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Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Decade Of The Drone

Decade of the Drone.

America has been at war or planning for war since the end of WW2. First there was Korea which was not called a war except by those who fought in it. Then there was Vietnam our longest war up to that point. It too was not officially a war as congress did not declare it so.  Then there was another 'war' congress didn't declare but agreed Americans should pay for like the rest. It was dubbed the war on terror which made its public debut September 12, 2001. Amiri Baraka wrote a poem about the events leading up to that war.  He titled it "Somebody Blew Up America". 

The ensuing war on terror was brokered to the American people as a war that has no end in sight. That signifies a lapse in government double speak. Very likely that is the truth. Why is the truth always so hard to take?

I made these pictures today.  The theme is something military folk might joke about among themselves seeing how many people have been sent to 'paradise' by drone strikes. I made them with that thought in mind. But I wasn't laughing.

In case you are wondering how many have been killed in the last 5 years by drones the number is about 2,400 human beings. This was done under the auspices of a man who was given the Nobel Peace Prize.  You have to wonder if there has been some kind of breakdown in the meaning of words.

With that in mind calling a drone a 'bird of paradise' is not so far afield. It's double speak in its most common form. Double speak is the lingua franca of all government mouthpieces. Most often double speak is called lying.

This Huff Post Article can fill you in on the particulars.  

Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Congress and the Wage Slaves: a song by David H. Roche

Congress and the Wage Slaves

A song sung, written and illustrated by myself. 
(C) December 30, 2014.

Happy New Year 

Friday, December 19, 2014

I Remember You: a Christmas story by David H. Roche

 I wrote this story a few years back.  I've shared it before and since it is the Christmas season I posted it again. The story line takes place during the Christmas season.  To be truthful it is not your usual Christmas story filled with smiling families, presents and glitter. But it is imbued with the Christmas spirit of love, kindness, solidarity and a glimmer of hope.  Those are attributes we need as hate and prejudice seem to be the social and political currency now in use.

The picture included I made recently. I titled it "Away In A Manger."

I Remember You
A Christmas story
by David H. Roche
written 8/28/06 revised 11 /18 / 2013
(C) David H. Roche

Hauling himself up into the freight car as it lurched abruptly he stumbled sprawling against a wall where he turned, pressing himself into the corner and slid down to the floor.  He blew slowly on his fingers, warming them and drew his battered suitcase close to his side hunching forward to save the meager heat of his body inside his coat.

The glare of the freight yard lights flashed through slats in the boxcar door.  Shivering he attempted further to pull inside of himself to escape the cold.  But it was impossible.

Across from him there was the outline of another man huddled in the cold.  He saw the bright orange dot of a cigarette suspended in darkness.  As his eyes adjusted he saw he had two companions; a man and small dog.

The train gained speed. Despite the rattle and the jostling he acknowledged his companions with a wave. Settling back he drew inside of himself to control the trembling. There was nothing else but the cold that made him aware he was alive.

The two men sat across from each other as the train moved. When the train slowed, creaking and jerking to a stop his companion rose, swaying and crossed the length of the car sitting down next to him.  The dog followed, lying alongside of him with his muzzle on the man’s thigh. "Name's Jack," the man said.

He looked at Jack.  They were about the same age as far as he could tell.  He reached and stroked the dogs head and said:  "Gabriel; call me Gabe."

The two sat next to each other, their shoulders rubbing as the train jerked again, lurching abruptly picking up speed. Jack reached into his pocket drawing out a bottle and handed it to Gabe saying: "This'll keep the chill off."

Gabe took it thankfully unscrewing the cap taking a swig.  The liquid burned all the way down his throat into the pit of his empty stomach where it settled like a pool of hot lava.  He savored the burning and quickly took a second swig and another before handing it back.  "Thanks.  I don’t touch it often; sometimes it gets out of hand."

“Yeah, that can happen.  But here's to a merry Christmas anyway."

"Christmas?" Gabe said.

"Yeah, it's Christmas Eve.”  Jack looked at him:  “You didn't know?"

"No. God, I didn't know.  Christmas?   Well, merry Christmas I guess."  Gabe sat quietly, rocking and swaying with the motion of the train.  The whiskey went from his stomach and into his brain the way a mellow summer afternoon becomes an all-encompassing ambiance. After a few minutes he asked:  "What's his name?"

"Ah, the dog. He’s Harry. I named him after the President.  He's tough as nails  ... an honest pup.  I can always count on him."

"Got three of these," Jack said patting the bottle.  Found a box sitting behind a truck outside a liquor store, snatched them before the driver came back.  I figured it would make for a nice Christmas."  He sipped from the bottle and passed it to his companion.  "Glad I got someone to share it with, Christmas and all."

Gabe repeated the word to himself, "Christmas."  It was more in wonder than anything.  Wonder that he hadn't known. Wonder that what had meant so much before could pass unnoticed now.

They drank together shoulder to shoulder sharing the warmth in the bottle and their bodies as they rocked in place with the motion of the train.  Gabe took a half empty pouch of tobacco from his pocket, removed a pinch and spread it along the crease of a rolling paper.  He'd done it many times and none spilled as he moistened the seam and put it between his lips. He struck a match and after taking a drag handed the pouch to Jack who took it saying; "Thanks.”

The two men sat talking while they smoked, passing the bottle back and forth.  Jack was coming from New York and heading to California or maybe Oregon hoping to find warmer weather and pick fruit and maybe get a room.  He had wanted to get going earlier in the year but ended up in jail in New York and had just been released a week before.

"I’m not really going anywhere", Gabe replied.  "Just some place warm enough for my clothes."

"Any family?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, I got…”, then stopped. “No not really.  None I can go and see, so I guess not."

Gabe pushed back into the crevice with Jack where the corners made a ninety degree angle and settled into the comfort of the alcohol.  Already the numbness from the frigid night was vanishing, replaced with an imitation of warmth as the amber liquid radiated like a hearth inside of him.

"How's it going Harry?"  He stroked the dog’s head absently but his thoughts were drifting without his will back to another Christmas Eve.

It was a Christmas Eve four years before that Gabe remembered as the whiskey and conversation released him from his preoccupation with the cold reality of the boxcar. 

The first bottle was emptied and the second opened.  Gabe spoke absently to Harry.  Harry nuzzled his snout into his master’s lap and gave a sigh.

Gabe's thoughts went their own way as the three rocked back and forth together in the semi-darkness.

He remembered the Christmas Eve that had brought him to this place in time.  He didn’t want to.  But his memories were a cascade that seemed to have no end.  His mother, and Sherry came to mind; both gone forever from him now.

The ring that was to be Sherry's had been his mother's engagement ring.  It was a two carat diamond in a platinum setting. It was the only thing of value he had.  But he had come on hard times and had to get a loan against it at Goldfarb’s pawn shop.   He had made weekly payments.   As Christmas approached he made double payments from October on and had it all paid off except for the last payment he was going to make that Christmas Eve after work so he could take it home to Sherry.  It was an engagement ring for the second time.  The thought of Sherry's face when he would put the ring on her finger that evening had made him smile all day.  That's what he told everyone when he stopped at O'Leary's for drinks after work.

He had gotten carried away and forgot the time.  When he looked at his watch he knew that he'd have to hurry.  By the time he got there it was just past closing but he saw Goldfarb locking the door and turning to go down the street.  He ran up behind him and called:  "Sol.  I'm glad I caught you.  I need to get my ring."

The pawn broker continued walking and didn't turn to acknowledge him.

"Hey Sol," he called again as Goldfarb continued without responding.  "I was afraid I'd miss you, wait up."

Goldfarb turned slowly and looked at him with eyes absent the light the living have and said: "I'm closed.  See me after the holiday."

"Sol.  It's me, Gabe Walker; I've got the last payment.  Just open up and let me get the ring.  It won't take more than a minute."  Gabe grabbed Goldfarb's sleeve, "I need to get my ring tonight.  It's an engagement ring for my fiancĂ©.  It's Christmas Eve."

"I know who you are and you're late.  I'm closed and I'm going home. We have a celebration tonight.  You should have gotten here earlier.  See me after the holidays."  He removed Gabe's hand from his sleeve and walked away.

 Gabe grabbed him again and held on.

Goldfarb turned to him with the same lack of emotion he had cultivated during 40 years behind the counter in his shop.  He looked at him with the same eyes he used to view those whose humanity he refused to recognize as he took their money and sold their possessions when they couldn’t redeem them:  "It's not your ring until you make the last payment.  It's my ring until then.  I'm closed.  Good night, have a merry Christmas." 

He yanked his arm out of Gabe's' grip, turned away down the sidewalk into an alleyway leading to his car behind the storefront.  Gabe watched him as others hurried home to celebrations and families.  His anger rose and turned into despair.  "The hell I will you god damned piece of shit."  He ran after him down the unlit alley and jumped on his back dragging him down.

The two men struggled but Gabe was stronger. Goldfarb, older and weak from decades behind the counter was no match for the younger man whose strength came from manhandling swine carcasses in the slaughterhouse five days a week.  Gabe subdued him quickly and went through the older man’s pockets.  Finding the keys he ran to the pawnshop leaving Goldfarb on the ground.

Once inside he went right to where he knew the ring was and grabbed it.  He placed the last payment along with the keys on the counter, and left.  He gave a fleeting thought to Goldfarb as he passed the alleyway and almost went in to see if he was alright.  But then said to himself: "The hell with the god damned bastard," and walked past.

What had made him snap?  Whether it had been the afternoon drinking, the anger at Goldfarb or the thought that he would come home empty handed to Sherry who deserved more than he could ever give her.  He had never been able to figure it out and he had run it through his mind a thousand times.  But what he did know was that he had taken the ring and left Goldfarb in a heap, gasping for breath in the dark.

Sherry had been as happy as a girl is when the man she loves gives her a diamond.  But the day after Christmas Goldfarb's murder was front page news.  Apparently there had been a witness.  The police had also lifted a fingerprint from the jewelry counter. Gabe had a record and it wasn't long before they knew who to look for.

A few days later there was a flashing red glare across the walls of their flat.  He nervously pulled the curtain back and looked out the window.  There were two Chicago Police cars stopped and two cops in the street below were looking up at his apartment.  He didn't have time to explain. And in the cold rumbling box car he could see Sherry standing there trembling and scared repeating: "What's going on Gabe?  What's going on?"  He had run out the back door of the apartment and down the stairs. She had heard a knock at their door and found the police standing there.

Running for his life, dashing through alleys, across busy streets, and over railroad tracks he ended up in the freight yards and found himself in a boxcar.  The next day he was in Idaho.

Jack nudged his ribs rousing him from the reverie and offered him the bottle again. He took it gladly, gulping it.  Settling back more memories filled him. The rocking of the car settled him and the cold seemed only to be outside. The warm glow inside gave him comfort and distance from everything.

Behind his eyes he saw Sherry again and now she was telling him she was pregnant.  He remembered how she was scared. But he had taken her in his arms and swung her around in the center of the parlor, they ended up giggling, kissing and laughing.  That was the summer before Goldfarb's death.  They would be married before the baby was born and they began to make plans and choose names.

But by the next summer he was in California and by October had made his way back to Chicago hoping to find Sherry and their child.  He found out where she was living through friends who told him where she was, warning him that the police were still asking about him.  They told him something more. She had married one of his friends who promised to look after her.  And the baby was a boy.

In the frigid night images passed behind his eyes and leaked down his cheeks.  The plans they had made and the happiness they had felt were like the leaves of autumn after a glorious summer.  But summer was gone, none the less.

He had gone to the neighborhood where she was living.  After walking the street all morning he saw her pushing a carriage and stop at a market.  From the doorway of a tobacco shop across the street he watched her talking with Graziano, the grocer.  There was a forlorn sensation in his chest as she bent and lifted his son from the carriage. She jiggled him on her hip as she talked with Graziano and selected produce.  He wondered what she had named him.

He wanted to rush across the street and take her in his arms, but he didn’t.

In the cold night air he felt the desire as vividly as he had felt it that day. He bent his head and wept, his body shaking uncontrollably.

He felt Jack's hand on his back. When he opened his eyes, he saw in the flashing lights from outside the expression of the most supreme kindness in Jack’s face.  Without words his eyes conveyed the deepest sympathy and tenderness.  .

In the grubby, rattling boxcar traveling through the night a transcendence of some sort occurred.  A light in the darkness was turned on.   He pressed his face against the filthy fabric of his companions coat and cried until he couldn't cry anymore.  The comforting arm was a refuge. As his sobbing slowly ended he heard Jack's voice:  "Christmas is always hard for men like us," and offered him the bottle again.

"Yeah, Christmas is always hard," Gabe answered.  He took the bottle and drank deeply finally passing into something that resembled sleep.

When he opened his eyes he was cold and hungry.  The train was stopped at a siding.  He couldn't tell where it was; only that it was a little warmer than the night before.  They rolled cigarettes and sat side by side smoking silently.  Jack opened the third bottle, took a drink and handed it to Gabe.

Around daybreak the door of the car was drawn open and a disheveled visage appeared in the opening struggling to climb in.  It was a woman.  Jack scrambled to the doorway grabbing her hand, pulling her into the car as the train began to move.  She sprawled forward onto the floor and sat up.   Harry approached her cautiously, wagging his tail slowly, and sniffed her.

There was a wild look in her eyes.

"Merry Christmas", Jack said.

She said nothing until after looking back and forth between the two men and the dog, ascertaining they were all who were in the freight car with her.  Her first words were:  "I could use a cigarette".

Gabe handed her his pouch.  "I'm Gabe, he's Jack, and that's Harry."  He pointed to the dog.  "Jack's going to California or Oregon.  I'm just going."

He waited for her to say where she was headed, but she offered nothing.  Finally she said; "I'm Angel.  God, it was cold last night."  She trembled, shivering as she looked back and forth at each of them.  "The bastards in the jungle wouldn't keep their hands off me. Every time I went near the fire they started pawing me.  You know, like I’ve got time or interest in that!”  She made her point clear by fixing her eyes on theirs as she spoke.  “I couldn't sleep because I had to keep my eye on them.  Finally I knocked one out with a rock and left.”

"The jungle can be rough if you're a woman and got no one to watch out for you." Jack said and pulled the bottle from his pocket handing it to her.  She took it without hesitation and gulped quickly.

"About thirty, had been pretty ... but beat up now."  Jack thought.  Her face was smudged and darkened lines filled creases below her eyes. She was less than thin looking ravished like a milkweed in tatters at the end of summer.  She sipped, shuddering at the burn of the whiskey.  Then waited a moment and took a larger sip and another before leaning back against the side of the car between the men.

Becoming comfortable with her new companions she said: "I've got some food."  She took a mashed loaf of white bread from inside her coat and laid it on her lap.  Then she took out another equally misshapen loaf and laid it next to the other one.

The men's eyes opened wide.  Jack said: "That looks awful good Angel.  I’ve had nothing but whiskey for two days now."

"It's better than nothing, here."  She picked up the loaf and broke off a piece handing it to him explaining with a laugh:  "The grocer chased me down the street, but I never looked back.  I just kept runnin'.  I'm not gonna starve when someone's got more food than they need."

"There's a lot who don't have anything and a few that got more than they need;" Gabe said.

Jack took the hunk of gooey white bread and pulled it apart with his fingers letting it dissolve in his mouth.  Angel took another piece from the loaf and passed it to Gabe.  Jack passed the bottle.  They ate and drank silently together.

"Here Harry."  Angel put a piece of the bread in front of the dog.  He devoured it and looked into her eyes imploring her for more.  She gave him another piece and he ate it just as quickly.  She patted him and he lay down resting his head on her leg, never taking his eyes from the remaining bread.

"Angel remembered you Harry, even if I didn't.  Sorry old boy."  Jack stroked the dogs back and Harry sighed deeply.

"Got a family Angel?"  Gabe asked.

"I had a man and a son; a baby boy."


"His father killed him, the son of a bitch.  He shook him cause' he wouldn't stop cryin'.  He was only hungry and the bastard couldn't afford a place for us to stay or a meal.  He just shook him till he snapped his neck.”

"Bastard is right.  But why are you here?"

"I couldn't stay with him after he did that and he was all I had after he killed my son.  I buried my baby in a jungle in Idaho and left the damned bastard there.”

"So where are you going?"

"Hadn't thought about it.  Right now I'm just goin' I guess. I'm sure I’ll find out."

"I think we always find out at some point," Jack answered as much to himself as her.

Gabe said: "Yeah, I guess that's what I'm doin' too.  Don't know if I'll ever find out though."  He was silent for a moment:  "I try to make sense of it all and I can’t."

The train jerked abruptly, began moving and picked up speed. The freight yard passed in a blur and the morning light brightened, flickering through the door of the car illuminating Angel's face as she passed the second loaf to her companions. Each man took the loaf and tore a piece from it.  The loaf was shared between the four of them until it was gone.

"You got to keep going' " she said.  “Ain’t no use in stopping cause it seems everyplace you stop is bad’.”

Gabe answered: "Some people got a place to go.  Jack's going to California, or someplace out there to find work.  Others like you and me are just going, going away from everything, not to somethin'."

"Well" she said, "the way I see it we're all going to something.  Sometimes you can't tell from where you are but that’s what you’re doing.  I think you don't find out till you get there.  Maybe we're always there and don’t know it. In any case we just got to keep going and take what we got now.  This might be all there is.  We'd be mighty poor if we threw it away looking for something else if this is all there is.”

They sat silently together until she let out a piercing cry and crumpled onto her side in pain rolling over with her head landing in Gabe’s lap.   Her long coat opened. It wasn't until then that the men saw she was pregnant.

"It's time!” she cried. “Oh God no, don’t let it be time.”  Her face twisted with fear and pain.

Jack helped her stretch out on the floor and took some soiled clothes from his bag placing them under her head. He spoke soothingly to her: "I know what to do.  I delivered two babies in one night in a jungle in South Dakota.  As long as nothing goes wrong there ain't nothing to get excited about.  You're gonna be alright Angel."  He stroked her matted hair and his voice reassured her as the train with its cargo traveled on.

Gabe cradled her head as Jack tended to her.  The fear in her eyes vanished by degrees as she listened to Jack’s voice. Slowly she realized that he knew what to do.  She screamed and her body contorted.  Sometime in the afternoon before the sun went down she gave birth.  Jack poured the remaining whiskey on his hands and rubbed them together catching the babe as it was pushed out into the world.

He opened Angel's blouse and laid the baby on her chest, quickly covering her with her ragged coat.

Clasping the new life to her breast she asked:  "What is it?”

"It's a boy," Jack said.

"A boy, a baby boy!"  She began to cry but her tears turned to laughter and she clasped the unnamed infant tightly laughing and crying on the floor holding her precious son as the train rocked them back and forth.

Gabe got up and went to another corner to give her privacy as she nursed the infant.  He sat and rolled a cigarette, gazing in astonishment at Angel and the baby boy lying in a pile of dirty clothing on the filthy floor of a freight car on Christmas Day.

They were going that’s for sure; he still didn’t know if they were going someplace or just moving.  But it seemed to him now that they were going together, all five of them; Angel, Jack, Harry, the unnamed baby boy, and himself.

Something had changed.  Something had happened. They had been thrown together with their separate needs, helping each other with the little they possessed.  He wasn't able to say what it was he felt.  But it was something to do with hope and the quality of human kindness.

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

The Last Pot Of Coffee: tales from a 24 hour supermarket (Poetry by David H. Roche)

I spent 22 years stocking shelves at night in a 24 hour supermarket. It was a good job. There were far fewer customers to deal with than when working days. The customers that did show up in the wee hours often appeared right after the bars closed. They were often amusing. Sometimes they were amorous and sometimes disorderly, sometimes both requiring that we call the police.

There was an old man who would often come in after midnight. Usually we'd see him after the middle of the month. I understand why now. He would take advantage of the darkened aisles and the scarcity of employees and customers to shoplift candy. I knew it and my fellow worker knew it and we let him.

He once said to my co-worker how expensive the coffee had gotten and how he couldn't afford it. The old man wore what amounted to rags. His shoes were no better. For some reason he was still alive, such as his life was. As I said we let him. We'd go to the bathroom or leave the aisle so he could fill his pockets. Mostly he stole candy.

The Last Pot Of Coffee: 
tales from a 24 hour supermarket 

December 17, chill and damp
the last beans are brewed
and they’re so good
warming me,
pleasuring my taste buds,
lighting up dimmed foggy circuits,

On days like this I remember an old man 
in ragged pants many sizes too big,
shoes split open at the sides
coming late at night to steal candy.
While looking at the coffee he remarked
how the price had gone up.

I knew what he was up to,
it was against the rules
but he already had the candy!
Walking away leaving him in the aisle 
I thought: “I hope he gets the coffee too.”

Poetry and photography by David H. Roche 
(C) 2014

Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Away In A Manger (Christmas art by David H. Roche)

Well it's the Christmas season and I made a picture yesterday titled 'Away In A Manger' depicting the traditional Christmas song of the same name.  It's an astonishing thing to imagine what the Christ Event means to human consciousness and its potential to change and renew human history.

Some attribute this song to the 16th century Protestant reformer Martin Luther. Regardless of who wrote it it is a simple song rich in meaning accessible to all. 

I wish you all a Merry Christmas with the prayer that the Prince of Peace will reside with you and give you hope.  

Saturday, December 13, 2014

Nightmare On Main Street: a short story by David H. Roche

Nightmare On Main Street
The sensation was like that of going to sleep in the midst of a howling gale that shook the house to its foundations again and again through a night that seemed to never end but then waking up to find a gentle breeze, sunshine and blue skies. The headlines of newspapers from around the world and the topic of morning news programs and evening editorials across the nation proclaimed: “Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld, Rice, Obama and more found guilty of crimes against humanity.”  The long awaited trials over the torture of prisoners and the starting of an illegal war had ended.  The verdict was in. “Guilty On All Counts”; the headlines screamed in hammer head print and the people cheered.

All over the world people danced for joy. In the streets of Toledo, Barcelona, Paris, Moscow, New York, Havana and Los Angeles there was non-stop merry-making.  Not one city, small or large was left that did not join in. At last justice had been served!  Along with that, the United States had cleansed itself of the disgrace it had worn like a scarlet letter painted on its forehead with the effluent of septic waste from an overturned sewage truck.

The era of lies had come to an end.  The people had persevered! They had restored their right to sovereignty as people who were the state instead of people who were servants of the state.  The agencies involved with creating the collective disgrace of the United States were now consigned to the ash bin of memory never to rise again.

Americans and the whole world were at last free from the tyranny of the anti-human agencies which had controlled their daily life for the better part of 5 decades. False flag, false terror attacks would never appear again. The pulse of the world pounded like the heartbeats of intertwined lovers. A new day was being conceived.

And then I woke up. There were no headlines.  The gale was still raging. There had been no justice.  The criminals not only still ruled but were honored as patriarchs of a grand new vision for the future.  All hope disappeared in the howling wind and pouring rain.

© 2014 David H. Roche


Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Keeping Christ In Christmas In A Consumer Driven Society: "Shop Until Jesus Smiles"

One of the features of a modern Christmas celebration is the shopping frenzy.  Tis the season to shop, shop, shop.  The phrase shop until you drop has been around for a while.  Many have complained such an attitude leads to a forgetfulness of the center piece of the Christmas season, Christ himself.

With that in mind amid a revival of unmitigated American fundamentalism and the need for a profitable year the National Retail Alliance has produced an ad campaign  designed to aid the bottom line of their members while satisfying the religious requirement of the Christmas season by encouraging shoppers to shop until Jesus smiles.

The representation of Christ in the image above is in the public domain as are the shiny decorations.  I own neither of them, but simply put them to use for this poster.

Monday, December 01, 2014

The Several Moods Of The Astoria-Megler Bridge: a photo essay

"The Several Moods Of The Astoria-Megler Bridge"  Photographs of the Astoria-Megler Bridge in Astoria Oregon.  I photographed the bridge at different times of the day and in different kinds of weather and from different angles. It is a bridge with many moods that emphasize it's presence.

The bridge is a beautiful structure stretching slightly more than 4 miles across the Columbia River.  The first time I saw it I was awestruck and have photographed it perhaps a thousand times from many perspectives. In this photo essay I have included a sampling of those photographs.  Photography by David H. Roche (C) 2014

Below is a video with additional photography of the bridge.  All of the photographs were taken on or near the Riverwalk in downtown Astoria.

Photography and video by David H. Roche (C) 2014

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Ban GMO Pet Food

My cat Kali got out and was gone for a week.  When she came back she was wild and disorientated. You can see what happened to her in the second picture below.  

It turns out a GMO company grabbed her and fed her with their pet food. She resisted and escaped but not before gouging out the eyes of two lab technicians. Good for you Kali!  Even though she's back she's just not the same as can be seen in the following picture.

She told me they force fed her at first and that the food tasted very good and she ate a lot.  But now she has three heads,one of them sticking out of her ass. Suppose the heads represent Republicans and Democrats.  She's practically ready to be President. Is the the third head coming out of her ass the Tea Party candidate to be Ben Carson?

Ban GMO's for the sake of your beloved pets. I''m sick at heart about this. She is politically neutral and this imposition on her is just plain wrong.  If a politician supports GMO's they must be put out to pasture and relieved of duties. 

I'm proud of Kali for surviving all she's been through, but I can't bring myself to pet all three of her heads.

(C) 2014 David H. Roche

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

As The Geese Fly: a seasonal poem with photography

"As The Geese Fly" is a seasonal poem rooted in the cycles of life. 

There is a previous version of this poem. I re-wrote it, removing an entire verse. I think it is improved.

It's not all sunshine and lollipops. Sometimes there is a grey drizzle almost, but not, quite water.  

Photography and poetry 

(C) 2014

Tuesday, November 04, 2014

Re-Defining Eco-Terrorism

I made a video using my environmentally conscious art.  

The desires for wealth in conjunction with the activity of industry and governments have resulted in making the earth a place that is becoming more and more inhospitable to life.

1.  Environmental Impacts of Fossil Fuel Use

Many of the environmental problems our world faces today result from our dependence on fossil fuel. These include global warming, air quality deterioration, oil spills, and acid rain along with the extinction of many species of life on the planet.

2. A partial list of pipeline failures in the 21st century ie the last 14 years. 

3. Coal and the dangers it presents to the environment.

The dangers of using carbon as a fuel source are in the news every day and every day are ignored by politicians.

By their behavior or lack of it 7 million lives are  lost to the effects of air pollution every year. Death, disability and disease are the legacies left behind by the lawmaker’s decision to serve the cause of profit rather than the cause of the people.

There is an enemy among us who culls from the population 7 million human beings a year.  It takes many of the very young and the elderly and many in-between. 

If this enemy were a foreign entity it would of course be declared a terrorist organization and the full resources of the American wallet would be arrayed against it to keep us safe. But those polluting the air and skies of America are home grown.  They are welcome as benefactors in the legislative halls and given special privileges, tax breaks and loop holes to continue on selling a product that lays waste to the environment leaving behind millions of dead, sick and disabled in it's wake.

It's clearly time to re-define what an eco-terrorist is.

Monday, November 03, 2014

21st Century Doxology

21st Century Doxology

                         There is one God
                          with many names
                          and many prophets
                          in many places
                          for all people
                          and all time

Poetry by David H. Roche 2014

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Conversations With Time And Tide

I put together some photos taken on the beach.  The cycles of the tide inspire me to think of transience, impermanence and the ever changing flux that makes up life. 

I photographed bits and pieces of shells, sticks and stones which had been washed ashore some of which were in the process of being washed into shore.

I also photographed the skeleton of the Peter Iredale which ran aground in October of 1906.  Since then the remains of the ship have been a tourist attraction. The wreckage has a somber beauty to it.  My eye was caught by the texture of the metal.

The collections of stones scattered on the shore by the random motion of the tides caught my interest. 

The array of natural coloring was a pleasure as were their shapes.

A broken sand dollar with a feather resting temporarily on it caught my eye

as did the different pieces of driftwood.

I put some of the pictures along with some video clips together in a video I titled "Conversations With Time And Tide".  You can watch it below.

Photography and text (C) by David H. Roche

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A practitioner of the art of living with the intent of learning how to die without fear.