“Today, we tell Congress that we ‘sacrificed’ ourselves for the national good,” Oliver Houck wrote in the Tulane Environmental Law Journal. “Never has there been such a willing, complicit sacrifice. We made a bundle of money, wasted most of it, and blackballed anyone who questioned what it was doing to the Louisiana coast. About 70 years ago, Louisiana made a deal with the oil and gas industry. The industry would get what it wanted; the state would get a piece of the take.”
Ah yes, you all know the drill–find a writer whose voice, intelligence, and style you enjoy in one book then go out and see if they’re consistent enough writers to work their word magic on your imagination AGAIN. Having enjoyed the horror story that is Fruitless Fall, o yes it is a modern version of a very very scary story, I was game for more of Rowan Jacobsen’s work. I decided to venture to the great ghostly delta of the mighty Mississippi via Shadows On the Gulf, A Journey Through Our Last GreatWetland. If you’re fans of Jacobsen’s A Geography of Oysters don’t fret–the agony and ecstasy of gulf oysters is part of Shadows. It couldn’t be otherwise. Now if you’re looking for an intense screenplay like blow-by-blow of events in slow motion about the Deepwater Horizon go search elsewhere. Jacobsen provides a sequence of such events but, unlike several other slick tomes, this is not the foundation of this book. If you’re looking for where to lay blame for oily events in the Gulf look no further than your mirror. Yes, you read correctly–the nearest mirror. Jacobsen does not flinch at laying blame for the ongoing insanity of the oil industry smack dab on those who fuel the DEMAND for oil every single day. This is a basic principle of supply and demand economics–really. We create the demand for more oil by our lifestyles, especially in the United States, and the oil industry profits, literally, by providing the supply. Face it, in general we are a bunch of hardcore oil addicts with no 12 step program on the boards.
Now don’t get me wrong, Jacobsen raises this very important ethical issue but that’s not all he does as he provides some fundamental history about the Gulf area. We get a history of a prominent oyster supplier, the workings of the huge Mississippi River as the garbage dump of the midwest of America, the levees, the oil industry, the wetlands and the people. Now the element of ‘people’ is the real wild card in play here. Perhaps the major issue here, as in Fruitless Fall, is that people indoctrinated with western European (yes, that is the origin of our mode of thinking in the states) mentality just can’t leave well enough ALONE. People have this nutty idea that humans are capable of improving on the complex perfection of Nature. We do this with every dam we build, every river we divert, every wetland we destroy. Ah the poor Army Corps of Engineers–sorry folks, at least beavers know what the hell they’re really doing when they build dams–and more importantly ‘why’. Guess what we get in return? The destruction of the very system upon which we are dependent for survival of our species. If we just let Nature be itself and operate correctly and lived in accord with how the system works –well, we might not be facing the operating system crisis heading our way like a tsunami of incredible magnitude.
If you don’t have any idea about the BIG picture regarding the Gulf of Mexico–and how the rest of America ties in– then Jacobsen’s book provides a very decent foundation for getting an idea of the interconnectedness of many things–including all the crap chemicals used to scrub toilets every day. The destruction of your environment is not out of sight and out of your mind. It’s just out of mind because we don’t pay any attention to the things in plain sight–such as every petroleum product–and the products that ‘clean’ all that oily stuff down the drain.
The other thing in plain sight is “us” in all our incarnations. You’ll meet a few folks via Jacobsen’s explorations of the gulf area–locals, scientists, fisherman, etc. And it’s a very mixed big of individuals for sure. I don’t know how the likes of Virgil Dardar and Gene Cossey would mix on the same boat. But I do know what a vast swamp of thinking exists that allows for the existence of such men and women – and the mentality of oil executives and politicians all on the lookout for the almighty DOLLAR.
Near the end of the book, “The Most Important River You’ve Never Heard Of,” Jacobsen takes us to a wonderful still functioning wetland area-the Atchafalaya swamp-and leaves us with not the ”if” but the “when” it will be destroyed by us in our infinite ignorance, boundless greed and shortsighted view that humans dominate Nature. We will not have the last laugh in this global drama in which we deny our own role in the web of life on Earth. So read and think about what sort of lifestyle can you imagine that might benefit all living things. Come on, stretch your cranial membranes–if you dare. Imagine Life without Oil.
Click the boot to see the video trailer and more at Red Deer Press. If you find this an unsettling view of teenage girls then I suggest you consider all that’s been written about their physical and psychological cruelty. Science fiction has nothing on the daily reality strutting through school hallways everywhere.
Rustle: I think of all the clicking, whirling cams, the screens and monitors, the hidden mics tracking our movements when we least suspect it–the never knowing when they’re watching. And I surrender to my own inevitable defeat. A tear rolls down my sorry check as I flashback to the Treason Times. I rememory all those twisted cores, those poor broken specimens struggling, impaled on their death sticks, waiting for the pain to end. Our ancestors, the human mothers who bore us, ridiculed ’til the very last milli and Beyond. That’ll be me soon. Sniff.
O thank you, Red Deer Press for your “…respect for the intelligence of the reader at every level…”–WOW–when’s the last time you read that in any American Publisher’s mission statement? Like NEVER! I mean what American media outlet of any sort has any respect for the intelligence of its audience??? Red Deer Press is a Canadian operation–smirk, smirk. Come on, be honest. I’m willing to entertain any suspects dishing up tomes to feed the intelligence hunger of Americans anyone is willing to offer up. Is it fair to argue that the fact that books in any form are still being produced by American publishers for the market is a good sign that we’ve not been entirely written off as complete morons–yet? Big Big Sky is definitely not mental junk food for a dumbed down Young Adult audience. The very talented Kristyn Dunnion makes the most of every page to infiltrate and stretch the imagination of whoever picks up this totally engaging novel which raises a multitude of issues about blind obedience, genetic manipulation, love, leadership. loyalty and survival of the fittest–”Decline, Deform, Disobey.” This is one hell of a science fiction/fantasy adventure into uncharted waters and beyond for the all female crew of a StarPod of young assassins: Rustle, Loo, Solomon, Shona and Roku. Dunnion creates a tightly controlled world of young people trained by ScanMans to exterminate other humans. Then Dunnion turns the tables on the core group and soon they’re deep in a swim for their own lives to the lands beyond the mountain of total mind control. There’s good language craft fun with all the lingo Dunnion devises for this unruly passel of rampaging lasses as the plot unfolds from the shifting perspectives of each. You don’t have to be a teenager or a female to jump into this novel and enjoy it immensely. Keeping an open mind about love relationships and science fiction could be a tad useful at the onset–until the characters themselves yanky yank you into their world of troubles and tribulations and transformations. Ever dream of becoming a big bird? How about an amphibian? What’s your control freak conformity factor? All is fair in love and war, right?
I’m eagerly awaiting more of Kristyn Dunnion’s wicked writing wonders. I promise to share with the other girls nice nice.
“Tonight Hector would call Lilia and tell of the funny gringo’s joke, of the alligator who lived beside the beautiful river beyond the trees, and of the senora’s skills in driving the tree-digging machine. He’d describe the colorful sunset and the way the pale full moon rose above the field just as it rose in their village. He’d tell her of the optimism brimming inside him, his confidence in their future, in the reality of his dreams for them.”
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O hell, I’ve been on a review whirl-a-gig ride just long enough now to wonder what if I can pull off a decent enough conversation to actually encourage anyone out there in cyberspace to read something really worth reading. Yes, I want to encourage folks looking for contemporary American fiction with substance and bite to consider TheIguana Tree by Michel Stone via Hub City Press, an independent publisher flourishing in South Carolina. This title came my via one of Roxie’s posts and the title intrigued me enough to put in a library request which plopped Stone’s tome in my greedy reading palms within a day. I like The Iguana Tree very much because it’s a dam good piece of writing. Now I doubt that statement will get anyone else scrambling to lay hands on a copy. So let’s try this: I would like to force read this book to that Huppenthal dictator of Public Education in the state of Arizona where some folks don’t want others getting any ideas about their own self-worth. Or this: If you have no clue why the English Language Only movement is insulting and doomed to failure in the U.S. of A–then The Iguana Tree might be a first step in comprehending the issues of migration–legal and illegal–and why people from Mexico risk their lives to come to this not so sweet land of opportunity. Or this: Many folks fear hordes of illegal immigrants so much that they think building walls will steam the flow northward. Well those folks need to think again about that wall building. Guess what, it’s not going to keep anyone anywhere. If you read The Iguana Tree you’ll understand better why such walls are useless to prevent desperate people from migrating to where they perceive there are greener grasses agrowing. O and by the way, even if your family has been on American soil for 500 years–they’re still all from immigrants who came here for many of the same reasons espoused by modern-day immigrants–and an argument can be made that unless you’re a full-blooded member of one of the 500 plus Indigenous Nations that you’re an invasive non-native species that emigrated from another homeland nowhere near Plymouth Rock. How am I doing on that patriotically offensive scale rating so far? Give me more words and I may crank it up a few more notches. Hey, my people didn’t settle stateside until around 1914 when they decided they’d had enough of living in the middle of one of Europe’s favorite battlegrounds. Yet I’m aware that even knowledge of one’s own family history of migration does not breed compassion nor understanding in the minds and hearts of many modern Americans who are threatened by anyone not like themselves. Or this: So I ask do, you know who picks those strawberries, avocados and tomatoes we all enjoy finding at the American grocery store all year round? Hint, not the sort of folks who used to work in Detroit building automobiles–and I doubt those folks would work for the wages or under the conditions of migrant workers. Furthermore, if the folks who put their lives, hopes and dreams in the hands of the human variety of coyotes (who give the real critter by the same name an EVIL reputation) could make decent livings in their places of origin I doubt they’d be motivated to experience the adventures of Hector and Lilia in TheIguana Tree. I sure as hell would not. I don’t think I’d be willing to place bets on finding employment with the likes of Lucas and Elizabeth in South Carolina. These are people who seriously need Hector’s willingness to work hard as much as he needs the employment opportunity their tree farm offers.
The Iguana Tree does not offer up any nice neat little packaged political economic solutions. What it does offer is some insight into the hearts and minds of real people all trying very hard to do more than just survive in a harsh world full of obstacles and hazardous conditions. If you don’t care about someone in this book then there’s something wrong with your internal tic tocker for sure. It’s your heart Michel Stone is trying to touch with this story of bitter hopes. Stone writes deftly and candidly about the horrors of border crossings, lives lived in fear of deportation, families separated, sudden injury, death, identity issues, language and cultural barriers. Being an illegal immigrant in the United States is no picnic in the park. The Iguana Tree presents the high cost of “coming to America” as such that this qualifies as a modern shop of horrors–exploitation, greed, corruption, rape, child theft. What truly is painful is that this well crafted work of fiction reflects an all too real grim reality. Stone softens TheIguana Tree with elements of friendship, love, and relationships built on mutual benefit. There is the suggestion that the only way to humanely deal with the issue of illegal immigration is with humanity and treating people as valuable in their own rights.
So I hope you soon meet Hector, Lilia, Miguel, Pablo, Lucas, Elizabeth, Carlos and Rosa. If you’re an American wondering what the hell is going on at the border between Mexico and the United States maybe you’ll get a few ideas. I’m not saying you’ll like what you learn. But you might gain a sense of the human complexity of what motivates illegal migration. I seriously doubt The Iguana Tree will bore anyone. It might make you want to visit Puerto Isadore or South Carolina–legally, of course.
By the way, The Iguana Tree is a story about love.
I picked up Lydia Millet’s Ghost Lights at a time when my brainpan needed serious distraction from stewing in its own juices. “Pulitzer finalist” on the book jacket caught my eye and I wondered what sort of contemporary work of fiction would fit that bill. Hence I decided to give the tome a chance even though the first pages concerning a three-legged dog did nothing to capture my interest. Now perhaps I’m missing something here as this is touted as the second book of a trilogy. Hmm. Okay well I am going to continue missing that special something that comes from the second book in a trilogy of which I have not read the first installment. I’m going to continue the ‘missing’ because I’ve no intentions of reading the first part of the trilogy, How the Dead Dream, in order to get up to speed on whatever I’m missing. Nor do I have any plans to read part three. Why not? It’s not because MIllet can’t write–she can. The prose flows easily across the pages requiring no effort from the reader at all. I’m not going to read any further backward or forward because there are more interesting books to read and for the following reasons directly related to Ghost Lights:
I do not care about middle-aged men who work for the Internal Revenue Service.
I do not care about middle-aged men who are upset to learn that their wives are being sexually active with males other than themselves.
I do not care about a wife having sex with a younger man than her husband.
I do not care about a middle-aged man who learns his crippled daughter is making a living doing phone sex.
I do not care that a crippled woman has found that phone sex is the most lucrative way to support herself.
I do not care about a middle-aged Tax Man who goes off to find a man he doesn’t even like just to get away from his issues.
I do not care about Tax Man going agog over a beautiful German woman and her husband and two boys.
I do not care about Tax Man having his dream of ‘sex on the beach’ with beautiful German woman come true.
I do not care about Tax Man having no clue what mess he’s walked into by his weak efforts to find the missing T-man.
I do not care about ignorant man befuddled by German woman’s ignorance of the issues of the Indigenous Guatemalan population.
I do not care about any of these characters because Millet provides absolutely no reason why I should care about them. Beautiful breasts of German women do not engage my interest. The three-legged dog seems to have been some sort of red herring. The crippled daughter operates as a sort of sympathy plea. The adulterous wife is so much shallow contemporary American woman that the character construction isn’t worth the effort to sneer at her. The Tax Man — is–well he’s the Tax Man nursing a Tin Man’s heart of sorts. Did I miss something of vital importance between the hardback covers of Ghost Lights? Did I? If so and you know what it is please drop a line and tell me. I’d really like to know. –Oh and NO the concluding pages of the book will not suffice. I’m NOT buying that at all. Btw, if any of this book was supposed to be funny–I didn’t laugh. There are many types of humor–but I don’t recall stumbling over any form here. Perhaps I need to update my humor catalog?
Okay neither of these delightful Gaiman tomes is loitering on the new release shelf in you local free book lending operation called the public library or independent bookstore–if you’re lucky enough to have an incarnation of the latter in your swamp. So what. Good reads are good reads and if you’ve not wandered through either and you enjoy the landscape of Gaiman’s imagination perhaps it’s time to hide under some shade tree and indulge yourself.
In Anansi Boys, Gaiman spins the Spider myth anew complete with Fat Charlie and his long-lost brother, Spider, dealing with the legacy of their family inheritance via dearly departed dad, Mr. Nancy. Gaiman concocts a tasty rum punch involving theft, murder, mayhem, mythology, and love. Fat Charlie soon learns there’s more ways to travel than by plane–sometimes one’s ticket to ride involves four elderly women, black candles and a little voodoo–no seatbelts required. You might want to be careful what you say to the next spider with the nerve to plop down beside you–it might summon your brother who might fancy your girlfriend as much as you do. Yes, Spider, does complicate Fat Charlie’s life but it’s all for the best–who needs a Rose when there’s a Daisy for the picking–though said Spider really hasn’t any intentions at all beyond entertaining himself. While one can zoom through Anansi Boys simply enjoying the unfolding of a story–one can do some deep thought diving too via the role of myth in the human psyche and the desire for stories and the telling of them. There’s magic in words–spoken and written. Maybe in karaoke too? What really constitutes ‘magic’ and why do some folks engage it as part of life while others have no clue of its existence? How doe the imagination create magic via storytelling? I’m not quite certain–But–I know one thing for sure, Spider’s bedroom has me wanting my own version–complete with waterfall.
While I enjoyed the tangling and untangling of web romping of Anansi Boys quite a bit, it was in Fragile Things, Short Fictions and Wonders where I loitered and took my time exploring and delighting in Gaiman’s literary small plates buffet. Don’t skip the introduction wherein Gaiman offers commentary regarding each ‘wonder’ in the collection. I was in a very very dark mood when I turned to this tome for some serious distraction. ”A Study in Emerald” involving those Baker Street fellows hooked me straight off. This might have had some benefit from my anticipation of the second season of the ‘new’ modern Sherlock rendered by Masterpiece. I was primed and ready for some mystery and fun Holmes style and swallowed this hook completely. While there is much temptation to gush at length over many of the short stories here I will refrain from such indulgence. There’s a lot to like if you’re already a Gaiman fan–and more to discover if you’re not yet. I’m seeing my coffee, ghosts and zombies in a different light since reading “Bitter Grounds.” I’ve been wondering what sort of “x-file” episode could have evolved out of “How to Talk to Girls at Parties.” Neither harlequins nor valentines will be the same for me after consuming “Harlequin Valentine.” For The Matrix fans there is “Goliath”–enough said. Get a copy and read for yourself!
Fresh life is breathed into the old golem myth in this Mignola and Golden collaboration nicely served up by St. Martin’s Press this 2012. If you aren’t familiar with golems then you’re going to be if you go exploring these pages. Let me tell you this is more than an average air freshener generously illustrated with what appear to be black and off white woodcuts. (I seriously needed fresh air after delving into Ghostlights by Lydia Millet–more on that tome another time.) The art of Joe Golem is good, the square shape of the book is very pleasing and the liberally spaced text entices the eye to read, read, read– all 272 monstrous pages all day long until the back cover is reached and one can go no further–yet! I hope this is just the start of a steampunk fiction series for one major reason– Molly. Ah yes in a time of teenage girls all agog over the likes of Lady Gaga (gag) comes the likes of Molly McHugh who knows there’s much more to life and people than shallow celebrities and everlasting lip-glossiness. Intelligent, resourceful, tough and damn fast on her feet Molly is my kind of heroine. Need a positive strong role model for the fourteen year old female in your abode whose fingertips are superglued to texting? Well Molly just might be the ticket to more stewing on a girl’s brainpan than speed dialing her wit challenged peers. Joe Golem reads like an expanded graphic novel–strong written and art images with much more text than usually offered in the graphic genre. It has monsters of both the human and non human variety. Its got action, suspense, and mystery! It’s FUN to run with Molly–she’d run any hollow-wood stuntwoman to death on the fire-escapes of the drowned lower Manhattan. It’s 1925 and the watery world is alive with certain sorts of magic–classy and ancient, wild, wonderful and wet– and strange portent dreams. It will make your heart pound to the tune of Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and then some when Joe battles the ever enlarging eels. It might break your heart when certain clock works stop ticking. It definitely should not bore you with another round of sex on the beach for the poor depressed tax man who has learned his wife is having an affair and his daughter does phone sex for a living (Oops, Ghostlights spoiler alert. My bad. I meant to refer to the drink–you knew that right? Yeah, I couldn’t lie to save my skin. A few more references to Ghostlights and I could knock that review off here via the old standard of compare and contrast–enjoyable read to not enjoyable read. In case you don’t know which is which at the moment just wait till I get to the Millet tome.) But you don’t have to be a fourteen year old girl to relish Joe Golem and the DrowningCity. I’m certainly not. But I sure wish there were girls like Molly in the books I was reading at fourteen. Little Women never quite did it for me. One more thing I really like about this book–how it presents notions of friendship, loyalty and family. There is more to relationships than who shares your gene pool. Just ask Felix, Joe, Molly and Simon Church. They don’t need no crystal balls to see the truth–after all, crystal balls are just props for amateurs in life. Oh, by the way, this is a story about a girl whose best friend, a classy old magic man is kidnapped by a mad scientist and how the girl and her new friends. Joe and Simon, try to rescue him. Yes, it is. And then some.
Blade Runner this ain’t. Nor is it the novel the film was based upon, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?. This little ditty of a novel ostensibly lays claim to the science fiction genre via some questionable prehistoric humanoid remains and a mystery of water contamination. If you include the science of human nature then the novel definitely qualifies as science fiction of a certain sort. Dick delves into the motives and minds of a few men around 1960–and if that doesn’t scare you now, it will after reading The Man Whose Teeth Were All Exactly Alike because polite Ward Cleaver these dudes are not. The meat of this novel lies in the character development and portrayal of the male female relationships. Dick does not paint an appealing portrait of the minds of the husbands. If you are a woman and you know men like these–your course of action should be very clear–RUN! RUN FAST! Realtor Leo Runcible’s wife, Janet, is already an alcoholic mess by the time we meet her. But we get front row seats to Walt Dombrosio’s mental and physical assaults on his wife, Sherry, as he feels increasingly threatened by her entrance into the world of work outside the home. There’s not much to love in these little ‘love nests’. Dick pulls no punches as he lays bare the nature of the war between the sexes 1960 style. Pity that the same mentalities are alive and well in 2012. And I will refrain from tossing out all the recent political allusions currently flooding my brainpan. Except just this one— keep in mind– women still are not paid the same as men for doing the same job. Maybe this should be required reading for Women’s Studies programs in order to give young American women a sense of “the good old days.” Yeah, I know, some women do like their men cave man style. Must be a failure to evolve? At any rate, this is Philip K. Dick writing and in my opinion that makes it worth reading–as distasteful as cast of characters may be.
Okay folks my lack of geek brain cell mass is seriously crippling an addition of a quick Care2 widget to this blog for instant gratification petition signing purposes. But what I can do is provide the link to Care2 and the title of the petition you can find on site there to sign. I realize this will require a few more minutes of YOUR time and energy –and I do apologize for this extra effort on your generous spirits. But even my resident geek computer god cannot fathom why the embed code will not thrive in this WordPress blog’s post soil. So– we’re going there the slower route–but we CAN get there! Or so I hope. This is for everyone who requested an online petition to sign. Thanks to Barb Reese for putting this petition online at Care2. Folks, they’re only hoping for 1,000 signatures. Can you help them blow way past that amount by sharing on fb, tweeting, email, reblogging and other means? They’re up to 190 at the time of this blog post. Please show your support. And if anyone figures out how get that widget code to work on this Word Press blog theme – Come back a leave specific step by step recipe for ME!!!!
Petition title —-> “Senate Bill seeks to extinguish Navajo and Hopi water rights” petition to sign at Care2
A continuing complaint about the Occupy Movement is lack of focus and vague demands. Apparently some folks are hearing impaired and have serious trouble reading. Maybe that’s due to the lackluster education system in America? Or is it selective hearing and intellectual denial? Indeed none of this fits well into 30 second mainstream news coverage soundbites. Probably because the issues are too big and complex and hence mainstream news mentality FAILS dramatically with anything requiring their attention beyond 5 minutes viewing span. It’s clear many people still think this movement is a ‘joke’ that will vanish with winter snows and freezing temperatures. Well, even if the symbolic tents do disappear via snow or police action–the people involved have not and they will not be invisible nor silent — even if corporate controlled mainstream media continues their puppet plays.
While much protest music has come from the past, for example, John Lennon’s “Imagine”, there are new songs being written too.
Recorded LIVE at Occupy Dame Street, Dublin, Ireland December 10, 2011 “Foreign Lands” by Matthew. Thanks to Liam of The Fingals channel, for the video.
To protest the recent Budget Cuts on the backs of the people who did not create the continually swelling economic disaster The Spectacle of Defiance and Hope filled Dame Street with scarlet in many forms–including spoken word.
Spectacle march and proclamation
Temper Mental Miss Elayneous held nothing back on December 3, 2011.
Confused? Maybe Curly can help clear up a concept or two.
If that doesn’t work maybe Peadar O hlci ‘s song “Occupy Public Spaces” will do the trick.
Recently a “pigeon” delivered a letter of Solidarity to Occupy Dame Street from Occupy Philly. So it seems fitting to connect this post about Occupy Dame Street with a tip of the tubes to Occupy Philly with their fierce Foreclosure of Wells Fargo on November 18, 2011. If this action had aired LIVE on any television station in Philly as it did on Livestream—how could anyone who suffered foreclosure in Philly not have joined Occupy Philly at Wells Fargo?
Oh yeah, they stayed! And look who WAS watching:
That’s not an American accent, is it? O my, Occupy unites the world?
All day, every day Occupy Dame Street kettles the Central Bank in Dublin, Ireland. The camp receives postal mail at Occupy Dame Street, Central Bank, Dame Street, Dublin 2, Ireland. The garda help keep the drunks out of the occupy camp. Sweeny’s Pub provides laptop charging. Other businesses donate food, including a steady stream of CAKE. Yes, you read that right, CAKE. In case you thought occupy only occupies in America here is an introduction to an occupy in Ireland. The Emerald Isle also has economic and environmental woes. Yes the Irish march and protest too. Though you might not believe that if you trust your television news.
Violating copyright births bad karma---imagine a mad hacker you'll never see coming--nor catch going. Respect = my work is my work and your work is your work.
Everything posted here is my work, copyrighted, unless otherwise noted. Comments aside. Om
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“Today, we tell Congress that we ‘sacrificed’ ourselves for the national good,” Oliver Houck wrote in the Tulane Environmental Law Journal. “Never has there been such a willing, complicit sacrifice. We made a bundle of money, wasted most of it, and blackballed anyone who questioned what it was doing to the Louisiana coast. About 70 years ago, Louisiana made a deal with the oil and gas industry. The industry would get what it wanted; the state would get a piece of the take.”
om mani padme hum jewel in the lotus wahupa qi prana universal life energy
