[Marxism] WP Obtains 1,000 More Images

Jurriaan Bendien andromeda246 at hetnet.nl
Thu May 6 01:12:21 MDT 2004


In that case, we should publish something about what we think is the very
best thing about America, the best side, the side we believe in. None of us
think that trying to beat the shit out of some country where most people are
poor and half of them don't have jobs through wars and sanctions is the best
side of America. A couple days ago I was in the American Bookshop here in
Amsterdam, and they have a fantastic collection of literature there from the
United States, three storeys of it, which I always appreciate - the stock
covers virtually every form of human endeavour one can think of, from
philosophy books about Immanuel Kant to porn mags featuring female
body-builders, from treatises about Islam to reflections about the Tao, from
Karl Marx on capital to Peter Drucker on business, they've got books on art,
computers, history, technology, science fiction, music, health, anything,
the works. To me that represents the best side of America, its good side,
its intelligent side, its human face or whatever you like to call it. You
can go in there even just to browse and you can get an inspiration or an
idea. Nobody gets killed, nobody is brutalised, you can imagine about how
people can be. A lot of the books I have at home, or ones I have read since
I learnt to read, were made in America.

Jurriaan

PS - here's a bit from Arlo Guthrie, this is from I think 1966:

I'm here to talk about the draft.
They got a buildin' down in New York City called Whitehall Street, where you
walk in, you get injected, inspected, detected, infected, neglected and
selected!

I went down and got my physical examination one day, and I walked in, sat
down (got good and drunk the night before, so I looked and felt my best when
I went in that morning, 'cause I wanted to look like the All-American Kid
from New York City. I wanted to feel like . . . I wanted to be the
All-American Kid from New York), and I walked in, sat down, I was hung down,
brung down, hung up and all kinds of mean, nasty, ugly things.

And I walked in, I sat down, they gave me a piece of paper that said: "Kid,
see the psychiatrist in room 604."

I went up there, I said, "Shrink, I wanna kill. I wanna kill! I wanna see
blood and gore and guts and veins in my teeth! Eat dead, burnt bodies! I
mean: Kill. Kill!"

And I started jumpin' up and down, yellin' "KILL! KILL!" and he started
jumpin' up and down with me, and we was both jumpin' up and down, yellin',
"KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL!" and the sergeant came over, pinned a medal on me,
sent me down the hall, said "You're our boy". Didn't feel too good about it.

Proceeded down the hall, gettin' more injections, inspections, detections,
neglections, and all kinds of stuff that they was doin' to me at the thing
there, and I was there for two hours... three hours... four hours... I was
there for a long time goin' through all kinds of mean, nasty, ugly things,
and I was just havin' a tough time there, and they was inspectin',
injectin', every single part of me, and they was leavin' no part untouched!

Proceeded through, and I finally came to see the very last man. I walked in,
sat down, after a whole big thing there. I walked up, and I said, "What do
you want?" He said, "Kid, we only got one question: Have you ever been
arrested?"

And I proceeded to tell him the story of Alice's Restaurant Massacree with
full orchestration and five-part harmony and stuff like that, and other
phenomenon.

He stopped me right there and said, "Kid, have you ever been to court?" And
I proceeded to tell him the story of the twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy
pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one
. . .

He stopped me right there and said, "Kid, I want you to go over and sit down
on that bench that says 'Group W'."

And I walked over to the bench there, and there's... Group W is where they
put you if you may not be moral enough to join the army after committin'
your special crime.

There was all kinds of mean, nasty, ugly-lookin' people on the bench there .
. . there was mother-rapers . . . father-stabbers . . . father-rapers!
FATHER-RAPERS sittin' right there on the bench next to me! And they was mean
and nasty and ugly and horrible and crime fightin' guys were sittin' there
on the bench, and the meanest, ugliest, nastiest one . . . the meanest
father-raper of them all . . . was comin' over to me, and he was mean and
ugly and nasty and horrible and all kinds of things, and he sat down next to
me. He said, "Kid, what'd you get?"

I said, "I didn't get nothin'. I had to pay fifty dollars and pick up the
garbage."

He said, "What were you arrested for, kid?" and I said, "Litterin'"' . . . .
And they all moved away from me on the bench there, with the hairy eyeball
and all kinds of mean, nasty things, till I said, "And creatin' a nuisance .
. . " And they all came back, shook my hand, and we had a great time on the
bench talkin' about crime, mother-stabbin', father-rapin', . . . all kinds
of groovy things that we was talkin' about on the bench, and everything was
fine.

We was smokin' cigarettes and all kinds of things, until the sergeant came
over, had some paper in his hand, held it up and said:
"KIDSTHISPIECEOFPAPERSGOTFOURTYSVENPAGESTHIRTYSEVENSENTENCESFIFTYEIGHTWORDSW
EWANTTOKNOWTHEDETAILSOFTHECRIMETHETIMEOFTHECRIMEANDANYOTHERKINDOFTHINGYOUGOT
TOSAYPERTAININGTOANDABOUTTHECRIMEWEWANTTOKNOWTHEARRESTINGOFFICERSNAMEANDANYO
THERTHINGYOUGOTTOSAY . . ."

And he talked for forty-five minutes and nobody understood a word that he
said.

But we had fun fillin' out the forms and playin' with the pencils on the
bench there.

I filled out the Massacree with the four-part harmony. Wrote it down there
just like it was and everything was fine. And I put down my pencil, and I
turned over the piece of paper, and there . . . on the other side . . . in
the middle of the other side . . . away from everything else on the other
side . . . in parentheses . . . capital letters . . . quotated . . . read
the following words: "Kid, have you rehabilitated yourself?"

I went over to the sergeant. Said, "Sergeant, you got a lot of god-damned
gall to ask me if I've rehabilitated myself! I mean . . . I mean . . . I
mean that you send . . . I'm sittin' here on the bench . . . I mean I'm
sittin' here on the Group W bench, 'cause you want to know if I'm moral
enough to join the army, burn women, kids, houses and villages after bein' a
litterbug."

He looked at me and said, "Kid, we don't like your kind! We're gonna send
your fingerprints off to Washington"!

And, friends, somewhere in Washington, enshrined in some little folder, is a
study in black and white of my fingerprints.

And the only reason I'm singin' you the song now is 'cause you may know
somebody in a similar situation.

Or you may be in a similar situation, and if you're in a situation like
that, there's only one thing you can do:

Walk into the shrink wherever you are, just walk in, say, "Shrink, . . . you
can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant", and walk out.

You know, if one person, just one person, does it, they may think he's
really sick and they won't take him.

And if two people do it, in harmony, they may think they're both faggots and
they won't take either of them.

And if three people do it! Can you imagine three people walkin' in, singin'
a bar of "Alice's Restaurant" and walkin' out? They may think it's an
organization!

And can you imagine fifty people a day? I said FIFTY people a day . . .
walkin' in, singin' a bar of "Alice's Restaurant" and walkin' out? Friends,
they may think it's a MOVEMENT, and that's what it is: THE ALICE'S
RESTAURANT ANTI-MASSACREE MOVEMENT! . . . and all you gotta do to join is to
sing it the next time it comes around on the guitar.

With feelin'.

Complete text at: http://www.fortunecity.com/tinpan/parton/2/alice.html











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