CORPORATIONS ARE PEOPLE!

Corporations/people merge

In the facsimile of humanity

Projected on the screen

The image of hopeful

Fanatics

Throw/project words,

Emotions

That  seem human but never are

I remember when there was only the word

of mouth,

When hands were shook and babies

Sought out for attention.

I remember when planes

Flying high

created moments to look up

In wonder

When ambulances, fire engines were vehicles to

follow

down the street

just to see

I remember when food,

fruit tasted succulent

Sweet, sour, juicy

Drippling down my chin

When food left out overnight

Rotted and

Milk was consumed without worry

Of antibiotic over-exposure and worse

I remember walking to school and coming

Home alone, no key around my neck, the door

Always unlocked until it wasn’t

I remember

Eating dinner without the Television or music

Why is there music in every store,

Restaurant?

The chatter of my own mind

Over powered by words, sounds,

Privacy of thought, body, soul

Lost to the corporate necessity.

The blurred line

Dominates us all

We are the consumed

Consumers
A corporate creation
once human

Freecell ---- ---- Beware!

so I wake up in the middle of the night, nothing is happening and yet, I can’t just go back to sleep as if nothing happened when what happened is that I woke up.

now what?

I reach for my android, my phone. I don’t bother to check my Email because I checked my Email just a few hours earlier and there was nothing there then, nothing worth reading, nothing that might keep me engaged long enough to help me undertake the task the confronts me now,

sleep

I need to sleep and yet .... that is when the battle begins.

I say , no, not now. No, I will not open my Freecell. But when i say no, my body/my mind with all its sophistication, all its power to do and not do, is powerless because my attention focused solely on not opening Freecell waned for a split second and in that moment the automatic gesture that I needed the full weight of my willpower to effect, took over and the game commenced, my fingers doing what my brain didn’t command and didn’t want to do.

how is it that I am now fully awake playing Freecell?

In the beginning the moves are relatively automatic. The solution seems so obvious I am exerting no real difference between the moment when my phone was off versus now with Freecell in progress. I am not bored, I feel relaxed, on the verge of possible sleep. Nothing relaxes me more than Freecell, most notably at the beginning, when the game seems to play itself.

My bedroom light is off, the world is so quiet, calm, my brain feels like it is being stroked by the gentle hand of familiarity; me and cards. I have been an active card player since I was six years old. This is my comfort zone

Now I am no longer an observer

I have

traversed the comfortable divide between detached spectator to judge, juror, doer

I have

I have quickly transverse the divide between

i ho that I fail. Failure is the key, the moment when my brain power

I have becomes engaged because I have

this incurable need to compete. I must go on to the finish, to fail or to

victory, most times even that is irrelevant. It is the struggle that counts.

I am sitting up. my entire body in alert posture. the cards flying across the

phone’s face, from one point to another. I am stimulated to the max. Not

what I need when I am trying to go back to sleep, to numb my mind, my

body.

Suddenly, the true pleasure of achievement sets in.. Now there is no hope.

I am into the game, looking at the clock, the score, the moment when the

cards fly into place while I watch and I sit back looking at my total,

judging my score and thinking,(missing the point of the endeavor) next time I will do better. And I do!

and I do

It will be hours before I am tired, before I can turn off my phone,

exhausted, elated, satiated or maybe I will turn off my phone because the

battery will wear down or maybe because sleep waited long enough and nature

sometimes gets its way. linda zises

lin

Menomnee Club lincoln park chicago

Every child's dream, every adult's Nightmare!

The Lincoln Park Menomnee Club is located in one of the wealthiest communities in Chicago Il. It is devoted to children's after school activities and on paper it probably sounds like an ideal solution to working parents' woes.

But once you step inside this slender (two bowling alley lanes wide building) it is clear that your worries as a parent are far from over.

The noise level is high. Not with the sound of happy children at play because few human voices can be heard above the loud din of the Television(s) and play stations and machine driven noises of the set on Free videos games that line the walls of this narrow edifice.

There is no fighting between the children, no screaming or crying because the children, mostly boys, are set on overdrive. They are in high gear fighting against an artificial clock and the dictates of a game programed by powers unknown.

The noise level from the machines including the TV which is the largest one I have seen to date drown out any noise that might be humanly emitted even though there is two games that require human interaction, an air hockey table and a paddle ball table that were both in use when I entered the Club.

This is a Club where children beg to return, where parents feel confident they have solved the problem of keeping their children happy and safe but what is the cost of super visual/auditory stimulation. What is the price of being addicted to a machine, a game without winners.

linda zises

chicago's recent resident

Harvey Goldberg: University of Wisconsin Professor

Harvey Goldberg Remembered

 In the last several years I learned from Mitchel Cohen that my personal knowledge of Harvey Goldberg would be of value to those who honor him today. When I told Mitchel that I had gone to the U. of Wisconsin I did not know anyone honored Harvey or of his importance to the academic world. In response, I promised to write about my past knowledge and friendship and Mitchel kept telling me, ‘time is running out’. So before that happens, I am putting into the written word, my rich memories of Harvey so others can know him as I once did.

 I don’t think Harvey would object.

 It was in late Nov 1963, the same year, day President Kennedy was shot that I met Harvey.. I was an undergraduate student at the University of Wisconsin Madison. I had finished my Swimming Class at the bottom of The Hill and was making my way up to the Academic classroom, a trek which I accomplished with great effort as the Hill was steep, time was limited and my mind was on my efforts to be on time, when someone yelled at me from a slight distance away, “No class today” A phrase they repeated until I stopped my arduous trek. The words formed an incredulous thought. “No school. Classes cancelled” At the U of Wisconsin there was probably only one other time when classes had been cancelled for inclement weather that defied traversing but today the weather was tolerable, average for the Wisconsin hearty. “Why “ I asked as if the knowledge of the what would calm my disbelief. “The President’s been shot”, my informer said. “Which President?” I asked. “Kennedy”, he yelled back. Annoyed at my ignorance he rushed on leaving me standing on the Hill trying to understand and decide what to do at this critical moment. I went home As I made my way down the Hill I realized that I was alone, No one on the Hill. A deafening silence overwhelmed this campus where 26 thousand students went to class, climbed the Hill on many a day. Now there was no one, just me rushing, running away hoping to find something of the usual. Even the Bar at the bottom of the Hill where on any morning at seven thirty or earlier men stood by the Bar window, beer in hand looking out at us pathetic students walking briskly to class. Even they were not there. It was surrealistic, this moment between when Kennedy was shot and his death was yet to be announced.

 Arthur was at home when I got there. He was sitting on the sofa listening to the radio. Arthur Gundershein and I shared a small studio apartment with a common bathroom off the second floor hall way. Arthur was soft spoken seemingly shy man who I was instantly attracted to because of his beautiful very straight, dark blond hair that moved as he moved, even, it seemed, when he talked. He was domestically inclined without compromising his masculinity. That meant he did the shopping for food with me and then he cooked, he did the dishes, he walked the dog and I played with the Cat. And he did it all, he said, and I agreed, because it was his apartment. I shared the expenses and he paid the bills. Arthur was both restless and transfixed. The radio was on and we heard over and over again, it was The Cubans who did it. The Radical Left.” those damn Commies” was the phrase implied. They cause nothing but trouble. I sat next to Arthur, frozen with trauma. Suddenly Arthur got up. I can’t stay here” he said. “I can’t listen to this anymore. I’m going to the Union”. The Student Union, situated on Lade Mendoza was home to most students at one time or another. It was where students hung out night and day rather than going to class, or because they went to class and needed a beer to recover. Or just because it was there and it was filled with like-minded people, student all approximately the same age. “I’ll be back soon”, he promised and he was. He rushed into the apartment and announced he had met a Professor who was new to Wisconsin, just back from India. He was very upset and Arthur invited him to come over to our place. “Here!” I asked, again placed into instant shock at the unusual, the unexpected. “Yes”, He answered as he started to straighten up our usual mess. “No one has ever visited us before. Arthur. He probably won’t come” “Oh, he will come Arthur “,insisted. “Within the next half hour. You’ll see. He’ll be here”. And he was

 “His name is Harvey Goldberg. “ NO. Not my history Professor?” “Yelp” But I forged his signature”, I protested. “Remember?  His class was all filled up and what if he finds out?”. “He won’t”, Arthur said “He is upset about Kennedy. That’s what he cares about. He thinks this is all very very important”. It was less than an half hour. Arthur answered the door.

 Harvey came up the stairs without undo noise or commotion, following in Arthur’s wake he entered the apartment quietly. Even close up Harvey was very thin and very busy. There was an oral of activity about him even though the first day in the apartment he made an effort to sit quietly, asking questions, talking about the book, a biography that he had recently completed an a minor person in the French revolution. Arthur lingered in the kitchen area getting something for Harvey to eat or drink. I sat near Harvey on sofa while the cat played with my hair from above. (Harvey did not like cats or dogs) and we had one of each) Harvey asked me if I would cook dinner when he accepted Arthur’s invitation. When I said, no. I don’t cook Harvey was very surprised. The image of the American housewife dispelled as the radio announced that it wasn’t a left wing radical but someone from the other side of the divide.
A crazy man. A lone shooter. By the time Harvey left the apartment Kennedy was pronounced dead and the assassin was Lee Harvey Oswald, and the grassy knoll was about to become a most talked about piece of American real estate, a permanent part of our collective memories. That’s what I remember.

 It was a long time ago and my facts might be wrong but the essence of our initial meeting is captured. That moment when for years later people would ask, what were doing when Kennedy was shot. Harvey became a regular visitor to our humble abode. He came over after classes, traversing the stairs in a noisy seemingly single bouncy fashion due to his always being in a rush, a hurry to go nowhere but that was his way. He took us to his apartment to show us his books. I can remember every apartment/home I have ever been to. That is the kind of specific memory I have. But Harvey’s apartment defied my usual acumen. I remember nothing but the books. It was the first time I saw floor to ceiling bookcases that covered the entire length of his one room apartment and both sides leaving room in the middle for his necessities for living and of course the doorway was book free. I remember him, standing in front of the huge expansive bookcases telling us about what books he put where and pulling out a book talking about it briefly then returning it to “it’s rightful place”. I remember nothing of what he said and even if I did I doubt that I understood it. Nothing about Harvey was usual or expected which made him difficult to understand and equally difficult to forget. But we tried. He told us he had just returned from India and he described his New Year’s Eve at the Taj Mahal with great love of detail. Men, men he said, endless supply of men Clearly Harvey was not comfortable in the company of Women but that didn’t stop him from coming over for his daily visit.

 Harvey never ate with us. He stood over the table while we ate making his displeasure of our ways painfully obvious. Our feeding the dog on the floor and the cat on our kitchen table was unacceptable. he declared the arrangement “worse than India” something that at that time I didn’t fully appreciate. (I visited India many years later). In the fullness of time we learned that Harvey had in fact not traveled alone. He traveled with a young man, a sophomore who returned from India with Harvey and now attended the U of W. Both he and Harvey had applied to Wisconsin at the same time, Harvey to teach since he had been banned from Harvard because of his radical left leanings and the student because he followed Harvey to the end of the World and enjoyed a rich sexual life with him as well. I don’t remember the man’s name but at some point they broke off their relationship and the young man found himself, with our help, in his first heterosexual relationship and Harvey was lost in the moment of change.

My last memory of Harvey made a  dramatic impact in my life which I never spoke about and could never forget. I was in his history class and earned the third highest mark out of several hundred students on my six week exam. I did equally well on my twelve week exam. There was something about the way Harvey spoke, his dramatic style of jumping onto the stage, wiping his glasses off his face is a flamboyant gesture and taking the chalk in hand commencing to write furiously on the provided blackboard that set my mind in motion. The dates, names, places, stories filled me with awe and my notes written in my own personal hieroglyphics were sufficient to bring back the sound of his voice, the content of the lectures. One day it was spring. Just like that. Spring came suddenly after the long hard winter and I didn’t go to class. Like everyone else, I went to the Union, the fresh smell of grass , the lake invited us all. My towel in hand my mind on nothing but the warmth of the sun and the inner sense of life that warm weather brings to the sufferers of extreme cold. Harvey came over that evening.

 His classes finished he came rushing into the apartment more excited than usual. “I remember”, he said ” I remember when I was a student here and the first day of spring when I too was at the Union. I didn’t go to class. But now, I am a professor and I had to go to class. HAHAHA” he laughed joyfully. “And I gave two thousand years of Egyptian history today” he said. “HAHAHA”. He went on happier than I had ever seen him. Two thousand years and only three students were sitting in the auditorium taking notes. “HA HA” he laughed and left us in the same hurried manner that brought him into our midst. Even though I was gripped by fear at an impeding academic doom I too laughed as I pictured him writing more frenzied than ever as his love of knowledge and his instant understanding of the down side of being a professor converged. He never tested us on Egypt. The final was on Iran, Iraq Syria and another country that I don’t remember now. I had a solid A going into the final.

 I remember taking my class notes with me to study for the final down by the lake. I was with my friend Ben. We were playing around and the wind came and my notes went into the lake. We retrieved them but they were compromised and I used some one else’s notes to study for the exam. I didn’t think too much about this because with an A going into he final I was guaranteed a C in the course and that was okay with me. A C or an occasional B. I wasn’t known as a student. I cut classes regularly and rarely studied. I went to college to develop my mind, not to gain knowledge per se. And grades were an unwelcome part of the process.

 Again we were at diner when Harvey rushed upstairs, he had my test paper in his hand. He didn’t’ throw it at me. He held it above us as he yelled down onto the tops of our heads, the papers rattling. “I didn’t believe it”, he said. “ I had to get hold of your test to see for myself. How did you do this, how did you get a D on my test. You knew it all. You were my best student” he yelled. How did this happen!” And then he said words that stayed with me for the rest of my life. He said. “You are sick:, locking his eyes into mine. “You are a very sick lady!” then he turned away and rushed out of the apartment angry, disappointed. Finished. He was finished with us, with me. He was right. At the moment of Harvey’s retreat punctuated by his flamboyant nature, his energy his unabashed expression of what he cared most about I was brought into an awareness that changed my life forever.

 The next semester I took a course in Personality 101 and for extra credit I wrote a paper what has been used by many. I wrote a seemingly simple essay on why I need to fail and ended by affirming that success is still possible. I remember standing in my kitchen at home. My mother was doing laundry downstairs. I held the report card in my hand, the A in Personality 101 bold on the page. And I was afraid afraid to show it to her. I remember standing in that ambivalent state when the world seems to be on an edge and I remember simultaneously thinking about Harvey, how he ran down the stairs all a flutter, and I went downstairs and gave my mother my report card and quickly as quickly as I could I ran back up and out of the house, feeling on my own, ready to tackle the world. Thank you Harvey for giving me an adult life filled with ideas and a kind of fanatic energy that often defies reason.

 With the fondest of memories……… Linda Glasser Zises

37 Mafia suspects take a hit. or do they?

Loanshaking and gambling on trial!


http://mafiatoday.com/gambino-family/37-suspects-rounded-up-in-major-bust-involving-gambling-loan-sharking-rings/

The audacity of the State has no bounds. First they claim without evidence nor citation of fact that the 37 people indicted are part of he Mafia. But I doubt this. It is like those they claim to be Terrorists or Communist or whatever is in vogue at any particular time in history.

In this case there is just a lumping together of all 37 people and voila. Mafia indicted along with their 37 champions.

For what?

Loansharking and Gambling?

But this is the basis, the foundation of the Capitalist Economic system. Capitalism is born from, and survives and thrives on loansharking and gambling. And the Capitalist' gamble lost! The states were high and still are. Bankruptcies, foreclosures, eradication of IRAs and savings. The collapse of entire countries~ The list is endless. And it doesn't stop.

We are encouraged every day to spend, to barrow, to gamble, to play the lottery; for what? For capitalism to survive.

Making money from money is the essence of Capitalism "Making your money grow" is it's motto.

Capitalism frowns on the distribution of wealth and goods. It calls those who receive lazy, unsophisticated......... a drain on the system. The entitlement programs are not considered part of Capitalism. They are deemed a necessary evil required for the perpetuation of Capitalism. (To my way of thinking Medicaid, unemployment insurance are like the band aids that cover the evidence while the sores fester.)

This trial of the 37 self appointed CEO of the 99 percent can bring to light the hypocrisy of the rulers, the champions of law and order while putting Capitalism on trial.

Linda Zises
from Chicago

OWS: Just getting started

It isn't the outside, the rain, sleet or cold weather that will drive the movement of OWS into the dustbin of history because it is a youth driven movement without God on their side, nor media or money.

It is a movement of the young who see the future as hopeless, with debt that far exceed their ability to gain financial stability. The more educated, and most are educated, the greater their debt.

Sooner rather than later the OWS will wake up to the problem with the Universities that make debt a graduation nightmere while the schools amass huge futunes in tax free real estate at the expense of culture, of history of places that hold memories more rich than the education that schools offer to those of their chosing.


The OWS movement will also wake up to the reality of their political power. They will form their own political party, the 99 per cent party and they will not have to go through the arduous process of trying to gain acceptance on the ballot for their party, their platform, a voice on radio, telvision. They won't have to debate anyone because there is no debate with crooks, liars and mouth pieces who have destroyed the fabric of life for millions upon millions of people, countries....the world

The OWS will go to the polls in numbers almost unheard of in this great country, and they will offer up their candidates for Prsident of the United States, and it will be Anon for President and Wiki for Vice President and the 99% will wear masks when forced to speak. Anyone wearing the mask will satisfy the need for public discourse. The 99% will run on a platform of full transparency and democratic participation and human need above greed. And work?

They articulate a way to distribute goods, life sustaining necessities without making the sole method of income distribution the almighty "work" that professed character building trait deemed mandatory for the 99%. Work will be a luxury as it is for the one per cent. What people won't do. machines will.

And the OWS will write-in their candidates for President and Vice President. If you have ever tried to write in a candidate you know this is a long arduous process that will impede if not bring to a premature end a day of voting on the aloted line for the corporate delivered candidates of no one's particular choice.

Come rain or shine, sleet, or winter cold,
the work of the OWS is but just begun. If only they have the vision to do what must be done.

That is my dream

Linda Zises
recent Chcago resident

Winter: A premature end to Occupy Chicago:

Chicago has recently passed an ordinance limiting the amount of glass allowed in home construction.

Down the street from me is a newly constructed glass guzzling home that clearly pushes the ordinance limits.

Why the need for inordinate amount of glass and why the huge, mansion homes which look more like museums than intimate family hovels.

The answer lies in the dreaded inevitable prospect of the looming winter.(excessive money aside)

Chicago has endured the windy part of its legacy with some discomfort but the recent blizzard which for the first time in Chicago history caused the schools to close is still fresh on the resident's minds. In addition to the wind and the snow that makes walking hazardous is the ever present cold preserved by Lake Michigan which is the root cause of the excessive heat in summer and cold in winter; the opposite of an ocean that keeps weather moderate.(of course global warming contributes its fair share of projected and real discomfort)

What this translates into on the every day mundane life expectancy is the inability to get up in the winter cold days, and an even greater inability to go outside. Jogging will be a distant memory and bike riders will be few to none for almost 6 months.

This explains why the house, no matter how big, how conversant with the great beyond through it's mammoth use of glass, becomes for one and all, a jail. A $15 million Jail. You gotta love it!

As a rule I am not one to hibernate as I learned people do here in winter but I will be held up in my home with the rest of the Chicago residents when the brutal weather hits for long endless dark days. And that is why I had my windows cleaned. To be able to be locked inside while feeling in contact with the great cruel Chicago Environs.

And that is why there is no need to use force to end the Occupy Chicago movement or the OWS denizens; winter weather will bring the troops back to their warm abodes, or so it is hoped or rather forecast.
This is where planning count.

Preparing for the not so distant future.

Linda Zises
recent Chicago resident

occupy wall street: report from Chicago

Occupy Wall Street : Poster Man


the crowd is growing. the police are mulling about and the government agents are engaging the protesters with their ill disguised clothes. But this is a beginning. I couldn't figure out where people would sleep; there is little space between the Federal Reserve Bank and the protesters.

I offer a quote we might all want to keep in mind during these still warm enough days for outside happenings

"Liberation is an act of simultaneous conscious awakening and direct action, a concrete engagement with Reality guided by a freed Consciousness, a massive collective labour of love that conjoins praxis and theory; it's a spiral in which labour struggles and political struggles fuel and nourish each other to turn in a widening rising helix. As that helix turns, it brings in more people into its process, sculpting an expansion of the liberated community outwards and higher. David McNally's article paints a picture of how this took place in Egypt and anchors it to the work of other prominent revolutionary Rosa Luxemburg, who had a lot to say about the revolutionary moment, and its process."

The picture above is of a man who wasn't on Wall Street but in Chicago. He worked hard to get his outfit just right, the red tie and black shirt. His red and black hair didn't make it into the photo but it was great! And his Mask is outstanding, as was his attitude; gentle, determined and.........all that is needed to go the mile.

Linda Zises
a recent chicago resident

RAPT : The monetary value of love

Lucas Belvaux

Wednesday, July 6 at Film Forum --2 week engagement


“.......based on the 1978 kidnapping of the French industrialist/playboy, Baron Edouard-Jean Empain. In RAPT, the victim spends a harrowing nine weeks in the hands of a criminal band, but the experience proves less life-threatening than the scandalous revelations of his secret life -- uncovered by the tabloids in the course of these events."

Commentary

I did not experience the unfolding of this tabloid perfect, gossip juicy sexual/political scandal in real life time which might have heightened the impact of the drama.

As a fresh viewer to the unfolding scandal I became enmeshed in an emotional struggle. On the one hand I wanted to remain sympathetic to the unshaven, filthy man/victim as he deteriorated in the course of his torture experience including the brutal chopping off of his finger without apparent benefit of surgical procedures. It was a struggle not to appreciate the torment of his family; his wife, daughters, mother who rightfully acquired the address of Madam with her dignified posture and demeanor.

The collateral damage to those who bore his name and blood line inflicted by this kidnapping certainly should not be endured by anyone.
However, I was simultaneously confronted with the reality of how obscene the wealth and status of privilege was for this French man who hoodwinked those who knew him best into thinking he was what he wasn’t and wasn’t what he was.

The juxerposition of two scenes brought my emotional dilemma to the fore. In the first scene we are looking at the barren, seemingly mildewed room, where a TV is turned on while the victim eats. This scene is immediately followed by the sight of The Family eating in their more than opulent dining room with the TV on, and again functioning as a distraction to the immediate task of eating.

From the one visual scene to the other the contrast said it all. Who is right in this kidnapping event? And what is justice, Injustice?

In our world where the wealthy appear to be free to act, flaunting their immorally with impunity, isn’t their wealth the real culprit, the enemy of us all?

Rapt brings this reality into clear focus. It messes with our seemingly instinctual reactions. It shows the extent to which we are conditioned to feel and it forces us to reassess what is right, what is wrong and to what extent we, the viewers, have become the mindless victims manipulated with strong music, great acting and a message which maybe in another arena we would never embrace.

What more can be asked of a great, a meaningful provocative and entertaining film?
except
that it be shown again and again to remind us who the enemy really is.




Linda Zises
WBAI Radio

Wisconsin leads the way!

I went to school in Wisconsin- four years at the University in Madison where it is colder than I ever imagined cold could be.

The people of the State are not unusually sophisticated. They are like most mid westerners, concerned about their families. They don't have the time nor inclination to read the New York Times from cover to cover or to think about politics in detail. That is why they elect representatives, to represent their interests, the interests that they assume their politicians who live next door to them share and want to see realized.

In up state Wisconsin it is so cold that often the parents of school age children do not go to social functions or even to P.T.A. meetings. They allow teachers to teacher and administrators to administer a Democratic academically sound curriculum.

It is unimaginable that the foundation of their lives, their values of democracy, of taking care of the middle class, of having feelings for and about other people are not being respected. To see their politicians with
Scott Walker at the forefront of this malaise is not only abhorrent to the Wisconsin citizen, it is unthinkable. And although Wisconsin is a Republican State each person seems to remember the great Governor at the turn of the last Century, Lafayette who brought to life the idea that Republican/Democrat means nothing. It is the middle class, the financial emotional wealth of the State that must be realized and maintained, a lesson Scott Walker has yet to learn.

150 thousand strong took over the Capitol last weekend. Next weekend, there will be more and then more and more. And banning the Pizza from Egypt won't stop the Wisconsin citizens from protecting the exercise of their Democratic process. This struggle isn't about which Party rules, it is about middle class values, the right to discuss, negotiate, bargain. Wisconsin isn't a Monarchy/Plutocracy , not yet.


Keep up the good, the great work, Wisconsin. .
Change, it is a coming
even to the U.S.A.

Linda Zises
Reporter at lage