Monthly Archives: February 2011

Central Asian Sundays

I eat that central Asian food each Sunday; Morgan, Jon Dunbar, Craig Toussaint, Sean Anderson, Dirty Matt, Anthoknee Robertee, Jack Muhammed Ali, Rami Ben Rabiah, A. Kim, other folks come, too.

Central Asian food is like the American midwest meets Asia; it’s the meat and potatoes that you grew up on with some rice and dumplings on the side to remind you that they are still in Asia. But yes, Tajikistan is North Dakota; Uzbekistan is South Dakota; Kazakhstan is Minnesota; Kyrgrzstan is Montana. Russia is the menacing compilation of Wisconsin, Illinois and Ohio — they pull the most wait. Moscow is like Chicago. They even got gangsters.

I am ready for the week after some drinks and some superb Central Asian cuisine; sometimes the week consists of children cuter than puppies telling me that their favorite color is ‘rainbow,’ and sometimes it is children crying and fighting and philosophy professors that drone on and on and on and I can’t be botherd to listen, but then again, more often than not it is blowing my mind several hours a day, getting the theta waves in my brain pert and proper and I am all sailing away.

But yes, that’s Sundays. Central Asian Sundays with the Daddy Dining Club.

FACT: there are actually no dads amongst us but sometimes central asian people try to sell us children cltohes.

Fight For Your Right… To Be Unregistered?

This is one of those things that sometimes makes me /facepalm in regard to conservatives.

Illinois wants homeschooling parents to register — the obvious intention is to have some minimal oversight and to make sure that there aren’t kids falling through the cracks. The last thing that we need is lazy homeschooling parents who do not do their job. Frankly, this is quite a rational request.

But now:

An Illinois bill that would have required home schooling families to register with the state Board of Education has been tabled — but activists tell the fight is far from over.

Curt Mercadante, chairman of the Illinois Homeschool PAC, said he remains extremely concerned that the idea will reappear in some form. The bill was tabled by Illinois state Sen. Edward Maloney, a Democrat, on Thursday following intense opposition.

“Nothing is ever dead in Springfield,” Mercadante told “The goal is not to stop Senate Bill 136. The goal is to stop mandatory home schooling registration from ever being considered — and to protect home schooling rights overall.”


Yo dawg, you have a right to homeschool. We are just asking that you actually perform your duties and in order to do that, we are going to have you register. 

The state has the obligation to insure a basic, minimum standard of education for its children; it is a basic duty to take care of them and insure that t hey are not having their lives messed up by parents who are doing a poor job.

Where is this controversy?

Oh, that’s right, you irrationally fear any step the government takes because you read some romantic quotations from the Founding Fathers and think somehow our bid for independence would mean that we must, under all circumstances, make the government as small as possible even when the future of children is at stake. 

Be conservative all you want but this is just so melodramatic — it is a perfect demarcation of where I really begin disagreeing with the far right.

Mubarak Was Ordering Massacre

Certainly it is interesting, if not unpredictable, to hear that a leader of his caliber was intending to simply kill off the protestors without hesitation:

Last night [Feb 10], a military officer guarding the tens of thousands celebrating in Cairo threw down his rifle and joined the demonstrators, yet another sign of the ordinary Egyptian soldier’s growing sympathy for the democracy demonstrators. We had witnessed many similar sentiments from the army over the past two weeks. But the critical moment came on the evening of 30 January when, it is now clear, Mubarak ordered the Egyptian Third Army to crush the demonstrators in Tahrir Square with their tanks after flying F-16 fighter bombers at low level over the protesters.

Many of the senior tank commanders could be seen tearing off their headsets – over which they had received the fatal orders – to use their mobile phones. They were, it now transpires, calling their own military families for advice. Fathers who had spent their lives serving the Egyptian army told their sons to disobey, that they must never kill their own people.

Thus when General Hassan al-Rawani told the massive crowds yesterday evening that “everything you want will be realised – all your demands will be met”, the people cried back: “The army and the people stand together – the army and the people are united. The army and the people belong to one hand.”

The Independent via America Blog

Oddly, one could even say that this is a case where nationalism helped the country as the Egyptian military felt too much kinship to turn their weapons on their own people. There is something basic and essential in this bond that can cause people to come together and avoid inflicting pain on one another.

Of course, not in all cases, but in some, and that is worthwhile to think about.

Dakotan Meditation Vs. Dark Verv

Most of you know Dark Verv. Those of you who do not know him should be glad you’ve never met him.

I fought a battle against him today and for the first time in my life I won.

I sat in silence for 1.5 hours, no music, nothing; controlled breathing and proper posture; eyes closed.

I thought of driving down a lonely North Dakota country road in the middle of the night when the snow is falling down everywhere. This is my peaceful, happy place.

When I had driven far enough away from Dark Verv and I knew I was now all alone, in my car, I thought about my problems, one by one, without him there to enfold them all in darkness and extinguish every hopeful thought and answer every good memory I tried to think with a bad one.

I crushed the problems and then I spent a long time in my museum of memories and all of them were covered in soft, fat snow flakes and the only light was the moon.

I don’t know how to meditate, and it is probably not much in line with Buddhist thought to at some point gain transcendental satisfaction thinking about drinking parties, sex, sports and underground rock concerts while driving around North Dakota countryside but this will pass for my form of meditation.

I’m not trying to get into Nirvana, man. I’m already where I want to be — I just needed to find a way to battle the darkness.

I’ve learned over the last two years that God answers prayers but He doesn’t respond when all your doing is asking Him to ‘make it easy.’ The point of our existence is to go through the crucible and become better people from the hardships. The hardships are never over but everything we need to overcome them is already inside of our heads — we just have to sit and think it through.

An Anecdote About Stars & Death

About two months ago I was teaching a small group of 5 children, all boys, around age 7. We read a story about a girl who had a pet rabbit that died…

She was comforted by her father — he said that her rabbit jumped up into the stars so he could look down upon her and live there, forever, watching over her. I knew the class had two Christian students and the rest were being raised in secular homes due to past chatter about Christmas, but after a few questions about the story I couldn’t help but ask…

“So, do will we go to the stars when we die?”

“Yes!” they all shouted at the same time.

Over the last few months I have done my best to pay attention to the stars though you can scarcely see any in Seoul at night…

I think about going up and joining the stars when I die, now. It isn’t exactly the theology or the story that I believe in, but there was something about that day that made me think of all of us joining the stars one day.

Cigarettes In The Stairwell – They’ll Think Its Me

I think one of the more subtle and annoying forms of racism is the underlining assumption that the oddball minority may be guilty of it. There are people who might walk into a bathroom and see a black or a hispanic coming out and if there is a shit waiting for them in the toilet they’ll imagine ‘Oh, of course!’ or if a bottle of liquor crashes to the floor and makes a large noise in the movie, ‘I bet it was those Native Americans sitting a few rows up…’

Now that I’ve been living in this little apartment complex I’ve become conscious of the fact that I was probably thought to be the guy who was putting half-eaten ramyeon in the recycling, or the guy who vomited in the stair well which stayed there for 3 weeks.

I came home today and sure enough there is 5 half-smoked cigarettes in the stair well and a discarded cigarette pack, right between my floor and the 1st; no doubt one of my cold neighbors who gives me half-frightened looks (women) or quickly looks away and sighs through their nose (men) think the giant, tattoo’d barbarian white skin is puking in their stair wells and leaving his cigarette butts out.

This is one of the subtler moments of racism — there are no rapes, murders or drug sales to accuse me of, and perhaps they’d never leap to that drastic of a conclusion, but whenever someone makes a big mess somewhere I’m sure they think ‘white dude.’

I am half tempted to go and clean it up in spite of the fact that in a few days the landlord always has someone come buy and do this sort of stuff.

Anyhow, this is generally one of the potential downfalls of living as a minority.

I might just be making a gross assumption but if the cold glances I receive have taught me anything, I’m guessing that I’ll be viewed as responsible for every mess that is made.

17 October 2005 (One Of My Best Writings)

Jeff R., a man who has given very much to me, told me about an old blog post I made 5 years ago. I re-read it and thought that it was indeed fantastic so I think that you should take time to read my birthday post of 2005:

Now I am 21 so there will be a lot of Mokoli and party time.

Life feels good although right now I am in a class about satellites that I know nothing about, and everyone else is a signals guy and since I am MI I have no background knowledge. I am like an ignorant child just sort of observing everything, not knowing what is up.

Tongiht will be a good night overall, but you know how it is — we live and work for saturday.

On my birthday PM Koizumi is stirring up controversy:

The Yasukuni war shrine is for all of the war dead, essentially, that the Japanese have — he is honring his countrymen, but due to a controversial history, this is a borderline criminal act, it seems. Now let me be blunt and speak from the heart:

The Japanese committed many war crimes, but if they are guilty of terrible crimes then so is the U. S. Army Air Corps and the entirety of all militaries that ever engaged in conflict. During these conflicts there are great atrocities committed — war, itself, is an atrocity; it is the act of killing another human being, destroying an entire family by killing their fathers, sons, brothers, cousins, daughters, mothers, sisters, babies…

When Prime Minister Koizumi is honoring the war dead, it is an abstract practice of honoring his family and his family’s friends who, in the war, died fighting gallantly. Their only crime was that they didn’t wear the right uniform, and so now instead of being heroes they are villains. I think that one cannot confuse the foot soldier for the dictator.

Furthermore, war is a sacred and religious act as much as it is a crime; it is the act of risking the entirety of yourself for something so large and grandiose it is hard to comprehend. The act of fighting war is such a beautifully somber yet hideously energetic action. There is nothing you can compare it to — it is the most grave circumstances that humanity ever encounters, and thus the most glorious and the most vain, the most completing and defining and the most shallow and destroying. War is the most amazing thing that we, as humans, collectively share amongst each other – it is what destroys and builds nations and empires.

I think that the war dead should be honored.

I would enjoy the moment of killing another human, or being killed by another human; it is a profound poem that few people ever have the opportunity to read or participate in. The act of taking another person’s life in such a huge picture, in such a huge course of events — the act of death, of living up to the sacrifices of previous men… It makes me think of the poet Yeats and the Samurai and the Mujahedin and the Waffen SS and the Spartans, the Trojans, the Wikinger, the Berserker, the infantrymen and the zulu warriors & blackfoot archers & maori clubmen…

If my name could be uttered in the same breath as any of theirs, or my life could have parallels with such elite forces and lifestyles, it would be honorable.

I believe in the sanctit of honorable death, and so I think that these men should rest in peace and be honored by people, as the war dead of all nations and the fighting men should all receive this treatment. To not do this is wrong.

Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

I cannot describe the feelings that I have in the act of death and killing, and in the profound beauty and warrior creed, the way of mankind, the act of spilling blood…

Jon Dunbar once told me that an Italian fascist once said that… “It is better to live one day as a lion than a thousand years as a lamb.” Amen.

When it is time to fight & to kill or to die, I will be a participant in this most holy and sacred action. It is why I have lotuses tattoo’d on my arms, it is why there is the words ‘Dulce Et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori’ tattoo’d on me.

It is because when some people say they are crazy they are liars, but when I say i am crazy I am not a liar — I am the volunteer to death, the worshipper of destruction drinking the milk of chaos from the breasts of Shiva; I am the Lotus flower, I spring forth from both the filth of swamps and the serenity of water lilies — I am the honorable death, whose life is void of meaning but who, in moments of intense struggle, proves worth through sacrifice.

I am the volunteer to death who sees no point in living on knees, or even living while standing — I see only a point in running as fast as one can, living as hard as one can, and dying under the shadow of our ancestral banners amidst the beating of the drums of war and the howling and screaming made from tools of murder.

I am the volunteer to death who is so easily disillusioned and overly romantic, who is so pointless in his own life that he only looks to death for meaning, I am the idiot the fool the man who knows nothing and knows nothing so much that he would like to know only nothing, and become remnants of bone in the soil of an ancient battlefield.

And I turned this current event into something more than it should be — I guess in addition to being the big cunt as described above, I am an obsessive fool.

I think that he visits the shrine on my birthday is somethignI want to be fateful and defining of myself; though there would be nothing to indicate as much and it is probably just a random coincidence, I would like to think it more. Goodbye for now.

Die In Cairo

You believe in human rights and democracy, you love your country;  you’re ready to fight it out on the streets, fighting for your nation’s future.

Fight it out until your whole person breaks — either they break, or you do. But if such a sad fate has the Egyptian activists fall — we will remember your fight and your deaths in Cairo.

Your corpse is not something forgotten but an inspiration to us all of what democracy can be — THE PEOPLE UNITED FIGHTING FOR THE BASIC RIGHTS OF HUMANITY.

Die in Cairo if you must, bleeding yourself out for the freedom of your nation.

Let’s go, Humanity, RALLY AROUND THIS!

You live your fucking life, Westerners, chalk full of prosperity and no meaning in your personal life — LIVE FOR THIS, the fight against the repression of humanity.

I watch on ecstatic.

I wish that I could transport myself and die in Cairo.