Month: April 2006







  • SIXTIETH BIRTHDAY DINNER




                            If in the men's room of our favorite restaurant
                            while blissfully pissing riserva spumante
                            I punch the wall because I am so old,
                            I promise not to punch too carelessly.

                            Our friend Franco cooks all night and day
                            to transform blood and bones to osso bucco.
                            He shouldn't have to clean them off his wall
                            or worry that a customer gone cuckoo

                            has mushed his knuckles like a slugger
                            whose steroid dosage needs a little tweaking.
                            My life with you has been beyond beyond
                            and there's nothing beyond it I'm seeking.
       
                            I just don't want to leave it, and I am
                            with every silken bite of tiramisu.
                            I wouldn't mind being dead
                            if I could still be with you.

                                                                   
                                                                           -Michael Ryan



     


     


     

  • The Public Debt as of April 7, 2006


    The Debt To the Penny

    Current           Amount

    04/07/2006 $8,398,801,893,932.15

    Current
    Month

    04/06/2006 $8,393,742,553,848.46
    04/05/2006 $8,388,876,683,304.95
    04/04/2006 $8,388,195,236,701.49
    04/03/2006 $8,377,471,102,607.82

    Prior
    Months

    03/31/2006 $8,371,156,293,376.33
    02/28/2006 $8,269,885,515,386.04
    01/31/2006 $8,196,070,437,599.52
    12/30/2005 $8,170,424,541,313.62
    11/30/2005 $8,092,322,205,720.65
    10/31/2005 $8,027,123,404,214.36

    Prior Fiscal
    Years

    09/30/2005 $7,932,709,661,723.50
    09/30/2004 $7,379,052,696,330.32
    09/30/2003 $6,783,231,062,743.62
    09/30/2002 $6,228,235,965,597.16
    09/28/2001 $5,807,463,412,200.06
    09/29/2000 $5,674,178,209,886.86
    09/30/1999 $5,656,270,901,615.43
    09/30/1998 $5,526,193,008,897.62
    09/30/1997 $5,413,146,011,397.34
    09/30/1996 $5,224,810,939,135.73
    09/29/1995 $4,973,982,900,709.39
    09/30/1994 $4,692,749,910,013.32
    09/30/1993 $4,411,488,883,139.38
    09/30/1992 $4,064,620,655,521.66
    09/30/1991 $3,665,303,351,697.03
    09/28/1990 $3,233,313,451,777.25
    09/29/1989 $2,857,430,960,187.32
    09/30/1988 $2,602,337,712,041.16
    09/30/1987 $2,350,276,890,953.00

     

    United States public debt


    From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

    (Redirected from U.S. public debt)

    Contents

    [hide]
     
    Year to
    30th
    September
    U.S. Govt Debt
    US $ billions
    19102.6
    192025.9
    193016.2
    194043.0
    1950257.4
    1960290.2
    1970389.2
    1980930.2
    19903,233.3
    20005,674.2
    20057,932.7
    National Debt Summary
    PresidentPartyYearsIncrease in DebtAnnual IncreaseDebt as a % of GDP
    Jimmy CarterD449.1%10.5%33.3%
    Ronald ReaganR8188.2%14.1%52.6%
    George H. W. BushR446.2%9.9%65.9%
    Bill ClintonD813.7%1.6%57.7%
    George W. Bush to 2004R426.0%5.9%64.8%
    Source for percentage debt growth: Congressional Budget Office
     

    See also


     

    External links


     
     
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  • April 5, 2006


    Big Gain for Rich Seen in Tax Cuts for Investments



    The first data to document the effect of President Bush's tax cuts for investment income show that they have significantly lowered the tax burden on the richest Americans, reducing taxes on incomes of more than $10 million by an average of about $500,000.


    An analysis of Internal Revenue Service data by The New York Times found that the benefit of the lower taxes on investments was far more concentrated on the very wealthiest Americans than the benefits of Mr. Bush's two previous tax cuts: on wages and other noninvestment income.


    When Congress cut investment taxes three years ago, it was clear that the highest-income Americans would gain the most, because they had the most money in investments. But the size of the cuts and what share goes to each income group have not been known.


    As Congress debates whether to make the Bush tax cuts permanent, The Times analyzed I.R.S. figures for 2003, the latest year available and the first that reflected the tax cuts for income from dividends and from the sale of stock and other assets, known as capital gains.


    The analysis found the following:


    ¶  Among taxpayers with incomes greater than $10 million, the amount by which their investment tax bill was reduced averaged about $500,000 in 2003, and total tax savings, which included the two Bush tax cuts on compensation, nearly doubled, to slightly more than $1 million.


    ¶  These taxpayers, whose average income was $26 million, paid about the same share of their income in income taxes as those making $200,000 to $500,000 because of the lowered rates on investment income.


    ¶  Americans with annual incomes of $1 million or more, about one-tenth of 1 percent all taxpayers, reaped 43 percent of all the savings on investment taxes in 2003. The savings for these taxpayers averaged about $41,400 each. By comparison, these same Americans received less than 10 percent of the savings from the other Bush tax cuts, which applied primarily to wages, though that share is expected to grow in coming years.


    ¶  The savings from the investment tax cuts are expected to be larger in subsequent years because of gains in the stock market.


    The Times showed the new numbers to people on various sides of the debate over tax cuts. Stephen J. Entin, president of the Institute for Research on the Economics of Taxation, a Washington organization, and other supporters of the cuts said they did not go far enough because the more money the wealthiest had to invest, the more would go to investments that produce jobs. For investment income, Mr. Entin said, "the proper tax rate would be zero."


    Opponents say the cuts are too generous to those who already have plenty. Representative Charles B. Rangel of New York, the senior Democrat on the House Ways and Means Committee, said after seeing the new figures that "these tax cuts are beyond irresponsible" when "we're in a war; we haven't fixed Social Security or Medicare; we've got record deficits."


    Because of the tax cuts, even the merely rich, making hundreds of thousands of dollars a year, are falling behind the very wealthiest, particularly because another provision, the alternative minimum tax, now costs many of them thousands and even tens of thousands of dollars a year in lost deductions.


    About 3.5 million taxpayers filing their returns for last year are being hit by the alternative tax. But that figure will balloon this year to at least 19 million taxpayers, making as little as about $30,000, unless Congress restores a law that limited its effects until now, according to the Tax Policy Center in Washington, a joint project of the Brookings Institution and the Urban Institute, whose estimates the White House has declared reasonable.


    The tax cut analysis was based on estimates from a computer model developed by Citizens for Tax Justice, which asserts that the tax system unfairly favors the rich. The group's estimates are considered reliable by advocates on differing sides of the tax debate. The Times, which also did its own analysis, asked the group to use the model to produce additional data on the effect of the investment tax cuts on various income groups. The analyses show that more than 70 percent of the tax savings on investment income went to the top 2 percent, about 2.6 million taxpayers.


    By contrast, few taxpayers with modest incomes benefited because most of them who own stocks held them in retirement accounts, which are not eligible for the investment income tax cuts. Money in these accounts is not taxed until withdrawal, when the higher rates on wages apply.


    Those making less than $50,000 saved an average of $10 more because of the investment tax cuts, for a total of $435 in total income tax cuts, according to the computer model.


    During last week's debate on whether to restore limits on the alternative minimum tax or make permanent the cuts in investment income taxes, House leaders chose as their spokesman Representative David L. Camp, a Michigan Republican. He said Republicans favored continuing investment tax cuts because that would help more people and would especially benefit those making less than $100,000.


    "Nearly 60 percent of the taxpayers with incomes less than $100,000 had income from capital gains and dividends," he said on the House floor.


    But I.R.S. data show that among the 90 percent of all taxpayers who made less than $100,000, dividend tax reductions benefited just one in seven and capital gains reductions one in 20.


    Mr. Camp, who had said in an interview that his figures were correct, said Monday through a spokesman that he had been misinformed by the staff of the House Ways and Means Committee. But his office said he supported making the investment tax cuts permanent because cutting these rates was "good policy and good for our economy."


    President Bush, in his budget, urged Congress to make permanent the reduced taxes on investment income. He also proposed limiting the effects of the alternative minimum tax through next year, saying a permanent solution "is best addressed within the context of fundamental tax reform."


    The Congressional Budget Office estimated that making the investment tax cuts permanent would cost the government $197 billion over 10 years. But advocates of eliminating taxes on investments say there is no cost to the government because lowering taxes on such income encourages more investment, which should lead to more and higher-paying jobs. Taxes on wages from those jobs should more than offset the tax savings to investors, said Mr. Entin, an advocate of eliminating taxes on most investment income as a way of promoting economic growth.


    However, the Congressional Research Service, an arm of Congress that analyzes issues, concluded in a January report that lower taxes on investment income may translate into lower savings because people need fewer investments to earn the same after-tax income. In another report, the research service showed how lower taxes on investment income can encourage investment outside the United States, creating jobs, but not for Americans.


    The Center on Budget and Policy Priorities, which advocates for the poor, and several mainstream policy research organizations say the investment tax cuts will have insignificant positive effects and may even damage long-term economic growth by contributing to soaring budget deficits. In an era of budget deficits, "the net effect is a wash or may even be negative," said Robert Greenstein, the executive director of the center.


    There have been three tax cuts for individuals under President Bush. The top tax rate on compensation was trimmed twice and is now 35 percent, from 39.6 percent when President Bush took office. Most compensation also faces a 1.45 percent Medicare tax, which is matched by the employer, making the effective federal tax rate on high earners 37.9 percent.


    Then, the top rate for most investment income was reduced to 15 percent in 2003, from the 39.6 percent for dividends and 20 percent for profits on asset sales that were in effect when Mr. Bush took office.


    A result is that the wealthiest Americans now pay much higher direct taxes on money they work for than on money that works for them.


     


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    ---------------------------------------------------------------





    April 11, 2006

    Editorial

    Tax Cuts on Hold



    Republican lawmakers tried to do the White House's bidding last week and ram through President Bush's latest round of investor tax cuts in time for him to gloat on tax-filing day. It's just as well that they failed before taking a two-week spring break. The longer it takes to get a final tax bill, the more time the public has to object to its worst provisions.


    The centerpiece of the bill is an extension of temporary low tax rates for investment income until the end of 2010. If it passed, investors would pay a top rate of 15 percent on dividends and profits for the rest of the decade, while people who live on wages and salary faced a top rate of 35 percent.


    To understand why Mr. Bush would find that worth bragging about, you have to recall that he once dubbed his supporters the "have mores." Extending the investor tax cuts would save them an additional $21 billion over the next five years. Almost half of that would go to people who make more than $1 million a year. Nearly three-fourths of it would go to people who make more than $200,000 a year.


    Contrary to the claims of tax-cut supporters, there is no meaningful evidence that the low investor tax rates spur the economy and, in so doing, pay for themselves. That is, as the president's father once put it best, "voodoo economics." The investor tax cuts would be paid for by government borrowing. The debt would have to be paid back later, with interest, via tax increases or cuts in government services.


    The Senate plans to claim that some of the cost would be paid for by other provisions in the bill that would raise revenue. That's swill. If they can get away with it, senators intend to include measures that raise money in some years and lose money in others, resulting, over all, in a revenue loss. But they've finagled the timing of the measures so that they would bring in revenue just when the money is needed to cover the cost of investor tax cuts. In their world, that counts as paying for the windfall. Don't be fooled.


     


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  • The Absinthe Drinkers

    By Robert Service

    He's yonder, on the terrace of the Cafe de la Paix,
    The little wizened Spanish man, I see him every day.
    He's sitting with his Pernod on his customary chair;
    He's staring at the passers with his customary stare.
    He never takes his piercing eyes from off that moving throng,
    That current cosmopolitan meandering along:
    Dark diplomats from Martinique, pale Rastas from Peru,
    An Englishman from Bloomsbury, a Yank from Kalamazoo;
    A poet from Montmartre's heights, a dapper little Jap,
    Exotic citizens of all the countries on the map;
    A tourist horde from every land that's underneath the sun --
    That little wizened Spanish man, he misses never one.
    Oh, foul or fair he's always there, and many a drink he buys,
    And there's a fire of red desire within his hollow eyes.
    And sipping of my Pernod, and a-knowing what I know,
    Sometimes I want to shriek aloud and give away the show.
    I've lost my nerve; he's haunting me; he's like a beast of prey,
    That Spanish man that's watching at the Cafe de la Paix.

    Say! Listen and I'll tell you all . . . the day was growing dim,
    And I was with my Pernod at the table next to him;
    And he was sitting soberly as if he were asleep,
    When suddenly he seemed to tense, like tiger for a leap.
    And then he swung around to me, his hand went to his hip,
    My heart was beating like a gong -- my arm was in his grip;
    His eyes were glaring into mine; aye, though I shrank with fear,
    His fetid breath was on my face, his voice was in my ear:
    "Excuse my brusquerie," he hissed; "but, sir, do you suppose --
    That portly man who passed us had a wen upon his nose?"

    And then at last it dawned on me, the fellow must be mad;
    And when I soothingly replied: "I do not think he had,"
    The little wizened Spanish man subsided in his chair,
    And shrouded in his raven cloak resumed his owlish stare.
    But when I tried to slip away he turned and glared at me,
    And oh, that fishlike face of his was sinister to see:
    "Forgive me if I startled you; of course you think I'm queer;
    No doubt you wonder who I am, so solitary here;
    You question why the passers-by I piercingly review . . .
    Well, listen, my bibacious friend, I'll tell my tale to you.

    "It happened twenty years ago, and in another land:
    A maiden young and beautiful, two suitors for her hand.
    My rival was the lucky one; I vowed I would repay;
    Revenge has mellowed in my heart, it's rotten ripe to-day.
    My happy rival skipped away, vamoosed, he left no trace;
    And so I'm waiting, waiting here to meet him face to face;
    For has it not been ever said that all the world one day
    Will pass in pilgrimage before the Cafe de la Paix?"

    "But, sir," I made remonstrance, "if it's twenty years ago,
    You'd scarcely recognize him now, he must have altered so."
    The little wizened Spanish man he laughed a hideous laugh,
    And from his cloak he quickly drew a faded photograph.
    "You're right," said he, "but there are traits (oh, this you must allow)
    That never change; Lopez was fat, he must be fatter now.
    His paunch is senatorial, he cannot see his toes,
    I'm sure of it; and then, behold! that wen upon his nose.
    I'm looking for a man like that. I'll wait and wait until . . ."
    "What will you do?" I sharply cried; he answered me: "Why, kill!
    He robbed me of my happiness -- nay, stranger, do not start;
    I'll firmly and politely put -- a bullet in his heart."

    And then that little Spanish man, with big cigar alight,
    Uprose and shook my trembling hand and vanished in the night.
    And I went home and thought of him and had a dreadful dream
    Of portly men with each a wen, and woke up with a scream.
    And sure enough, next morning, as I prowled the Boulevard,
    A portly man with wenny nose roamed into my regard;
    Then like a flash I ran to him and clutched him by the arm:
    "Oh, sir," said I, "I do not wish to see you come to harm;
    But if your life you value aught, I beg, entreat and pray --
    Don't pass before the terrace of the Cafe de la Paix."
    That portly man he looked at me with such a startled air,
    Then bolted like a rabbit down the rue Michaudière.
    "Ha! ha! I've saved a life," I thought; and laughed in my relief,
    And straightway joined the Spanish man o'er his apéritif.
    And thus each day I dodged about and kept the strictest guard
    For portly men with each a wen upon the Boulevard.
    And then I hailed my Spanish pal, and sitting in the sun,
    We ordered many Pernods and we drank them every one.
    And sternly he would stare and stare until my hand would shake,
    And grimly he would glare and glare until my heart would quake.
    And I would say: "Alphonso, lad, I must expostulate;
    Why keep alive for twenty years the furnace of your hate?
    Perhaps his wedded life was hell; and you, at least, are free . . ."
    "That's where you've got it wrong," he snarled; "the fool she took was me.
    My rival sneaked, threw up the sponge, betrayed himself a churl:
    'Twas he who got the happiness, I only got -- the girl."
    With that he looked so devil-like he made me creep and shrink,
    And there was nothing else to do but buy another drink.

    Now yonder like a blot of ink he sits across the way,
    Upon the smiling terrace of the Cafe de la Paix;
    That little wizened Spanish man, his face is ghastly white,
    His eyes are staring, staring like a tiger's in the night.
    I know within his evil heart the fires of hate are fanned,
    I know his automatic's ready waiting to his hand.
    I know a tragedy is near. I dread, I have no peace . . .
    Oh, don't you think I ought to go and call upon the police?
    Look there . . . he's rising up . . . my God!
    He leaps from out his place . . .
    Yon millionaire from Argentine . . . the two are face to face . . .
    A shot! A shriek! A heavy fall! A huddled heap! Oh, see
    The little wizened Spanish man is dancing in his glee. . . .
    I'm sick . . . I'm faint . . . I'm going mad. . . .
    Oh, please take me away . . .
    There's BLOOD upon the terrace of the Cafe de la Paix. . . .





























  • Your Attention Please by Peter Porter

    The Polar DEW has just warned that
    A nuclear rocket strike of
    At least one thousand megatons
    Has been launched by the enemy
    Directly at our major cities.
    This announcement will take
    Two and a quarter minutes to make,
    You therefore have a further
    Eight and a quarter minutes
    To comply with the shelter
    Requirements published in the Civil
    Defence Code - section Atomic Attack.
    A specially shortened Mass
    Will be broadcast at the end
    Of this announcement -
    Protestant and Jewish services
    Will begin simultaneously -
    Select your wavelength immediately
    According to instructions
    In the Defence Code. Do not
    Tale well-loved pets (including birds)
    Into your shelter - they will consume
    Fresh air. Leave the old and bed-
    Ridden, you can do nothing for them.
    Remember to press the sealing
    Switch when everyone is in
    The shelter. Set the radiation
    Aerial, turn on the Geiger barometer.
    Turn off your television now.
    Turn off your radio immediately
    The services end. At the same time
    Secure explosion plugs in the ears
    Of each member of your family. Take
    Down your plasma flasks. Give your children
    The pills marked one and two
    In the C D green container, then put
    Them to bed. Do not break
    The inside airlock seals until
    The radiation All Clear shows
    (Watch for the cuckoo in your
    Perspex panel), or your District
    Touring Doctor rings your bell.
    If before this your air becomes
    Exhausted or if any of your family
    Is critically injured, administer
    The capsules marked 'Valley Forge'
    (Red pocket in No 1 Survival Kit)
    For painless death. (Catholics
    Will have been instructed by their priests
    What to do in this eventuality.)
    This announcement is ending. Our President
    Has already given orders for
    Massive retaliation - it will be
    Decisive. Some of us may die.
    Remember, statistically
    It is not likely to be you.
    All flags are flying fully dressed
    On Government buildings - the sun is shining.
    Death is the least we have to fear.
    We are all in the hands of God,
    Whatever happens happens by His will.
    Now go quickly to your shelters.



       

    INFORMATION

       





    The poem is in the form of an official radio announcement.
    'DEW': Defence Early Warning system, designed to pick up electronically the signals of a fired nuclear missile
    'megaton': unit of power equivalent to 1m tons of TNT
    'shelter': nuclear air-raid shelter, intended to protect people from radioactive dust (fall-out). In some countries shelters were taken very seriously. In Switzerland, for example, a law was introduced in 1950 according to which every new house or public building must incorporate a nuclear shelter. The law was scrupulously followed. Large reinforced concrete structures were built into the foundations of every building, designed to protect people from blast and fire as well as fall-out.
    'Civil Defence' (C D): organised civilian activities in the event of attack. In the UK during the Second World War air raid shelters were set up for the public (and also privately in back gardens and cellars); civilians ran air-raid warnings, firefighting, supply lines of food and other necessities, local communications, and an ambulance service.
    'Geiger barometer': the Geiger counter, which detects and measures radioactivity, was named after the inventor Hans Geiger (1882-1945)
    'plasma': the liquid part of blood
    'Valley Forge': a site in America where George Washington's army spent the winter of 1777-8 during the American Revolution. They experienced extreme hardship and deprivation.
    'instructed by their priests': part of a Catholic priest's duties is to give the 'last rites' to the dying. In the nuclear shelters and under nuclear attack, it was unlikely a priest could be summoned.

       

    HISTORY

       





    In 1949 the Soviet Union test-exploded its first atomic bomb. In the same year the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation was founded, a military alliance of some Western European countries and the USA in the face of the Soviet Union's establishment of communist regimes in Eastern Europe. The Cold War between East and West was well under way.

    In January 1951 the US President announced that research on the making of a hydrogen bomb was continuing. The first US H-bomb was exploded on Enewetok Atoll in the Pacific on May 8, followed by another on November 1.

    On March 1 1954 an even more powerful H-bomb (codename 'Bravo' and equivalent to over 1,000 Hiroshima bombs) was detonated on Bikini Atoll, whose population had been removed ('the option of staying was not a realistic alternative'). On this occasion radioactive dust was blown by the wind on to three of the Marshall Islands, whose inhabitants became the first victims of fall-out. They immediately suffered burns, nausea and hair loss. Later, women who became pregnant experienced an unusually high number of miscarriages and severely malformed infants, many of whom died. It was established in the following years that even low level radiation can endanger a foetus; it also increases the likelihood of Down's syndrome. Marshall Islanders in the following decades also began to develop leukaemia and tumours of the thyroid gland. The number of people with cataracts of the eye and diabetes increased, and skin problems were widespread. In 1986 radiation survivors were paid compensation but banned from taking their cases to court.

    At the time of the 'Bravo' test a Japanese fishing trawler called the 'Lucky Dragon' was catching tuna just east of Bikini. It too was deluged with fall-out. The crew began to experience radiation sickness almost at once. When their illness, and the death of one of them, reached the headlines in Japan, the news spread world wide. The public were now alerted to the dangers of radiation.

    People in the NATO countries and in eastern European countries (which with the Soviet Union formed the Warsaw Pact in 1955) also learned more about the dangers of nuclear warfare.

    The Frisch-Peierls memorandum (see the introduction to this section), having described the 'properties of a radioactive super-bomb', went on to say that 'it must be realised that no shelters are available that would be effective and could be used on a large scale'.

    Nevertheless, in the mid-1970s the British government commissioned films and a leaflet to advise the public on what to do in the event of a nuclear attack. The leaflet was called 'Protect and Survive'. (It can be seen on the internet.) The idea was that it would be issued to every household if nuclear war looked likely to break out. The advice provided is both terrifying and absurd in its failure to recognise the real nature of a nuclear attack, and came in for strong and scornful criticism. People were advised to build an 'inner refuge', using tables, doors, bricks and bags of sand, inside a 'fall-out room', a room with the fewest outside walls. The room was to be stocked with food and water for 14 days, and a first aid kit (aspirins and bandages). Other items included a mechanical clock and a calendar, and a portable radio with the aerial pushed in. The radio was vital, to get news of when it was safe to leave. Nothing was said about broadcasting systems being destroyed in the attack (though, interestingly, nowhere in the leaflet is a telephone mentioned). 'If a death occurs while you are confined to the fall-out room, place the body in another room and cover it as securely as possible. Attach an identification.' One of the actions recommended after the attack: 'minor repairs, to keep out the weather.'

    That leaflet was prepared well over 15 years after Peter Porter had written his poem. The Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament published a leaflet if its own, called 'Protest and Survive'.

    Official assessment (drawn up in 1955) of Britain's likely fate in a thermonuclear attack was considered so sensitive that it was not published until April 2002. 'Blast and heat would be the dominant hazard, accounting for 9 million out of 12 million fatal casualties.' The other 3 million would die from the effects of fall-out. The initial attack would be followed by a period during which the survivors would struggle 'against disease, starvation and the unimaginable psychological effects of nuclear bombardment.' Emergency plans were drawn up to allow for military authorities to take over from local government.


     


     


     

  • CIA Dope Calypso


    Allen Ginsberg


    In nineteen hundred forty-nine
    China was won by Mao Tse-tung
    Chiang Kai-shek's army ran away
    They were waiting there in Thailand yesterday

    Supported by the CIA
    Pushing junk down Thailand way


    First they stole from the Meo Tribes
    Up in the hills they started taking bribes
    Then they sent their soldiers up to Shan
    Collecting opium to send to The Man

    Pushing junk in Bangkok yesterday
    Supported by the CIA


    Brought their jam on mule trains down
    To Chiang Rai that's a railroad town
    Sold it next to the police chief brain
    He took it to town on the choochoo train

    Trafficking dope to Bangkok all day
    Supported by the CIA


    The policeman's name was Mr. Phao
    He peddled dope grand scale and how
    Chief of border customs paid
    By Central Intelligence's U.S. A.I.D.

    The whole operation, Newspapers say
    Supported by the CIA


    He got so sloppy & peddled so loose
    He busted himself & cooked his own goose
    Took the reward for an opium load
    Seizing his own haul which same he resold

    Big time pusher for a decade turned grey
    Working for the CIA


    Touby Lyfong he worked for the French
    A big fat man liked to dine & wench
    Prince of the Meos he grew black mud
    Till opium flowed through the land like a flood

    Communists came and chased the French away
    So Touby took a job with the CIA


    The whole operation fell in to chaos
    Till U.S. Intelligence came into Laos
    I'll tell you no lie I'm a true American
    Our big pusher there was Phoumi Nosovan

    All them Princes in a power play
    But Phoumi was the man for the CIA


    And his best friend General Vang Pao
    Ran the Meo army like a sacred cow
    Helicopter smugglers filled Long Cheng's bars
    In Xieng Quang province on the Plain of Jars

    It started in secret they were fighting yesterday
    Clandestine secret army of the CIA


    All through the Sixties the Dope flew free
    Thru Tan Son Nhut Saigon to Marshal Ky
    Air America followed through
    Transporting confiture for President Thieu

    All these Dealers were decades and yesterday
    The Indochinese mob of the U.S. CIA


    Operation Haylift Offisir Wm. Colby
    Saw Marshal Ky fly opium Mr. Mustard told me
    Indochina desk he was Chief of Dirty Tricks
    "Hitchhiking" with dope pushers was how he got his fix

    Subsidizing traffickers to drive the Reds away
    Till Colby was the head of the CIA



                                            January 1972


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  • 8 Fragments for Kurt Cobain


    By Jim Carroll

    1/
    Genius is not a generous thing
    In return it charges more interest than any amount of royalties can cover
    And it resents fame
    With bitter vengeance

    Pills and powdres only placate it awhile
    Then it puts you in a place where the planet's poles reverse
    Where the currents of electricity shift

    Your Body becomes a magnet and pulls to it despair and rotten teeth,
    Cheese whiz and guns

    Whose triggers are shaped tenderly into a false lust
    In timeless illusion

    2/
    The guitar claws kept tightening, I guess on your heart stem.
    The loops of feedback and distortion, threaded right thru
    Lucifer's wisdom teeth, and never stopped their reverbrating
    In your mind

    And from the stage
    All the faces out front seemed so hungry
    With an unbearably wholesome misunderstanding

    From where they sat, you seemed so far up there
    High and live and diving

    And instead you were swamp crawling
    Down, deeper
    Until you tasted the Earth's own blood
    And chatted with the Buzzing-eyed insects that heroin breeds

    3/
    You should have talked more with the monkey
    He's always willing to negotiate
    I'm still paying him off...
    The greater the money and fame
    The slower the Pendulum of fortune swings

    Your will could have sped it up...
    But you left that in a plane
    Because it wouldn't pass customs and immigration

    4/
    Here's synchronicity for you:

    Your music's tape was inside my walkman
    When my best friend from summer camp
    Called with the news about you

    I listened them...
    It was all there!
    Your music kept cutting deeper and deeper valleys of sound
    Less and less light
    Until you hit solid rock

    The drill bit broke
    and the valley became
    A thin crevice, impassible in time,
    As time itself stopped.

    And the walls became cages of brilliant notes
    Pressing in...
    Pressure
    That's how diamonds are made
    And that's WHERE it sometimes all collapses
    Down in on you

    5/
    Then I translated your muttered lyrics
    And the phrases were curious:
    Like "incognito libido"
    And "Chalk Skin Bending"

    The words kept getting smaller and smaller
    Until
    Separated from their music
    Each letter spilled out into a cartridge
    Which fit only in the barrel of a gun

    6/
    And you shoved the barrel in as far as possible
    Because that's where the pain came from
    That's where the demons were digging

    The world outside was blank
    Its every cause was just a continuation
    Of another unsolved effect

    7/
    But Kurt...
    Didn't the thought that you would never write another song
    Another feverish line or riff
    Make you think twice?
    That's what I don't understand
    Because it's kept me alive, above any wounds

    8/
    If only you hadn't swallowed yourself into a coma in Roma...
    You could have gone to Florence
    And looked into the eyes of Bellinni or Rafael's Portraits

    Perhaps inside them
    You could have found a threshold back to beauty's arms
    Where it all began...

    No matter that you felt betrayed by her

    That is always the cost
    As Frank said,
    Of a young artist's remorseless passion

    Which starts out as a kiss
    And follows like a curse
     


    -----------------------------------------

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    Jim Carroll
    Song: People Who Died Lyrics



     

    Teddy sniffing glue, he was 12 years old
    Fell from the roof on East Two-nine
    Cathy was 11 when she pulled the plug
    On 26 reds and a bottle of wine
    Bobby got leukemia, 14 years old
    He looked like 65 when he died
    He was a friend of mine


    Those are people who died, died
    They were all my friends, and they died

    G-berg and Georgie let their gimmicks go rotten
    So they died of hepatitis in upper Manhattan
    Sly in Vietnam took a bullet in the head
    Bobby OD'd on Drano on the night that he was wed
    They were two more friends of mine
    Two more friends that died

    Those are people who died, died
    They were all my friends, and they died

    Mary took a dry dive from a hotel room
    Bobby hung himself from a cell in the tombs
    Judy jumped in front of a subway train
    Eddie got slit in the jugular vein
    And Eddie, I miss you more than all the others
    And I salute you brother

    Those are people who died, died
    They were all my friends, and they died

    Herbie pushed Tony from the Boys' Club roof
    Tony thought that his rage was just some goof
    But Herbie sure gave Tony some bitchen proof
    "Hey," Herbie said, "Tony, can you fly?"
    But Tony couldn't fly, Tony died

    Those are people who died, died
    They were all my friends, and they died

    Brian got busted on a narco rap
    He beat the rap by rattin' on some bikers
    He said, "Hey, I know it's dangerous, but it sure beats Riker's"
    But the next day he got offed by the very same bikers

    Those are people who died, died
    They were all my friends, and they died

    Teddy sniffing glue, he was 12 years old
    Fell from the roof on East Two-nine
    Cathy was 11 when she pulled the plug
    On 26 reds and a bottle of wine
    Bobby got leukemia, 14 years old
    He looked like 65 when he died
    He was a friend of mine

    Those are people who died, died
    They were all my friends, and they died

    G-berg and Georgie let their gimmicks go rotten
    So they died of hepatitis in upper Manhattan
    Sly in Vietnam took a bullet in the head
    Bobby OD'd on Drano on the night that he was wed
    They were two more friends of mine
    Two more friends that died

    Those are people who died, died
    They were all my friends, and they died

    Mary took a dry dive from a hotel room
    Bobby hung himself from a cell in the tombs
    Judy jumped in front of a subway train
    Eddie got slit in the jugular vein
    And Eddie, I miss you more than all the others
    And I salute you brother

    Those are people who died, died
    They were all my friends, and they died


  • Mid-Term Break


    Seamus Heaney


    I sat all morning in the college sick bay
    Counting bells knelling classes to a close.
    At two o'clock our neighbors drove me home.

    In the porch I met my father crying--
    He had always taken funerals in his stride--
    And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.

    The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
    When I came in, and I was embarrassed
    By old men standing up to shake my hand

    And tell me they were "sorry for my trouble,"
    Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,
    Away at school, as my mother held my hand

    In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.
    At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived
    With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.

    Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops
    And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him
    For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,

    Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple,
    He lay in the four foot box as in his cot.
    No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.

    A four foot box, a foot for every year.


    -----------------------------------------------


    -----------------------------------------------


     


    Digging


    Seamus Heaney


    Between my finger and my thumb
    The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

    Under my window, a clean rasping sound
    When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
    My father, digging.  I look down

    Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
    Bends low, comes up twenty years away
    Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
    Where he was digging.

    The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
    Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
    He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
    To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
    Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

    By God, the old man could handle a spade.
    Just like his old man.

    My grandfather cut more turf in a day
    Than any other man on Toner's bog.
    Once I carried him milk in a bottle
    Corked sloppily with paper.  He straightened up
    To drink it, then fell to right away
    Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
    Over his shoulder, going down and down
    For the good turf.  Digging.

    The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
    Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
    Through living roots awaken in my head.
    But I've no spade to follow men like them.

    Between my finger and my thumb
    The squat pen rests.
    I'll dig with it.


     


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  • Theme for English B

    Langston Hughes



    The instructor said,

        Go home and write
        a page tonight.
        And let that page come out of you--
        Then, it will be true.


    I wonder if it's that simple?
    I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
    I went to school there, then Durham, then here
    to this college on the hill above Harlem.
    I am the only colored student in my class.
    The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
    through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
    Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
    the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
    up to my room, sit down, and write this page:

    It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
    at twenty-two, my age.  But I guess I'm what
    I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
    hear you, hear me--we two -- you, me, talk on this page.
    (I hear New York, too.)  Me -- who?
    Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
    I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
    I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
    or records -- Bessie, bop, or Bach.
    I guess being colored doesn't make me not like
    the same things other folks like who are other races.
    So will my page be colored that I write?

    Being me, it will not be white.
    But it will be
    a part of you, instructor.
    You are white --
    yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
    That's American.
    Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
    Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
    But we are, that's true!
    As I learn from you,
    I guess you learn from me --
    although you're older -- and white --
    and somewhat more free.

    This is my page for English B.


     


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  • Daddy


    By Sylvia Plath


    You do not do, you do not do
    Any more, black shoe
    In which I have lived like a foot
    For thirty years, poor and white,
    Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

    Daddy, I have had to kill you.
    You died before I had time ----
    Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
    Ghastly statue with one gray toe
    Big as a Frisco seal

    And a head in the freakish Atlantic
    Where it pours bean green over blue
    In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.
    I used to pray to recover you.
    Ach, du.

    In the German tongue, in the Polish town
    Scraped flat by the roller
    Of wars, wars, wars.
    But the name of the town is common.
    My Polack friend

    Says there are a dozen or two.
    So I never could tell where you
    Put your foot, your root,
    I never could talk to you.
    The tongue stuck in my jaw.

    It stuck in a barb wire snare.
    Ich, ich, ich, ich,
    I could hardly speak.
    I thought every German was you.
    And the language obscene

    An engine, an engine,
    Chuffing me off like a Jew.
    A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
    I began to talk like a Jew.
    I think I may well be a Jew.

    The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
    Are not very pure or true.
    With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
    And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
    I may be a bit of a Jew.

    I have always been scared of you,
    With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
    And your neat mustache
    And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
    Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You ----

    Not God but a swastika
    So black no sky could squeak through.
    Every woman adores a Fascist,
    The boot in the face, the brute
    Brute heart of a brute like you.

    You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
    In the picture I have of you,
    A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
    But no less a devil for that, no not
    Any less the black man who

    Bit my pretty red heart in two.
    I was ten when they buried you.
    At twenty I tried to die
    And get back, back, back to you.
    I thought even the bones would do.

    But they pulled me out of the sack,
    And they stuck me together with glue.
    And then I knew what to do.
    I made a model of you,
    A man in black with a Meinkampf look

    And a love of the rack and the screw.
    And I said I do, I do.
    So daddy, I'm finally through.
    The black telephone's off at the root,
    The voices just can't worm through.

    If I've killed one man, I've killed two ----
    The vampire who said he was you
    And drank my blood for a year,
    Seven years, if you want to know.
    Daddy, you can lie back now.

    There's a stake in your fat black heart
    And the villagers never liked you.
    They are dancing and stamping on you.
    They always knew it was you.
    Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.


     


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