This is a partial transcript of an interview of Gilbert Mercier with Kollibri Terre Sonnenblum, host of Radio Free Sunroot, on May 5, 2020. The following excerpt was transcribed by Kollibri. Kollibri: We’re at a point now with this pandemic where capitalism is facing a crisis, perhaps an existential crisis. Gilbert: To me, this is […]
The chief causes of the environmental destruction that faces us today are not biological, or the product of individual human choice. They are social and historical, rooted in the productive relations, technological imperatives, and historically conditioned demographic trends that characterize the dominant social system. Hence, what is ignored or downplayed in most proposals to remedy the environmental crisis is the most critical challenge of all: the need to transform the major social bases of environmental degradation, and not simply to tinker with its minor technical bases.
Suffering in numbers The abstract science of mathematics is a language like music. But while music is in the realm of pure emotion, the language of mathematics only speaks to the mind not the heart. Numbers and equations do not lie. They are not, by essence, subjective. This being said, when the numbers are those […]
I’m watching the Pacific heave up a king tide in the tiny town of Waldport on the Oregon Coast. Houses right above the beach line are now soaked, their back and front yards littered with driftwood, logs and tree stumps.
On a personal level, it seems I have always been reluctant to characterize myself as anything ending in “ist”. In my twenties, I’m sure everyone could tell I was a feminist; I always believed that girls and women were not valued equally, and we should be. But I didn’t call myself a feminist.
On a personal level, it seems I have always been reluctant to characterize myself as anything ending in “ist”. In my twenties, I’m sure everyone could tell I was a feminist; I always believed that girls and women were not valued equally, and we should be. But I didn’t call myself a feminist.
Rapacious. “They got theirs, so I better get mine. Yes, things change, and, sure this sleepy town is about to boom but that’s the way of the world…. Might as well be part of the winning team – that money making side of things. That’s all you can do.”
I just finished talking to white guy in his late forties, gassing up excavators and huge dump trucks. We’re near the Estacada High School, and he tells me the scrapping is to make room for more ball fields. The school already has fields and a football stadium. This is a town with 3,000.
Sixty days. A year. Five years. A week. A day. An hour. Right now.
That’s the curse of addiction, those needles, inhalants, the entire barbarity of cheap booze shilled by the chosen ones, the money changers, all amortized and bundled debts in trans-capital, sold next to the playground, the trees cut down for billboards pronouncing sexual prowess and football hero-dom with the flick of the Mike’s Hard Cider or a fucking Bud.
A simple documentary premiere, in a small town north of Vancouver, WA, on the Columbia, a town called Kalama, near Longview, where millions of stripped logs from the Pacific Northwest’s forests are stacked 20 stories high, waiting for markets (sic) in Asia to be turned into lumber and cardboard and stuffing and paper and snot sheets for the U S of A.
Charles Manson is Donald Trump is Donald Sterling is . . .
