Time to write another Book

Posted on August 21, 2005 by admin

Dear Friends,

I’ve been writing letters to people like Ellie Kinnard, an NC State Senator, Moses Carey, the Orange County Commissioner, and Sally Greene who is on the Chapel Hill Town Council.

My writings on those issues have been directed at the operations of the local airport IGX, Horace Williams, the plight of the homeless and what to do about it, and advancing wherever possible the prospects for local motion picture production.

I had a nice talk with Diane Reed because Moses Carey told me to call her about what is done with money collected in the county from motel and hotel room taxes.

My question to Commissioner Carey was, "How much money does the County get from taxes on hotel and motel rooms, and what is done with it?"

Apparently according to Ms. Reed there are only 1300 hotel and motel rooms in Orange County and the budget for her office of tourism is only 400 to 500 thousand dollars a year.

As far as the initiative to elimanate homelessness as much as is possible and practical, I would like to see homeless people exempted from paying taxes when they get the money together to stay in a motel or hotel room as a little thing that would help them.

I did discover that State Employees get a special rate when they stay in hotels and motels in the state, and think that the homeless ought rightly get that rate as well, as a little help to them.

Now it does appear that most of the money that the Tourism Board gets from taxes on hotel rooms and motel rooms in Orange County is spent on brochures and the like.

I have suggested that at the least Bill Arnold of the State Film Commission have such publications in his pocket and packet of "literature" when he goes with his staff to LA to lobby for film productions to come to the State and work.

Further I think that although brochures and flyers have some utility, they would be more effective in conjunction with an event or events that draw the people who run desirable businesses such as motion picture production, physically to the area, of their own volition.

Them guys from LA play Golf, and whenever they come to NC to work they bring their Golf Clubs. I did convince Mr. Arnold and his staff to at least give away passes to great Golf Courses in the State of NC whenever they go out there to LA to Lobby for Business.

For years now I have been trying to get an ABOVE THE LINE INVITATIONAL GOLF FISBEE GOLF TOURNAMENT instituted in the State of North Carolina, somewhere.

When I lived in Guilford County I found out that significant amounts of money do end up in the County Coffers that could be used to finance such an event. This is apparently common to most Counties, that money collected from taxes on hotel and motel rooms goes in some degree to the County Tourism Boards.

I am trying to get some County to put up the money to institute such an event that builds on inherent strength and desirablity of the existing infrastructure in conjunction to "incentives", or what I call bribes.

There are some good Golf Courses in Orange County, and as well some of the premier Disc Golf Courses in the Nation along side of them that I feel ought to be advertised and utilized so as to attract the people and players we need for a mature Motion Picture Industry to thrive in the State of North Carolina.

Really I do not think that brochures are enough.

People like to go to places they see in the movies and on TV, so I want to see a televised Golf Tournament for Motion Picture Producers, Actors, and Writers somewhere in the State, and since I live in Orange County, I’d like to see it happen where I live, since it might help me continue to live here.

On the issue of the airport, Horace Williams, it is not run in a way that I approve of for it is run as if it is a private airport owned by the University of North Carolina, and it is not by law a private airport, but really a community airport.

Landlocked localities need their own airport.

Really it is odd to me that the County Commissioners and the Town Council of Chapel Hill and Carrboro have so completly abdicated their responsiblities as far as the asset that is the only airport in the County.

I’ve worked to change their view of this asset so that the airport is acknowledged as important to the infrastructure and benefits the working people of the County in all of the ways it could as an Economic Multiplier.

In the meantime I’m coming apart from lack of income to finance the healthcare I need. I’m also coming apart due to the hard physical work I’ve drifted to doing in construction because that is the regular work I have been able to find.

So it is time that I did focus a bit more on my own work, which is writing, and to that end I have started to refocus on my new novel Force of Nature.

I rewrote and posted into the Poetry Section of transcendia.org, the first Chapter today, and I hope you will read it along with subsequent chapters as I may post them.

I am tempted to run for either Mayor of Carrboro, or County Commissioner, and have been working on a platform worthy of support.

Whatever Platform I codify in coming weeks will be based on what I understand as important for the Working Classes. In general I am certain that a fully developed infrastructure is vital to the health of the overall anarchistic capitalistic economy, and that that means energy, police, schools, healthcare, roads, and water.

I will refine the order and methods in subsequent postings as I serialize this novel that is on my mind. I hope you will keep up with both, and welcome imput on the political subjects I turn to when I am not feeling particularly entertaining.

Love, Russell Scott Day

Founder of Transcendia

Grover

Posted on August 21, 2005 by Russell Scott Day

Grover

Grover bought his wife some shoes at the Belks downtown. He hated it in the tight cramped streets of downtown Durham. He preferred to be at the gas station, or playing cards at the Elks.

Paul and Buddy were fishing. He thought about going to find them, but just drove aimlessly around in the Pontiac until he found himself on the fringe street past Roxboro Road where the whore kept an apartment.

She was up stairs that ran up the side of the two story thick white paint siding claboard outside walls of the split up house that had once been a home to some one prolific family.

He had trouble fitting the Pontiac down the tight drive past the wild boxwood shrubs and scrub and cedar, honeysuckle and all other manner of competing grasses and weeds run up in the wire fence till he was parked in the back on the thin gravel facing another fence overrun by vines.

There was another car there, a 38 Ford with the swoop down back end.

Grover turned on the radio and listened to part of a football game between Duke and Carolina. He had played football for Duke. He’d been Quarterback and Captain and he listened to the game remembering the way the guys had looked at him in the huddle. It had always been interesting to him when he saw others move along with his will.

The flying adventure with Carl had made him and the rest of the poker table laugh to tears in the telling. As his three years younger brother he puzzled when he found himself vulnerable to Carl’s influence. Rightly he had to keep the upper hand and so had emphasized every misstep of his brother, and the way Carl’s head had a perpetual scab somewhere on his scalp now.

Still secretly to himself he had admitted that he was swayed and it had been hatching in his own mind that the family might need to go into another business.

He himself was tired of the gas station and the tractor trailers they ran didn’t seem to be making as much money for the family as they ought to. He was dreading the trip to New York with one of their hired drivers and the load of cigarettes. He knew he needed to find out what really was going on and suspected that somewhere along the line the family was being robbed.

Grover didn’t want to have to go back to driving himself as they had done when his father had put the brothers behind the wheels of anything that moved as soon as they were big enough to fight the machines and the weather and anyone who was stupid enough to attempt to stop them.

His father had had to quit driving himself after he had beaten near to death a teamster on the docks who had threatened him.

After Paul was hijacked they had all bought pistols, but hadn’t had to use them except for show after his father found a Business Agent to pay off so they could get in and out of the Brooklyn Pier.

Still the whole thing still seemed more trouble than it was worth sometimes.

The guy who had been with the whore came down the stairs. Grover looked at his watch. It was 4:30 in the afternoon on a Saturday and he had a box of shoes for his wife on the floor in the front.

He had started the car and backed up turning when the whore came out and stood outside her door on the landing. She was smiling and looking down at him when he backed into the place he had been parked in the other direction.

She was wearing a flowered dress that hung clasped to her hips and fit tight to her moderate, but perfect breasts, in his opinion. He thought he would miss her when she graduated from NC State. She had come down from Carbondale Illinois where she had worked for a Madam in a brothel and started school at the University of Chicago for nursing.

The first time he had had a black girl was when he was 15 and it had always been a part of his secret life only shared with others who had lives and interests like his and knew the need for secrecy and information shared over cigarettes and beer or liquor on the back porches of poker games taking a break from the game.

It was a nice day, and he had some time.

His dutiful but boney wife would not miss him or expect him till dinnertime, so he got out of the car and walked across the gravel and up the stairs.

She stood there smiling and looking down at him as he came up the stairs looking at his feet till he got close and could near smell her. She had an unusual smell to him, clean and musky at the same time.

Her matter of factness and technical skill and the thicker feel of her skin was what he bought.

"Well Carlotta, you got anything left for me? Your visitor seemed young enough." Grover said when she stepped back opening the door and inviting him in.

"I heard your car and got a look out the window and got him gone in right good time I thought." Her face coming up out of her chest and the smooth brown skin framed by the flowered dress was there round and round in brown curves of her body and eyes and cheeks and face with lips twice as big and soft as his white women.

She turned and took a bottle out of the cabinet and poured him some Scotch into a glass and put it on the white enamel of the kitchen table.

Grover sat down and she stood leaning her butt on the edge of the kitchen sink.

Carlotta thought he was the largest of any white man she had given it to, and she liked him for his lack of timidity or worry. She had taken to thinking of him as "The Dutchman" remembering how the Dutch had been different as far as white people she had come across. He reminded her of her pimp who she had researched and made an agreement with when she had come to town looking for protection and humor. Once on her own she had imagined the two of them with her.

She kept such thinking to herself in a private ration that she regulated carefully and unspoken.

Her father had been a butcher in Chicago and her mother had resented it when Carlotta had become old enough and commented on the "Uncles", and "Cousins" who visited when her father was at work.

She hadn’t seen her father since she was 7 but she remembered him as big and shaped much the same as the man sitting in the hard wooden chair at the chrome legged white enameled table in that apartment kitchen where she lived and worked.

She knew exactly what she would do with him in just a little while. He would finish the drink and look at her and she would go into the bedroom and he would follow.

Grover wasn’t looking at her face but at the V formed by the lay of her dress as she still leaned back against the kitchen sink when he asked, "Have you ever been in an airplane Carlotta?"

"No." She said. "Black people don’t fly, you know that Mr. Grover."

It was 7:15 when Grover left. He marveled that he felt no guilt about what he had seen under his hands.

"Black people don’t fly." – Was a wisp of a thought as he drove out between the houses and out towards his home. He wondered what size shoes Carlotta wore and planned to get her some shoes as a present. The one thing he really knew about women was that they liked shoes.

Force of Nature

Posted on August 21, 2005 by Russell Scott Day

Force of Nature

Carl was what they meant when they say, "He was a force of nature."

He was standing looking at the airplane he had just bought with his pay and poker winnings and every other scheme besides the money from the family gas station they all ran for a living.

It was a Taylorcraft, painted red now sitting there in the perfect evening light of the damp chilled morning. -Trees off behind it. Eight O’Clock in the morning now.

The prevailing winds came down out of the northwest that time of year, and he stood at the south of the grass strip so that what sun there was made the leading edges gleam with the advertisement of their bright soul.

He’d been out of the Navy since ’46 having come in just that late in the war to miss it, except for the loot.

They had all from the top to bottom loaded any ship at any port leaving there at the very end with anything they could cram in a corner or hold or stacked in the paid spot on the deck.

He’d won enough poker, collected enough favors owed, fed enough, to put ten German motorcycles on the ship for the trip back.

He bought the little plane with the money from the motorcycles because after after the Navy he wanted to go further faster. Ships had been too slow for him. He liked women and the time between ports and whores was too great.

It made his temper bad.

The plane was sitting there in the gray of a misty 11 day. The grass was just brown now, the strip cut out of the pines, pin oaks, maples dogwoods and blackberry tangles now raw at the edges of the strip. He’d bought it where it stood from the brother of the man two years dead in a bomber over Germany.

After Carl had figured out how to start it he’d driven it back and forth on the runway listening to the engine and feeling when the bounce got lighter. He’d done that all alone there on the strip which was often oddly to him, deserted.

The second time he’d let it hop a little.

As patiently as was possible for him, he had read the brown paper of the cover creased and cracked half folded manual and noted what speed he might expect to get off the ground.

He was stubborn and living was a joke to discover on your own terms for him. Six foot three two hundred and twenty pounds, not full bald yet, but seeming in happy anticipation of the event with the short military haircut.

All the men of the family went bald, so he looked like the rest of his brothers. There were three of them. They shared laws and treaties among only themselves, the brothers down from the uncles and grandfather and father and they were from Dutch traders and sailors and livery owners and then after the two wars and the depression it came down to the gas station and five tractor trailer trucks.

He was now back and knew that the gas station, Durham, the trucks would not be enough. -At least not the way he saw it.

Carl there just 23 concentrated beneath the heavy oval Dutch head. The short military bristlecut standing up. Just looking at the airplane wondering what it would show him without knowing he was even thinking or wondering.

He saw his future and it gave him peace.

Real peace was foreign to his thinking so much that only a beautiful and dangerous thing would have even the glitter of peace that he would ever love. For the violent and angry, compelled, it is only beauty that will stop them long enough to at least feel something like peace.

They did things, and made other people do things, go places, carry things as they carried and did things as if it had always been so in their family to move freight and know how to get horses, boats, trucks or cars to move. They made all around them move and carry as quick as possible.

He stood a moment more. If anyone had been around they would have been surprised to see him stand still that long.

Then he went to the plane.

It was too small for him. He scraped his head getting in the hole in the side. For the rest of his life there would always be a blood crusted spot on the top of his head from all the cockpits, door openings, wheel wells that he put his head in and out of. No plane was ever really big enough for him. 05be there would have been a ship, but he was done with ships. He didn’t seem to notice it from then on a perpetual scab, or care about it then or from then on.

This time he scraped his head bending his neck while he lifted his leg into the space infront of the seat. His right leg was up and the panel had held his attention more than what he was doing. – Altimeter, airspeed dial in familiar knots, turn and bank indicator, fuel guage, magneto switch, radio.

Finally he was in the thing and he got it going right off and let it run and ran it up with his feet on the tops of the pedals and then taxied out to the end of the strip bouncing a bit here and there and got it turned into the wind and steered it down the runway.

He liked the sound of the engine the way he liked the sound of a motorcycle engine and felt everything about it as he went from one end of the strip to the other. He felt the way the grass drug at the wheels and way it felt to have a wing above him feeling them as if they were attached to his shoulders. He felt it when it was not the brakes but the rudder and wheel yoke in his hand that had influence and we was off the ground climbing in a changed sound and experience of gravity and rush of air.

He was surprised at how soon he was lost.

Working Class Corner/War Pragmatics

Posted on August 15, 2005 by admin

War

Please write to me about what wars you know about that are not in the general news. I need to make a list of current wars and threats to working class people.

In my view wars hurt working people regardless of their religious beliefs and I believe that it is not wise to believe in anything too much.

I believe that believing in something too much results in war.

I am talking about constructs here, views of morality and theological edits and imperatives.

I did have a vision and I do believe in my vision as an experience that guides me.

I believe that my vision was real and crossed from my physical life to my spiritual life and gave me a touchstone in my head that is what my body carries around and is what makes me a soul instead of an anonymous spirit.

I think and believe that it is my duty to save the prospect of creating a soul for the unnamed spirits by saving the physical world for them to come to and which we go back to with an identity which is what spirits thirst for so much as to really be impatient about.

The home of humanity is the Earth only so far and it is getting to the point where even if it is not hit by a big rock commonly called an Asteroid, it will be overwhelmed by people who are spirits and the common life will be even with the achievement of identity not much better than being dead.

Since you need a body to have sex from all I know, I really do not expect to have sex in heavan, and though I really appreciate the life of the mind, it is the rememberance of physical love that I suspect is the reason that spirits desire to have this weird life.

Some people then when faced with my education that comes from my Aleph vision say then that heavan does not conform to their conception of it.

Basically they seem to expect that in heaven is an orgy where they get to have everything they wanted here.

What they need to face if we are to maintain the home of physical souls, which is a valuable and unique experience, and really not ought to be disturbed by wars which shorten the development of the soul and cause some to want to come back when it would be more fair if once was enough that whatever you do in the interests of war, is wrong.

I believe that so much that I am willing to fail in making Transcendia into a real nation.

This is one of the reasons I want the United Nations to take Transcendia over, though I am not pleased with Kofi Annan and the Security Council or the French,China or Russia.

Certainly the Vatican is a big problem for Transcendia because the Vatican has an agenda that is not supported by practical programs for maintaining a place to grow souls over the long term.

It is Confuscious and Christ who I typically work with on for the Transcendian agenda.

Confuscious recommends to me professionalism in actions caused by ideals and vision, and Jesus recommends doing unto others as I would have done to me.

I don’t really want to be murdered, and therefore I feel it behooves me not to murder others. War does not seem a good justification for murder.

Practically if someone is trying to kill me or my children or my countrymen, then they ought to be defended against and possibly killed since the weapons available, have the power to make the Earth impossible for humans to live on.

So the most practical thing for the international community of souls to do is to get rid of all weapons of mass destruction like nuclear weapons so that the souls that are convinced and believe that there is infinite space for all spirits to invade will not have the capacity to wipe out long term prospects.

Love, Russell

Working Class Corner/Infrastructure

Posted on August 14, 2005 by admin

Infrastructure Platform for Local and Global

The largest city I have lived in for an extended period of time was New York City.

At the least that would recommend the infrastructure mix of rail, cough sea, therapy road, and air transportion options.

The way things are going the infrastructure necessary for civilization which according to the numbers using common technology has become unsustainable.

Technology does need to be directed towards goals for it to appear.

The history of inventions shows that the concepts are free.

Even the first man who ever saw a bird wanted to fly and dreamed of it.

The need for flying machines increased as the population increased and became both increased and increasing.

Engines pushed to their limits explode when their lubricants break down.

Ideas for social lubrication have fallen to architects and urban planners.

The mix of hunter gatherer and farmer life depends on transportation.

Transportation is going to or fleeing from.

Are paths transport?

My feet and legs are transport.

The path is infrastructure.

Every path leads somewhere.

For deer a path leads to food.

One of the reasons we run over deer all the time around here is because we have taken from them their job.

From my honeymoon vist to Disney World and Epcot Center, and the tv images I grew up with, and my experiences in New York City, it would seem to me that the bottleneck needs focus on the megalpolis with full integration of transportation that put food where it needed to be when it needed to be there for all humanity.

Putting people into outerspace is not putting them where there is food.

Why go where there is no food?

This is simply not sensible.

To get through the bottleneck of human needs at maximum population outerspace needs to provide energy,escape, insurance, and food.

The space elevators need to be directed towards capturing supplies for the working people.

Knowledge is a supply, and knowing how to grow and transport food in any environment would be a good thing to know, especially if it produced a surplus.

I will continue to work on this subject from a completed goal of determining what must be done locally and globally by all communities to enable as long an existance as would be possible for mankind if the interest was in enabling humanity for at least half of infinity.

As far as making food in outerspace at a profit is concerned I suspect that it will require L5 designs which acknowledged a need for gravity, or something like it. Then I suspect that it would be profitable only if it was linked to space elevators.

Plus I suspect that there is no way that spacecraft as we have known them so far like airplanes or ICBMs can do enough to fullfil mankinds needs, and that the only hope for mankind really does seem to rest in space elevator construction.

I really would like it if the town I lived in would put some money up towards sisterhood with an equatorial region city where nearby would be a space elevator.

I will work more on this in a following post.

Russell

…

Campaign Platform/Working Class Corner

Posted on August 11, 2005 by admin

Should I run for Founder?

Politically spiritually physically and intellectually I have been working to come up with a total local and global platform that would work as if I was running for mayor or king or president or commissioner.

I do study and over the long haul I have relied on Scientific American for good as I could get information.

Just like I really would not expect to be certified to fly except by pilots who had flown with me, viagra I really would not expect to be certified to be in a position of leadership unless other leaders had sat in the co-pilot seat and gotten where they wanted to go.

Maybe I am too humble.

I am pleased that according to what I know of Confucious it was his intent to make clear that leaders needed to be worthy of the responsiblity, abortion the pleasure of the fullfilled duty are without measure in my opinion.

I have just read Climax of Humanity by George Musser in the Scientific American and my goal in this and maybe the following on my global and local focus will be to come up with a platform of actions and taxes and ideals that ought to work to the precepts and known knowlege of history and sociology so much that regardless of my imperfections or even perfections, denture the actions, precepts of ideology, would work in inner and outerspace, or at least in the Solar System for a good while.

For Carrboro and Chapel Hill I then first suggest a Convention of Futurists where would be Showcased and sold all highest technologies of personal and public infrastructure, for the world naked has been the infrastructure which mankind is destroying by doing what mankind does too often.

Maintainance and love of the infrastructure really now means that mankind regardless of religion can love what has been given and what they have made.

Hell I would encourage men to make fighting space ships since without them Earthlings will be vulnerable to alien attack, and it is just in our nature to do things like that.

In Chapel Hill and Carrboro I would with the approval of the citizens certify for roads all of the best vehicles available regardless of crash worthiness.

If you can have motorcycles on the roads you can have very small cars, and I am very interested in seeing more of the Swatch Cars that my friend from Holland has told me about.

The nearby NASA property in the County better start using that land to launch Micro Rockets or come up with some use of that land that is fitting to the needs of our children.

A sister City in Ecuador is highly recommended to Chapel Hill and Carrboro and common laws must be aligned so as to make regular travel between the sister cities common and safe.

The goal of good administrators and leaders is always first to protect their people and their turf.

Passive and Active protection mean that first the turf is to be made attractive and functional, and that at the same time that which makes it attractive to all is sustained and further thrives inspite of love and envy.

It is true that I have not made myself more known and vulnerable.

Now that I am older and more broken down and likely to die any minute, I really ought to talk a bit more into the face of Glass.

Energy is the bottom line as far as creating and enabling a civilization worthy of the name.

Solar energy is the most perfect passive source of energy and trumps nuclear power and therefore really ought to be the focus of some nation besides Transcendia.

I am going to give my neighbor Ed a call on this subject and see what sort of plan he has in his pocket to power my rented home.

Love, Russell

flickerfest8/29

Posted on August 10, 2005 by admin

Looking Back, a short film I made from Steve Elliots S8 footage shot when he was in Viet Nam, and film I shot of him walking on railroad tracks to Hell Bound Train, by Savoy Brown, and Pigmeat HeartBeat by Pink Floyd is going to be shown in the Flickerfest Film Festival, at least in Chapel Hill, at Cats Cradle.

Steve was my girlfriend’s boyfriend before he went to Viet Nam.

We spent time together enough that he gave me his film, and I shot film of him and edited it together.

I thought the festival would have preferred the documentary I shot of Carter’s Inaugartion.

It has been a good while since I have had a film in a festival.

The DVD technology helps since I have lost films I made by trusting people to send them back.

I no longer give people my originals to show.

As far as Super 8 is concerned it is not good enough to be duplicated much.

I never did get permission for the soundtrack from the artists and I am hopeful that they will not sue me when the film is shown and accept that I’ve never yet made a cent from the film.

In fact I haven’t let people much see it because I never have gotten around to getting rights to the soundtrack, which I think helps it.

If you know anyone who was in Savoy Brown or Pink Floyd I would appreciate it if you would let them know that I would be grateful if they would not sue me for using their music for this little film.

It would be nice if this film was shown in Viet Nam for it would show instant regrets.

love, russell

Judgements/Working Class Corner Theology

Posted on August 9, 2005 by admin

I have not been to church in over a year except for a memorial service and an ash internment of my father-in-law who was a Prespitarian, physician however you spell it, minister, of South Port and Scotland, far as I can tell.

His sonnets are on the site and laid out better than what I filed this weekend.

So I have done a reading and it has come up from the I Ching and the Bible to be about judgement at the hand of God on both counts, in both books.

Well maybe I am wrong.

51 Chen/The Arousing (Shock, Thunder)

The superior man does all he can to make sure he does what God would want.

John 1-19-28

"I am the voice crying in the wilderness."

Now I want to make clear that I am a pragmatic man with spiritual intent, and that I know that now I have less time to live than I have to learn.

I know that the great life is the life lived for love and only love in all its forms physical or intellectual, and that if I live and act according to bad ideas I might as well be a very small bug that has no soul.

Now do ants have souls?

I have at least told my wife that when I die I do not want to be buried and all of my parts are up for grabs if they are useful and otherwise what is left of me may be studied or possibly eaten.

I was very happy to see that the trapped submariners were rescued before they ate each other.

To complete this reading I need to read Acts 3-1-ll and Judges 7-1-8 apparently.

-Russell

Baked/& Note for TV

Posted on August 7, 2005 by admin

I added to the poetry section two poems:

I was prompted to post the poems because of an email I got asking if I wanted to contribute to a Drag Queen Queer Show oriented Television Program from a Public Access Channel.

For the poem Selecto Sexo I imagine pictures of robots and sex toy to a voice over, and it is one of a series of poems I wrote in the television Voice Over style. Others in the series were advertisments for a Space Ship named the Ace Leader Star Chief, and the Glaxo, a Space Truck.

Selecto Sexo was written in 1976, and Using the Lumberfile, was probably written sometime in the Eighties.

Selecto Sexo is about bi-sexuality, and Using the Lumberfile is about Menage` Trois.

Somewhere in the letters index is The Essence of Love, which is the poem I have been thinging about the most lately. I will likely write it into the Poetry section soon.

It’s been a hot summer and I think my brains have baked some as a result. I feel this sort of do or die and I don’t care what I say sort of compulsion exacerbated by my Father-in -Laws’ death which has brought up in me memories of my Father and events surrounding his life and death.

I’ve been in a good deal of pain for the past week and though in my past I have lived through and recovered from boughts of chronic pain, I was younger and knew that I would recover if I took certain actions like leaving Manhattan and taking work that wasn’t as hard, but didn’t pay as well when I was working.

It’s never all one thing.

Is it my back, or could it be my kidneys? I’m pretty sure it is my back.

I read a nice little piece in The Week magazine that pointed out that if God was so intelligent why did he make us with such flawed back design? What a fine sentence there was in the piece about evolution had left some scars. "Scars of Evolution", what a fine phrase.

I’ve been thinking about The Essense of Love because people asked me what Heavan was like and because of my vision called Transcend-O-Ray, I do feel like there are all these spirits that want to be in bodies because they know that regardless of the security of just being with God and all the other lighted things, you get to have sex and eat in a body and if you don’t have a body you can’t do that.

Some of the shame that is associated with sex may well rise up from the rememberance of spirits that it is unique to the physical life.

Light has a constant speed unless it is slowed down as it passes through the glass lens. My favorite book in the Bible is St. John because when I read it I could read it simply as advice on how to take photographs.

When it is really hot and it is really cold there come these views of the world that those of us still blessed with eyesight know achieve such horror or truth and beauty that we can feel our souls being created from the anonoymous spirits who thirst for individual successes and share the tortures as did Jesus and Budda describe.

I have not done a service with the I Ching and the Reading for the Day for longer than much of the time, and have been trying to write my Book. There are some paragraphs I’ve come across in past postings that made me wonder if I remembered who I was and made me remeet myself actually surprised that I wrote at least one good paragraph.

Now my Theological arguement with the Vatican Agenda and Bush Policies as concerns Womens Rights and the Rights of Gays is boiled down to my sense that from a purely practical standpoint it is to the advantage of the Spirits that knock at the door, knowing of the rarity of the physical event so much as we have it for a finite time, that those of us having it are in conflict with them and need to teach them that if they are patient and allow us to not destroy the planet we will be more able in the long term to let them have the ride we are on.

If the Pope is so in touch with God I would expect him to allow prevention of pregnancy with a sense of patience towards all the spirits out there trying to get here. Really I would expect the Infinite God to accept human wisdom and the recognition by the bodied made into souls that it is the same duty to the spirits that they expect from God.

What is wrong with me if I recognize God may forget that he is infinite? Frankly I think God wants me to recognize that he might forget and it may be a little joke he put forth that gives me the opportunity to make him proud of me as if he were my Father and I wanted to make a good arguement to him to get some respect.

Love – Russell

Digging to China

Posted on August 7, 2005 by Russell Scott Day

Digging to China

I'm digging a hole here in North Carolina, herbal

Seems I'm digging all the way to China.

As much as I'm digging I might get there, sick

before the War Starts.

Diggin a Hole here in North Carolina, help

I'm digging enough dirt to get to China.

Making a big hole here.

I ain't got much to fear…

Well I'm not stupid But I'm not famous.

You won't be hearing me

Before the coming Catastrophe.

I'm just Digging a Hole here In North Carolina.

They'll be scared when I pop up in China.

They made me a Yo Yo I'm taking with me.

Up and down all around

we never learn and we never forget.

Slaves and servants, soldiers,

05 as well be winter leaves.

Every nation with a buck to bank at the top

sends out their fearful, sells out to slavery

the ones they can.

They've got buddies they do business with.

Look up, look down,

Pull the string on the Yo Yo

and see what you are.

I'm Digging a Hole here in North Carolina.

Somewhere else they're digging a hole for me,

not on the ground,

but from offices that look down.

They're still at the top of a falling tree.

When I look up, I see it falling on me.

I'm just Digging this hole.

It's a real nice day.

I'm just Digging this Hole In North Carolina.