Would We See Graffiti Bearing the Word WATER in our Part of the World?
from the Watercone in Yemen tested by Care Page at Watercone.com
Kind of ironic, eh?
Water = Life & Wine = Spirit
Yeah, baby, we got a whole lot ‘o water and a whole lot ‘o life and a whole lot ‘o wine this here Western way. And last I heard, we’ve got God on OUR side too. We got it ALL here in America. I thank the Good Lord that we’ve also got all the human beings too otherwise that Water marking that there wall might actually MEAN something to our born-again Christian President.
What was that rich man camel needle thing again in the Good book? Doggone, but my memory fails me for once… I coulda swore I read something about alms for the poor and all that?
Ooops, my mistake. Those folks over there are Towelheads! What dummies! They’re so damn dumb they don’t even know they’re already dry! Ha! Idiots! Well, no worries. That don’t concern me none because I’m an AMERICAN, and only got brought up Christian. You can’t blame a kid fer his upbringing, right? And you know what else? If’n you don’t like it HERE, then go on over there back where you came…
Oh, you came from HERE?
Damn right I did. A fourth generation eldest son of the American Dream. Yeeehaw! Don’t EVEN get me going baby. We were born to fly and they were born to die.
** NEWS FLASH **
This is NOT my America. No way. No how. I don’t think it’s your America either. Got a problem with that? Who the heck hey wants to come out of their spirit spider holes and tell me that being more Christian than a Christian, believing in diplomacy and peace; and justice and liberty and freedom for all; taking a stand against torture and for freedom of the press and a LIVING Constitution, not one that takes us back to slavery days is giving aid and comfort to the enemy?
Who the holy heck is going to talk all high and mighty like about the J-man and tell me that THIS is the American Dream he’s sitting there all right handed and all, patting Him on the back, saying “Hey, good job Dad.” Where the bloody hell is your SHAME America? Wake the heck on up… Did you all miss the memo where it says The New Deal was all about making sure we didn’t succumb to violent revolution?
Well. THINK people. Ever heard of GLOBALIZATION?
Is that a fiddle I hear there somewhere drifting through those fired dry sands? Hath the Stony Curtain descended and are we so far gone that being an AMERICAN has somehow become UN-AMERICAN? God save your soul if you criticize the best in Jesus in all of us, whether man or far, far more. One thing I know that we can agree on is THIS: Jesus was a human being also. Has it become as un-Christian to be Christian as Un-American to be American?
Rhodaline, who recently wrote me regarding Mariana and her story regarding her murdered cousin in Croatia, telling me there was a “reason” God had taken him, there IS a reason indeed. Same way as there was a REASON 12 million Jews, Gypsies, Poles, Gays Handicapped, etc, etc. etc. died back during World War II. A whole lotta good men did exactly what they are doing now? You don’t know what that is?
Exactly.
You would know if they were. Just look at the picture below and watch out below because if we do NOTHING, we’re ALL going to be coming in for a mighty hard landing…
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ABOUT
Raphie Frank is a New York City- based interactive producer, writer, photographer and designer, with supplemental expertise in Usability & Online Marketing. Raphie helped found swandivedigital in 2000 after ten years of production, technical and design experience in the Visual and Performing Arts worlds. While at swandivedigital he oversaw multiple engagements for such organizations as the Markle Foundation, Referral Networks and the Shubert Foundation, before setting out on his own in 2005 as a freelance intermedia consultant.
Prior to his experience at swandivedigital, Raphie traversed the artistic globe as Culture House Director (“Asylum” theater/cafe/art gallery, Prague, 1992-1993), award-winning short-film Producer (Bacchus, Germany, 1998), Theatrical Lighting Designer and published photographer. Raphie graduated from Vassar in 1990 with degrees in Psychology and Dramatic Writing and has published 50 interviews with leading city blog Gothamist.com since August, 2004.
PORTFOLIOS ::::: producing ::::: writings ::::: photography ::::: design
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PERSONAL HISTORY
Planning Warhol in Prague: Part I: The Asylum Culture House & The Warholesquian Sensibility
excerpt
The Asylum of cultural myth, for those who were in Prague and in the sub-cultural know during that winter and spring of 1993, lingers in memory as a crazed Bacchanalian Warholesquian happening, even if, public nipple piercings and simulated urination aside, a generally less explicitly sexual version. One minute you might go into the café, a smallish cave-like hole-in-the-wall we always thought of as the Soul of Asylum, and there would be a bongo, guitar and violin foot-stomping Celtic jam. Ten minutes later there might be a cultural film about Rodin flickering across the wall, and another half hour after that you might find a wanna-Kerouac poet spouting Beat banalities or diamonds across the room and over the cheers or heckles of his temporarily captive audience. Read Essay
Planning Warhol in Prague: Part II: Kafka and The “Refounding” of the Asylum Culture House
excerpt
Look at an old 19th Century Italian landscape painting and you might think “Wow! What unique vision those Italians had! Look at the gem-like fragile clarity of the leaves and their sparkling translucence. Look at those elongated spidery trunks! ” Then you go to Italy and look at the actual landscapes and the actual trees and you realize those painters were simply painting what they saw. That’s what it looks like.
To read Kafka is a similar experience. “The Castle” and “The Trial” are not the twisted mad ravings of a genius, but simply faithful recordings of the daily Czech experience with authority. That day was the first, but certainly not last, day I think I truly understood that. Rik felt it too. And that understanding came upon us this time not in a twisted brow knowledge kind of way, but more in a brown coal smog, nowhere-to-get-away-from-it, kind of way. Except that instead of being everywhere all at once, it’s nowhere all at once which is so… Czech. So… passive aggressive. Read Essay
Yes, Virginia There is Still A Santa Claus
excerpt
Interestingly enough, I think that moment bothered me more than — sorry to blow the lid on this Virginia — finding out my parents were Santa Claus four years previous. On some level I already knew Santa was a fraud even before Brian Kux, my red-haired neighbor two doors down back in Washington D.C., cemented into eternity my collapsed North Pole house of card illusions one Christmas Day. Playing outside together with our new toys, he told me with an almost conspiratorial glee that he had seen his parents putting presents under the Christmas tree the night before. It didn’t come as much of a surprise and, although he was a full year older than me, I didn’t need his wizened input to immediately understand the exact implications of what that meant. The writing had already been on the wall for some time now.
After all, Santa looked different every time we met at the shopping mall and sometimes he was in two places at once; I would see him again on the way home from the mall collecting money for the Salvation Army on a street corner, the helicopter he’d come to the mall in nowhere in sight. And didn’t Santa use a sleigh anyway? I knew there was something fishy going on by the time I was four. Read Essay
Riven Hearts
excerpt
I said “no” a couple times, A little too loudly. Guess it made me mad, that unpaid electrician waking up at 3am to catch a train to an isolated Long Island train station the producers “forgot” to pick up. Guess it made me mad having shit bubble up the drain in the shower of the rooms they gave us. And we were told we’d made the choice. After all, we were offered a ride back to the City each night; eight hours between call times. Three hours home and three hours back. And the Assistant Camera Man with a child at home to support who said he was mad as hell cowered in fear when the time came to say “Yes” or “No” to the face of the Producer when I spoke for the crew at the request of the crew.I understood, but wished they had not said they would if they wouldn’t. Read Essay
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Raphie Frank :: business artivist 
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