Christianity is not at war with Islam

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

blogment - National News wire - The Infinite Echo

As the ninth anniversary of 9/11 approaches, one of the great myths of the World Trade Center attacks is the commonly held belief the attacks were somehow intended as an assault on Christianity.

For reasons seemingly fomented by fear and ignorance, many otherwise sensible Americans persist in pursuing this unfounded rationale. As you may recall, the attacks on 9/11 were aimed at the U.S. White House, The Pentagon, and the World Trade Center in downtown Manhattan, all icons of American power and wealth. It would seem clear, the impetus for the attacks was rooted in politics, not religion.

Disturbing as it may be, far too many Americans accept the perceived religious connection, and thus the growing anti-Islam sentiment among many. This unfortunate intrusion of errata seems not to concern the religious conspiracy theorist as much as it agitates their sensibilities. These practitioners of falsehoods may believe they mean well, and perhaps deep in their hearts, some actually do, but let’s not kid ourselves. Apposing a mosque because of it’s approximate location or burning the Quran does not equate to a search for the truth, but rather, a blind quest, hell-bent on religious cleansing.

May I point out to my readers that no religious centers were targeted by terrorists on that sunny Monday morning on September 11th, 2001. No synagogues or churches were attacked, nor were any low flying, hi-jacked aircraft re-directed toward the Vatican. The motives for the 9/11 attacks were clearly not religious. Why then, are so many otherwise rational Americans willing to buy such a red herring?

It certainly doesn’t bode well for world perception of our good ’ol US of A intellect. We can’t really be tormented by so much self loathing as to allow ourselves to blame an entire religion for the actions of a handful of radicals.

And radical, indeed they were. Twenty grown men were willing to give their lives to thrust this atrocity upon America. As can be expected when traveling by air, one would be terrorist missed his flight. The rest, however, found the glory and infamy they sought in a fiery hot ball of flame and debris.

What didn’t happen on that tragic day, however, has somehow become the story. Fact: on September 11th, 2001, after being slammed by two commercial aircraft, the World Trade Center collapsed, killing nearly three thousand people. Yes, some were indeed, Christians. And many were not. Let’s not allow ourselves to fall victim to that which we fail to understand. The Christian faith is not at war with Islam. This should be self evident.

We are presented an opportunity, America. This should be a time of tolerance, a time when we can reflect on the folly of man, and pray our children learn from our mistakes as well as our triumphs. The tragedy of 9/11 will forever be a dark page in American history, but let's not allow ourselves to forever blemish the very values that made this country great.

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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Artisan tackles restoration of historic copper school doors

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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When renowned copper sculptor George Green caught wind the town of Bisbee Arizona intended to pay an out-of-state company to restore the historic, seventy-five year old copper clad Lowell school doors, Green, a Bisbee resident, contacted the local school board with a better idea. By George, just have Green do it!

Green is one of many talented artisans who call the scenic town of Bisbee home. In recent years, the former turn-of-the-century mining town has become somewhat of an artist’s enclave. Green, who moved to Bisbee from phoenix to be near his family a few years ago, speaks fondly of Bisbee and is eager to contribute to the town he loves.

So when Green learned the Lowell school board was preparing to pay a San Diego firm $26,000 to restore the massive ten-foot by five-foot doors, Green stuck his foot in the door, offering to restore the copper laden doors for about half the price. “It seemed to me a large sum of money for the school board to raise”, Green remarked of the original $26,000 price tag when interviewed for this article. “I just thought I could do the job a lot cheaper, and perhaps better.“ The Lowell school board agreed.

The historic doors were moved to Mr. Green’s basement, where the artist has begun the process of meticulously disassembling the copper plates, careful to document and preserve as much original detail as possible. Green, who has a Master’s Degree in Fine Arts, is being assisted with the restoration by two other prominent local artisans. Chris Flager is handling repairs to the door’s heavy wooden cores, while Steve Wilkes assists with the bending and straightening of the copper.

Green calls the restoration process painstaking, predicting it will take months to complete, but no one seems in a hurry. The School board is actively seeking financial contributions to offset the cost of the process, including hosting a fundraiser billed as ‘Copper Pennies for the Copper Doors’. So far, about two thousand dollars has been raised for the project.

As can be expected, the aging doors have endured seventy-five years of abuse and neglect. Two years ago, the massive doors, weighing nearly five hundred pounds, were removed from their hinges and placed in storage. Long time Bisbee residents are thrilled with the prospect of having the unusual copper-plated doors swinging back into action. Most expect the restoration to be well worth the wait.

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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Unplug the television and walk away...

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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What is it about television programming that so often causes to us to regret our time invested, and yet it’s hypnotic glow beacons us back, show after mundane show, night after mundane night, wreaking havoc upon our otherwise dependable sensibilities.

If ever there existed an intellectual pool of thought on the matter, it has long since been drained, revealing enormous cracks in our foundation and plugs in our plumbing. In layman’s terms, we waste too much time watching television. We have become a culture of voyeurs, rather than participants, satisfied to watch others humiliate themselves in H.D.

The introduction of so-called ‘reality television’ has only served to further blur our perception. It may be reality, but at best, it’s someone else’s reality. Chances are, if you’re real lucky, it will remain someone else’s reality. Real housewives? How did we get here?

Imagine if a camera crew appeared in your driveway every time you dragged your lawnmower from the garage, checked your mailbox or carried the trash to the curb. Are you feeling a tad punked yet? Do you develop a rash at the very mention of Lindsay Lohan or Heidi Montag?

Perhaps it’s time to cut the strings that bind you. Shut the blasted thing off! Unplug it if you have to. Cancel your service and kill the brain… the body will soon follow. There is so much more we could be doing with our valuable time.

I’m not even going to pretend to know what’s good for you. Only you can decide what to do with your new found wealth of time once you wean yourself from television addiction.
For starters, the lawn needs mowing and the aforementioned trash has taken on a life of it’s own.

Of course, your options are endless. Television can be an endless source of information and entertainment, and obviously, not all programming is bad. Still, it is not beyond the pale to get up and go for a walk, stare up at the stars or read a good book. Give it some thought, and then take your new imagination for a test drive. Don’t let some television programmer do your thinking for you. You have a wonderful mind of your own… put it to use.

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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The War Prayer

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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"O Lord our Father,
our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle –
be Thou near them! With them – in spirit – we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe.

O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with hurricanes of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with their little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it – for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts.
Amen."

Mark Twain 1905

Dedicated to the victims of the Fort Hood massacre.

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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Cuba Allows Digital Access to Hemingway Documents

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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The Cuban Heritage Council has announced it will allow access to thousands of pages of documents once belonging to American novelist Ernest Hemingway. Hemingway wrote many of his greatest works while living on the island, which he called home for more than twenty years.

Ada Rosa Alfonso Rosales, director of the Museo Ernest Hemingway, located in Havana, answered questions about the documents. "We are talking about 3,194 pages of documents, close to 2,000 plus of documents, some already digitalised," Rosales stated. "For practically the first time, this is being made available to students and researchers," she added.

Hemingway spent much of his adult life in Cuba, where he lived with his wife on a fifteen acre estate called the `Finca Vigia` approximately fifteen miles from downtown Havana. There he wrote some of his most memorable novels, including the literary classic ‘The Old Man and the Sea”

The archive is purported to include coded messages Hemingway is believed to have sent while drunkenly pursuing German submarines operating just off the coast of Cuba. The collection also includes photographs, letters and manuscripts, as well as an unpublished epilogue to Hemingway's novel, For Whom the Bell Tolls.

An additional thousand or so documents have yet to be scanned and added to the archive, but will be made available upon completion. Academics and researchers can request electronic copies of the rare documents from Cuba's Heritage Council.

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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Goodbye Mr. Bush, and Good Riddance!

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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The day has finally arrived!

Our last New Years Eve with George W. Bush, warmonger and prince of fools. May he choke on a pretzel on his way out the door.

Bush will be remembered for many things. Nothing good, mind you. This is a president who has driven the country right into the ground. And it won't just be George W. Bush they'll be pointing the finger at. History won’t have anything positive to say about those who defended this intellectual abomination, either. It is neither noble, nor patriotic to guard the door whilst the fox raids the hen-house.

Oh, we will indeed remember George W. Bush. No question about it. How can we ever forget? He was a many of many words, most of which, like everything he touched, he butchered…

"America better beware of a candidate who is willing to stretch reality in order to win points." George W. Bush, aboard his campaign plane, Sept. 18, 2000

"We'll let our friends be the peacekeepers and the great country called America will be the pacemakers." George W. Bush, Houston, Texas, Sept. 6, 2000

"I'm gonna talk about the ideal world, Chris. I've read I understand reality. If you're asking me as the president, would I understand reality, I do." George W. Bush on abortion, MSNBC's "Hardball," May 31, 2000

"Will the highways on the Internet become more few?" George W. Bush, Concord, N.H., Jan. 29, 2000

"I am mindful of the difference between the executive branch and the legislative branch. I assured all four of these leaders that I know the difference, and that difference is they pass the laws and I execute them." George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., Dec. 20, 2000

"If this were a dictatorship, it'd be a heck of a lot easier, just so long as I'm the dictator." Washington, D.C., Dec. 19, 2000

"If you don't stand for anything, you don't stand for anything! If you don't stand for something, you don't stand for anything!" George W. Bush, Bellevue Community College, Nov. 2, 2000

"I'm not really the type to wander off and sit down and go through deep wrestling with my soul." George W. Bush, as quoted in Vanity Fair, October 2000

"Never again in the halls of Washington, D.C., do I want to have to make explanations that I can't explain." George W. Bush, Portland, Oregon, Oct. 31, 2000

"They said, 'You know, this issue doesn't seem to resignate with the people.' And I said, you know something? Whether it resignates or not doesn't matter to me, because I stand for doing what's the right thing, and what the right thing is hearing the voices of people who work." George W. Bush, Portland, Ore., Oct. 31, 2000


No doubt. History will not soon forget George W. Bush.

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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Barack the Magic Negro?

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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Barack the Magic Negro?

You must be kidding me? This story is offensive on so many levels. How could a high ranking Republican with aspirations within the party possibly arrive at such an abominable conclusion?

Let me bring you up to speed. Chip Saltsman, candidate for Republican National Committee Chairman, has chosen to distribute a satirical CD containing racist material about Barack Obama as a Christmas gift. Not one copy, mind you, sent to a friend, but a rather substantial number of copies, sent to a number of prominent Republicans.

The offending CD is titled: ‘We Hate America, and is obviously the product of an amateur. His name is Paul Shanklin and he is neither clever nor funny on this collection of politically incorrect ditties. This is the kind of trash one might find offered up at a trailer park yard sale for a nickle.

Here’s a quote from the lyrics of the song in question:

“Yeah, the guy from the L.A. paper said,
He made guilty whites feel good,
They’ll vote for him and not for me,
‘Cause he’s not from the hood”

Watch out, Slim Shady. This guy is after your job.

This sort of thing only qualifies as satire in an academic sense. Satire, Spirit and Art, by George A. Test describes Satire in the following manner:

"The emotions that are thought to give rise to satire are generally acknowledged to be the least admirable human emotions-anger, malice, hatred, indignation. The emotions that satire are said to evoke are likewise emotions that make most people uncomfortable- shame, anger, guilt, anxiety. The view of humanity in satire is a negative one- tumultuous, crowded, aggressive, cynical, pessimistic."

Obviously, Shanklin is within his Constitutional rights on this issue, and if he and Mr. Saltsman want to distribute this vile nonsense, it is certainly their prerogative. Still, I am surprised the Republican hopeful would find this CD a useful tool for rehabilitating the GOPs already heavily damaged image. Who knows? Maybe Mr. Saltsman actually finds this stuff funny. How sad.

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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Happy Holidays!

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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The transcendent aroma of hot coco permeates the air as a plump cat sleeps away the morning in front of the fireplace. Today is winter solstice, and Christmas is only days away. Many presents have yet to be purchased, let alone wrapped and distributed. Thankfully I can always count on Santa to bear the brunt of the load.


Happy Holidays!

This year we acquired our Christmas tree in the prerequisite manner, and from the usual suspects, dark skinned young men speaking fluent Spanish huddled around a small bonfire in a dimly lit parking lot. This year however, required the assistance of a close friend, one with a truck. Over the summer, my wife and I traded in our aging SUV for a new PT Cruiser convertible. Fortunately, we had the foresight to do the deal back in July when the getting‘ was still good. We certainly couldn’t do that same deal today. Still, I miss that truck, especially on occasions like this.

The smell of fresh cut evergreen hung heavy in the cool night air. We negotiated the keen shadows, shaking branches curiously and horse-trading in our best broken Spanish. We settled on a fine tree. The gentle mannered attendant then proceeded to secure the tree to the roof of our truck with about forty feet of heavy rope, strong enough, I presume, to secure an angry bison to the rooftop. No extra charge.



As we pulled away from the unpaved parking area adjoining the unlit tree lot, we were greeted by the most unusual sign. 'NO REFUNDS OR RETURNS' the sign portended. They must be on to us, we mused, as we drove away, singing carols in our best broken Spanish.


Happy Holidays,

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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Book Review - Illusions, the Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah by Richard Bach

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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Illusions, the Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah, written by Richard Bach (not to be confused with Richard Bachman) who is perhaps best known for having penned the now classic Jonathan Livingston Seagull. Illusions, the follow-up, almost seems to pick up where it's predecessor left off. Just where exactly that might be, is somewhat up in the air.

The bulk of this story is about the lighthearted adventures of two barnstormers during the heyday who meet by chance in the fields of America's heartland. The hero of the story, or the reluctant messiah, as the title suggests, is flier, Donald Shimoda, and his aerial accomplishments. Shimoda, is a barnstormer.

For those unfamiliar with the term, barnstorming refers to a form of aerial acrobatics performed by pilots primarily during the wildly exciting 1920's. Often a pilot would land his aircraft in a farm field or pasture where heart stopping rides were then pitched to the brave, usually for around two bits. Stunt aircraft of the period were able to perform breathtaking maneuvers at very low altitude, sometimes only inches above the crowds. Wing-walking was also a popular event with spectators. America was mesmerized, and barnstorming soon took the Midwest by, well, by storm, of course.

Illusions is a classic, feel-good adventure story, and at just under one hundred-fifty pages, it reads very quickly. For myself, I was most intrigued by the story within the story, written on an apparent note pad with a bad felt tip pen, found prefaced at the beginning. It's a short fantasy, touching on the simplicity of our basic survival instincts, based on the every day existence of tiny creatures clinging to a rock on the bottom of a river. Here's a brief passage:

"Each creature in it's own manner clung tightly to the twigs and rocks of the river bottom, for clinging was their way of life, and resisting the current what each had learned from birth."

I think you get where Bach is going with this, but it is well worth the read. The book's title portends a sense of impending dork factor, but fear not, it's really all good, comforting fun. I would highly recommend this book to older children and adults of all ages.

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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Another Black Eye For the Bush Administration

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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President Bush may have dodged an attack by incoming shoes during last weekend’s now infamous Iraq press conference, but it seems White House Press Secretary Dana Perino was somewhat less fortunate. According to reports (hers included) Perino sustained a black eye when a US Secret Service agent (code named ‘Keystone Cop’) toppled a microphone stand during the subsequent melee.


What, Me Worry?

As is customary with this president, George Bush just shrugged it all off. What’s another pair of shoes for a man who has cost so many innocent people their legs? What’s another black eye? Bush is without conscience. Why should he care if a stranger tosses their shoes in his direction? He did, after all, encourage ‘them’ to “bring it on”, didn’t he? I just don’t think he was anticipating a size 10 wingtip. Nonetheless, the old adage stands… if the shoe fits, wear it.

As for Perino, her physical wounds will heal soon enough. It is the black eye to her own legacy with which she should be most concerned. Her days as mouthpiece for the lamest of all ducks are quickly drawing to a close. When that chump of a duck limps out of the Oval Office for the last time on January 20th, Dana Perino will find herself left to the wolves. Just ask Scott McClellan. He could write a book on the subject.

Of course, Perino’s own snide demeanor has undoubtedly left many with reason to dream of knocking black circles around her beady little eyes. Irony has not been lost on the fact that it came down to the Secret Service to accomplish the dirty deed. What a long, strange trip it has truly been. The truth hurts, I guess, or at least in this instance, it smarts a little. My advice to Dana? Just do what you always do… ignore it and it will go away.

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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Happy Thanksgiving

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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With Thanksgiving upon us, America is facing crisis on a number of fronts. The troubled economy is first and foremost in the minds of most, but our problems go well beyond our current economic woes. Much like the children’s story about a certain Mr. Dumpty, our nation is experiencing fractures from the impact of a great fall, and we’ll need more than a new king and his henchmen to piece this thing back together.

Of course, I mean no slight to the president elect. Obama has assembled an impressive team of respected minds to lead us out of this mire. Still, they will have many obstacles set before them in coming months. The situation is both dire, and ugly.


Talking Turkey

On a lighter note…
Here along the home front, the turkey is in the oven, and a fresh pot of coffee is on the way. Earlier this morning, the power was off for an hour or so, which wasn’t so bad, really. We all climbed out of bed, placed lit candles in strategic locations, and proceeded to heat water on our gas stove for the purpose of hot coco. As it turns out, hot coco by candlelight at six in the morning is a wonderful way to start thanksgiving day.

It has been raining for hours, but the sun is beginning to poke through the clouds from time to time. At sixty-eight degrees, we are not discussing global warming today. It’s just too nice out… it wouldn’t seem prudent. It’s for weather like this, after all, that people move to the valley in the first place.

You may have noticed I haven’t been posting as often as I would like, but hopefully I’ll get a few more posts up in the coming days. There has been much to write about, but my attention has been elsewhere. I just wanted to take a few moments of my time, (and perhaps a few minutes of yours) to count my blessing contemplate the future. Hopefully, I’ll see you there.

Until next time, happy Thanksgiving, and may your turkey (and your thoughts) be both tasteful and tender.

Brad

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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Book Review: The Garden of Eden - Ernest Hemingway

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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The Garden of Eden, though incomplete at the time of Ernest Hemingway’s death, contains some of the author’s most brilliant writing. Unfortunately, the brilliance is pinned beneath a steady current of mundane, meaningless pretense. This could have been a classic example of the ‘Lost Generation’s' literary contributions. Unfortunately, it is not.



It is the story of American novelist David Bourne and his intellectually inclined, but emotionally challenged bride, Catherine. Together, they spend an endless summer in the Mediterranean swimming, and dining, and drinking, and sleeping it off. And waking and showering, and oh yeah, they spend an unusual amount of time kissing and frolicking naked, even for hormonally motivated newlyweds.

Catherine quickly bores with their new routine, and decides she can spice up the relationship with a deeper tan and matching haircuts. More drinking ensues, as does more sex and more sleeping it off. Not enough, you ask?

Enter Marita. Well, needless to say, this new girl complicates matters in untold ways.(told, actually). What transpires is as sordid and predictable as only any average reader can imagine. (I’ll kindly leave the details of the affair unresolved). In fact, a reader could probably skip chapters two through fifteen and never miss a step.

The meat and potatoes of the story comes during chapter sixteen, disguised as a side dish. It’s a story within a story, about a boy and his father on safari in Africa. Here, Hemingway shines as only Hemingway can. His words flow from the proverbial pen with grace and passion, with intense focus and purpose. From these innermost (and far less trivial) thoughts, we are finally witness to the genius that was Ernest Hemingway.

David Bourne and his new wife are seriously flawed figures. There is little to like about either of them. Still, I can’t help but sense this story might have been somewhat auto-biographical. Bourne and Hemingway have much in common, including an insatiable appetite for absinth and alcohol. Africa seems almost incidental in comparison.

I can’t say I recommend The Garden of Eden, unless swimming and dining and drinking, and then even more drinking, tends to be your thing. All others might want to steer clear.

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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De Re Metallica Revisited - The Medieval Book of Mining and Metallurgy Pt. Two

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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Originally published in 1556, Georgius Agricola's groundbreaking book De Re Metallica remained the leading scientific journal of mining and metallurgy for over two hundred years. It was the first book about mining to be based on field research and observation. The massive tome was also the first to offer detailed illustrations of the various, highly specialized mining techniques, relevant to the period.



Agricola was born March 24th, 1494, arriving on the threshold of the Renaissance. De Re Metallica contains an unprecedented volume of material on alluvial mining, surveying, smelting, alchemy and more, and provides an otherwise unavailable glimpse into the world of medieval mining.

Georgius Agricola passed away on November 23rd, 1555 at the age of 61. Agricola had completed writing De Re Metallica by 1550, but the book did not go to press until 1553. Ironically, Agricola did not live to see his masterful volume published.



In 1912, Herbert Hoover and his wife Lou Henry Hoover translated De Re Metallica from it's original Latin text into English. This new edition was made available only in very limited copies, and was quickly bought up by libraries, historians and book collectors. Long out of print, this rare edition has itself grown in value. In 1950, the book was once again published in hardback, including all 289 of the original woodcut illustrations. These unusual, and highly detailed drawings offer a glimpse into the daily lives of medieval mining communities, and the curious devices they contrived.



Much credit is due Agricola, as his contributions to the sciences of the ages is without precedent. He is credited with advancements in Geology, Mineralogy, Mining Engineering and much more. Agricola was a scientist. He had little use for alchemy, and those who would be alchemists. He explored soil mechanics, tunneling procedures, and even expounded on a simple but profound understanding of potential dangers permeating the ground, and the release of deadly gasses, which he referred to as exhales.

The world has changed dramatically since the first publishing of De Re Metallica, as has the science of mining and metallurgy. Still, Agricola's work remains an irreplaceable scientific journal and indeed, one of a kind. The book is highly recommended to anyone interested in the history of medieval mining. The book can be difficult to find, but don't fret, copies are available. If you have trouble locating one right away, you just may need to do a little digging.

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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The World According to Garp - John Irving - Book Review

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John Irving, iconic American novelist, born March 2, 1942, garnered critical acclaim in 1978 with the release of his fourth tomb, The World According to Garp, a dark, but gripping tale of love and loss, of friendship and of loneliness.

Sex and promiscuity return as the central theme in this modern tale of dysfunction, as Irving presents the reader with an array of colorful but sensitive characters. The central protagonist, Garp, as he is referred to, grows up in a world compromised by lust and betrayal. As an adult, little changes in his disturbing world but the names, as Garp confronts good intentions with disastrous results.

As is nearly always the case with an Irving novel, we learn to love his most dysfunctional characters the most. We grow as they grow, we suffer as they suffer, and ultimately, we die silent deaths in the shadows of these tragic people and the events which shape their lives.

The antagonist in The World According to Garp seems to shift from one chapter to the next, but in fact remains metaphorically consistent with John’s implied intent. The real antagonist is ourselves, always and forever in contrast with our own moral and ethical self loathing. It is we, who are the enemies of our souls. “In the World According to Garp,” a young Donald Witcomb would write, “we are obliged to remember everything.”

The novel ends as tragically and as ironically it begins, leaving the reader with a real sense of loss. It is an art form Irving has mastered, and continues to share with great passion. His novels are timeless statements on humanity, and although perhaps not suitable for young readers, I strongly recommend his work to adults of all ages.

Irving, who studied under the Late Kurt Vonnegut at the University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop during the sixties, continues to live and write in his home state of New Hampshire. Other novels by John Irving include: Setting Free the Bears, The Water-Method Man, The 158-Pound Marriage, A Prayer For Owen Meany, The Hotel New Hampshire and Cider House Rules. For further information on John Irving and his novels, visit your local library or book store.

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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Book Review -John Steinbeck-Tortilla Flat

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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John Steinbeck, the voice of American conscience, and a true literary genius. His work has grown increasingly important in these modern times, these devoid of his ceaseless grace and passion. His words hang like crystal chandeliers in a world inhabited by shadows. John Steinbeck is more than a novelist. He is our reflection.

Tortilla Flat represents Steinbeck’s first critical and popular success as a novelist. Comprised of seventeen ‘episodes, Tortilla Flat documents the events surrounding a group of ‘paisanos living on the fringes of society in the fishing community of Monterey, California nearly a century ago.

It is a story of Danny’s house, and Danny’s friends. It is a story of loss and redemption, and more loss. It is a tale of meaningless triumph, of alcoholism, of loneliness and of friendship. Steinbeck warns the reader of such impending peril, and delivers with great sadness. Such is the fabric of Tortilla Flat.

Ultimately, Tortilla Flat confronts the basic tenets of morality, steeped in a shadowy broth. Sometimes humorous, but always painful in it’s analysis, the story tumbles and slides down the slopes of humanity. Blood and wine are equally spilled, and the loss is communally shared.

The story ends as it begins, full circle, cryptic and proverbial. It is Danny’s house and these are Danny’s friends. Like the candle that burns in the evening, and by morning, was never there, Tortilla flat tells us of a world that existed once, but only within the bounds of it’s own jurisdiction. With Tortilla Flat, John Steinbeck does not create a world we wish to share, but instead shares a world with us created by others. A world created by Danny and his friends.

Born February 27th, 1902 John Steinbeck grew up in Salinas California, and much of his writing is centered around these peoples of the coast. Perhaps best known for his depression era masterpiece, Grapes of Wrath, Steinbeck wrote several unforgettable novels, including Cannery Row, Of Mice and Men, East of Eden and The Pearl. Steinbeck passed away on December 20th, 1968, but his writing lives on.

“Now it is over”, remarks Pilon, friend of Danny’s and fellow resident of Tortilla Flat. “Now the great times are done. Thy friends will mourn, but nothing will come of their mourning.” Perhaps Pilon was correct all along.

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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Welcome to the Paradigm

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

blogment - National News wire - The Infinite Echo

Welcome to the paradigm.
Publishing, as we know it, will never be the same.

With the explosion of the internet, information of all nature has become available at the touch of a finger-tip. Conversely, newspapers, magazines, and other print medium have seen a sharp decrease in circulation, as more and more households go online. For aspiring writers and journalists anxious to break into the business, it is understandable there would be uncertainly as to which team one should hitch their wagon.

The answer of course, is quite simple. Diversify. Each project should be approached individually. Just as a painter might use multiple brushes, it is reasonable to consider your options.

Obviously, the internet provides endless opportunity for writers of all styles, with few of the stumbling blocks normally associated with an established publishing house. An author can reach a large audience immediately, and can interact with readers in a way not available to print authors. However, having your work published online should not be the end all. Publishing is still a business, and as such, your writing must retain a high level of quality if you wish to be taken seriously.

As a freelance writer, I have found the internet to be artistically satisfying, but financially less appealing. A six hundred word article written for the Daily Planet usually pays in the neighborhood of fifty cents to a buck per word. Online publishers however, often pay little if anything.

As with any endeavor, success is determined by work ethic. There is no free lunch. As such, one can only expect to receive as much as one is willing to give. Creative writing is indeed, a gift to be shared, but as with any craft, one must constantly be learning and practicing, or risk atrophy.

Enter online publishing. Think of the internet as the shallow end of the publishing pool. Jump in, get your feet wet. It's really not so bad, once you get a feel for it. You'll know when your ready for deeper waters.

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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William Faulkner, American Literary Icon

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

blogment - National News wire - The Infinite Echo

William Faulkner is without question, one of the most unique and influential American literary voices of the last century. His works have influenced many of the giants, including literary legends John Steinbeck and Ernest Hemingway. Still, no-one would be taken aback more by all the fuss than William Faulkner himself, who wrote to live, and lived to write.


Underwood Universal Portable typewriter,
similar to those used by William Faulkner.

Faulkner, Born William Cuthbert Falkner, September 25th, 1897, cranked out literally hundreds of short stories, novels and novellas during the 1920s and 30s. He was a tireless writer, wearing out countless Underwood Universal Portable typewriters, which he purchased second hand. Still, he remained virtually unknown until 1949, when he was awarded the Nobel Prize in literature. Although his real last name was spelled without the u', a misprint (typo) by his first publisher led him to adopt the new spelling. Faulkner wasn't one for formality. For William Faulkner, it was all about the characters and the story line. Let the critics say what they may.

Just as John Steinbeck wrote of the west during the depression era, Faulkner preferred to write about his home of Mississippi, whose people and culture he understood all too well. His tales of the south's soft underbelly, the hapless pursuits of the poor and the poorly educated, are piqued together through pride and prejudice. They leave behind haunting and perhaps painful shadows with which the reader must cope. Faulkner stands tall alongside other monumental writers of the south, including Tennessee Williams, Flannery O'Connor, and Mark Twain. Faulkner's legacy is one for the ages.

Faulkner is perhaps best known for his novel, Sanctuary, a classic tale of betrayal and tragedy, steeped in a surly broth. Violence seems not so much tolerated in this story, as accepted, almost as a form of currency. And human life, or any form thereof, is rendered incidental, as is exemplified by the child behind the stove. Some things cannot be explained, so much as indemnified. These were dark days for the south. Dark days, indeed!

"Better for her if she were dead tonight, Horace thought, walking on. For me too. He thought of her, Popeye, the woman, the child, Goodwin, all put into a single chamber, bare, lethal, immediate and profound: a single blotting instant between the indignation and the surprise."

William Faulkner died July, 6th, 1962 at age 64. He was buried in Byhalia Mississippi. His works are too numerous to list here. See Wikipedia for a more complete listing of his works.

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

Sound Foundation Entertainment - National Newswire - The Infinite Echo - Impeachment Now! - Sound&Recording - Skate the Razor - Skate the Razor Blog - blogment

Sex and the Sordid Details

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

blogment - National News wire - The Infinite Echo

C’mon guys,
Is this really necessary?

Another day, another scandal. Forget the new 'Sex in the City' movie. Leave the yet to be released 'Brittany Sex Tapes’ for another day. This is the week polygamist sect leader Warren Jeffs takes center stage. How does this happen in America? Gosh, I hope to hell I’m being rhetorical, cause it’s a question to which I’d rather not learn the answer.

According to CNN, Jeffs, age 52, is in a Utah prison, serving two consecutive terms of five years to life, following conviction on two charges of being an accomplice to rape in connection with a marriage he performed in 2001. He also faces trial in Arizona on eight additional charges, including sexual conduct with a minor, incest and conspiracy.

It’s not the kind of story this grown man even cares to read about, but I must admit, I was caught off guard by the photos of Jeffs making kissy-mouth with little girls. I certainly would not associate with a man who conducted himself in such a manner around children. Shouldn’t there have been flyers up in the post office warning parents Jeffs lived in the neighborhood?

In the real world, Warren Jeffs is considered by most to be a pedophile, not a prophet. He may see it differently, but then, it is the intent of the pathological mind to overlook the obvious. Mission accomplished, I suppose.

So now the media is awash with these outrageous photos, and for once, Brittany will get a few days out of the headlines, whether she likes it or not.

My real concern, of course, is for the children. Most of us more or less start off on the right track, but it’s a difficult road ahead. I can only imagine what these kids are going through. I would like to believe the majority of them will pull through just fine, but this is far from my line of expertise, and thus the source of my anxiety.

Children of the future, unite. In doing so, please rest assured not all adults are bad. Some of us however, may be more than just a tad confused. It is not always easy to tell the good guys from the bad guys, either. You just sort of learn as you go along. Don't worry though, little one's... us adults will be keeping an eye on you, and hopefully, with any luck at all, none of us will be leering.

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

Sound Foundation Entertainment - National Newswire - The Infinite Echo - Impeachment Now! - Sound&Recording - Skate the Razor - Skate the Razor Blog - blogment

Harry and the Monologue

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

blogment - National News wire - The Infinite Echo

It’s only Tuesday, and already, it’s been quite a week. I have been working away on a monologue I am set to deliver this Saturday at Flower Street Station in Phoenix.

As you might guess, listening to a monologue and delivering a monologue are quite different, and composing this first monologue has not proven a simple task. For several days now, I have shouldered the burden of great anxiety over the content, you know, just trying to find the right words to share on such a momentous occasion.

In fact, it has begun to adversely effect my sleep to the point where I am experiencing nightmares. Usually I don’t recall my dreams, but one in particular continues to haunt me.

In this dream, I’m sitting in the front row of what begins as a typical show here at Flower Street station, but then suddenly morphs into a large, exquisite auditorium, complete with orchestra pit, and an entire orchestra, with a pair of cellists sitting just below me, perhaps no further than three or four feet away. In this dream, I am so close to the musicians, I can see the eyes as they follow along with the dots on the sheets of music before them, strange, as I should have been staring at the backs of their heads. May I remind you, it was, of course, only a dream.

On stage is a large, pearl white grand piano. Playing that piano is none other than singer, songwriter, Marc Cohn, known primarily for his one big hit, Walking in Memphis released back in 1991. In fact, Mr. Cohn is performing a rather moving rendition of Walking in Memphis, and is just about to admit to being a Christian of convenience, when out of the blue, in swings Terrible Ted Nugent, high above the crowd, one hand grasping a rope, the other a cross-bow. Terrible Ted is quite old in my dream. He appears to be in his late seventies, perhaps older. Like many his age he has little body fat… he is all skin and muscle, and he is wearing nothing more than a deer skin G-string and a camouflage-colored military style beret that makes him appear as though he is wearing camel genitalia on his forehead. It is not a pretty sight, mind you, and it’s about to get downright ugly.

Just as the song is reaching it’s dramatic crescendo, Ted aims with precision, discharging his trusty cross-bow. Ted, as you know, is a master marksman and bow hunter. He scores a direct hit, striking Mr. Cohn in the center of his heart, which explodes on impact, sending a stream of blood gushing onto the pearl white grand piano, and covering the nearly naked Nugent. As Ted reaches up to wipe the blood from his eyes, he looses grip of the rope and falls into the orchestra pit below, impaled on a cello. There he lies, obviously mortally wounded, poked through the middle like a shish kabob.

I react as any man would. I lean over the orchestral pit, and I ask the mortally impaled Ted if he is alright. Of course, he isn’t alright, and I believe he would have said as much if he hadn’t been so delirious. Ted is in shock now, and his time on this Earth slipping away. Again, I speak to the dying man, asking if he has any last words before moving on to that great used car lot in the sky. He looks at me with a kind of a look only a nearly dead Ted Nugent can conjure up, and with his final breath, mutters the words,,, Harry Bedurchy.

Harry Bedurchy, and then he just slumps back on the cello and dies. Harry Bedurchy, I repeat, as the house lights come on and the crowd begins to shuffle out. Harry Bedurchy, indeed, and with that I awakened from my dream. Even now, I have no idea what may have prompted this nightmarish scenario. I can only wonder.

Well, I suppose it’s time to wrap up this, my first of monologues. I hope you’ve enjoyed it, and I hope the next time you hear the song Walking in Memphis, you think of an aged Ted Nugent sporting camel genitalia. I know I will. Good night everyone. Oh and by all means, Harry Bedurchy.

Brad

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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Book Review - TimeQuake by Kurt Vonnegut

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

blogment - National News wire - The Infinite Echo

“Ten years of déjà vu all over again!” At least that is what Kurt Vonnegut would have wanted us to believe when he penned what would ultimately be his last full length novel, Time Quake. It’s all classic Vonnegut, as we live and ultimately relive ten years with our aging, bag lady of a protagonist, Kurt’s alter ego, Kilgore Trout.

Of course, it’s always fun and games where Vonnegut is concerned, providing you appreciate his particular political leanings. Vonnegut survived the bombing of Dresden while being held captive by the Germans during WW11. The experience left him bitter and resentful toward the powers that wage war, and rightfully so.



"Many years ago, I was so innocent I still considered it possible that we could become the humane and reasonable America so many members of my generation used to dream of. We dreamed of such an America during the Great Depression, when there were no jobs. And then we fought and often died for that dream during the Second World War, when there was no peace.

But I know now that there is not a chance in hell of America's becoming humane and reasonable. Because power corrupts us, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Human beings are chimpanzees who get crazy drunk on power. By saying that our leaders are power-drunk chimpanzees, am I in danger of wrecking the morale of our soldiers fighting and dying in the Middle East? Their morale, like so many bodies, is already shot to pieces. They are being treated, as I never was, like toys a rich kid got for Christmas".

Kurt Vonnegut

Kurt knew Time Quake would be his last full length work, and he takes the opportunity to share his wit in true Vonnegut style. It isn’t always pretty, but then it isn’t always meant to be. Indeed, a world without Vonnegut is a world without his stubborn moral conscience.

Time Quake asks us the proverbial question: What if we could go back ten years and do it all over again? Would we make changes? What if we were forced to turn the clock back ten years, only to repeat the same mistakes we were destined to make the first time? Does man really learn from his mistakes, or do platitudes simply come cheap?

When Kurt past away April 11th, 2007, he left the world a wealth of absurdities. He left us Bokononism and Ice Nine, and more than a handful of unforgettable novels. Time Quake may not have been Kurt’s best work, but it leaves the reader satisfied and longing.
Longing for the days when we could count on Kurt Vonnegut to spin a yarn so wide and so deep, only the U.S. Marines could save us from the quagmire. God bless you, Kurt Vonnegut. Time waits for no man.

B. Thomas Cooper - Editor

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