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Mishko and Dietrich, 2/12/2010

February 14, 2010

This Week in Disorganized America:

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3 Responses to “Mishko and Dietrich, 2/12/2010”

  1. JAT on February 15th, 2010 3:12 am

    These shows would sound better if Dietrich eliminated the breath pops by moving farther from his mic, then turning up the gain to compensate. A breath pop guard might be a good idea as well. Radio Shack used to sell them for just a few dollars.

  2. Bears Paw in smokey Mountain on February 18th, 2010 7:46 pm

    the box says speak your mind.

    taken from Jungs biography:

    pg-247

    On my next trip to the United States I went with a group of
    American friends to visit the Indians of New Mexico, the city-
    building Pueblos. “City,” however, is too strong a word. What
    they build are in reality only villages; but their crowded houses
    piled one atop the other suggest the word “city,*’ as do their
    language and their whole manner. There for the first time I had
    the good fortune to talk with a non-European, that is, to a non-
    white. He was a chief of the Taos pueblos, an intelligent man
    between the ages of forty and fifty. His name was Ochwiay
    Biano (Mountain Lake). I was able to talk with him as I have
    rarely been able to talk with a European. To be sure, he was
    caught up in his world just as much as a European is in his, but
    what a world it wasl In talk with a European, one is constantly
    running up on the sand bars of things long known but never
    understood; with this Indian, the vessel floated freely on deep,
    alien seas. At the same time, one never knows which is more en-
    joyable: catching sight of new shores, or discovering new ap-
    proaches to age-old knowledge that has been almost forgotten.

    “See,” Ochwiay Biano said, “how cruel the whites look. Their
    lips are thin, their noses sharp, their faces furrowed and dis-
    torted by folds. Their eyes have a staring expression; they are
    always seeking something. What are they seeking? The whites
    always want something; they are always uneasy and restless.
    We do not know what they want. We do not understand them.
    We think that they are mad.”

    I asked him why he thought the whites were all mad.

    “They say that they think with their heads/’ he replied.

    “Why of course. What do you think with?” I asked him in
    surprise.

    “We think here,” he said, indicating his heart.

    I fell into a long meditation. For the first time in my life, so it
    seemed to me, someone had drawn for me a picture of the real
    white man. It was as though until now I had seen nothing but
    sentimental, prettified color prints. This Indian had struck our
    vulnerable spot, unveiled a truth to which we are blind. I felt
    rising within me like a shapeless mist something unknown and
    yet deeply familiar. And out of this mist, image upon image
    detached itself: first Roman legions smashing into the cities of
    Gaul, and the keenly incised features of Julius Caesar, Scipio
    Africanus, and Pompey. I saw the Roman eagle on the North
    Sea and on the banks of the White Nile. Then I saw St. Augus-
    tine transmitting the Christian creed to the Britons on the tips of
    Roman lances, and Charlemagne’s most glorious forced con-
    versions of the heathen; then the pillaging and murdering bands
    of the Crusading armies. With a secret stab I realized the hol-
    lowness of that old romanticism about the Crusades. Then fol-
    lowed Columbus, Cortes, and the other conquistadors who with
    fire, sword, torture, and Christianity came down upon even
    these remote pueblos dreaming peacefully in the Sun, their
    Father. I saw, too, the peoples of the Pacific islands decimated
    by firewater, syphilis, and scarlet fever carried in the clothes the
    missionaries forced on them.

    It was enough. What we from our point of view call coloniza-
    tion, missions to the heathen, spread of civilization, etc., has
    another face the face of a bird of prey seeking with cruel in-
    tentness for distant quarry a face worthy of a race of pirates
    and highwaymen. All the eagles and other predatory creatures
    that adorn our coats of arms seem to me apt psychological
    representatives of our true nature.

  3. Praetorian on February 26th, 2010 10:28 pm

    I cannot find the article on Dresden that Dietrich was reading about 30 minutes into the show. Can i get a link, please?

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