Meola Matrix

Introductory note: What’s below was written quickly following phone talk with Bob last night. This morning (4th of July, about 9:30am PST), I’m tweaking it slightly, adding a little here and there… now that I’ve received missives from Bob… which he fired off, though tired, late… upon returning home). One thing that impresses me tremendously, giving genuine promise, is the fact that he shared some of my blah blah with his wife. AND that she had some questions. Just sent him three detailed responses; let’s see what happens.

“I think that Bob might prove to be a better bet for bonding, Papi, than Adam Hochschild and all those other frustrating socially-conscious citizens you’ve had contact with at and around Berkeley for the last decade.” — One of the author’s home schooled teenage charges (after reading the first draft of this posting)

“I looked up ‘matrix’, Papi, and the linguistic definition is ‘main clause of a complex sentence’… which made me think of the main ’cause’ of the intricate ’sentencing’ of the powers that be by the TOSCA agenda.” — Another one of the author’s teenage charges

“I feel an ominous breeze.” — Yet another local youngster, having read the addendum

Meola Matrix
Dedicated to the lyrically oblique in overcoming oppression
by Oxman

Now that I see, Bob is plenty good enough. To be the formative tissue… from which our nails grow, enabling us to scratch out the message… scratch off the façade… and so on.

I never saw the movie The Matrix, even though it was an enormous hit, even though I was a Professor of Cinema History when it blew the public away with its visceral visual appeals plus. But I do know from others’ talk, etc. that the film had a lot to do with false perception, and that it underscored how we are our own agents of deceit, that in order for one to know what’s happening and do something about it one must choose to openly pursue truth.

Well, there’s lots of documentation these days spotlighting what’s coming down, this scandal, that atrocity ad infinitum. We don’t need more open debate about all the blah blah, conferences up the wazoo along the usual lines. We certainly can’t afford to be entertaining the incessant flow of info in forms of entertainment exclusively. Which is where most concerned citizens are spending most of their heartbeats these days. In the realm of diverting their own attention from meaningful new action… a first cousin, actually, to debating and documenting ourselves to death with our go-nowhere-obsession over The Truth, over-the-top mental masturbation, making ourselves feel good about fighting the good fight… mainly.

We need a core group of people who got it long ago. And who will admit that — as things stand (on the ground, and in their own heads) — they’re going nowhere with Their Truth. That they’re, at best, planting seeds which will not bloom in time.

That core group could easily collect around a trustworthy soul like Bob Meola. To deal with the deadlines we face collectively. To admit in private with one another that those deadlines — in terms of the action we are taking these days — go unacknowledged.

I’m talking about the difference between bootless cries on behalf of Private Manning and ALL the souls occupying our PIC and… having them all released. Or… the vast majority of them. And giving the others at least a shot at some kind of decent deal. Which would include a decent meal. Yesterday.

Which brings me back — phonetically and otherwise — to my Meola. The dude who was just kind enough a little while ago (around 6pm PST tonight?, the day before my least favorite day of the year, July 4th) to listen listen listen to my blah blah blah on the phone.

Yeah, time to get down with Meola. To ask him how many people he knows who are trustworthy. Trustworthy in the sense of being willing to trust one’s life, the life of one’s loved ones with them. Time to ask if he knows any youngsters in the Berkeley area who might be enticed to attend a “hopeful” meeting… to get youthful input for whatever we decide is a decent Step Two.

Step One? Why the rendezvous I’m crying for, the one I’ve been begging for from activists ‘cross the board forever, nationwide. Step One with Bob Meola can be taken just between the two of us. Or… he can bring along one of those trustworthy colleagues… friends… loved ones. One or more. To move things along expeditiously.

The anatomical definition of matrix is… womb.


Advocating for an “in crowd” conference has zero to do with pushing a vanguard concept, by the way. Elaboration upon request… in private, honoring Emily Dickinson’s injunction to tell all the truth slant. One simply can’t be totally prosaically direct with what we need to deal with at this juncture.

Nor can one embrace an Apollonian approach in “re-membering”… recruiting… whatever you want to call it, whatever you might be involved in in dealing with the powers that be.

One reason rational argument initially is now a waste of time is that even when people agree rationally they remain bogged down in their cookie-cutter corners of activism with the obsolete approaches they’ve embraced for protest, for bringing about institutional change… or (sufficiently) meaningful change of any kind. It’s as if ALL activists are coming up to me and asking me to put my John Hancock on a petition to save Troy Davis’ life in Georgia… the innocent sweet soul who the Peach State executed on my birthday ’bout 3 years ago. Giving me reasons. Ask me to elaborate on that one, please.

Concerned citizens are exclusively or primarily attached to the obsolete approaches I delineated at the bottom of the link. They need a fresh kind of visceral ingredient to supplement what those frustrating forms of protest allow. So that they can, among other things, break out of their atomized activism.

Each and every (aligned) concerned citizen is fighting the good fight in a tight tiny corner, light years away from doing anything together with others on the macroscopic scale now required to deal with the… Matrix, the nightmare “dream world” which now envelops us. Concerned citizens, as things stand in and out of the incessant conference calls and halls, are walking dead in the toxic water.

The Meola Matrix of my imagination fights The “dream world” Matrix effectively. The pleasure it gives is not a function whatsoever of spotlight. In fact, the pleasure comes in great part from being able to be effective under the table. Without being Clinton-like. E1#view=detail&mid=08F75D4827BD6C81945A08F75D4827BD6C81945A

The pain of Manning et alia can be avoided. But we must honor Emily’s injunction. Contributions can now be made without megaphones. Sans high tech gadgetry. And that thought brings great pleasure. [Huge critical mass numbers not needed at first.]

THE ABOVE IS HIGHLY UNEDITED, BUT IS AS SKY HIGH AS A KITE… POTENTIALLY. Fly light with ‘new sights’ with or without me.

I am the North American rep for Andre Vltchek; I serve as a volunteer. Here I’m inserting his …for… for all its good intentions, and all of its being based on deep, life-risking experience the whole shebang which Counterpunch posted is not flying high enough. It’s high… but it’s not above the mundane fray sufficiently. His well-meaning thrust is held down and kept much too straight… like an unmoving kite simply positioned above us in a totally windless vaccum, not budging a bit, not capable as it flies to budge anyone anywhere significantly anywhere soon enough. We’ve seen the colors of his kite before. There’s no one I adore more than Andre, but — that said — for various reasons he doesn’t have the time to even talk about how we might make that kite of his move… and move others… move them down a new path in the sky. [Pause.] We should talk about what I’m talking about here.

Before The Wind which precludes fight or flight is felt.