending San Jose State, I had my head on considerably straighter. 

Vietnam was over. I know so because when I was in Seoul, Korea, just a quick hop over from the Nam, ten thousand returning G.I.’s were funneled through our base at Yongsan, in early 1973, we in the 199th Personnel Service Company handling their paperwork.

We were gathered together by the colonel, himself, and warned that if we “f**ked with these dudes, we would end up in a world of hurt.” The returning Nam vets were some gnarly looking specimens.
Aside from finance, the most
powerful company in Korea.

As a student at San Jose State University, from 1974-82, I was able to see protest in action, every semester along the way. Students for A Democratic Society (SDS) and the Black Power movement commanded the most attention, but our campus was the venue for countless other social causes, and the student union was a lively place to be, 24/7.

After commuting from the south end of San Jose to the university, the first year I attended, I moved across town and took up residence right across the street from the library there at SJSU, for a total of three years. I may have had an apartment across the street, but I lived on campus.

I actually attended classes for two full years as an undeclared major, and settled for a degree in Humanities, in December of 1979, nine years after I began at California Polytechnic University, Pomona (Cal Poly). Of course, there were those two pesky years of military service, having been snagged in the lottery the last year it functioned. 

Had I staved off entry for even six months, the nightmare would never have taken place. But I did serve and I emerged transformed from the experience, after have hung out with college grads my whole “military career,” who had been snatched up by the War Machine, the second they stepped down off the stage from graduation.

I liked their kind.

When I got out, all I wanted to do was to immerse myself in the world of education, and sail. After a lackadaisical approach at Cal Poly, prior to serving (a resounding 1.67 GPA over three quarters of full-time college work), I was infused with a fervor.

I never missed a class and I rocked a 4.0 GPA, passionately pursuing the classes recommended by “The Tower List,” a publication based on student polls and opinions. If a class was a hit in the Tower List, it was sure to be worth my time.
My apartment in Seoul, Korea, 1973

Eventually it all melded into a degree in Humanities, with a minor in English. I only got the Minor in English, after noticing that I had taken twelve classes in that domain, without realizing it. Four were centered on the study of Old English, One on Chaucer (Middle English) and four on Shakespeare (Surprise!), which is, of course, Modern English. The rest involved writing, another shocker.

During my long stay as a professional student, including two years of Masters work prior to relocating to the northernmost part of Mendocino County, here on our ridge top, I saw a lot of student unrest; it was part of the culture. 

Then, in 1991, I watched as middle school students from my first homeroom, ever, marched out of class and uptown to protest the involvement in the Middle East.

On November 10th of this year,  I watched once again, as students voiced protest when many left the campus of Ukiah High School, where my son Ben teaches, protesting the election of leader Malproddunt. 

So yes, protest has become necessary again, one difference being that there is not unity amongst us. The Women’s March on Sacramento’s statement of purpose goes like this: “We stand together in solidarity with our partners and children for the protection of our rights, our safety, our health, and our families-recognizing that our vibrant and diverse communities are the strength of our country.”

That part about our safety, our health and our children, all resonated with me because of the fanatic about to assume the role of President of this country, a position formally reserved for only those with the highest level of integrity.

There are those of us around who remember-and cheered-the removal from office, of the most powerful man on Earth, Richard M. Nixon, because he lied. We held our leaders accountable for their actions in those days. Not so much now, or so we would not have supporters of leader Malproddunt.

All it means is that we have to be more vigorous in our efforts to establish that the rights of our grandchildren, must take precedence of the rights of a few rich people, to resume an open war on the few remaining resources, out tired Earth-Mother still has to offer.

Oh, and their stranglehold on the 42.5 million “food-challenged” people, in calendar year 2015.

That shit has got to go.

People starving, while the Walton family has accumulated wealth equivalent to the lower 43% of the American people. The Republican Party, bless its pointy white hats, is the domestic terrorist force behind this continued travesty.

We have got to make a statement, in Sacramento, in conjunction with all of the other protests: We stand in solidarity. Millions of seriously pissed off women, with the men alongside them, ought to represent a formidable force, one able to inflict “a world of hurt” upon any clown in high office, who acts as though no one is watching. 
Not watching the appointment of white supremacists to the Cabinet of Hate? Not watching an individual who has no connection with-or to-public education, being appointed to head that chair? Not noticing that a twisted creep like Jeff Sessions is appointed as attorney general, a guy who does not feel that grabbing a woman by her genitals, constitutes sexual assault.

In his world it apparently does not. 

And Vapid Sarah, as head of the VA? Gross me out and gag me with a spoon.

No, the time to voice our disgust for what is happening, and our unwillingness to allow it to do so, is now, and the vehicle is in place. We are personally going over to Sacramento on the 20th, and returning here to Mendo County on the 22nd.

There are others from our area also going, and we will inevitably end up together. I can’t imagine anything more powerful than marching alongside others from my community, who agree with my views on leader Malproddunt.

He is a sham, a charlatan and a perverted example of what a real American leader is, and we are going to send the message that he is not going to get away with destroying the home of our grandchildren.

I am here to tell you that Leader Malproddunt has no idea of what “a world of hurt” may look like, and how many people it will involve, but we are going to give him a sneak preview: me, and a few of my friends, in Sacramento, on January 21st.

See you there.























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