Snowing, rainy, sunshine, icy ... snowing, rainy, sunshine, icy ... snowing, rain..

"Some humans ain't human. Some people ain't kind. If you open up their hearts, here's what you'll find. A few frozen pizzas, some ice cubes with hair, some broken popsicles, you don't want to go there."

— John Prine

BEAVERS CANTINA, Corvallis, Oregon — The forecast for central Oregon today was "light rain, followed by hard rain, with a stint of scattered precipitation, to be followed by a period of general gloom."

This morning I left Bend, headed north on Highway 97, trying to go around the Cascades and not have to go over the summit like I did yesterday and hit the heavy snow. But 97 turned to a total white-out, so I turned around. A few miles later there is a pickup on its top. It wasn't there a few minutes ago. I found my way to I-85, Portland, Salem and down to the land of Oregon State University.

Go Beavs.

Yesterday I read at The Book Barn in Bend, owned by Linda Torres. She came to Bend from southern California in 1972. Bend was cool then.

"I hate it now," she says.

It has grown, one of the fastest growing cities in the country for a while, says my host for the day, Ray Duray. Ray is a one-man peace & justice coalition and 9/11 Truth campaign.

After my talk we go along with the "Save The Badlands" group on one part of it's three-bar pub crawl around the downtown.

I hitchhiked from Bend to Nebraska in 1978, I think it was. Roger and Bob and I came out here after Wayne State College let out for the summer. We worked in a mushroom plant in Salem. We hoped to get jobs in the woods, but didn't. I eventually got lonely for Sarah Sister Golden Hair, and I had a job lined up with the state roads department, so I rode my thumb home.

I see hitchhikers along the road quite often. So far I haven't picked anyone up. I tell myself I don't have room, too much stuff crammed into every corner. The hitchhikers are the hobos of our time. Back in California I thought about the Oakies and the "Grapes of Wrath." I try to write that book every time I start a new novel. I think the Oakies of today are from Oaxaca.

Back in Chico I had a short talk with Marylyn about the movie "Zeitgeist." Marylyn says it doesn't matter if the date Dec. 25 and resurrection, and a bunch of other stuff have been copied in several religions, doesn't mean it's not real, that there's not a God.

I just wonder if when we sit in church with our rosaries we aren't a bunch of pygmies dancing around a campfire in the middle of the woods at night.
__________________________

Everyone is so full of shit
Born and raised by hypocrites
We are the kids of war and peace
From Anaheim to the middle east
We are the stories and disciples
Of the Jesus of suburbia
Land of make believe
That don't believe in me

— Green Day, Jesus of Suburbia

__________________________

I came down out of the mountains and saw the Columbia River. That is why there are so many liberals out here. I can see why someone from Nebraska or Iowa wouldn't care that much about nuclear war or the end of the world. If it's ... say January 17, at about 3:30 in the afternoon, you're like, awright, whatever.

But if you were out here you would want to save this shit..

____________________

"It would be so much easier if this were a dictatorship."

— George W. Bush

____________________

If I were king for a day, I would be busy. I would put loggers and hunters in county jail. I would let the druggies go and rich people would take their place.

Yesterday in Bend the discussion came, as it does sometimes, to the question of, if Bush & Co. did 9/11 themselves, how do they live with themselves. Some people think it's because these folks are psychopathic, without a conscience. Maybe, but I'm still not sure.

Linn County Oregon is the "Grass Seed Capital of the World," so this is where America really takes root.

About a block from me, on Fourth Street, between Monroe and Jefferson Avenues, in front of the county courthouse, the longest running protest against the war is now taking place.

People have been standing out there at 5 p.m. every-effing-day for six years. That's a lot. I could be there, but there's a college basketball game on the TV here in this bar, and I have really been out of touch for the past weeks.

I'm not really Joe Protester, to tell you the truth. This book "Cost of Freedom" celebrates the many people who do the stuff like stand on street corners every day for six years, and I am glad to be a part of that, but I haven't really done that much.

I have gone to work and written my books.

Go Beavs.

seeya

— Mike

_________________

Letters from Readers

Mike,

This is getting to be too much spam, please take me off your list. I need to keep this email cleared for important message related to actual organizing opportunities.

Good luck,
— Chris


Mike,
You need a pee bottle for pete’s sake. Just like the truckers do.

— DW


Dude ... you're getting to see all kinds of groovy places.

I dig on Bigfoot. Have since I was in about sixth grade.

In the mid-'70s I saw movie that featured that Patterson film footage that was shown in the Ritz Theatre in Denison. I believe it was called "Mysterious Monstors."

The movie also included the Loch Ness Monster and the Yeti. My sister and I went.

I remember staring out the window each night at the corn field behind our house, halfway hoping to see a Bigfoot, and halfway hoping I didn't. The movie was sort of scary.

This may have been the same year I saw Jaws in the same theatre. I must have been only eight or nine years old. But they let me in. I left in the middle with hands over my eyes.

— David Namanny


Please take me off this list.

— Jeanne


Mike.

.Enjoy reading you.

Eureka is always cold always raining,that is exactly what you found.

Eureka!..You found it!

On the subject of nuclear missile bases...you will love this.

I have a very good friend in Uzbekistan, he is dean of the university of Sanmarkand. I met him in Iowa City. Really cool guy, tap dances, plays saxophone.

But during the cold war he was in the Soviet army and his job was to calibrate all of the Russian missiles on American targets. Cool huh?..my pal, Kamol.

One day we were driving to Pella Days, and he was looking at the Iowa map, and laughed.

For all of the crap we were fed about Soviet surveillance systems?

They used FREE maps from the Triple A to aim the missiles back at us!

Drive good.

— Tim Tafco


Hey Mike ...

Well, it was good to have you! Too short, though. I keep thinking of other things to say. Like ... re: Bobby Kennedy ...I saw a very well-done documentary (BBC?) about Bobby which highlighted his "conversion" from what he was as Attorney General to what he became when campaigning for the presidency. Seems he was pretty hard-nosed as AG, but when he started his campaign and found himself in direct contact with the poor, his heart really softened.

Also about faith in God ...
It's always difficult for me to put this in words, but I have a sense of the fact that from the very earliest times, human beings have KNOWN that a Mystery beyond our ken has not only posited a creation, but has somehow penetrated the boundary between Thing and NO-Thing and become one with this creation. And from the earliest times, we finite human beings have tried and tried to explain this to ourselves and others by means of stories. Some do a better job than others. And always we know it's impossible for our puny little minds to understand because it would have to be a puny little God (and, therefore, no God at all) if our little minds could comprehend this Mystery.

— Marylyn


Dear Mike-

Recieved a letter this am from Tom Wodetski via email telling that only two people showed at your appearance at Cheshire Books. I couldn't make it because of another commitment, but would have loved to have been there. I've been busy trying to put together a benefit for a small shelter for children in Baghdad and working on the details; ie.- posters, tickets, PR, on my computer.

This is an unusual area in that we have a long-time, blue collar working class contingent, "resistant to change" and people who moved here in the late 60's-early 70's "back to the landers" and now the recently retired, rich folks who used to come up for vacation, who've
driven the price of property sky-high. So- it's a mix. Mostly Democrats though. A few sprinklings of Greens, Libertarians, and Whatevers--and GOP.

I have been standing against the Illegal Invasion of Iraq since before it happened, here on the coast. The mood has certainly changed towards us in the last two years toward the positive. Friends and I have organized a few rallys, marches and I stand with Women in Black every First Friday. I have worked to educate young folks about the Draft for many years. And--I'm on The Single-payer Healthcare Board for this Chapter for SB840 in CA. I am 61 and getting tired...I'm only sorry that I can't do more or be at every event possible. I am sorry I had to miss yours. Don't blame Fort Bragg tho--blame the diseases: apathy, greed and fear.

My best to you on you sojourn,

In Peace,

☮ Nancy Milano


Mike,

Good, just got back from a hike around Topanga Canyon with the family. Warm and sunny in the canyon, but socked in with luscious fog here in Santa Monica. For some reason, dense marine layer coastal fog, the kind that drips from the eaves, has become a rarity. This isn't so mushy,
but it's nice. I used to live in the Mission in SF, so I enjoyed picturing you having a drink at a rooftop bar. It was less trendy in those days, but unless it's all been bulldozed, I'm sure it still
retains funk. As is so often the case, I'm listening to Sun Ra. Hope alls well.

— Rex


Mike, I've heard you comment so often about the stress of needing to pee in traffic, and as a voluminous cross-country coffee and beer drinker, I do understand the crises you've experienced.

NO PROBLEM MAN!

Get yourself a pecan .... (heh, down in some parts of Oklahoma, the pronounce it pee-can). I don't travel anyplace without a pecan in my old truck. When the bladder gets full, I pull over even in heavy traffic, pull out the pecan and use it. At the earliest opportunity, I take the opportunity to empty it. Sometimes even at the spot where I used it. Just open the door a bit and dump it on the assfault.

— Larry Hicks


Mike,

I've been getting your travel notes via email from a friend.

How may I get on your email list to receive these wonderful missives?

I've shared them with various political people on my email list and most are thoroughly enjoying your take on life, the world, the road.

BTW, I work for the actor/ activist Ed Asner and he's been enjoying too.

— Patty Egan
Personal Assistant to
Ed Asner


Mike,

We want to accept your article but it needs a bit more work, as described below.

You submitted an article titled:
Wealth is a Very Dangerous Thing To Hold in One's Hand

— Op Ed News Administrator

P.S. You need to remove "shit," and substitute something else. While foul language may be appropriate to impart strong emotion, it is just gratuitous as you have used it here. The same may be said with your described urinary tract urgency.

Your Original Submission is attached to this email

Please do NOT reply to this email; no one will see it.



Dear Mike,

I enjoyed your book very much. Thanks for your daily dose of e-sanity in a world gone mad.


Stay cool,

David

* * * * * * * * *
— David Mathison
BE THE MEDIA


On March 19, I dragged my friend Kim, a special ed. teacher, to a war protest held in Memorial Park in Omaha, NE, and organized by moveon.org. Earlier, Friends for Peace, held a rally in the same location. It was cold and damp and got dark quickly. The speeches were too long and the wind got stronger as each speech got longer. We held placards protesting the war and flashlights or glow sticks. Kim and I shared a blanket I’d brought as the rain began to fall. When the wind rushed up the hillside like an attack of shrieking, suicidal banshees, we caved and headed for the car. We were followed by the remainder of the protesters and a few lightweight lawn chairs! Where was the press to cover the protest? Where was the follow-up reporting in the next day’s newspapers? No one cares because the media is keeping it out of the news. And who owns the media?

— Kathleen J.


Hey Mike-
You’re in the best part of the state now. Someday I will move back there, not sure I should have left.. But I did. I’d be glad to unblock Namanny, if I knew what that was, or how to do it. He emailed me and replied a couple of weeks ago. I’ll email him again. I doubt you’ll find anyone that remembers me, it was almost 20 years ago.
Jesus – that’s a long time – who’d a thunk?
Take care, stay out of trouble and try to avoid the body casts

— Lundquist


Well, Holy Easter Crap, Auto-Crusader!

Careful of all those nerves you're touchin' Out There! And just remember, when Zinn was in MN a few years back, here's what he said:
You try and you try and you try and you try; and you try and you try and you try and you try; and nothing happens.
Then, one day, it does.
It's all about process, putting in place an alternative vibe, sending an alternative message, as we keep heading toward a better way of being, while hoping we don't blow ourselves up, or completely wreck the planet, first.

— Leigh


Dear Mike,

We're still aglow from the other night with yr powerful presenation & encourage us to try to harmonize. Onwords!

— David & Judy Ray


Mike, thanks SO MUCH for the copy of IOWA TERROR -- it's even better than I remember it from the file. I very much like the presentation -- the cover slightly reminds me of a coloring book, which I like, and the illustrations extend that feeling. And though the sans serif font
is not supposed to work for longer documents, it seems to do well here, maybe especially because the paragraphs are short. Just excellent all around.

— Phil Hey

San Francisco Anarchist Book Fair

Some thoughtful commentary on the San Francisco Anarchist Book Fair, by Paul Corman Roberts. Paul, Mike Palecek and Dan Benbow recently Cost of Freedom at the fair.

In northern CA, amid the mountains, the redwoods, the beer, bait ...

..& Bigfoot.

"Well how do ya do, young Willie McBride, do you mind if I sit down here, by your graveside?"
— Erik Bogel, The Greenfields of France

LOST COAST BAR & CAFE, Eureka, CA — It's cold, rainy, and the good ol' boys are lining the bar. We are not in Santa Monica anymore.

One of the guys comes up to me and slurs in my ear, seeing me with my computer, "you must be the only intelligent person in town."

I doubt it. I seriously doubt it.

"When we came upon the creature it was standing still by the creek. It immediately turned and walked away."

That's Bob Gimlin describing finding Bigfoot near Willow Creek, California in 1967, along with Roger Patterson.

I passed through Willow Creek today while coming through the northern California mountains on my way from Chico to Eureka.

Yesterday I spoke at Chico State University, then stayed the night up on the mountain with Marylyn Felion in her cabin. Marylyn is an old friend from the 1980s when we were both in Omaha working on various peace and justice projects.

One of the things we did was go to Offutt Air Force Base and "cross the line," which is trespassing, in order to speak out against America's military machine, in hopes of stopping the United States from destroying the world and also in hope that the money might rather be spent on the poor of north Omaha.

On one occasion Marylyn was due to go to federal court along with another friend to face trespassing charges at Offutt.

Rather than show up in court they decided to take sanctuary in the Cathedral of the Omaha Catholic Church, and make it very public, in order to try to get the Omaha Catholic Church and Archbishop Daniel Sheehan to speak out against the targeting of nuclear weapons taking place at Offutt.

So, weeks before the date, the church knew about it, the press knew about it, and apparently the FBI knew about it too.

They raided Marylyn's home at five in the morning and also the home of the other defendant, Kevin McGuire.

Kevin and his family were not home. They lived with Ruth and I and Sam at Greenfields, a resistance community in north Omaha, named after the Irish anti-war song, The Greenfields of France. Kevin and Laura were out at the lake. Ruth and Sam and I were in Norfolk visiting my mother.

At Marylyn's her housemates were able to lock the doors before the FBI could get in, and they thought the feds had departed. But when Marylyn's dog had to be taken outside to do its duty the FBI cars swooped down the street from all directions.

Marylyn's 70-year-old landlady, Jean Petersen, tried to block the way but was shoved to the side. Another roommate, a young man, blocked the steps. Marylyn demanded identification and a warrant, and one agent said they did not need to provide any.

Marylyn then hurried upstairs to call the press and also the Omaha police, saying strangers were in her home claiming they were the FBI.

The police and the press arrived and Marylyn was taken away on camera. It was the lead story on television and radio for days in Omaha. Friends then crossed the line in protest of the treatment of Marylyn — then Kevin, in hiding until a few days later, was able to undertake the
original sanctuary action, with additional press coverage.

So, the FBI and the Omaha Catholic Church were not able to hush up the sanctuary action with their early morning raids. They only served to give it even more attention.

Well, Marylyn's cabin is up in the big woods near Cohasset, outside of Chico. We have a great late-night old-home session, remembering the days of the '80s in Omaha, and lots of old friends.

In the morning I head off toward Redding and then turn east on 299 to go through the mountains.

Around and around, up, up, down, down. It's raining, then foggy.

The puffs of clouds and fog look like dozens of little fires in the forest.

I pass the Bigfoot Campground, Bigfoot Rafting, Bigfoot Burger, and Bigfoot Bait.

Must be some sort of theme.

I see the sign for Willow Creek.

Another I-can't-believe-I'm-here moment.

I think I saw a Bigfoot on two occasions. Once was in southern Minnesota in the '90s driving along the interstate late at night. The other was in the '80s while I was walking up on a hillside in Spearfish Canyon in South Dakota.

Anyway, I love the woods. I think it's the mystery. You can't see what's there, you can only imagine.

I'm following the beautiful Trinity River. At the top the rain becomes snow and ice, then rain again at the bottom.

Off to the left I see some black things on the mountainside. I pull over in a parking area and stare. They are a long ways off, but I definitely see about ten black things on the mountainside. I don't have binoculars. I'm thinking Bigfoot because I have Bigfoot on the brain — but they look like they are on all-fours.

Cows? Cows way up in the mountain? Where is the farm? Why way up there?

As I drive away I think bears maybe. Do bears hang around in packs of ten? Elk? Are elk black? I didn't see antlers, but I was a long way away.

I just don't know.

The mountains and the woods.

Beautiful. Mystery.

seeya

— Mike
____________________

Here is an excerpt from Looking For Bigfoot, Howling Dog Press, 2006.

Bigfoot is about a man, Jack Robert King, who leaves his Iowa home to go west, in search of the truth about America.

... from Looking For Bigfoot ...

"They shot down or lasered-down Wellstone's plane and they really did attack their own Pentagon.

I see this and I have zero documentation. I don't care. I have all the proof I need from the glazed look in your eye as you struggle to attach the American flag to your car antenna.

I understand America by watching you.

I know it from growing up in the Midwest of America, from playing baseball and football and riding down the middle of the street with no hands eating an ice cream cone. The strawberry drips on my T-shirt and I don't care. Mom will wash it, clean it up, just as she rinses the blood of a thousand Chileans from her hands. A lemony spray makes everything smell fresh.

I see more than I want to in the referee's face as he prepares the jump-ball toss and the smile of the drive-up teller as she helps another customer.

Would evil men and women kill in order to gain absolute power? Pretty darn near impossible to believe when they look just like us and sound like us, tell the same tired jokes and watch the same TV shows.

I do know, because I saw it myself over the top of my SuperSize Diet Pepsi, that while children are being bombed to gooey bits, the mail still arrives at our house at ten, and the garbage is picked up at one, school dismisses at three-thirty and Raymond comes on at seven.

I see the banality of evil old Mrs. Schwartz using her tongs to set another fish square into a slot on a lunch tray at St. Mark's elementary as a child in Baghdad has his nose blown off by a bomb he thought was a toy.

I do not have a leaked file or a tidbit of information or an inside source.

I know all I need to know from seeing your guilty face staring out into the night while you wash dishes, or leaning out the car window to order an A&W root beer, or chasing your children into the school house with one last admonition.

I don't need to know George Bush or Karl Rove.

I know you."

________________________


Upcoming:

www.mikepalecek.com

March 26: Eureka, CA
100 Fires Bookstore
www.100fires.com

730 p.m.

Why I Still Heart Ralph Nader

I want to break from my usual mode of posting on Cost of Freedom and Mike's tour (which, if you've missed his updates, can be found to your right in the archive -- worth checking out! stay safe in Oregon, MP!), to post about something more personal.

Ralph Nader. And why I still love him.

From an interview in this week's Newsweek:

Howard Fineman: You've done more than one life's worth of work. Why go do this at this point?

Ralph Nader: Well, you're asking a personal question. So I will give you an unusual personal answer. I have a very deep well of empathy, and I take my motivation from what I see around the country. And I'll give it to you just briefly, statistically: 47 million people who make less than $10.50 an hour—six and a half, seven, eight dollars an hour before deductions; 45 million people without health care, 18,000 of whom die every year, according to the National Academy of Sciences, because they can't afford health care; 13 million children who go to bed hungry every night; 45 million people in dire poverty; 58,000 people who die from workplace-connected diseases and trauma every year, according to [the Occupational Safety and Health Administration]; 65,000 people who can't breathe, and die because of air pollution. I mean, do I have to go on? I mean, just what more evidence is needed that each and every one of us who has an ability to improve his or her country has got to do what they have to do within the confines of the Constitution and rule of law and freedom of speech?

I don't need to go into the politics, or the issues, or the 2000 election, or all the boring stuff we make a pretense of caring about, even though we ignore those Common Dreams or Save Darfur alerts that clutter our inboxes.

This is the reality: we're in this because we know (we know) this is wrong.

We don't have to justify it -- it just is. If you are a human being, and you live on planet earth, you know that it is wrong that people live in crushing poverty; that children go to bed hungry at night; that mothers have to lose their children because of corporate greed.

Ralph Nader knows it, I know it, you know, we all know it. As Nader says, if you have the ability to change these statistics, how can you not do everything in your power to do so?

This is what it means to pay the cost of freedom.

Wealth is a very dangerous thing to hold in one's hand

"We don't smoke marijuana in Muskogee."
— Merle Haggard

THE HEADLANDS CAFE, Ft. Bragg, CA — Lots of vineyards and shit around here.

Did you see the movie Sideways? I am in it, it is me, if you take out the sex and the wine and most of the other stuff.

In Santa Cruz I stayed with Russell Brutsche, who did the art for the cover of Iowa Terror.

Rus is a self-described old hippie, art major, who rents out his home to a family and lives in the garage in back with no TV and no overhead.

I met with the folks at the Peace & Justice Center then went for a walk with Rus in the woods. Rus told me about art and peace and shit and I looked around for Bigfoot. He told me about an action being planned at the local military recruiter's offices to commemorate the death of the
4,000th American soldier in Iraq.

The next morning back up through Oakland and San Francisco, up through Sonoma and wine country. Can you imagine the amount of labor it takes to put those vine contraptions together?

There are cows lounging on the green hillsides like Roman senators, some big sheep.

I turn left at a busy intersection in Willits, headed for Ft. Bragg.

Lots of redwoods around there and shit.

Winding, winding, up, down, it's almost like the highway headed north out of Los Angeles they call "the grapevine." It's third gear straight up, in the dark, then eighty miles an hour straight down with semis and SUVS all around you, curving, and you are going to die. It takes you
about half an hour to descend down to the plains around Bakersfield, like an airliner approaching landing.

Excuse me. ... I'm going to put on my earphones and listen to Jerry Jeff Walker sing about Charlie Dunn, too much jabbering around me.

I spent most of yesterday stopping to pee. Some days are like that. Some days aren't.

Regular readers will recall that during last year's tour I got caught in traffic in Chicago and had to let fly on the floor of my car. I got home and Ruth asked me what's that smell? Nothing. I can't smell anything. I left the windows down all summer. It's fine now.

Yesterday I missed the turn for GG Bridge, Hwy 101 North, and ended up on the filming site for that old TV show "The Streets of San Francisco." Woah. That is when you think you are going to die. Trapped in a big city at an endless red light, you are lost, you have to pee so bad, so bad. And you will die.

And then you don't.

_______________________

"It's a half an inch of water and you think you're gonna drown."
— John Prine

_______________________

And then there is the GG Bridge.

Wow.

But it's foggy and you can barely see well enough to drive, let alone admire the bridge. But the family back home doesn't know that. You can still tell them you have been to the GG Bridge — in San Francisco, and you did not pee in your pants or your car! You are quite the old Dad. Your car will not stink this summer. You are a hero.

Lots of ocean around here and shit.

I did not know that. You come out of the winding roads and maybe you have not stopped your car to throw up and you cruise into Ft. Bragg and there is the goddamn ocean right there, crashing against the rocks.

Cool.

Seagulls swooping and shit. Some are mostly white, others are mostly grey. They are big, like ducks, like the mourning doves in Tucson.

And it's whale time out there. If you stare long enough you might see one. Greys. You don't.

I did a book signing at Cheshire Books. Nobody showed, but the owner, Linda Rosengarten, took time to sit and tell me the history of the area, about the mill, the fishing, the Pomo Indians. I guess Ft. Bragg was named for Ft. Bragg, North Carolina, "the home of the airborne and special forces operations," which was named for Gen. Braxton Bragg.

The mill is closed, a toxic waste dump dilemma, the salmon and halibut are gone, the Pomo are walking the streets, and Braxton Bragg is dust.

And they had a dinner-with-the-author meal at five at Mendo Bistro, very fancy.

We had a table for eight, but it was just me and Linda, my guide for the day. Linda is very nice. She is deaf so I have to look at her as I talk. We both order mahi-mahi. I've never heard of it. It's okay, but it makes me think of eating cocker-spaniel. We also have mashed potatoes. I like those.

Afterwards Linda went to the library to set up chairs and I went back out to the ocean, past the turn to Pomo College, to call Ruth and sit and watch for oceans, for God, for sea turtles.

There were two people besides Linda at my thing. It was good. We talked about 911 and elections and the government and protesting.

I spent the night at the home of Ft. Bragg city council person Meg Courtney.

She had a late meeting, but in the morning we had coffee and bagels. She said one of the big issues of the night before had to do with marijuana.

Seems the citizens of Ft. Bragg are haggling over how much marijuana to smoke.

Back home we don't talk about marijuana. We talk about whether it is moral to mow your lawn on Sunday.

I am glad there is a place in this world that they are not worried about going to hell for bagging grass on God's Big Day.

Meg and I ask each other why marijuana isn't legal. I wonder why we have millions of "this Bud's for you" commercials and then we go and put people into prison for years and years for smoking marijuana.

Oh ... on the way up I saw the sign for San Quentin. I looked right. There it is. May it burn. May the walls crumble. May the Pomo Indians rise up again, may the forests grow back and the fish return.

I'm back ...

I watched Zeitgeist again last night, on the CD that Michael and Maureen Smith gave me in Santa Cruz. It scares the shit out of me, especially that first part about religion.

The intro by George Carlin is also great.

But it's like — there is no God and shit — that is a lie, too.

Crap.

Okay, on to Chico. I'll be staying with Marylyn. I knew her back in Omaha in the days of resistance of the '80s.

seeya

— Mike
_________________

For those of you who have time, here is a piece of mine that is in Cost of Freedom.

It's from Terror Nation, Mainstay Press, 2006.

This is Charlie, who is in the mental institution in his small Iowa hometown for writing anti-Bush letters to the editor.

Here is one of his letters.

To President George W. Bush,

Sir, I cannot help but disrespect you, no matter how hard I might try not to.

I was raised to respect authority: mom and dad, teachers, the police, the President.

But that's unlikely anymore.

I am older and I cannot help but see certain things ...

Sir, I must tell you, because you do not appear to know: compassion is the most important thing, the only thing that really, really matters.

If you were truly a man of God, I would not need to inform you. And it is the poor who are most important in the world.

Wealth is a very dangerous thing to hold in one's hand. I fear it is too late for you. No, of course I must take that back. It can never be too late.

What I mean to say is that it appears you will not change, that you are
a lost soul.

And no matter who it is, that is never something I could be happy about.

Even for you.


— Charlie Johnson

_____________________

Upcoming:

www.mikepalecek.com

March 25: Chico
CSU Campus
Glenn Hall, Room 212, 6:30pm
526 Broadway 95928
(530) 893-9078

March 26: Eureka, CA
100 Fires Bookstore
www.100fires.com