Life as a Virgule ‘n Caesura

for N. Karfakis, G. Kokkinidis, and C. Batmanghlich

after Philosopher and Poet by Giorgio de Chirico (Italy), 1916 C.E.



Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.
– S. Kierkegaard
(excerpt from Journals and Papers (1843))

He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.
– F. W. Nietzsche
(excerpt from Twilight of the Idols)


   I	The Virgule: Either/Or

Either an Adapa (Adam) to the all-knowing Ea (Elahi); Or a covenant-breaking Judas to one Christ (one the cross) / Either with a silver spoon in the mouth (devoid of dichotomies ‘n dilemmas); Or abandoned on a raft en route to a Pharoh’s spouse / Either the golden throne in a king’s/queen’s court at a palace; Or a joking jester hired to amuse the populace in the town centre / Either an epic with the protagonist being rescued from an eternal torment; Or a ghazal summersaulting in a poet’s throat / Either a blue-tale in hieroglyphs on the pyramids’ walls; Or a spirited-eye painted on the noses of the triremes / Either a newly-hatched chick reduced to fodder for ants on the forest’s floor; Or the twins suckled and raised by a she-wolf, Lupa / Either the cipher engraved on a clay ‘n stone ‘n emerald ‘n glass tablet; Or a bead of ink on the nib of a scribe’s quill pen. 

   II	The Caesura: – Hyphenated

   The sunyata took to an intermission – some portion of the debris took to the milky way ‘n sun ‘n earth ‘n moon.1

   A juvenile boy ‘n girl are all liberated, id est, devoid of hunger ‘n intimacy ‘n what ‘ve you – lo ‘n behold, a gleam from an apple dangling from a branch of a tree.

   Irtiqa is an aficionado of “slow ‘n steady wins the race” – hold thy horses, one man has devised a wheel ‘n A.I. ‘n more as the catalyst.2

   The schools of pink salmon ‘n rainbow trout follow the pulsations of the river – a hibernation-eloping brown grizzly bear steals a micro stock from the overflow.

   The horse ‘n cattle ‘n sheep are all sophists in the cherry blossom-‘n-beebalm-laden fields – the multithemed snowflakes in billions ‘n gazillions terraform the territory into a tabula rasa. 

   The folklorists have the camp ‘n bonfire all prepared for the twinkle-twinkle little night – an empiricist in a laboratory somewhere has the lenses of the microscope cleaned to debunk the age-old pompous oratory of (anthropomorphic) Devas ‘n Devis.

   One Vyasa’s convinced of conceiving a magnum opus in an ovulating thalamus – one Ganesha’s > keen on a game of hide ‘n seek.3




______________

1. Sunyata (Sanskrit): Emptiness/voidness/nothingness. In the classical Hindu(ism) teachings, ‘Sunyata’ is a school of thought that advocates a non-intrinsic nature of things/phenomena, i.e., things/phenomena are subject to the phenomenon of flux (change/transmutability).
2. Irtiqa (ارتقا) (Arabic): Evolution.
3. Vyasa and Ganesha – the epic of Mahabharata: According to a Hindu legend, Ganesha (Lord of Wisdom) only agreed to being a scribe to Vyasa on one condition: no breaks while dictating the said epic.


Stairways ‘n Catwalks

for Nikolas, George, E. Rahim, and L. Jacobs

after Homage to a poet (Omaggio a un poeta) by Giorgio Barbarelli da Castelfranco (aka Giorgione) (Italy), 1477–1510  C.E.



We have two lives, and the second begins when we realise we only have one.
– Confucius

The pen is mightier than the sword!
– An English Proverb


   I

‘Round the rear end of the red-bricked bungalow,
the (fire escape) stairway spirals like the Fibonacci sequence
– 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, … – bearin’ thirteen odd stainless-steel steps.

[
‘N < thirteen odd thousand years or so ago,
our very own Dear Mother Earth took to walkin’ the catwalk
to step away from one long age of the ice age (aka Younger Dryas)
      – like a feisty protagonist of an epic poem –
‘n fashion for us, homo sapiens, a canopy to breathe ‘n breed under.

…

‘N we fashioned all manner of Stairways ‘n Catwalks
– one or two odd Zeuses ‘n Heracleses ‘n Helens ‘n Achilleses 
‘n Medusas ‘n Perseuses ‘n Rostams ‘n Sohrabs ‘n Ramas ‘n Ravanas.
											]

    II

‘N I walk the catwalk scrollin’ up the steep anti-slip steps
– which feels like strollin’ up an elongated perron
to one Buddha’s Temple in the Tibetan Himalayas –
to arrive before a wooden cedarwood door on the 2nd floor
– which makes you want to pronounce افتح يا سمسم –*
I push the copper handle down,
‘n the reverberations from my plantigrade + digitigrade footsteps
have already set the pull tab on the zipper off rattling
of my half-opened black mamba-black cowhide leather postman bag’s
– which projects a notion of a rattle on the tail of a rattlesnake’s–
‘n unlike the venom from one mamba’s or rattlesnake’s mouth,
the verbosity from one mighty fiery dragon’s mouth
– occasionally hibernating inside the belly of my زنبیل –**
is far more intoxicating and indelible than any kinds of poisons
from one or two solenoglyphous or proteroglyphous or opisthoglyphous fangs!

   III

‘N the past twelve odd thousand years or so
of the red blood cells + white blood cells duo
has rather rendered my intellectual-metabolism
immune to [its] persevering strikes ‘n bites—
‘n I grab hold of it by its ovulating throat
– with my pulsating thumb + forefinger + middle finger;
which feels like one Horace pronouncing “Carpe Diem” –
‘n make [its] شہ رگ take to walkin’ the catwalk-of-words***
to pay an homage to one Confucius
in the spiral of 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, … – thirty-four+ odd lines!



______________

* افتح يا سمسم (Iftah Ya SimSim): Open Sesame.
** زنبیل (Zambiil): Bag.
*** شہ رگ (Sheh Rag): Jugular vein.
Le Voyage

for Nashwa Y. Butt & Umme A. Ali

after Road Trip in the Woody by David Michael Hinnebusch (U.S.A.), 2017 C.E.



     The Green Belt

     He pulls the car over; too fast and too close to the green belt (wide dividing strip) in the middle of the dual carriage-boulevard. The car/rikshaw (tuk-tuk) drivers, motor/cyclists et alia become instantly occupied in their heads (the ones that sit on their shoulders) with making-a-meal out of the sudden break on his part. Time has come to go, pack your bags, hit the open road; our hearts just won’t die, it’s the trip, keeps us alive. … So many miles; so many miles, he turns the volume all the way down on “The Trip” by Still Corners to zero. 

     The Qalam

     He hysterically starts looking for a qalam (fountain) pen) inside all the immediately visible and accessible storage compartments – the glove box, cup holders, ashtray holder, door side pockets, storage trays on the dashboard, et cetera. But, there’s no sign of a stylo ((fountain) pen) or a pencil. Swearing follows, heedfully: “GOD DAMN IT – I curse this bastard habit of relying too much on the lead and ink and paper! I CURSE IT!” The heavy shower has stopped, but his mind has left the windshield wipers waving at him. The out-of-the-blue cloudy and rainy post meridiem forces him to reminisce about the drizzles and streets and walks and drives in Leicester, UK; the evocations render le voyage (the trip) into a grey day.

     Miniature Automata

     As a last resort, he takes to the micro keyboard on his Samsung smart phone (he’s a bit old school in that regard; not a great aficionado of the modern technologies and gadgets and IT): “… . And sometimes, the muse does transmute into a rather petit jealous/possessive toddler; she WANTS it all for herself – as an infant on breast-feeding WANTS both boobs for him/herself! … And as such an instant manifests, life – of an artist/poet – comes to an utter halt; and then, the power of co/m/motion-in-inertia takes control of every facet of life; and as such a moment transpires, … .” Midway through recording the aphorism (in the default proprietary Notes application), the phone battery dies on him. The phone charger (with a detachable USB cable) and/or the portable power bank is not to be found anywhere either—neither on the car floor, nor in his tan leather mini briefcase, or in the shalwar/kameez (trouser/shirt) pockets. “The day before, before taking this vahana (ride) to the TOYOTA Service Station, I’d removed all the petit accessories – just in case, the servers couldn’t resist the temptation of nicking my property (a commonplace here – stealing),” he’s solved the l'énigme (the riddle). Swearing follows, mindfully: “GOD DAMN IT – these good for nothin’ miniature automata! I CURSE ‘EM!”

     Oyster & Pearl

     He hits a petit lever ‘round the right side of the wheel console and a petit blinking amber light (in the front and the back) instantly puts him back on the road; and he rushes – oh, he KNOWS how to RUSH – as if a rabbit desperate to get to his ovulating mate. All the while, he works hard to retain the musings in his head (the one that sits on his shoulders) – as an oyster keeps a pearl safe in its belly – until he reaches the 7/11 (a local equivalent of TESCO Express) at TOTAL Parco – he urgently borrows a cheap notepad and a cheap ballpoint pen from the server at the checkout counter, and resumes securing the dictation from la muse: “…, the matter/s-of-rumination/s transcends one’s intellectual/cognitive realm; one’s ‘free will’ even cannot come-forth as a redeemer; one’s only left with the choice of bearing witness to the tapestry of an orgy of alphabet/s and memories unfolding before one’s very sentient being!”



Biography
(Wordcount: 149)


Saad Ali (b. 1980 C.E. in Okara, Pakistan) has been brought up and educated in the United Kingdom and Pakistan. He is a poet-philosopher and literary translator. His new collection of poems is titled Owl Of Pines: Sunyata (AuthorHouse, 2021). He has translated selected ekphrases by Lorette C. Luzajic into Urdu – compiled into a chapbook, Lorette C. Luzajic: Selected Ekphrases: Translated into Urdu (2023). He is a regular contributor to The Ekphrastic Review. His work has been nominated for the Best of the Net Anthology. His poems (after Amin Rehman) have been showcased at an Art Exhibition, Bleeding Borders, curated at the Art Gallery of Grande Prairie in Alberta, Canada. Some of his influences include: Vyasa, Homer, Ovid, Attar, Rumi, Nietzsche, Freud, Jung, and Tagore. He enjoys learning different languages, travelling by train, and exploring cities/towns on foot. To learn further about his work, please visit saadalipoetry.com, or  www.facebook.com/owlofpines.

+



       Where dust devils 
     walk  between 
   the tree stumps 

As I pass this century 
  once again  I smell 
    Dinner  beside my 
 Great-grandchild's
Children.

      Far beside
   the roadways
between us & them
Dust devils walk
    beside
       petrified
           stumps.

Was my lunch finished
     over pure cold
       Sips of
         liquid
           Joy?

"Lovely Sky, isn't it!"

A disturbed
     thought passes
        brushing the
          grain of
            Rock
from an old
          tree.

Just like you and me,
   An old habit of
        Life.

"Did you finish 
                your lunch
                 , Dear?"

                                                   ............


by  John Edward Culp 
     Saturday morning
     January 20, 2024
      ♡

Twin Sisters

I knew I wanted her for a model when I saw the portrait selection at the Portland Art Museum.  She was painted hanging out of the passenger seat of a car waving at something unseen by the museum visitors.  I don’t know if I’m right, but I thought of early Marilyn Monroe.

Despite that my usual work is painting high-priced portraits for the city’s makers and shakers, politicians and business people; I knew I had to paint her.  Didn’t matter if I didn’t sell anything that I painted of her, I’d be happy to keep anything with her in it.  She had an aura which came through the dead canvas.

I checked the artist of her painting – it was George Shaw, somebody I knew well.  As soon as I got home, I asked him how to contact the woman in his painting.  He told me he would check with her to see if she wanted to contact me.  This was highly unusual because most models would welcome a new client without screening him first.

My obsession with the unknown woman kept me fidgeting at home hoping for her call.  Fortunately she called quickly.  “Hi, this is Janice Fellows.  George said you’d like me to model for some paintings.  In all honesty, I’m in high demand, but I’ve been keeping Fridays clear in case something good comes up.  You should be happy to know that you are in high regard among other local painters.  Let’s get acquainted this Friday, say at 3, and see if this works for both of us.  If it works out, bring your paints in case you want to start.”

I had a client meeting about a portrait of a much married tech multi-millionaire who wanted a painting with his adult children and his much younger wife.  Didn’t care, even if it cost me a five figure commission, I would not miss meeting Janice.  She gave me her West Hills address, a couple of miles from my place close to Portland State University.

It was three days until Friday.  Keeping my mind focused on my projects while awaiting our meeting was hell.  I felt like a teenager with a burning crush.  When the time came, after a mile or two of walking to Janice’s house, a very different woman met me at the door.  This woman was clearly older than Janice, had mousy brown hair, a bit of a paunch, and a pock marked face.  She could tell from my face that she was not what I expected.

“Hi, I’m Janice’s sister, fraternal twin, Jody.  You must be Frank.  Yes, I know we look nothing alike.  One of us is the brains, one is the beauty.  I’m obviously the beauty”.  This last was followed by a cackle.

“Now that you’ve heard my standard joke, here is the reality.  She does the modeling which brings in plenty of coin.  She isn’t dumb, but uninterested in the business end.  I do the buying, pay the bills, collect the money, do the accounting.  Between the two of us, we do alright.  She is always late to her meetings, it’s not a bug it’s a feature.”  She laughed at her joke again, while I tried to make sense of the situation.  “Want to sit down, have a drink, or discuss politics while you wait?  By the way, her fee is the going rate.”  At the time, the going rate was $100 per hour, more or less.  As an independent contractor she didn’t get Social Security or unemployment pay from a client.

Given those choices, I asked for a Scotch.  We ended up talking about painting and art in general while we waited.  After a while, Jody said she had some business to take care of and went through a door marked “Business Office”.  I finished my drink, and after a few minutes Janice came out to usher me into her studio.

If possible Janice was more than I expected from the painting.  I very much appreciate soft, voluptuous female flesh, and Janice had it in abundance.  She asked in a voice like honey “What do you want to do today?”

I almost slipped up and told her what I really wanted to do, but instead said “How about I take a few sketches”.  She agreed, and I spent a few minutes with my sketch pad.

“Janice, how do you feel about plein art?”

“Frank, I don’t leave my house.  Jody takes care of everything so I have no reason to leave.”

“It’s too bad; I’d really like to paint you at the beach.”

Janice laughed, and went to a trunk.  She pulled out a folded coastal backdrop with crab shells, a mix of different colored sand, with waves in the background.  Think you can paint me now?”

She was dressed quite modestly, so I told her she wasn’t dressed for the beach.

“No problem”, and with that she completely disrobed and went to her wardrobe and put on a swimsuit.

I did what I could to hide my arousal.  She looked and laughed again.  “So you are happy to see me.”

We went through the posing and lighting until we were both pleased.  I spent the next hour painting.

When finished, I got ready to go.  She grabbed my hand before I could leave and said “I like you, why don’t we get really happy before you go.  You won’t be charged for the extra work.”

Her very comfortable couch got a strenuous workout.  She inspired me to perform like my long gone teen years.

On my way out Jody gave me a very lecherous look including winks and asked “Want to schedule this for the Fridays into the future?”

I managed a strangled “Uh, yes.”

George knew about my meeting with Janice and called me later that day to ask about it.  I told him that it went well.  After a pregnant pause during which I suspected George was expecting something a little risqué, he said “Uh, good.   Glad it went well.”  This made me wonder about George’s sessions with Janice.

The next several Fridays seemed literally magical.  Janice looked different every Friday and not just hair, lighting or makeup.  Her nose changed size, both up and down.  After wondering if she could be too voluptuous, the next week she was slightly, but visibly thinner.  Whenever I would think of an outdoor setting for a painting, she would pull an appropriate backdrop out her trunk.

Did imagining her behaving as we did every Friday with her other clients bother me?  Sure, but one day a week with Janice, was worth all week with someone else.

At the same time, I got closer to Jody.  She was so intelligent and charming, her looks ceased to matter.  If we talked about something as boring as weather, she could quote outstanding world rainfall or heat statistics.  She was an expert on all the areas of art – painting, writing, acting, all of it.  She solved math puzzles for fun.

After the fifth modeling session with Janice, I invited Jody out to dinner at my place.  After eating, we started telling jokes.  “A priest, a parson and a rabbi go into a bar.  The bartender asks ‘Is this some kind of joke?’”

Next we went into dirty stories.  I surprised both of us by telling her “You can sleep here tonight if you want.”

The next morning I woke up with a different woman – Janice.  I jumped out of bed and yelled “What the hell!?”

Janice said “The short answer is that I’m what you might call a witch or a really good hypnotist.  I can appear to people any way I want.  It’s called casting glamors.”

“I don’t believe it.  You and Jody pranked me.  You switched while I was asleep.”

“You think so?  Then how about this.”  Jody appeared where Janice had been.

I spent a couple of days in a catatonic state.  During that time I had a lucid dream.  It took place in Janice’s apartment.  I wasn’t there, but I could see what was happening.  Instead of Jody going into her business office, it was Dinah who had a crush on me in college.  I hadn’t treated her well then, so I yelled at her “I’m sorry, I treated you badly”.

She looked around and said “It sounds like you Frank, but I don’t see anyone”.  Dinah’s clothes and appearance slowly morphed into Janice as she went through Jody’s office and through a door into Jody’s studio.  I was in the studio, but I woke up before anything else happened.

I knew then how and when the Jody to Janice transformation was hidden from me and I remembered that I had never seen them together.

Coming out of catatonia, I realized how fortunate I was.  Now it’s Fridays with Janice, and other times with Jody.  Rather than try to make sense of it, I just accept that I’m the luckiest man alive.  I don’t dwell on what Janice does on days that I don’t see her.

Before meeting Jody and Janice, I was a twice divorced sad sack chasing money.  I now know that I can accept and give love.  I’ve cut back on some of my lucrative work, and do pro bono or inexpensive work for poorly funded charities, houses of worship, and uplifting murals.  The Art Museum now has a small room with a permanent exhibition of several paintings of Janice and Jody.  They should be shared with the world.

Muhammed

Marnie had linked-in with Ellie and had developed a body suit with haptic feedback features. Ellie was able to render her lost daughter into real-time, similar to holographic girlfriend Joi—Ana de Armas, #KnivesOut—product belonging to the Nexus-9 Blade Runner KD6-3.7. Instructing Ellie to initiate Sareh, a holographic apparition. A digital avatar of Sareh was generated, magically, restored to virtual existence. #Ellie #shortfiction #interstellar #scifi …

Struck by this, Mia telepathically caused the quantum engine to levitate into the air, both hands spaced apart. Similar to teenage orphan and an avid Gunter, Wade Watts / avatar Parzival logged into the OASIS, except without the visor and haptic technology gloves. She had tilted and rotated the sphere like a Rubik’s Cube, visually, assessing the damage of PLUTO. The meteor orb, dubbed ATOM, was still fully functional, causing the working components to glow. #Marnie #shortfiction #scifi #nostelgia

It's All My Fault

It's all my fault.  I signed up.  They had me type.
Left, right, hault.  Sit, copy - bored.
Ordered "Drop your pants" in the Orderly Room
'cause my unlaundered uniform smelled ripe,
I gave in, my confidence shook - until now, just look:
office factotums of keyboard
everywhere - screens and computers tied on.
Seeing it happen I've been so floored:
my inaction caused all of this gloom
in wage-slaves to the one percent...
Oh my poor colleagues on whom I should fawn,
my collusion was without intent.

It's all my fault, I saw it coming,
What the media's trying to do to us
besides entertain and inform - unbecoming
to show graphic scenes they make such a fuss
of psychic or physical sexual mayhem
or torture delivered in cinema - then, on T.V.,
bought-up home-videos of groin accidents to them
is fare that is favored by us citizenry -
with a musical track.  To those screens'd desensitize
or power'd divide, I admit I'm the one 
who kept silently watching - so must apologize.
With positive passions more our kind of fun
I thought I was gracious in showing some ruth -
but I had forgotten that beauty is truth.

I must claim the fault, suspected we're fated -
the lies were there - should have extrapolated.
The equal chance at happiness we're told we get
when behind the ears we're still quite wet
becomes the need to toil for subsistence wage....
The nice policeman they say kids should trust
gives karate-chop pat-downs, backroom outrage -
not protection or service but a torture bust.
As in families infant sibling empathy,
in society populist sympathy -
and later those arrested in the protests we see -
are put up against the wall by our powers that be....

I'm the one who didn't hold free love together
in a world of possessiveness and jealousy -
though my buddy and I couldn't be sure whether
our girls, having ravished us thoroughly,
couldn't just up and do the same for another;
and, when we asked 'em, heard 'em agree
that my buddy and I could be those other!
Ah, we four had commitment and variety
'til the draft wrote my friend, and he grew quite thin.
So, since one of our girls had an aunt who could cover
their expenses 'til his 4-F deferment came in,
they left.  Four people, each with just one lover -
living as couples in estrangement's sin.

When school, which canceled band and art long since,
to stop phys-ed, but double lunch-hour, tries,
and overeating children make parents wince....
Blame me!  To sedentary stresses wise,
I couldn't my co-desk-workers convince
the balm for our discomfort is Exercise.
T'was sitting, class and office, sixteen hours
a day inspired my half-hour morning jogs,
not my own insight's energizing powers....
Workouts are epicures in stoic togs -
arduous aerobics are invigorating fun
to free sprites from weariness that mind had begun -
I couldn't make it obvious to everyone.

..............................

		Leadership

"The marionetteers of capital
who pull our strings behind the scenes
to drain our strength can't sap it all,"
said the puppet with the shears in his jeans."

.....................

		Inspiration	

When wine country tried my sanity
like a nestless bird with a clear-cut tree
I came to the city for humanity
and a new inspiration for poetry.
The inbound bus was my ship of fools. 
Out its window I tossed my last pack of Kools:
I vowed I'd make, 'til the day I die,
the breath of life my only high -
which now was augmented, to my cost,
by the unavoidability of car exhaust.
...
		Reconsider
With adolescent dreams we bury
so much of human nature too
when youthful premonitions scary
bring mundane fortune into view.

Though by the water's edge lay
a myriad of sphere-cut gem-pebbles
in thier Milky Way arc of the bay -
a particolor night's suns' trebles -

And each colored flare in its bowl
throbs with the starlight of sol.

...

I was lost in the box called life. 

In it,
(I)
I wanted learning
but my education was deafening
I wanted truth
but my reality faked its root
I wanted to buy the right counsel
but my mind controller got me its left sell
I wanted to be free
but my pursuit turned a tree
I wanted information
but my vision brought me deformation
I wanted wellness
but my state showed illness
I wanted a wife
but my life mirrored a knife
I wanted a companion
but my plight was in oblivion
I wanted the clarity of pleasure
but my naked eyes saw the dullness of pressure
I wanted to live forever
but my death was to question For-Ever
I wanted peace
but my perception reflected unease
(II)
I wanted to know more about people
but my understanding was a fumble
I wanted to be everyone’s friend
but my experience was the Pal’s end
I wanted to be rich
but my efforts didn’t catch a fish!
I wanted direction
but my limitation was the obstruction
3
I wanted to know the ‘why’ to everything happening
but my answer had to cry to all prevailing
I wanted to invest in good
but my previous return showed ‘fooled!’
I wanted to scream because of pains
but my calmness showed up because of gains
(III)
I wanted people to hear my voice
but my quest was a noise
I wanted money
but my struggle was funny
I wanted to know why the world is divided
but the response was: ‘it’s control is what is favourited’
I wanted to know what happens after death
but my physical life told me I was on earth
I wanted to tell people my experience
but my words failed me in their presence
I wanted to know if I knew what I know
my existence replied me with a ‘NO!’
I wanted to find myself through my works
but my inner-self whispered:
‘If you want to find yourself,
then think OUT OF THE BOX!

Chimezie Ihekuna (Mr. Ben)’s entire book is available here for order.

on pacifism


I guess I have just recently recommitted to, or decided I need to accept, that I am and must be a pacifist…  in this year of 2024, there are wars and armed conflicts in various places around the world… some of these wars seem justified on one side or the other and some just seem to be the result of blundering on the part of national governments…  but, the more I read the news, the more I think about these conflicts, the more true it seems that if the human race is to flourish, or even survive, we must find a way to eliminate war from this planet…

my first argument against war is always to appeal to logic…  even if one has no moral objection to the killing and maiming of other human beings in pursuit of some national goal, war or indeed, even smaller armed conflict, is seldom efficacious in resolving the dispute…  so often international affairs seem like building houses of cards based on negotiations and diplomacy while war comes in with a sledge hammer…  that simply destroys everything and makes matters worse…  

war is built on the foundation of violence and the belief that killing certain people will make nations live together in peace…  that does not work…  killing people just makes their families and friends angry and outraged…  they do not want to live in peace with the killers of their loved ones, they want revenge on them… war begets hate which begets more war which begets more hate, etc. etc. etc…  war is not an efficient or effective way to solve international problems…
my second argument against war is that it is morally backwards…  might does not make right…  and just because one nation has a better army and can kill more efficiently,  that does not make that nation more right than any other nation…  usually the things fought over are in grey areas anyway, so there is no one side that is fully right and no one side that is fully wrong…  so compromise and negotiation are the way to make sure that each side gets some of what it wants…  

my third argument against war is that it is always fueled by greed for money…  and the people who wind up fighting in the war and harmed by the war are almost never the people who wind up with the money, no matter who wins or loses…  and in trying to negotiate a compromise over things like border disputes, the only way these issues can be resolved is if both sides are willing to dial back their greed and settle for less than all the money, land, water rights, natural resources, etc… killing a bunch of people does not in any way help for any nation to put aside greed and attempt a fair and respectful resolution of international problems…

my fourth argument against war is the obvious moral observation that it is immoral for any of us to take the life of anyone else…  I believe that each and every human being is born into this life with a right to live and participate in all of the joys and pains that make up our lives…  these include a right to food, shelter and safety…  the first things usually destroyed in a war are food, shelter and safety…  it is immoral to kill our fellow men and women period…  under any circumstances, any time… and it is also immoral to allow our fellow men and women to live without food, shelter and safety…   war is always always always immoral…  war is always evil…  English poet Wilfred Owen, who knew a few things about war, called it a “cesspool…”  there is nothing glorious about it, ever…

okay, now that I have convinced everybody that war is ineffective, evil and immoral, let us proceed to the question of how do we end it…  one would have hoped back in the 1950s when I was a child, that the inventions of nuclear weapons would make war obsolete…  when nations have this horrible weapon in hand that would make any large war, the last war, because the effect of the war would be to eradicate human beings from the planet; one would think that we would look at each other and say, “let us lay down our arms and look for peaceful ways to solve international problems…”  before we finish ourselves off altogether…

but that did not happen…  instead nations kept building more and more nuclear weapons in an arms race that goes on to this day with weapons armed and ready to launch right now that would bring on a nuclear winter that would end human life on this planet and most other life as well…  this is lunacy…  it is like a person walking night and day with a razor sharp knife pressed against his or her throat…  we must get rid of those terrible weapons…  and we do that not by using them, which would be suicidal, but by education and arms negotiations…  we need to all know and acknowledge the danger we are in and make our governments destroy those weapons…  there is no harm that any nation can inflict on me that makes it morally right for me to launch a nuclear weapon….  killing one person is immoral…  killing hundreds, thousands and millions of people is hundreds and thousands and millions of times more immoral…

I am not sure how to go about accomplishing this goal but, I truly believe that military actions of every kind will not lead to the goal of nuclear disarmament… military action does not solve international problems, it always makes them worse…  increasing the hate and dehumanizing those denoted as “enemy” makes it more and more likely that an accidental international blunder or an intentional act of lunacy will send us over that precipice and start a nuclear annihilation of humanity…  

so, I advocate demilitarization of this planet…  I believe that it is the only way to prevent a humanity annihilating nuclear war…  there are so many challenges facing humanity… this planet is rich and abundant but we should be carefully tending it and setting it up to support our human communities so that all people can have food, shelter and safety… we are threatened by disease, by natural disaster, by things like climate change and ozone depletion and dozens of other threats… 

I think that we could work together to solve these problem and to make a long and healthy life easier for each of us to attain, if we could quit fighting with each other and start working together to make the world a better place for the benefit of us all…

the first step, I think, is for us all to embrace pacifism…  we must change our attitudes about military in every way…  there is nothing good about military actions…  all military action is immoral in that it aims to kill people…  that is what guns, tanks, bombs, etc. exist to do… to kill people… so we must stop extolling the warrior…  we must stop funding the military…  and we should be working with every resource we have to spread pacifism to every human being on the planet…  it is the logical, moral and decent thing to do…  we must accept that every human on this planet is our brother or sister and deserves respect and all human rights and happiness being born here should provide… and we must always remember that might does not make right…  it never has and it never will…