storyteller's topics - tribe.net

My cat speeks from the grave

aspenwalker — Tue, 12 Apr 2005 15:15:40 GMT

when my cat got hit by a car he told me he was dead before I found out.
he was flying around the room for a week ....
his movement was in the wind.......

posted in storyteller - 5 replies

Tell a righteous tale, poem or short story of any spiritual nature that moves you.

lutesaroundtown — Thu, 19 May 2005 23:42:36 GMT

El botanica: the spiritual walmart of the poor.

A temple to devote Catholicism, in ways of the self-served mutt.

Smorgasbord of Christ and feathered cock flesh,
jungle tested
fighting mad blood drips crossed.

You buy a candle and when lit
becomes our protector through St. so and so who copulates with Mother Mary’s simple slice
of the sons foreskin.

And lizard parrot eyes,
which becomes invincible
in this free market, of the consumer righteous.

As disco turns thirty
with mirrored ball divine.

Venta-liquidación
Plástico Hey Zeus
en nueve.

posted in storyteller - 1 reply

Add-a-line

heartpuppet — Tue, 15 Mar 2005 04:09:01 GMT

(...like bat-a-mole, only much better.)

To begin:

I didn't want to hold your hand. I cared about you, and everything I was feeling, stronger all the time now, made it wrong to be near you.

posted in storyteller - 35 replies

are we lost now

Tara — Sat, 10 Sep 2005 03:55:55 GMT

its been so long and Everyones gone,what happened to the add on,lets write a song.something or anything to keep it going on.who knows what could save it or even what it is...we just all Know that it's something we Really shouldn't miss or mess up but somehow we manage.to muddle through,all feeling screwed or victim-ized-or maybe that is just through someone elses eyes and we ask quitely,but it comes out a scream,a howl,a pitiful whine.....
"is there anyone there?"

posted in storyteller - 6 replies

danse sange.

warpup — Mon, 20 Jun 2005 19:54:05 GMT

funny how things can slide away, a little to the edge and there is a whole new thing right there... its been there all along, just out of view only because when we're looking, we're looking for something very specific. it's hard to recognize something after its changed a bit. the thing is to stop looking and see. stop assigning values and observe. stop thinking for a moment and be.

i'm watching the fits and capitulations of humanity around me (and oh yes, i am one of you too), and the circus of it all is completely absurdly funny. the earnestness at which you (we) approach certain things, the ridiculous way in which you (we) relate to each other, the manifestation of egos knocking around the world like self-important bearings in one of those tabletop labyrinth games.

if you could see what i am seeing, we'd all be doubled over laughing. no worries, no angst, no resentment, no frustration. none of that false humility, ego stroking gushing, or constructs of relative importance.

look over there, this one seems to be standing on a box sing-song chanting "ring a bottle, win a bear. five rings for a dolla. ring ring ring ring ring"... who shall play that one's game?

those ones stand on their heads, and its the most important thing in the world to them. if they might waver, the world could end... heh! they say, "we're standing on our heads. its okay that you dont, but we have too. you could too, and we wouldn't mind if you did."

that one preaches a gospel. come through the beaded curtain and all will be revealed! does it know its own folly? can it see its own smirk?

by no means chaos! there is a grand choreography to it all.

some Very Important Looking ones start waving and guesturing at the bandstand. "this is Very Important!" one shouts, and half of the band falls out of the stands, rolling in laughter. "no! No!" it says, "it is VERY IMPORTANT!", which causes the tent to erupt in glee and laughter! it walks off and swings on a trapeeze hanging its head in dissappointment... can it know how ridiculous it is?

a small one over there pulls foam balls from its pocket, neverending supply but it is amazed at each and every one as if it had never seen a red foam ball before!

that one runs to and fro, in a seeming panic to tell everyone what they're doing. "yes, yes!" it says to one, "no, no!" it says to another, "thats all wrong, all wrong!"

here's one that yells at the top of its lungs, "come to the circus!", and some others rush up and say "where, where?" and it points far away over the horizon! hahaha!

that one throws tangerines at ghosts, muttering "i'm gonna get you, ghost!"

you see, i can't help but chuckle. what an amazing spectical we are. profoundly inept at recognizing our own folly... as individuals certainly, but also as a species.

if you could see what i see, there'd be no war because there is nothing to fight over. there'd be no hate, because hatred is such a folly... we'd just laugh at each other, because we now know the truth.

posted in storyteller - 0 replies

Advice?

lutesaroundtown — Sun, 15 May 2005 04:34:42 GMT

This was written with the intent to imitate such native storytellers as Paul Bowles so wonderfully translated in his lifetime. I am new at the form of short story. My only wish was to keep it at one page and triple layer form. Reality, dream and desire rolled into one short story. The setting was purposely left sparse. Any suggestions for improvement are most welcome.

As if from a dream ~ Steve (aka Robert)

A couple traveling had settled down near a river preparing to eat and rest. The man, who had started building a fire to cook their food upon, leaped up suddenly, startled by a deafening roar and scream. His mouth dropped open as he gazed upon his wife held tightly in the grasp of a huge crocodile. Massive jaws clamped down, stifling her second attempt to scream. As the animal moved towards water with the lifeless body, the man staggering in despair fell back with fright. Collecting a few things he fled the scene horrified. Running at first, then slowing to an exhausted pace, he walked a full day, stopping only with nightfall to sleep in the crook of a very tall tree.
Rising in the morning as if from a dream, he searched his mind trying to think if there was something that could have been done. Vivid images returned to place him, though still panicked, at rest with any such heroic notions. He decided to return home and inform their families of the tragedy. Having gone far from the river however, the way back itself proved to be a long journey. About half a day into the walk his mind again plagued him with unreasonable doubts, once more to be silenced by that horrible scream. With a shudder he moved on.
Daylight started to dim but ahead he noticed the form of a young woman walking along the same path. With much effort he quickened his pace, and, though gaining, seemed unable to catch up to her. Several times he thought she had glanced back, alerted to his presence and fearing an unknown stranger, started walking just a bit faster. Not wishing to be rude but feeling a need to hear the voice of another, he started to call out, yet held back. Instead taxing the last bit of his weary legs, he seemed again just a bit closer. “She seems finally to be wearing down,” he thought. Surely her features could be seen much more clearly than before.
He saw her on the bridge before realizing he was once again at the river. She was almost half way across when his hands first touched the wooden frame. Slowly, uneasily he walked a few steps and halted. Starting forward as if having decided upon something, the man stepped with determination.
It was then that the bridge’s jaws dropped in upon him as surely as the crocodile’s had upon his wife. The girl, by then at the other side of the river, glanced back once and walked quickly away.

posted in storyteller - 4 replies

Please introduce yourself to the group................

aspenwalker — Thu, 24 Feb 2005 05:19:09 GMT

Hellow every body I.m Aspen...............
Here is my story ........
I'm a drummer with the love of song writing and storytelling .
half the time I use spell check and the other I dont....I am a complete dislexic and love it .......To me its a stornge point in my creativity .....and most the time you can read what I write even know it may be scramble and mixed up .....it also pushes me to word things differantly.....
Writing to me is visual .....and when I'm in my creative mind I think my left and right mind cross over and send me into a trance like state......
when I focus on spelling the Americam way the trace is broken and the creative flow is broken...and I am left feeling like I just came down form a heavy drug trip.......glazed over and some what ......
This is my favoret tribe sight on tribe .......I love the group flow that we bring to life ......books tend to bore me I love to read but I always miss the connectivity that comes from sharing in the experiance with other ...I love people and to me life is about family and communacation .and creation.......
dont get me wrong I need down time to........but this sight is a wonderful place to express and share in a group creation.......
and I plan On stoking the fires with all eveything Ive got...
much love to all of you
Aspen...........................

posted in storyteller - 36 replies

.......SHARE YOUR POEMS..........

aspenwalker — Mon, 31 Jan 2005 02:45:12 GMT

If you got them ....share them ...

posted in storyteller - 33 replies

I love .................

aspenwalker — Sat, 02 Apr 2005 19:01:44 GMT

I love when I am ready to sleep my roommate turns on the music really load.my dream are like music videos.
its really fun and awake feeling like i played music all night.....
I don't ever want to stop loving.......

posted in storyteller - 7 replies

scrible round three

aspenwalker — Tue, 05 Apr 2005 00:12:27 GMT

the word is koburnbustet

posted in storyteller - 9 replies

mondays

sweet pockets — Thu, 24 Mar 2005 22:20:08 GMT

Tribe theatre on NW 5th and Davis on Monday nights at 10 pm-OPEN MIKE and it's actually pretty damn cool. More of a free for all rather that a poetry reading. come and help take over!

posted in storyteller - 4 replies

scribble round two.....

aspenwalker — Tue, 01 Mar 2005 04:42:43 GMT

the word is .....
neinterproface

posted in storyteller - 80 replies

webby

wyoming22 — Wed, 16 Mar 2005 21:42:16 GMT

> Sister Sherry ~ wrote:
> > a new one - and the rule is you leave it open
> > for the next person with a sentence and half
> > ONLY??

Ok thems' the rules, here goes:

Webby can't remember when it exactly it began - her obsession with ducks and webbed feet - but ever since swiming in her parents pond one night, she can't keep the compulsion under wraps. At first people just shrugged, but when she scheduled the operation to make her feet and hands webbed, well...

posted in storyteller - 13 replies

scribble round three

aspenwalker — Tue, 15 Mar 2005 23:23:44 GMT

poqpoqummuzee

posted in storyteller - 13 replies

FUNNY STORY -

sistersherryshaki — Wed, 16 Mar 2005 18:40:59 GMT

this is not mine - but it's hella fucking funny - little long for my attention span - but read it - it's worth it.
*********************************************

I lick girls' rumps. I like to lick girls' rumps. Girls like to have their rumps licked. Most girls won't admit they've had their rump licked, let alone enjoyed having their rump licked. But believe you me, if you lick a girl's rump, she'll love you for life. In fact, that was my high school yearbook quote.

My conviction to "slurping the brown pucker" doesn't stem from some traumatic experience I encountered during my anal stage of Freudian development. I mean, sure mommy dearest used to administer the "Burning Knitting Needle Catheter Punishment" when I would accidentally "makey poo-poo in me diap-diaps," but I knew that mommy dearest's austere methods of discipline were only an expression of her unconditional maternal love. No, my affinity for heiney hole spelunking was motivated and fostered by my anatomical, not psychological, irregularities.

You see, I have a small penis.

Forget about the penile deficiency that cruelly yet so naturally accompanies the average Anglo-Saxon male, it's much worse than that. For instance, after a cold shower I look like a seven year old. Girl. I often wish I were hung like a black guy. No, not from a poplar tree. I mean "hung" in terms of having a penis the size of an enraged Ugandan spitting cobra and testicles that resemble an immigrant Italian mother's Christmas dinner meatballs.

"What fuck wrong you? That where poop come from!"

So, long before I convinced that first girl (without the use of Thunderbird wine or a cast-iron mallet) that I wasn't so repulsive when compared to Rocky Dennis of Mask fame, I knew I would have to go the extra mile down Aretha (Urethra) Franklin's "Freeway of Love." Yes, I would have to go down like ValuJet.

On one of my first G-spot mining expeditions I struck climactic gold. While I observed a slight twitching as my tongue found my attractive victim's tinkle hole (as it is technically known), I noticed an almost epileptic reaction when I accidentally lapped her greasy donut. From that moment on, my cheese curl of a penis was not an issue, for I had found a way to fill the void, and it was by filling the void with my tongue. Black hole tongue won't you come?

After a cold shower I look like a seven year old. Girl.

When I divulge to other guys that I French kiss the devil's onion ring, their reaction is usually, "What fuck wrong you? That where poop come from!" First I ask them why they're talking like Cro-Magnon men, then I explain that there is a significant difference between a female's buttocks and the buttocks of her male counterparts. A guy's ass is a fecal cavern of pooplagtites and pooplagmites formed when ass broth continuously smothers and cakes sweaty mounds of bung fur. Dung dreadlocks if you will. In other words, it would be comparable to making out with a pet store's garbage can in mid-July. In contrast, it is imperative that a female maintain a high level of rectal cleanliness to safeguard her vagina from infection. In general, girls' sphincters are cleaner than boys' mouths. But let me warn you perspective stool munchers. Excremation point! On one occasion, I looked like I had just eaten a Snickers bar. They have peanuts in them, you know.

In general, performing analingus will prove to be a pleasurable experience for both you and your female companion. So don't kiss your girlfriend's ass, eat it. If you want her as a soul mate, be an ass soul mate. Because much like this article, true love is tongue and cheek.

-Jimmy Pop Ali

posted in storyteller - 1 reply

story time -

sistersherryshaki — Mon, 14 Mar 2005 06:25:23 GMT

I was going to tell a story about a pitbull - and my experience with it today - but it looks like Naked Mole Rat beat me too it....

http://portland.tribe.net/listing/a33e535e-46bc-4702-abee-867da1bc52ec?r=10288

posted in storyteller - 1 reply

True story

heartpuppet — Thu, 10 Feb 2005 04:13:10 GMT

Last night, I was over at my friend Treigh's house. I was in the kitchen with SP and Naomi, when Treye comes meandering through the kitchen on the phone. "There's someone in the park across the street doing doughnuts," she says. It takes the three of us a moment to realize she's talking to us. We walk quickly for the front door.

The view from the porch is amusing: Two guys in a van with their headlights off taking turns getting in and out of the drivers seat: they are stuck in the mud. I start laughing.

A little later on, Ptrey and I still on the porch, one of them shouts: "Can you give us a hand?" We laugh. Loud. "We're too busy laughing to help you!" we shout back, then go inside. We have mango and coconut sorbet and a movie to attend to.

10 min later we run to the upstais window: "HA ha HA!!!!" we shout.

10 min later we run to the upstais window: "HA ha HA!!!!" we shout.

10 min later we run to the upstairs window: "they're gone, but the van's still there!" says Tres gleefully. We dash down the stairs, to find SP gathering the 4 window crayons left over from brunch the suday before.

We stealthily cross the street and approach the park, giggling madly.

"I (heart) PBR" "I LOVE UNICORNS" "ASS CLOWN" I write in big red letters across 3 of the windows. SP hast white, Therey has black. I forget what they write.

The 2 looser dudes come back later, eventually getting the van out of the park. We don't care about them, they're loosers. And they leave behind a funny story.

posted in storyteller - 2 replies

looky what i found - smart scribblers

wyoming22 — Fri, 11 Mar 2005 19:14:50 GMT

The Washington Post's Mensa Invitational once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Here are this year's winners:

1. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

2. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly

3. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

4. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

5. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.

6. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

7. Sarchas: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.

8. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

9. Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.

10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

11. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.

12. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

13. Glibido: All talk and no action.

14. Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

15. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

17. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

And the pick of the literature:

18. Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole

posted in storyteller - 28 replies

misc.

warpup — Fri, 11 Mar 2005 17:46:54 GMT

there is a story of things unspoken.
furtive and tentative we wait
for shamen or witches to soothsay uncertainty.

seeking wide-eyed and restless, finally
the evocation falls through the tree-fingers on starlight:

"pack a talisman for the journey
one that presents several faces.
hold it close to your chest
when the sirens come a'calling."

and we set off

walking in circles.

posted in storyteller - 0 replies

long form

warpup — Tue, 25 Jan 2005 20:15:49 GMT

same idea but add more than a line. please make effort to enforce continuity, theme, imagry, and close plot holes.

good luck!

posted in storyteller - 3 replies

Mary Micro Mitens and her journy pass time..............

aspenwalker — Sun, 27 Feb 2005 06:03:28 GMT

deep in the mountain of Navada is a three way gate for time traverls to practice there stills ...Me and few friends went their once to see if it was real .A guy we meant at a pizza shop in Hawthorn told us about it and how to get their and one weekend while wundering what we where going to do ,we set out on a trip to Navada to see the door ways ourselfs.
Just as we where told as we apoarch the location of the portal
there was three beams of light that fragmented into the mountains. since we had never time traveled before we enter the sight slowly and with some fear ..I put my hand into one of the doors and was sucked in like water .my body became liquid and I flue into a timeless place .before me was the sight of opalized light flashes. A feeling of bliss rushed over me and then a warm claming effect blisterd my heart .

as soon as I balanced my self I was throne from the door way like a brick smashing into a million peices. I was in a new place now .and as I looked around me I saw a forist of robotical tree's
and flowers.
I begain to walk to a small flower that was a few feet away.The flower could talk and it asked me what was my name ...?
My name is Mary I said as I looked at my hand that hand now become the hand of a robot.the flower responed to me .Mary Micro Mitens ...and then laughed ...
Yes I said that is who I am .with a self realizing tone in my vioce.
Well Mary I know why you are here.Why I asked.
You are here to process and transmit information.
Hum I thought .what is this place ? and who are you ?
the flower responed ...I am Randy Lion. and this is earth ...
EARTH ! I exclamed ....what year is it ?
The year is 40,5691
and what year did you think it was ?
I answered slowly 2005 .
Oh he he ....you are from the time of the flesh creature .That ended 20,0000 years ago .now all that lives are the machines.
Just as I begain to understand what was happening the must beautiful butterfly danced tord me and I had to follow it to where every it was going ....

posted in storyteller - 0 replies

Any one up for a game of scibble ?

aspenwalker — Sat, 05 Feb 2005 08:40:25 GMT

Heres how you play.......
Type two or more random leters , like this
nforkwqu
It should not be a real word
then the next person makes it into a word like this
worfqunk
this sould be a word you make up and then give a meaning.

worfqunk is a sanfranciso treat made from honey , tuna and bacon bits............
have fun
Aspen

posted in storyteller - 81 replies

a small hunter s. thompson tribute

Jessie — Tue, 22 Feb 2005 02:08:44 GMT

Here'a a quote or two from the late, great Doctor of Journalism:

"If I'd written all the truth I knew for the past ten years, about 600 people - including me - would be rotting in prison cells from Rio to Seattle today. Absolute truth is a very rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism."

My apartment in New York was on Perry Street, a five minute walk from the White Horse. I often drank there, but I was never accepted because I wore a tie. The real people wanted no part of me.
- The Rum Diary

I have also included a photo of him shooting a typewriter in our photo album...he will be sorely missed...

posted in storyteller - 1 reply

^^^^^^^^^The scribble story Thread^^^^^^^^^^^^

aspenwalker — Thu, 17 Feb 2005 23:34:45 GMT

Well I've been waiting on this idea now for a few weeks and now is the time.........

Using the words we created on the scribble thread lets write a story.......
Use at least one scribble word......... then leave your creation set up for the next person to move the story forward............

posted in storyteller - 1 reply

tight spaces

earthmagick — Wed, 09 Feb 2005 19:38:01 GMT

my breath came in short gasps as i crawled toward

posted in storyteller - 4 replies

scary shit

m_pReSsivE — Wed, 09 Feb 2005 22:33:54 GMT

No Tomorrow

Bill Moyers

One of the biggest changes in politics in my lifetime is that the

delusional is no longer marginal. It has come in from the fringe, to

sit in the seat of power in the Oval Office and in Congress. For the

first time in our history, ideology and theology hold a monopoly of

power in Washington.

Theology asserts propositions that cannot be proven true; ideologues

hold stoutly to a worldview despite being contradicted by what is

generally accepted as reality. When ideology and theology couple,

their offspring are not always bad but they are always blind. And

there is the

danger: voters and politicians alike, oblivious to the facts.

Remember James Watt, President Ronald Reagan's first secretary of the

interior? My favorite online environmental journal, the ever-engaging

Grist, reminded us recently of how James Watt told the U.S. Congress

that protecting natural resources was unimportant in light of the

imminent return of Jesus Christ. In public testimony he said, "after

the last tree is felled, Christ will come back."

Beltway elites snickered. The press corps didn't know what he was

talking about. But James Watt was serious. So were his compatriots out

across the country. They are the people who believe the Bible is

literally true - one-third of the American electorate, if a recent

Gallup poll is accurate. In this past election several million good

and decent citizens went to the polls believing in the rapture index.

That's right - the rapture index. Google it and you will find that the

best-selling books in America today are the 12 volumes of the "Left

Behind" series written by the Christian fundamentalist and

religious-right warrior Timothy LaHaye. These true believers subscribe

to a fantastical theology concocted in the 19th century by a couple of

immigrant preachers who took disparate passages from the Bible and

wove them into a narrative that has captivated the imagination of

millions of Americans.

Its outline is rather simple, if bizarre (the British writer George

Monbiot recently did a brilliant dissection of it and I am indebted to

him for adding to my own understanding): Once Israel has occupied the

rest of its "biblical lands," legions of the antichrist will attack

it, triggering a final showdown in the valley of Armageddon.

As the Jews who have not been converted are burned, the messiah will

return for the rapture. True believers will be lifted out of their

clothes and transported to Heaven, where, seated next to the right

hand of God, they will watch their political and religious opponents

suffer plagues of boils, sores, locusts and frogs during the several

years of tribulation that follow.

I'm not making this up. Like Monbiot, I've read the literature. I've

reported on these people, following some of them from Texas to the

West Bank. They are sincere, serious and polite as they tell you they

feel called to help bring the rapture on as fulfillment of biblical prophecy.

That's why they have declared solidarity with Israel and the Jewish

settlements and backed up their support with money and volunteers.

It's why the invasion of Iraq for them was a warm-up act, predicted in

the Book of Revelations where four angels "which are bound in the

great river Euphrates will be released to slay the third part of man."

A war with Islam in the Middle East is not something to be feared but

welcomed

- an essential conflagration on the road to redemption. The last time

I Googled it, the rapture index stood at 144 - just one point below

the critical threshold when the whole thing will blow, the son of God

will return, the righteous will enter Heaven and sinners will be

condemned to eternal hellfire.

So what does this mean for public policy and the environment? Go to

Grist to read a remarkable work of reporting by the journalist Glenn

Scherer - "The Road to Environmental Apocalypse." Read it and you will

see how millions of Christian fundamentalists may believe that

environmental destruction is not only to be disregarded but actually

welcomed - even hastened - as a sign of the coming apocalypse.

As Grist makes clear, we're not talking about a handful of fringe

lawmakers who hold or are beholden to these beliefs. Nearly half the

U.S. Congress before the recent election - 231 legislators in total

and more since the election - are backed by the religious right.

Forty-five senators and 186 members of the 108th Congress earned 80 to

100 percent approval ratings from the three most influential Christian

right advocacy groups. They include Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist,

Assistant Majority Leader Mitch McConnell, Conference Chair Rick

Santorum of Pennsylvania, Policy Chair Jon Kyl of Arizona, House

Speaker Dennis Hastert and Majority Whip Roy Blunt. The only Democrat

to score 100 percent with the Christian coalition was Sen. Zell Miller

of Georgia, who recently quoted from the biblical book of Amos on the

Senate floor: "The days will come, sayeth the Lord God, that I will

send a famine in the land." He seemed to be relishing the thought.

And why not? There's a constituency for it. A 2002 Time-CNN poll found

that 59 percent of Americans believe that the prophecies found in the

book of Revelations are going to come true. Nearly one-quarter think

the Bible predicted the 9/11 attacks. Drive across the country with

your radio tuned to the more than 1,600 Christian radio stations, or

in the motel turn on some of the 250 Christian TV stations, and you

can hear some of this end-time gospel. And you will come to understand

why people under the spell of such potent prophecies cannot be

expected, as Grist puts it, "to worry about the environment. Why care

about the earth, when the droughts, floods, famine and pestilence

brought by ecological collapse are signs of the apocalypse foretold in

the Bible? Why care about global climate change when you and yours

will be rescued in the rapture?

And why care about converting from oil to solar when the same God who

performed the miracle of the loaves and fishes can whip up a few

billion barrels of light crude with a word?"

Because these people believe that until Christ does return, the Lord

will provide. One of their texts is a high school history book,

"America's Providential History." You'll find there these words: "The

secular or socialist has a limited-resource mentality and views the

world as a pie ... that needs to be cut up so everyone can get a piece."

However, "[t]he Christian knows that the potential in God is unlimited

and that there is no shortage of resources in God's earth ... while

many secularists view the world as overpopulated, Christians know that

God has made the earth sufficiently large with plenty of resources to

accommodate all of the people."

No wonder Karl Rove goes around the White House whistling that

militant hymn, "Onward Christian Soldiers." He turned out millions of

the foot soldiers on Nov. 2, including many who have made the

apocalypse a powerful driving force in modern American politics.

It is hard for the journalist to report a story like this with any

credibility. So let me put it on a personal level. I myself don't know

how to be in this world without expecting a confident future and

getting up every morning to do what I can to bring it about. So I have

always been an optimist. Now, however, I think of my friend on Wall

Street whom I once asked: "What do you think of the market?" "I'm

optimistic," he answered. "Then why do you look so worried?" And he

answered: "Because I am not sure my optimism is justified."

I'm not, either. Once upon a time I agreed with Eric Chivian and the

Center for Health and the Global Environment that people will protect

the natural environment when they realize its importance to their

health and to the health and lives of their children. Now I am not so sure.

It's not that I don't want to believe that - it's just that I read the

news and connect the dots.

I read that the administrator of the U.S. Environmental Protection

Agency has declared the election a mandate for President Bush on the

environment. This for an administration:

That wants to rewrite the Clean Air Act, the Clean Water Act and the

Endangered Species Act protecting rare plant and animal species and

their habitats, as well as the National Environmental Policy Act,

which requires the government to judge beforehand whether actions

might damage natural resources.

That wants to relax pollution limits for ozone; eliminate vehicle

tailpipe inspections, and ease pollution standards for cars,

sport-utility vehicles and diesel-powered big trucks and heavy

equipment.

That wants a new international audit law to allow corporations to keep

certain information about environmental problems secret from the public.

That wants to drop all its new-source review suits against polluting,

coal-fired power plants and weaken consent decrees reached earlier

with coal companies. That wants to open the Arctic [National] Wildlife

Refuge to drilling and increase drilling in Padre Island National

Seashore, the longest stretch of undeveloped barrier island in the

world and the last great coastal wild land in America.

I read the news just this week and learned how the Environmental

Protection Agency had planned to spend $9 million - $2 million of it

from the administration's friends at the American Chemistry Council -

to pay poor families to continue to use pesticides in their homes.

These pesticides have been linked to neurological damage in children,

but instead of ordering an end to their use, the government and the

industry were going to offer the families $970 each, as well as a

camcorder and children's clothing, to serve as guinea pigs for the study.

I read all this in the news.

I read the news just last night and learned that the administration's

friends at the International Policy Network, which is supported by

Exxon Mobil and others of like mind, have issued a new report that

climate change is "a myth, sea levels are not rising" [and] scientists

who believe catastrophe is possible are "an embarrassment."

I not only read the news but the fine print of the recent

appropriations bill passed by Congress, with the obscure (and obscene)

riders attached to it: a clause removing all endangered species

protections from pesticides; language prohibiting judicial review for

a forest in Oregon; a waiver of environmental review for grazing

permits on public lands; a rider pressed by developers to weaken

protection for crucial habitats in California.

I read all this and look up at the pictures on my desk, next to the

computer - pictures of my grandchildren. I see the future looking back

at me from those photographs and I say, "Father, forgive us, for we

know not what we do." And then I am stopped short by the thought:

"That's not right. We do know what we are doing. We are stealing their future.

Betraying their trust. Despoiling their world."

And I ask myself: Why? Is it because we don't care? Because we are

greedy? Because we have lost our capacity for outrage, our ability to

sustain indignation at injustice? What has happened to our moral

imagination?

On the heath Lear asks Gloucester: "How do you see the world?" And

Gloucester, who is blind, answers: "I see it feelingly.'"

I see it feelingly.

The news is not good these days. I can tell you, though, that as a

journalist I know the news is never the end of the story. The news can

be the truth that sets us free - not only to feel but to fight for the

future we want. And the will to fight is the antidote to despair, the

cure for cynicism, and the answer to those faces looking back at me

from those photographs on my desk. What we need is what the ancient

Israelites called hochma - the science of the heart ... the capacity

to see, to feel and then to act as if the future depended on you.

Believe me, it does.

posted in storyteller - 0 replies

Spelling dezeise

aspenwalker — Thu, 20 Jan 2005 11:14:31 GMT

At the age of 4 .....i remember seaing things that inew no one saw ...or did they .......i wasn't sure ,,,but i new onething when a friend told me i could fly .....I jumped !!!..................well at least for times .....broken arms and legs never stoped me from beleaving.....

posted in storyteller - 10 replies

from a feline perspective?

Jessie — Wed, 19 Jan 2005 08:20:18 GMT

my royal green eyes burst open...and glare through yours from my computer-monitor throne.....your bald fingers distract me as they stomp defiantly across the keyboard....

...not so loud, please....i'm trying to sleep up here....

posted in storyteller - 8 replies

Wanta Write a group song ?

aspenwalker — Tue, 01 Feb 2005 15:41:24 GMT

If you are into writing words to put to music then join in.....

posted in storyteller - 13 replies

Add a line, please.......

DeLovelyAdelle — Sun, 09 Jan 2005 04:33:43 GMT

There were many stars glowing in the sky that night. The first night we kissed. .......................

posted in storyteller - 62 replies

Dudes, that story is sick!

Sat, 15 Jan 2005 01:40:00 GMT

Pretty funny-- I'll have to re-read it a time or two to grasp the narrative flow and the arc of destiny for our luridly-embroiled protagonist. I just joined the group, and will get back to y'all and the storytelling fun soon!

Romy

posted in storyteller - 7 replies

and taste the candy of yesteryear... mmmmm... candy.

Mon, 10 Jan 2005 20:28:32 GMT

yeppers

posted in storyteller - 12 replies

More add-a-line

heartpuppet — Fri, 21 Jan 2005 07:01:48 GMT

Walking down the beach alone, head bent in awe of the seashells, I knew today was special. My mother had given me use of the car for my short trip down, my brother was actually behaving like a human for once, the sky was blue. I was in such a good mood, and thrilled at the myriad of sea glass and mother of pearl I was hungrily lining my pockets with.

Suddenly, I ran into someone, head on. We both fell, stunned, agape mouths trying to shape apologies. I stood first...

posted in storyteller - 9 replies

All Mistakes Are Small

ArgonVancouver — Mon, 10 Jan 2005 18:20:26 GMT

Looking up, I saw the Golden Gate Bridge rail recede into the patchy blue sky. It was then that I realized that all the mistakes in my life could be fixed except for the most recent.

posted in storyteller - 9 replies