Wobbly times number 195

Gort! Klaatu barada nikto.

Looking for the POTUS. S/he'll help us out of this climate mess we're in.

Oh no!  It's Gort come to punish the human race for destroying the ecosphere! No Gort!  It is the capitalist class and their system of wage slavery which is leading to the Great Collapse. Don't destroy us! Destroy the wage system!

Wobbly times number 181

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Wobbly times number 176

Short Stories From Another Time
(The first years of communism)

Abe's reflections

The farms were enormous.  We had decided long ago that divvying up the land into small, personal, but sustainable lots, had become a burdensome time sink.  So, those who wanted to do farm work did that part of our necessary, collective labours to accomplish what we needed from agriculture and what we needed was food and drink.  Still, sustainably produced, to be sure.  The land was important.  It had to be taken care of, like an old friend.  As a result of going large, our productivity grew and our free time increased.

Drink?

Yes, the farmers were in charge of beer production, from the beginning of the cycle, to its end in bottles, for home or just available, fresh on tap from the various pubs which dotted our communities. Parties were spontaneous then.  Wherever they occurred, there was always plenty of fresh beer to quaff and well tended marijuana to toke.  The farmers' product was ours and the products of our labour time were theirs.  Common ownership was understood by all.

We knew that we had to work. That was necessary and sometimes even, what we wanted most to do with our time.  But, most of us relished our free time, away from necessary labour.  In any event, every moment was lived in all its sensuous glory, even when we spent time doing what we all knew was necessary namely, producing food and drink. We were farmers. Of course, there were slackers, ones who didn't apply themselves to the tasks at hand.  They were shunned and ridiculed for a time. Most of them came around to seeing that their lives could be more richly rewarded, if they just did what was needed.  It was their choice as to what task or activity that might be.  In other words, if they did what was needed, they would not be cast outside our association or made poorer, in any significant way, than their neighbours. The others, the ones who refused to apply themselves to the effective labour time required of them to remain in the community were eventually left to fend for themselves in the wild. Community pressure was too much for them.  We did not condone stealing personal possessions from one another and that included stolen time.  If someone refused take their tasks seriously enough to get them accomplished, with the best quality they could provide,  we all knew it.  By quality, I don't mean perfectly, but just doing the job as best an individual could.  And if they didn't, we'd eventually make that person so uncomfortable that they would leave and perhaps, try their luck with another community, although, to be fair, this was unlikely to meet with much success as that community would have very similar standards. As I said, most everyone thought that their free-time was a core measure of fulfilment.

An anonymous producer's observations

We had it good.  We could go to the store and pick up what we needed and still have time left over to acquire things we never really wanted, things beyond our needs.  Online catalogues displayed a thousand choices and all you needed was time to get them.  It was great!  You'd never have known that dresses or tools took so little time to produce as we did when we were using money.  Using time-credits, we got what we needed and even more, much that we wanted beyond our immediate needs.

Anyway, being yourself was the greatest thing you could do.  What did they call it?  Living without dogma?  Yes. That's it.  No veil of tears or puritanically inspired notion over your mind.  You do what you want during your free-time and try as much as possible to combine pleasure with the work which you do in your necessary labour time. Not everyone does the same job every time.  No need for that anymore.

We all had homes.  Some of us actually preferred to live in apartments, concentrated in cities.  But most spread out and lived in the small houses which peppered the countryside.  Of course producers who could do plumbing were necessary.  But that's fine.  Some like to do a little plumbing every once in a while.  Need met with skill was paramount.  What's needed is what's necessary and that is how we design our time.

A Catholic's view

It was kind of like feudalism.  I remember how the people I knew thought it resembled a medieval Catholic nunnery or a monkish order.  I mean there were similarities.  For one thing, what was produced was shared, no one person or group was formed to get more than others.  Arrogance was punished with silence, shunning and physical means--if needed.  Well, that made it different from feudalism.  Even the Church had its hierarchy of power over human time.  Of course, nowadays those who have faith still gather and worship their deities in their own ways.  I still take communion and go to mass.  And our sex lives were so much more easy-going what with equal political power between all men and women being the norm.

Anyway, I liked it.  Of course, I was only a kid then.  In fact, it was great.  All you had to do was put in your 'socially necessary labour time' at whatever was available via the online notice board, providing you could actually do the task.  For instance, some librarians chose to become public transit drivers or anything else on offer.  It was a cinch to get four hours in; which meant you got three hours out of the store of social labour.  

Me?  I actually enjoyed my necessary time spent at our organic farms and with book shelvers  in our libraries.

Organic?  Yeah, all our agricultural produce was farmed organically after the revolution.  The principle of living in harmony with the Earth meant that poisons and non-organic fertilisers couldn't be used anymore.  

Exploitation? You mean the 3 hours for 4 put in?

Naw.

I get it, naw.  That other hour went to those who couldn't contribute anything communally useful.  

End story.  I think I'll smoke a joint.

All tomorrow's lovers:

a reflection by Naomi on the liberation from monogamy

                                                                       

Family was whomever you loved. I had a dozen husbands and a couple of children, four fathers and ten mothers.  Of course, they all had brothers and sisters.  The children were brought up where they they felt most wanted at any particular time and there were plenty who wanted, indeed, needed them around. Of course, when they were babies, all of us went to them and took care of their needs and made sure the others would be around all the time to make sure they didn't get themselves into dangerous situations, like being too close to a solar boiler or electric stove.  Yeah, all of that came naturally and if it didn't, there were always others around, including those contributing their socially necessary labour time in nurseries and kindergartens.

Yes, formal education was still important for us.  Formal just took on another shape.  With the advent of common ownership, the means were there to provide each child with time in school until such a time when students would graduate at whatever level they wanted and were capable of attaining. Supporting this, was all part of what working that fourth hour was about.  Hell, in terms of labour time, it only takes a social minute to make a decent beer.

We blissfully met each other and if we had desires, we fulfilled them right there on the spot.  It wasn't uncommon to see couples making love, although most preferred the privacy of some secluded spot.  I always did.  Which is not to say that there weren't those encounters on those long electric train trips....

I remember reading about the history of State/religiously sanctified monogamous marriage under class rule during my formal education period.  What a mess it turned the lives of so many into.  Many suffered decades of silent desperation. Not that there weren't some good marriages and very successful monogamous relationships then or when we were living during the first years of communism.  Once we established common ownership of the land and the collective product of our labour, the conditions became ripe for love, for what undermined love before were deeply embedded notions and practices concerning property which put a brake on our desires.

Women and children were treated as property of the father in marriage for millennia, all the way back to the time when chattel slavery was the norm.  Of course, this plague on our sensuality also damaged polygamous marriages. Whole societies were permeated with myths about what was 'natural' for how human beings should to relate to each other.  You can see it within their cultural expressions from comedy to tragedy, from novels to painting and film.  It's all there: the history of how fucked up we were.  Fortunately, that was changed by us changing the way we related to each other.  No longer was a relationship a power play. This factor added a deep, ongoing, life/libido changing movement to our lives which carried over to how we thought about the environment and even the non-humans with whom we lived. Life truly became sacred.

Ben reflects on the end of alienation

Loneliness was impossible; but privacy was always respected.  That's the way I remember it the first years of communism.

You see, back in the days of prehistory, we often got very lonesome or so, the literature of the time tells us. Richard Yates was always on about it.  Of course, there were others, many, many others.  Whether they knew it or not, they were describing  something which sprung from the roots of loneliness.

It was in the painting as well.  Edward Hopper's work is a great introduction.  And the psychological imbalances it caused.  My, my.  Loneliness was the silent killer of the era.

In the years after we established common ownership of the wealth we produced. We began to breathe more freely than ever. We also left loneliness behind.  We opened up public space by de-privatising what had been commodified.  Truly, the end of commodification meant the end of bourgeois notions of freedom.  No longer were we tied to the mast of the ship of fools, we were able to go out at any time of day or night and enjoy ourselves at public gathering places.  Nobody was afraid of losing their job or losing the respect of their peers by being themselves.  If one person didn't like another, they just associated with someone else.  Ah, the chimes of freedom were not only flashing, they were positively blazing.

And yet, we could always retire to whatever level of privacy we needed.  For the first time in history, we all had homes.  As all the human race was being well housed in those first years, the cities, as they had been, began to disappear.  We discovered the need for them had been embedded with the needs of class dominated civilisation.  We had no need for 'financial centres' nor had we a landlord class anymore with their petty needs to jack up rents and property prices for their own enrichment over non-property holders.

Zane relects on the end of nationalism

Yeah, it was funny back then.  I mean during late prehistory.  People continued to believe that they'd be liberated if they just had their 'own' political State.  Amazing really.  Even most of the people calling themselves socialist believed, one must say, almost religiously, that national liberation was possible, as opposed to being the dominate ideology of the era, the ideology of capitalists.  

Marx wrote something once when he was in his 20s in which he proclaimed that the State was inseparable from slavery.  And slavery it was, wage-slavery to be sure, but a form of bondage, nevertheless.

How could one feel emancipated under a system based on the dominance of the employing class and the subservience of the producing class under constant surveillance?  

Impossible.  Yet the myth was sown and from it sprouted all sorts of moral verbiage supporting one nation's claims against another.  Nations did nothing, of course. The humans that make them up did.  The dominators told the producers to down tools and pick up the gun for the father or motherland. Patriotism, it was called.  And it's most virulent advocates were the Fascists:

"And above all, Fascism, the more it considers and observes the future and the development of humanity quite apart from political considerations of the moment, believes neither in the possibility nor the utility of perpetual peace. . . . War alone brings up to its highest tension all human energy and puts the stamp of nobility upon the people who have the courage to meet it."  Benito Mussolini

Some saw through it.  But they were treated like lost sheep in the paddock or largely ignored, if they had become somehow, respected members of the community:

"In the World War [I] a mere handful garnered the profits of the conflict. At least 21,000 new millionaires and billionaires were made in the United States during the World War. That many admitted their huge blood gains in their income tax returns. How many other war millionaires falsified their tax returns no one knows.

How many of these war millionaires shouldered a rifle? How many of them dug a trench? How many of them knew what it meant to go hungry in a rat-infested dug-out? How many of them spent sleepless, frightened nights, ducking shells and shrapnel and machine gun bullets? How many of them parried a bayonet thrust of an enemy? How many of them were wounded or killed in battle?

Out of war nations acquire additional territory, if they are victorious. They just take it. This newly acquired territory promptly is exploited by the few -- the selfsame few who wrung dollars out of blood in the war. The general public shoulders the bill.

And what is this bill?

This bill renders a horrible accounting. Newly placed gravestones. Mangled bodies. Shattered minds. Broken hearts and homes. Economic instability. Depression and all its attendant miseries. Back-breaking taxation for generations and generations.

For a great many years, as a soldier, I had a suspicion that war was a racket; not until I retired to civil life did I fully realize it. Now that I see the international war clouds gathering, as they are today, I must face it and speak out."  Major General, Smedley Butler, USMC 

Most people, living through late prehistory, knew who Mussolini was and even though they may not have been fascists, most were firm nationalists, as Mussolini himself was.  They most probably never actually knew what the core ideology of fascism was, but they'd heard of Mussolini and Hitler.  Few ever heard of Butler. Butler was a nationalist too; but his critical stance toward the capitalist class was considered too radical to be actively promulgated or memorialised by the liberal or conservative bourgeoisie.

Butler was a 1930s' Republican.  He himself was conservative.  But he was also firmly committed to the sort of democracy the U.S.A. had during his life.  He recognised the imperialist drive inherent in ruling class control of tremendous amounts of wealth.  That drive could only be satisfied with the acquisition of more wealth and with it political power over more people.  Fantasies of empire are dreamt up within the matrix of these sorts of drives.

The point is that nationalism is only important these days as an historical subject.  Today, we live without borders.  The Earth is our home.  The world is classless, democratic and free.  The sovereign individual is where the power lies.  The sovereign State, which sublated the Sovereign monarch, is dead.  Class rule remained.

Cultural variety, far from being suppressed, through our sublation of the nation with its borders, has flourished for, with the end of the nation State, the end of commodity production and sale also occurred. It's not that culture was absent during prehistorical times.  Sure, there was plenty and its best expressions are still regarded as worthy of attentive time.   Why, I'm reading DON QUIXOTE right now.  Last week, I watched a performance of THE DEATH of a SALESMAN, recorded, I believe, in the mid-1950s.

The desire to possess the latest thing was mostly a result of the commodification of everything during prehistory.  Commodified society put a premium on cheapness.  To gain market share was one of THE driving principles and that could, most efficiently be accomplished through increasing the speed of life. Thus, the latest thing could actually be cheaper in constant currency than it had been before.  The question which occurred to many a subconscious was, "Was it worth it?"  And the answer was mostly yes during the last stages of prehistory.  However, this acquiescence had psychological consequences of the sort related to what many see as inauthentic behaviour by some individuals today.  I mean, a sort of generalised malaise was being felt; but one didn't know quite why it was being experienced.

Now, we consciously enjoy what we desire regardless of age but with regard for others and the health of the Earth. Doing harm to either is considered bad form and yes, we still have to segregate some people away from our communities because of their sadistic behaviours.  There is no reason to get physically aggro with another person.  We have what we need and we should realise that we can never possess another free individual. After all, we have no slaves, no bondsmen, no servants. We are all free from any material dependency structure, other than our own mutual need for each other to participate honestly when putting necessary labour time into the production of good and services for our own use.

Now, we get what we need from the social stores of goods and services.  But right after we abolished the State, we still hadn't developed the trust we have today in each other.  Back then, we used logged in labour time during necessary tasks, operations, services and so on.  By 'logged in', I mean there was tracking system in which how much labour time you put in, was put into an account which you drew from when you visited a social store for material goods or received a service.  Most people were able to contribute something for the use of all.  The ones who weren't able to produce anything useful were taken care of on the basis of their needs as much as any average producer was.  Nobody had a lot; but some had more than others because they put more productive time into the social store.  All labour time wasn't equal either.  Those who worked in more dangerous and physically exhausting jobs were allowed to count their single hours as e.g. two hours. More free-time was the incentive and the average work day was the norm-- 4 hours 3 days a week or a 12 hour day per week or  4, 3 hour days.  Time was left to the individual.  

                                               

We really struggled with authority..a reflection by Mary

Authority was changing.  We dealt with it all the time back then.  The leftovers of the old social relations kept cropping up.  At first, rape still existed.  Yes, even after we'd established a communist society.  Still, the psychology of dominance and submission was within many of us.  And, many of us were passing it along.  Loyalty to the authority in order to prevent chaos.  This had been the sine qua non of class society's rationalisation for the authority of the authorities as long as their domination became embedded in our own sense of justice.  What an ideal, 'justice'.  All sorts of contents can be shoved into that category and with political power, it becomes all that more convincing.

As time passed and all the dependency structures which we had participated in, both mentally and physically, started to melt away, the more irritated we became with them.  The authoritarian shibboleth began to crumble.  The very idea that a freedom could be based on dominance was absurd, especially when you began to realise it in everyday life.  People you met no longer thought of you as a rival for your job, you place, your status in short, for what you thought of as being, 'your possessions'.  What a blessed relief this was.

                                                                                 

When common ownership became the norm, boredom seemed to disappear.

One of the main things people used to think about communist society was that it would be boring. Everything would be the same, flat, grey and without definition.  As it turned out over the first few years, we became even more defined as individuals. As individuals, we finally had power over our needs and wants.  Gone were the ads telling us that we could be all that we could be if we just purchased this or that.  Gone were the amplified voices who served the ruling class. Instead, everyone's voice was expressed and heard at the same level.  This was the negation of domination not the initiation of boredom.

When one was saying something sensible, others who agreed would use the counsel given well in their own discourse with others. As a result, we became more, not less, our own selves as individuals.  Oh not in the sense that we saw others as rivals for our freedom.  Our freedom was guaranteed by our power to control what we produced and determine what the nexus of need and our own expended labour time was for, whatever we felt we needed, we would have to help put in the time necessary to produce whatever it was.

We revelled in our free-time; but as the years passed, many of us became more and more enamoured with spending our time doing things which would push us outside our Earthly pleasures and into the hostile environment of outer space.  Projects, we called them.  The main project was to terra-form as many planets and moons of our solar system as possible, leaving the others to small colonies of those who would devote time to gathering scientific knowledge about the planet, moon or asteroid.  Some were quite into that.

Jack Andersen comes to mind.  He became fascinated with Europa's global oceans of water.  Spent years there, with about fifty others, examining, experimenting and publishing his observations in "The Solar Journal".

A reflection by

 Ilana Ben Amos 

It just occured to me that I drink beer to be closer to my father.  No, not through genetic testing.  I knew who my father was because I was brought within a monogamous family. I don't think my parents crossed the sexual line with others after they were married.  In fact, I'm confident of it.  But that's another story.

My father drank beer.  I can still remember him swishing around in his mouth before swallowing his beer.  Have you ever done that?

I do it sometimes.  That reminds me of my father too.  And, the practice does lend the palate a greater variety of flavours to savour.  Works with wine too.  Swishing and chewing your wine, maybe not all the time, but every once in awhile, especially when trying a new vintage will bring out more to be appreciated.

An increased sensuality emerged after the revolution.  We began to really taste life.  No more did we feel obligated to spend our lives figuring out the tax system or even doing our taxes.  Some peoples' jobs, thus their labour time, were tied to advising and accomplishing feats of wonder with the tax system.  That's how absurd life had become.

After the revolution, there were no taxes to figure out.  One hour of our time at work we gave gratis to support the services we all depended on, services which did not directly produce wealth; but which helped us remain healthy, educated and entertained.  Whatever other time we put into necessary labour, we decided ourselves,for that time would allow us access to the social store. What a revelation it was to know that only two seconds were socially necessary to produce a fine ale.  Our productivity had finally been turned into free-time for ourselves.

Jean describes some of how her life is changed since our classless democracy was established.

See that concrete pier out there in the ocean?

That used to be where the coast guard boats tied up between rounds of performing their duty of keeping the borders secure.

The borders--what were they?

We were insecure then.  This was before the revolution and even after it, we were a mess, still dominated by many of the insecurities which plagued us before the State was abolished and with it, borders.  Politically owned territory became Terra, our planet.  The same was true for all of the former political States.  The Earth was ours because the social product of our labour was now ours to control, to plan and to distribute.

That goes through my mind as I gaze at that now unused pier.  It's not totally unused.  A very few people are always fishing from it.

The fog comes in, blanketing the coast.  The air grows cold.  Night descends.  The fog horns still bellow, out there in the grey mists, "Waaarrrrrrrrrrning.  Coastal shore close by."

I live in the geographical space of the state formerly known as North Carolina.  Marines and Coast Guard personnel were stationed here, once upon a time. We no longer live cooped in political States needing to protect borders.  We live on a borderless Earth.

We are classless, as we have been since we made the revolution.  Now we see each other as human beings.  There are no illegals as there are none of the old legalities when it comes to citizenship of a particular area of the planet, designated by its ruling class as a State. No, we are all citizens of this planet now.  We are all Earthlings.

Maryiana Yohana from Nueva Santiago

You ask me how things changed after the revolution in relation to Patriarchal monogamy. Well, the revolution changed our conception of love. Love is everywhere, we all share it. I knew this before the revolution, but it was hidden by Capitalism. Loads of people used to think that humans were mostly nasty and selfish. After the revolution, the meaning and the practices of love changed, and we all had doubts about how it should be… 

During the first few years, I was busy building the theory and the praxis of Communism. Well, I wrote loads of propaganda and theorized a lot, I enjoyed it and made me feel useful. But the main changes came from the day-to-day praxis… Like Anarchists have always said. 

It happened with Patriarchy. I thought it was deeply ingrained in us, particularly in my culture, in the Spanish-speaking Caribbean… I was wrong. Self-management of resources meant that everybody was involved in decisions and actions; chauvinism, like classism, just faded in a few years, as everybody got a voice and the community applied reverse hierarchy dominance…

Yes, I didn’t question things back them. I was seeing the good of it everywhere. Feeling free from Patriarchy, I didn't have any trouble with sex and partnership. I had regular or occasional sex with many. Most young people did quite a lot of this, I think. In a way, the regularity of the sex was an expression of the closeness of the relationship, though not always…
Generally, our society extended the idea of what “romantic love” was: the “romantic” connotations decreased and the “companionship” or “fun” connotations became stronger, something like that. Romantic love got dissolved in the general “brother/sister” relationship. Sex lost some of the implications that it used to have, not when it came to emotions (expression of emotion increased), but in relation to strings and obligations. Stuff like “exclusivity” and “for life”, so important to “love” “Hollywood style” (as we used to call it as a critique to Patriarchal love)… Well, most people felt very strongly that these should change, but everybody seemed confused about how. Many of the people who were married stayed married, others split up...
Looking back, I think that we just started applying the old rules in a more flexible way. This was easier with self-management as a daily practice… and the extended family being already part of who we were as a community. I mean, before the revolution family was not just a couple and their children, it included all close relatives. Also, we used to marry more than one person in our life, or we would live with them, and they became part of our families, often even if we split up. This was normal already. We were officially monogamous , but we used to cheat on our partners, both men and women; it was supposed to be bad, but it was also common sense that people, couldn't help but to do it, only angels could. 

It still makes me laugh, yeah, we would make a lot of drama about it, but most people would still do it quite happily. Friends would help with the hiding of affairs, of course. So, in a way, it was a relief to everybody that we could just “sleep” with whomever we wanted, and nobody would have the legitimacy to be upset about it. As the requirement for “having” a partner also faded, all the upset people became much more chilled about it, I believe. Not everybody wanted to go having sex with different partners all the time, anyway. Most people stayed with one main sexual partner most of the time, for shorter or longer periods of time, very much like in the old times. 

Children were taken care of by the extended family, as they used to. But now, more in a relaxed way, since nobody was into stress by lack of food or security. So, people wouldn't stay together because of the children or out of a sense of duty… These pressures eased for everybody once the new conceptions were generally accepted and practices in decision making and social relations changed. Our natural ecosystem was favourable and we didn't have the problems of a densely populated society… Things were smooth.
Now, I know it’s more open, but back them, we were also quite open, because the idea of what was good for yourself and others had changed: no person or animal could be private property any more… They were our companions in the management of our relationship with nature. Still, monogamy as “companionship” prevailed. Most people would do, as in the old times, “serial monogamy”, and their old husbands or wives or boyfriends or girlfriends would remain part of their families, and the families even increased their members more than in the old times, because people changed couples more often and would stay close to their old partners more often, so more people became the second, third, fourth partners…, who they would still love so much, and every one of them would be accepted as a new member of the family and didn't have to stop being so. Same with the uncles and aunties and cousins that were your closest friends and your blood brother’s closest friends, and that kind of thing… It all was what we used to do, but more of it, so the concept of family got extended, and that was very healthy I think. This settled the foundations for what we do today.
Not that I don’t have criticism to the way we understand love and sex these days. I think that people still wanting to marry is a sign of the old religious and property rules. Yes, we are free regarding to who we have sex with, but still we engage on a “sanctioned love” ritual. Nonsense, in my opinion. I mean, I had some sort of “husbands” myself, not really any wife, I mostly like men… But I didn't call them husbands. I didn't believe that anybody or anything should make me live according to their rules: I rule myself well, thank you very much. I didn't need a ritual, a social sanction, for my love of nature or society or family or comrades, or a partner. I rather performed the daily rituals of love in relation to all of them, creating them every day, also questioning and changing them all the time. 

I believe that there is still a sense of self-sacrifice in the concept of marriage, a sacrifice to something higher, starting with society. I believe that marriage is still a possession ritual. It also establishes a separation from the rest of society; people who marry tend to do fewer things independently within the community than those who, instead of marrying, just “are” together in different ways.
On the other hand, the fact that we all live in big, dynamic, changing extended families makes partnership easier to “break” and easier to maintain than it was in the old times. Surely the link between sex and companionship has changed a great deal. This makes sex much more egalitarian and fun than it used to be! It also makes changes and conflict easier to face (there are many advisors and mediators in the houses and in the community!). Things are so much better than before the revolution… 

I once thought that the nature of love would never be understood… Now, I am sure that we understand it much better than before. More importantly, even if we still need further change (change is all that is permanent, as they say), I believe that we share much more love than we had in the last millennium. A huge improvement! 

Wobbly times number 135

                                         



After the abolition of the horrid wage system by the workers themselves, the transition from the lower to higher stage of a co:operative commonwealth takes place using socially necessary time (SNLT) as a measuring device.  After all, we're just out of a capitalist society and many people may still be hung up with notions of narrowly selfish individualism.  To prevent the fear of free-loading and the actual act, SNLT will show that we're all doing our part.  A modern communist society is large.  We simply don't and can't know everybody on the modern commons as we might have in our small 150 or less peasant communities in the past, before the commons was destroyed--pre-18th century in the Anglo Saxon culture.  At the current level of technology, SNLT could be recorded electronically.  A good or service would be enjoyed by swiping a card taking however many minutes it took to produce the good or service off an electronically stored balance.  Working in the production of goods and services would enable the producer to add socially necessary labour hours to the card as he or she put them in.  Those who felt a greater need for goods and services or even for work itself (face it...many people enjoy what they do for a living now, why would this not be the case in a classless society?)...these people could put more time into the social store of goods and services.  Those who did the least popular jobs could be compensated with say, double-SNLT being put on their cards e.g. one hour of underground mining equals two hours of working in a library.  But of  course, these matters would all be decided at the time by freely associated producers.  I am merely speculating and proposing from my own era.

This arrangement of using SNLT would make the whole production process transparent; it would leave the mystifications of mass commodity production behind, along with the wage-system which breeds it.  An individual producer could see that s/he was putting in so much time and just like everybody else, could draw that time back out of the common store as needed. Still, this transitional arrangement would lead to inequalities in access to goods and services; but not to classes as nobody would be able to pay others a living sum of SNLT to get control over the collective product of their labour.  Capital is essentially a social relation.  Capital becomes political as soon as one person controls/owns the labour/product of the other, in other words, instantly for as that happens, the one person is able to tell the other person what to do.  Having power over other people is the essence of political power and the foundation stone of the political State.  Socialist praxis is based on equal political power amongst all women and men living in a classless society.  There is simply no room for Capital in a transition to a higher level of a communist society.

The highest stage of socialist society that I can imagine is one where there is no longer a concern about whether someone is or is not doing a fair share of the work necessary to keep the community together and measuring SNLT or using it to obtain goods and services from the collective product of labour becomes superfluous.  Production of wealth for use with its distribution on the basis of need reaches its pinnacle.

Wobbly times number 120

                Look Away

                

 Victor moved tightly against Sheilaugh’s fragrant body. As he kissed her, she levered her groin into his. Sheilaugh's tongue entered, just touching Victor's own. Then, they broke their embrace, emerging past the handball court wall that had hidden them from public view, strolling onward toward the locker room. 

"I wonder how the market's doing."

"Does it matter now?" Sheilaugh dead panned.

"Capital gains", he smiled, "I bought Coke yesterday."

"I see", she grinned. “But, your stock certificates are dated, no?”

“Look, I'll meet you at your place about seven tonight."

 At that moment, Victor looked to be deeply engrossed in serious thought. He had forgotten that about the sale dates on his stocks.

“Have I forgotten anything else?” he worried to himself.

"Not getting cold feet are we?" Sheilaugh challenged, looking Victor directly in the eye. 

"Oh no. I'm absolutely clear about you and our venture, you above all. No, I'm just wondering whether we've really thought of everything, made all the calculations correctly. There are so many angles to consider. And then, there are the machine calibrations. I've GOT to make them come out perfectly---not one digit off.  The mechanism is so delicate."

"Your calculations will be fine, Victor. They always are. Let's get this show on the road. I'm so bored and tired of this life of always hiding. I want us to have a future and I want that future NOW!"

Sheilaugh disappeared beyond the heavy, “W” emblazoned doors to the locker room.  A moment later, Victor passed into the steamy, tiled section of the men’s shower immersed in reflection.

"Still, I've got to make sure that it's RIGHT." His cravings for Sheilaugh knew no bounds.  It blinded him to all his other needs as well to considerations of what he could do without.  Victor had it bad and, as the old blues song goes, “that ain’t good.” 

Mark was mowing the lawn when Sheilaugh pulled their Spyder into the driveway. He pushed the 'power off' button, as she opened the candy apple-coloured door of the Fiat.

"Hi Hon! How's your game today?" 

"Quite good. My backhand needs some work though."

Mark admired his wife's brown legs.  Her shapely body stirred a sensual yearning in all males and he was no exception. He felt an excitement in his loins as his gaze fell on her curvaceousness body. He took Sheilaugh's hand and kissed her cheek while putting his other hand just under the hem of her short white tennis skirt on the fleshy part of her exposed buttocks.

 "Mark!" , Sheilaugh groaned. The tone in her voice was noticeably irritated.

"Not now! I've got to get dinner ready. You KNOW, tonight's the night of the 'Big Bras' reading circle. I have to be there by seven. We’re finishing TICKETS this evening and I want to have a shot at selecting the next novel.  You know that that won't happen, unless I'm there on time."

"Oh, right, Sheilaugh. I forgot," he said, jerking his hand away from her ass like it was a hot iron.  Mark started the mower back up again. He was visibly upset, pushing the cutting machine’s whirring blades vigorously across the grass. At the same time, flash thoughts of hirsute women started popping into his head. After three vengeful back and forth trips over the lawn, he began teasing himself about, among other things, the thickness and shade of the pubic hair in Megan's panties. 

"Was it really red?”

“What tone?" 

As he finished the last row of grass, his thoughts returned to his wife. She would be getting ready for her shower about now.  Sheilaugh loved, long, warm showers.  Mark thought of the water dropping from her large, rose-coloured nipples, her ample breasts bobbing as she shampooed. He pushed the off switch on the lawnmower again and made his way hurriedly to the house. Once inside, he noisily proceeded up to the top of the stairs and into the bathroom.

"Sheilaugh, I need you," he said as he opened door.  She was standing there in the nude, inspecting her face for blemishes.

"Don't be absurd, Mark.  It’s 5:15.  I've got to shower; make dinner and drive two miles. I don't like it when you put pressure on me. Why do you do that?"

"I'll make the dinner," he said sheepishly.  “I’ve got some New York cut steak, I can make with some baked potato, sour cream and French cut green beans.  How about it?  Hey and I can open that bottle of Fetzer cabernet, we’ve been saving since 1977.”  

Hearing nothing in response, except the closing of the shower door and the onrush of the watery spray, he knew that his proposal had been rejected. His blood boiled.  He stood for moment, hoping.  Then, he quickly wheeled around and walked out. 

As he switched the ignition on and started the Ford pickup, he put his other hand between his legs, trying to force his bulge down. Then grabbed the gear shift, put it in first and made his way to the "U" district.  He was on his way to his favorite hideout. Here, finally, he would escape the hostility at home.  Here, he would find some friendly faces.

As he made his way into the Blue Moon's dimly lit, wooden interior, he noticed the Mirror Pond draft handle was back. Sue Foley's voice came from speakers strategically placed in the ceiling of the joint. Her cool, sexy phrasing wafted just above the crowd noise in the Moon, "Men lies about that. Some of them cries about that."

"Pint of Pond Scum, please."  

The fresh nut tan ale poured into the glass crowned with a creamy head.

"Thanks."

"That'll be $3.50."

"Here's $4. Keep it."

The barkeep smiled. She was young and brown. Her onyx black hair was thick, even to her eyebrows. Alas, her lips were a bit thinner than he would have preferred; however, she was still quite attractive-her olive black eyes, the sway of her skirt just disclosing the outline of her ass, her shapely legs, as she walked over to the next customer.  Mark put the pint to his lips. The ale was fresh and very good. Mirror Pond was the best you could get in the Pacific Northwest and, "perhaps even the world", he mused.

His pint began partially quenching his sensual desires. Then, as it worked its way through his body, his mind reversed course. He began mentally undressing Teresa as she sauntered up and back, behind the bar.

"Her pussy has got to be thick with blackness, black on black shadows."

Then.......

"Hey Mark!" 

"Oh! Hi Megan." Mark answered, a bit taken aback. 

"What are you doing here?" 

"It's Sheilaugh's reading circle evening-the 'Big Bras'.  Go figure. So, I decided to pop down here and have a couple of pints. What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

"Paul dumped me today." 

"Oh no, really?"

"Yeah. So I'm having cakes and ale to celebrate my freedom.”

Megan looked great. Her warm smile made her look more vibrant than ever.  She remained charming in spite of her trouble. Her ever alluring red hair made her extremly attractive, much more so than most women. She put her glass next to Marks's and drew up a square bar stool.

"Would you like another pint of, what was that?"

"Grants." She grinned.

It was going to be a good evening.  

As Sheilaugh drove towards Seattle's city centre, a furious rain began pelting her car.  She had taken the old Toyota four-door. The streets were slick, glistening in the night with shiny, wind swept rainbows. She turned the window defroster on.  In spite of the downpour, she rolled her window open a crack to help prevent too much fogging.  She also wanted to create a bit of a mess inside the vehicle.  Her mind was moving quickly now. She came to the darkened area which she and Victor had agreed would be a good place to abandon the vehicle. Then grimacing, she took a razorblade out of her pocket and cut the tip of her left ring finger. After a few drops of blood fell on the seat, she placed a band aid over her wound and put her hair under her raincoat. She then placed six marbles from her coat pocket to fatten her cheeks. As she exited the driver's side of the automobile, she flicked the button of her umbrella. It shot open with a “ka-clump”.

"Don't forget the hat", she told herself and reaching into her coat pocket, she pulled out a soft, dark blue woolen watch cap and placed it on her head. Then, she slammed the car door shut and proceeded to walk to the cover of the adjacent bus stop, where she waited, out of the rain, exact change in hand.

Victor was engrossed in numerical gymnastics. His dry, warm 2nd story apartment was a flimsy place which had been built back in the 30's. The floors creaked when being walked on; however, it was charmingly located in an old warehouse district of the port and all, quite frankly, he could afford at the moment. Next to him, looking much like a large refrigerator was his '4 D'--- a "dimensional manipulator" was what he called it. He had stolen most of the parts that he used to construct it with from Microsoft, where he was employed as a research assistant.  Victor's real interests though, had always been adventure and freedom. He acted his part at work well enough. After all, it put food on the table and electronically sophisticated parts in his hands. He didn't feel he was biting the hand that fed him. Quite the contrary, Victor felt that he was only taking back a small portion of what he had helped produce for the giant corporation. He knew that the wages system was a rip-off, no matter which corporate or State entity you worked for. He was hardly wedded to his profession as some of his co-workers seemed to be. They actually spoke in terms which made it seem as if they owned the companies they worked for. “My company makes this,” and other utter bullshit notions of their actual standing in the scheme of things.

"Bloody damp outside", Sheilaugh said as she slammed the door shut and put her umbrella in the corner to dry.

"Fucking marbles!” She placed them back into her coat pocket.

 Victor looked up from his figures and into Sheilaugh's eyes.

"You're beautiful."

He stood up.  She put her arms around him and they embraced tightly for a time, saying nothing, just swaying like lovers at some airport departure scene.

"Are we ready?" she asked.

"Yes, Doll. The '4 D' has finally been calibrated.

Sheilaugh moved toward the ‘4 D’.

“Don't bump it!” he cried.  Then, noticing that he had startled her, he softly explained,”It's quite sensitive, you know.” Then, with a devilish grin, “We meet here in five years?"

Sheilaugh smiled. Victor could resist no longer. He kissed her hard on the lips while cupping and squeezing her left breast. Sheilaugh's nipples hardened in response; she felt a tingling in her groin and so began shoving her pelvis into his.

"I love you Sheilaugh."

"Te adoro, Victor."

 "I want you now."

Their hands, bodies and lips, moving across each other; they fell on the couch in a heavy breath; the smacking of saliva clearly audible to each, driving each. Victor reached under Sheilaugh's skirt and grabbed the elastic of her panties, then, with a powerful tug, he ripped them from her body. Sheilaugh gasped as Victor kept moving down her body. Putting his head between her legs, he began moving his tongue into her thick, trimmed swatch until he found her clitoris. 

"VICTOR! I need you now! Fuck me! Fuck me good like only you can!", Sheilaugh gasped.

Victor fumbled with his belt, then pulled his trousers to his knees. All the time, they kissed on and off, Sheilaugh tasting her own acidic saltiness. Finally, after what seemed eternities to Sheilaugh, his cock sprang out hard as a rock.  She put the back of her knees over his shoulders and he entered her stiffly, slowly putting one, two, three then six inches into her wetness. Then he stopped.

"Give it to me, Victor. Give IT-TO-ME!"

He needed no more urging. With that, he thrust his last inch into the V of her crotch then began grinding against her tightly. Sheilaugh matched Victor move for move. Then he pulled out a bit and then in again and out a small way. The couch began shaking. As the movement became more and more intense, it seemed as if the whole apartment began to shake. 

Sheilaugh felt an urge coming on. "Harder, Victor, faster." Then she convulsed as she released at the peak of her passion. 

"VIC!" Sheilaugh smiled breathlessly. “V-i-c-tor!”  Then she loosened and relaxed.

“God, I needed that,” she whispered.

Victor looked at her, replying with low urgency in his voice, "Sheilaugh. I want you to stand up and bend over the couch."

"Not in the ass tonight, Vic. Not tonight."  Sheilaugh positioned herself over the back of the couch. Victor put it where it had been only this time from the rear and began a slow, stroking, increasing the rhythm with each repetition. He reached 'round to fondle her left breast and with his right hand as he fingered her clit. His rhythm grew more intense. He noticed the wall shaking as the couch seemed to be banging against it.  "The cave" he thought as he lost himself in the pleasure of it all and then he whispered it, "The cave..." And finally, pushing his cock as far up Sheilaugh's cunt as he could get it, "THE CAVE!"  He ejaculated wads of cum, as his imagination transported him instantaneously back in time to a dim genetic memory.

Sheilaugh wondered whether..., then felt everything becoming much wetter and smaller.   

"The whole Movement began its death spiral when Townsend pushed Abbie off the stage at Woodstock." 

"YES!" Megan agreed emphatically, "Yes, that was it! The litmus test was the Airplane. You were just another hippie, if you didn't get the Airplane. The Movement just became an act of cynical rejection with no understanding and then, accommodation with the System a la Yuppiedom. "

"Or" , he countered, "You were just in it for the pleasure, the lyrics lost in the 'smoke rings of your mind' and you ended up getting a day job or pushing a shopping cart around town." 

Megan swallowed the last inch of her Grants and smiled knowingly.  Mark was excited. It was the first time in years that he had felt this way, this close to a woman. Sheilaugh was always browbeating him and NEVER took him seriously.  In fact, most of her conversation towards Mark came in the form of ridicule for one thing or another. That made for a lack of communication and guaranteed an impoverished sex life.

Megan put her hand on Mark's knee.  "Want to go home with me now?" she asked.  Mark picked up the empty pint glasses and brought them back to the bartendress. Megan tossed her raincoat on. Mark followed her as Miles Davis’ muted, “Kind of Blue” trumpet provided the fanfare for their exit into Seattle’s evening storm.  

Victor arrived with a numbing jolt, as if he had been spit out of a lightening bolt. His head ached badly. He noticed a clunky old pinball machine with levers and a coin slider designed to take nickels in what had been his apartment. He turned round and round. The '4 D' had vanished. The weather was cool and gray, quite normal for this time of year.  Then, he saw someone out on the deck below. 

"Hey, do you know what day it is?"

"Yah sure, buddy. It's Monday. Ain't it grand, Labor Day and all. We don't have to work, although what with the War and all, I'm doing a little patriotic overtime."

And then, after a pause, he muttered, "Damn Japs don't have a Labor Day."

Victor looked out on to the street. Warehouse roofs were everywhere to be seen. A '32 Ford and a '36 Chevy were parked at the curb on the street below.

Sheilaugh got out of the Ford.  A child was holding her hand.  In a voice filled with contempt, she yelled up to Victor, "It's about bloody time! Five years, Victor, it’s been five bloody years. The ‘4 D’ is gone; there's no use looking for it."  Then, she reached into her pocket and rifled four marbles toward the second floor landing.  “And by the way, say hello to your five-year-old daughter.”    

                                                                                                                                                                                THE END   

Wobbly times number 117

“After the conquest of Assyria, Cyrus’ next desire was to subdue the Massagetae, whose country lies far to the eastward beyond the Araxes, opposite the Issedones; they are reputed to be a numerous and warlike people and some suppose them to be of Scythian nationality. The Araxes is said by some to be bigger than the Danube, by others to be not so big. It is also said to have a number of islands in it as large as Lesbos, where men live during summer on various kinds of roots which they dig up, and for their winter supplies pick as it ripens and put into store any sort of tree-fruit which they have found to be suitable for food. They have also discovered another tree whose fruit has a very odd property: for when they have parties and sit round a fire, they throw some of it into the flames, and as it burns it smokes like incense, and the smell of it makes them drunk just as wine does the Greeks; and they get more and more intoxicated as more fruit is thrown on until they jump up and start dancing and singing. Such at least are the reports on how these people live.”

Herodotus, THE HISTORIES, Book One p.89, written a little over 2,600 years ago


30,000 years ago

The hunters ran directly into the wind. This allowed them to pick up the scent of their game while shielding their own bodies from detection. The thick forest covered them from the burning sun as they dashed under its cool, leafy canopy. The ground felt soft and sensuous under foot. It had been two suns and an evening full of sparkling stars since he had married. She had sated herself twice during these same sun round days. Her eyes were more sharply fixed on their task. Food was their most immediate, common need. Their stomachs reminded them of this, growling like protecting home dogs. Only red berries had been shared between them since the sun had risen. Running kept their cravings at bay. When they stopped to look at broken branches or scuffled grass, their hunger snarled a return. Each time its insistence felt more ferocious.

The footprint interrupted their quick pace. A sunbeam shot down to the forest floor, exposing a pig’s track. She knelt, then gauged the depth of the impression and smiled up at Ahzo with hunter’s wisdom. It was a heavy boar. There would be much meat, enough to last many sun round days. Good welcome and pleasure would be theirs, when they returned home.




Her eyes focussed on the moisture ensconced in the miniature precipices left by the pig’s hoof. She noticed wetness sliding down the indentations of the track. Her eyes glanced up at him. “Fresh” she insisted with her finger. She pointed towards the well worn animal trail. The boar would be up-wind, moving toward the river to slake its thirst. Ahzo smiled and nodded recognition of what Kah had silently imparted. They leapt up, stealthily moving in the direction the pig’s prints led them.

The sun stayed long in the sky, making its round. These were warm times. Cover-skins had no use. Sweat gleamed from their stripped, muscled torsos. They held their spears in perfect balance as they ran with animal quiet. Hands had been their family’s first weapons. This was known through the songs their ancestors had sung; the songs which they sang. It was carved on sacred trees for all who lived to see. It was painted on the walls of cavern underground for their family spirits. They had been given wisdom by those who had come before, those who no longer moved within their bodies. Those parts of the family had long passed into the Earth. Their spirits gave power to the family.


The rubbed wood of their weapons felt smooth to the touch. Each spear shaft had been meticulously crafted to fit the grip of the one carrier’s throwing hand. The single place which wasn’t smooth was at the centrally balanced grip. There, the spear’s polished continuity gave way to a fine, specially grooved shank. The unique pattern of grooving was the ancestral mark. It was at this gripping point that they held their spears in transit. It was from this point that they would hurl their pointed spears, releasing spirits from the flesh of the animals they stalked. Hunters kept their weapons sharp to make the spirit’s exit quick. A clean kill was a sign of respect for life.

The two hunters were one, even as they ran separately. Their ancestors were part of their spears, just as they were part of themselves and their family. All was linked: animals and family, land and sky, water and blood, body and spirit. All was connected, seen and unseen, lived and dreamed. This was felt. Animals killed to eat and feed their young, just as the family did. To kill without hunger was dishonour. It was shunned.


The family idolized their place on this land. Their ancestors had chosen this place. The Earth here provided them with what they needed to live. They paid homage to it as they exalted the sun, the moon, the stars, the water, the plants, the animals, in short, they honoured all beings in their surroundings, as they honoured themselves. They knew the way. The way joined the wisdom of before with the power of harmony, now. The way was passed on to them by their ancestors when they lived and when they dreamed. As mothers passed their blood and gave flesh to newborns and as that self-same flesh gave way its spirit to the Earth, they saw the grand connection, the way. They were dependent on the lives of the animals, even as they killed them, releasing their spirts and eating their flesh to sustain themselves. They knew that like their ancestors, the animals they ate would return to the Earth as they had come from the females of the Earth and were sustained by the Earth, The Grand Mother of life.

Respect and regard were what their elders and their ancestors taught them to cause, both in their nightly dreams and in the light of waking day. Rocks and trees had been coloured with images in homage to the spirits of lives past. Life past made life now possible. They honoured each other and their family as they cared for this place. Their blood and the blood of others would return to the Earth and their children and their childrens’ children would live as family with their place. Their blood was linked with the bodies of their ancestors, the animals. They has all become part of the forest and plain. It became all that they were a part of.


They knew this place since sun first came round to light the day. They knew its contours like they knew their bodies. The river was over the next hill. Their run turned trot and transfigured effortlessly into savage quiet, like the cunning crawl of cats near prey. As they reached the top of the rise, their vision caught the movement of the pig’s bulk. The current of its passage bent the green river brush. It emerged slowly, warily from waves of grass, to the river’s edge. The boar’s balls swayed as his snout twitched. His eyes nervously skimmed the rushing eddies and currents. Sensing nothing behind him and no submerged danger, he sipped. On third gulp, the hunters sprang noiselessly and with one motion and sent their spears plunging deeply into the pig's fat, meat-bloody flesh. The animal dashed sideways up the river bank, squealing as the two spears bobbed in it’s body, blood spurting from small gashes where their weapons had entered. Her spear had penetrated through the boar’s neck and had come out through the animal’s open jaw. His went through the pig’s back and into his chest. They both ran to catch the animal; but before they could reach him, the pig’s body slumped on the muddy river bank with death-wide eyes.


Then! The splash from the river’s opposite bank--oncoming crocodiles. With their ears intently listening to the waters’ movement, Kah and Ahzo’s full visual and physical attention was fixed on their spears protruding from the boar’s silent carcass. With seasoned hunter’s skill, she held the animal’s head as he shoved her spear completely through the pig’s mouth until the blunt end made its exit. He tossed her spear up to the flattened grass on the river bank. Then he pulled the body around so that she could push his weapon’s warhead out of the chest cavity. She worked quickly pulling the shank completely out of the animal’s torso. Then, she tossed his weapon up to the grassy hillock. Kah deftly tugged at the pig’s back haunches while Ahzo pushed the hulking body up the incline and on to the grass. Ahzo made a last, strong push to get the animal’s flesh safely away from the river’s dangers. As he did, he slipped-- then tumbled down the muddy slope, his mass ending up knee deep in muddy water.

“Ahzo!” Kah screamed, wild eyed, directing the blunt end of her spear towards his outstretched hands. His eyes widened fiercely. Hurriedly, he grabbed the spear’s end. She gave it a strong, steady pull, as he slipped and scrambled up the murky river’s side, just ahead of a powerful, voracious “SNAP!” Exhausted, he fell on her, shivering. And then he began laughing. And then Kah began laughing. Their boar lay next to them, its blood returning to the Earth.

The family would be pleased with this fine hunt. When they returned the cave door would be half blocked with stone. As was the custom, dried joy-plant would be placed in the home fire. It would be a good time. All would relish the smell and smoke and the feelings they had for each other. This they knew, for this was how they had lived before. There would be song and dance outside the entrance to their home and as the day’s sun passed to evening’s stars, the boar’s flesh would roast over open flames. Feast would be mixed with play and song, beaten out on rhythm logs and danced with lusty smiles. As the night wore on, the family would take pleasure in each other’s bodies, joining til exhaustion, then to dream until the first hints of dawn’s orange glow when birds would once again greet the sunlit day with song.


The hunters had been triumphant. He felt her body under his. His stomach growled again, but urge for her welled up too. She looked deeply at him. Her eyes and face smiled with desire. The Earth held them hard to her breast. Her legs wrapped around his body. His craving met her devouring passion. Their sun draped bodies, glistening in the grass, the mud and sweat, entangled, free, the pounding of ancestral yearning, as dreamy thought on waking minds.

Tight embrace gave way to ebb and peering into one another’s eyes with care. They knew family once again. Their cravings sated, they prepared the heavy pig for transport back to camp and home and all the joy that life could bring.

CHAPTER 2



“We wait for Ahzo and Kah. They will return and then our feast begins. The spirits of my sleep have told me this: We have burnt the white bones of our last meal black and have buried them. Our ancestors are cared for. They smile. Soon, we will eat the flesh of Earth’s creation. Kah and Ahzo carry her bounty to us now.”


Ree had spoken. She was a family mother. Among the elders, she held wisest attention for she had created children and was closer to those who had returned to the soil than any other. Her tie to the family was complete, like the roundness of day and night and the passing of cold times into warm and back again. She had been on the land as a child when the family first knew joy plant’s spirit as it came up in fire’s passion. Ree no longer had teeth. Family members had to chew tough meat and plants for her so she could remain alive. Her voice had most respect, for her life had been on this land longer than any other family member. She would soon return to the Earth, speaking only from when the family dreamt. Until then, her living counsel was precious. She remembered more than anyone, especially of the wisdom which passed from the spirits as she lay sleeping on the Earth which covered our family flesh and bone our mother, creator of all. We who lived in flesh and bone cared for them. When we closed our eyes, our spirits walked with them in their strange places. Ree was dear to those whose eyes were forever closed. They spoke more clearly to her than to anyone in the family. Her heart was constant true, in and out of spirit.

Because he was hungry, young Maj was beginning to feel the worm of fear. He knew the family felt the same, invisible worms gnawing in their bellies. He wanted to renew the hunt. Ree could see it in his anxious, angry eyes. Ree was prescient. She said, “No. Stay Maj. Your strength can help protect our family from the dangers. Outside our camp, there are those who would hunt us for our flesh. Ahzo and Kah will return. Our spirits know this. The family has hunger and is afraid. We know this.”


We knew Ree’s thoughts and her actions were right. They had been certain before and they would be now. We relied on knowing our past, as our past was in our spirits and our ancestors had given us a future and our present was only here because our ancestors’ lives had given it to us. We listened to their counsel through Ree.

Fat rain drops began to fall on our bodies. They were not cold. We remained under them, outside the shelter of our cave, waiting. Our black spirits touched and danced along the trees’ limbs. We continued to look to the distance for our hunters as raven haired sky rolled low over our heads. It spat its loud, deep voice as an avalanche from a mountain side. Then it flashed its giant’s face into ours and made us tremble. We looked to Ree. She smiled. It was as it should be, she gestured with a sweeping move of her arm. Furies pushed the air, rushing leaves and strong clean smells, while bending trees top branches. The dull, light green backs of leaves fluttered up, then over to their greener, shiny sun-sides. We looked into the distance for a sign of good hope. A retreat began into the shelter of our home.


It was warm in the cave. Fire burned; his spirit was a lively crackle. He would still be alive when the animal was brought back from the hunt by Kah and Ahzo to be roasted for the feast of pleasure and sating. The family had piled dry wood for our fire back in the darkness to ensure his continuing life. Kooch watched him dance. She knew how to keep his force vital. She was mother here. The family’s fire would be ready for the meat from the hunt. Like all her brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers, she too had hunger. Her belly growled like home dogs do. She felt happy comfort as she looked down, patting the grumbles just under the blind eye of her birth mother. Then, she looked up at the charm plants with their drying green flowers. They cast life shadows on the walls as they swung over the stored wood. There was Kah! There were some antelope. She felt she saw them our their outlines on the wall. It was her time. Kah and Ahzo would return soon. The ancestors told Ree. She would feast wildly, tearing hotly dripping, fatty flesh from the bones of her meat. That would drown her belly growls. Then, she would dance with the elders and later, lay near the young as her body slept and her life entered the enchanted land of her others.
















Chapter 3

After emptying the pig’s insides and allowing the pouring rain to wash it out, they tied long, sturdy stems of dried joy plant firmly around its feet . With Kah in front and Ahzo in back, holding his spear on his right shoulder, they put Kah’s spear under the tied hooves and lifted the carcass onto their left shoulders. They would now begin the hard trek back to family camp. If they kept to an even stride, they would return home before day would disappear into starry, moonlit night.

The rain had been good. With much spirit, it had drenched the thirsty land and clean water for their drinking skins. The pig was heavy, trying their bodies’ muscles. To ease the work, they sang songs of hunters’ feast, putting cheer between them and the spirit of fatigue. Now and again, they put the boar down and drank cool, fresh water from their skins to replenish the salted sweat which glistened on their flesh.


As the sun moved to close to the tree lined sky, they began that last, small ascent to their home. In the distance, they could see their children rushing toward them with much glee and excitement in their voices. “Kah! Ahzo,” the young voices shouted with gleeful tones till they engulfed the two with curiosity, wonder and admiration to fill five home caves. Hollow logs were being beaten with welcome rhythms, anticipating great celebration. Ree stood near the fire to greet them. The hunt was over. They put their bounty down on the earth near her to receive her welcome hug and then were embraced again and again by others in their family. It felt good to be home amongst the infectious laughter and heartwarming smiles and curious buzz of their brothers, sisters and mothers.
Ree stood up on the family’s first tree stump. “Ahzo and Kah have done well. We thank them for their hunting skill. They will rest and wait for us to prepare the boar for roasting. Kag! Foke! Skewer the animal with roasting pole. Kruck! Lash! Make the raising sticks. Lakal! Mak! Share the turning tasks, one relieving the other until the pig is done. Akim and the children, scrape the pig of all its bristles. All else, sharpen your cutting tools and make music with song. Let the celebration last as long as we have will! Joy to one and joy to all!”
“Joy to one and all!” the family shouted in unison.
And the songs began– a new one from Sek started off. He sang of Kah and Ahzo’s great hunting masteries and how the day was hot and how the boar was heavy with flesh. It’s tusks were sharp, as were its hooves. The boar snorted its freedom in the wild, but even such a tough, young boar could not resist Kah and Ahzo’s spears. “In the end, he gave his spirit up for you and me and thee. So let us eat his roasted flesh and kill the grumbles in our guts.”

A laugh went up amongst the children when they heard this last verse. “Sing it again Sek!” All the while, they turned and scraped the bristles from the pig. The heart was taken out and roasted first for Ree. The brains would be for Maj. It was hoped he would be able to take some patience from them, for the brain was where cunning came from in all of us. The pig’s testicles and penis were to be given to the boys and girls. Maturity could be speeded by consuming them. This was known and taught since first they came to this great place. Of course, the children would get more pig than this. The whole family would feast to their heart’s content on its fattened, cooked body! The bristles would be used in garments and the bones would find their way to home dogs gnarling teeth, after they had been cracked and the marrow consumed. One way or another, the whole pig would essentially pass in to the lives of the family and their dogs.

Joy plant was married with fire inside their cave. Kooch had cared for him well. The dancing smoke was kept inside by covering the entrance to their cave with the skin of a bear. One by one, the family entered, filled their lungs with this gift of their ancestors and then one by one they exited, feeling spirits of the past and present of all which surrounded them well up inside their daydreams and their bodies’ senses, as they would begin to cavort to the rhythms being beaten, incessantly beating with songs being sung and made up and dance as well, for the world was fresh with vibrant colour and animation as the presence of the all became all that much more apparent in their eyes, to their noses and their ears. Their smiles grew to laughter, rolling laughter like the thunderous voice of the clouds above when they weep with mirth at their airy, free and rushing presence. When desire came, women picked their men and married, for this is how it had been and would so continue. Some would choose not to marry and some would not be chosen. Kah did not choose and Ahzo was sated and did not marry, although he was chosen three times over. Both slept early on, the long, deep sleep of ancestral wandering, this while most other family members revelled round the burning flames of another larger brother fire, married with large logs a ways outside their home cave door. And all this went on--the song, the dance and frolic--till the last voices still awake heard each other’s final mingling with fire’s crackle and night birds’ hooting. It was then that all were lying down under black night’s starry cloak. Some watched the distant sparkles in the sky slowly make their travels, at least for a while, then fell beneath the brew of sleep and those enchanted lands which are only seen when eyes are shut for long and quiet spells.






Chapter 4

“It was first a running river then became a waterfall. We played there underneath a canopy of moist spray, hiding from the others, playing hunting games. All yellow, I grew like a male between my legs and he became a woman and then a flock of deer flew by and we couldn’t catch a one of them our spears were made of stone with bark for points.”

“Mine was in a meadow which turned from blue to green and then some flowers of many, many colours burst on the Earth and grew very, very tall, blocking out our Sun and made life dark so we couldn’t see so we took fire and burned them down and then our cave became a big cat with fierce growls. It caught some of our family, but I couldn’t recognize them.”

“They must have been ancestors.”

“Yes. They must have. Ree says that you don’t recognize most of them. They look like us in many ways. I remember one had Kah’s eyebrows and hair like Kooch.”


“Oh, is that the worst? I once saw the family women with swinging balls like home dogs. They didn’t talk. They were dancing around the campfire.”
“I suppose that when we close our eyes forever, we will truly understand what all this means.”
“That is what Ree says. She says that our ancestors tell her so. She says that they come to her at night and tell her, ‘Soon Ree, you will come with us forever and you will understand all.’ She tells of places she has been already where family she has known now dwell. They are beautiful places, she says.”