Arkansas City to Wichita, Kansas
Thursday September 27, 2007
7:37am Last night my fifteen year old friend crashed with me in the woods close to the river. In the middle of the night his friends came by and told him, "Hey, your dad is pretty mad," and he left with them. And like at three forty this morning it started raining! I had to scramble and get my stuff covered up. Then all of a sudden I see a car pull up. It was this guy and his girlfriend. I smoked him out. Anyway, it never stopped raining. I put my raincoat on and got in my sleeping bag and that kept me dry. It's nice right now though. I'm going to take pictures of this river I ended up at last night.
8:40am Oh shit, I forgot to switch out the batteries. The ones on my camera are dead. I have other ones.
8:44am I am all packed up and ready to go. I thought I had lost my Leatherman. I was scared for a minute. I camped last night with Ashton like right off the road. I didn't like the spot he suggested we sleep at, because anyone who pulled up in a car could easily see us. But he said he knew the the neighborhood, so I trusted his judgment. I woke up in the middle of the night because it started raining. I didn't get that wet. I just put my rainsuit on and got in my sleeping bag. I need to find a laundromat today and dry out my shit. I did a paranoid-check and I have all my stuff. My Leatherman, my camera, my walking stick, bag, all my stuff. It's all on me. I'm all loaded up now and I'm going to take off. Oh, I didn't get water last night. I'm real thirsty. I haven't drank anything this morning. Therefore, I haven't eaten anything eatier. I have some Pop Tarts to eat, but I don't want to eat them without water. Plus, I need to take my vitamins and shit. Brush my teeth and stuff. I need water. I'm going to walk into town now. They told me this place was really close to town. Let's see how close it is. Hmm, maybe I cross the bridge to the other side of the river. I took pictures of everything.
Bridge.
This morning the first thing I did was dig my heel in the sand and took a shit. I had some napkins in my CD case. I'm going to take a picture of this little delta right here.
I've got twenty five dollars left. I'm going to go now. I need to stop procrastinating. My first mission for the day is to find a laundromat and dry my shit out. Plus, it wouldn't hurt to do my laundry again.
That bridge is over off Chestnut Avenue.
I crossed the bridge and some black dude fishing told me it was only six blocks to town. Right now I'm at 12th Street and Chestnut. I'm hungry. I need to go find me a breakfast diner or something. I've got twenty five bucks.
Shit, 8th Street. I don't know which way to turn. I think I keep going straight on Chestnut.
I just love this town. All the streets are paved with bricks. Awesome.
9:14am Turning right on 1st Street. Central Christian Church. I see some Osage thing I remember from last night. I'll walk over there and see if I recognize where I am. I want to find me a restaurant.
9:15am Turning left on Central. I'm walking in front of the police station and city hall. I'm going to take a picture.
Sweet, I ended up at that pavillion I was at last night. Awesome. That means I can go find some food at a restaurant on Main Street.
9:23am I got directed to Brick's Restaurant.
10:17am I just left Brick's. I asked the waitress for a couple sheets of paper so I could write out more havethisbook.coms. She gave me a couple placemat papers. They're huge. I should've just asked for one. Alright, there's supposed to be a laundromat down here somewhere.
I got a little stoned. I don't need to find a laundromat right away. My stuff just got damp. I've got a shirt to wear. I can put on my Fuck Bush shirt. I want to go to the college here and see if I can tap any resources. Score a shower maybe.
I had some Texas French Toast for breakfast at Brick's. It was like seven bucks and I tipped the lady two dollars.
10:56am I just took a picture of Wilson Park. This big locomotive. I took two pictures. I'm going to keep walking.
Birch Street.
11:13am Did I tell you that I made it to the laundromat?
12:19pm I came to R&L Launadry. Uptown on Main Street. I was able to wash off my military rain poncho here with a water hose outside. What was your name again? Vincent, I asked him, "Hey, you don't possibly I have a waterhose I could use?" He sure did. He took me to the back room and opened up the back door and brought the hose out. I was able to throw my poncho over the air conditioning thing outside and hosed it off real good. It got way dirty from the rain and mud last night.
I ate my Pop Tarts on the bench inside. I dropped a lot of crumbs on the floor so I asked Vincent if he had a broom I could borrow. I told him, "Screw it, I'll sweep your whole floor. Do you mind?" He said, "Not at all, if you don't have anything to do go right ahead." He volunteered me a bottle of water afterwards.
1:06pm I finished at the laundromat. I had a good little rest at the laundromat. I swept his whole floor for him out of the kindness of my heart. I kind of missed sweeping my mom's house, hehe. He offered me a snack and I told him, "Ah, I'm alright. I just ate my Pop Tarts.
1:22pm I left the laundromat.
Umm, I've having technical difficulties with my tape recorder.
1:23pm It seems to be doing okay now. Anyway, I'm walking back into town. I got all my laundry done. I really wish I could take a shower. Hopefully I'll run into Ashton again. He thinks I'm badass. I hope my tape recorder doesn't mess up anymore.
Oh yeah, I packed all my stuff up and went outside to smoke a cigarette and some weed. Vincent walked out and gave me my battery charger I had left in there plugged in. I totally forgot about it.
1:34pm Passing by Wilson Park again. I'm wearing my sandals with socks. My boots are caribinered to the frame of my pack.
1:44pm I walked all the way back to the pavillion. I'm going to sit down and smoke and read my Ishmael book.
Make sure to type up some of Chapter 8:
The search for the law took me four days.
I spent one day telling myself I couldn't do it, two days doing it, and one day making sure I'd done it. On the fifth day I went back. As I walked into Ishmael's office, I was mentally rehearsing what I was going to say, which was, "I think I see why you insisted I do it myself."
I looked up from my thoughts and was momentarily disoriented. I had forgotten what was waiting for me there: the empty room, the lone chair, the slab of glass with a pair of glowing eyes behind it. Foolishly, I quavered a hello into the air.
Then Ishmael did something he'd never done before. By way of greeting, he lifted his upper lip to give me a look at a row of amber teeth as massive as elbows. I scurried to my chair and waited like a schoolboy for his nod.
"I think I see why you insisted I do it myself," I told him. If you had done the work for me and pointed out the things the Takers do that are never done in the natural community, I would have said, `Well, sure, so what, big deal.'"
Ishmael grunted.
"Okay. As I make it out, there are four things the Takers do that are never done in the rest of the community, and these are all fundamental to their civilizational system. First, they exterminate their competitors, which is something that never happens in the wild. In the wild, animals will defend their territories and their kills and they will invade their competitors' territories and preempt their kills. Some species even include competitors among their prey, but they never hunt competitors down just to make them dead, the way ranchers and farmers do with coyotes and foxes and crows. What they hunt, they eat."
Ishmael nodded. "It should be noted, however, that animals will also kill in self-defense, or even when they merely feel threatened. For example, baboons may attack a leopard that hasn't attacked them. The point to see is that, although baboons will go looking for food, they will never go looking for leopards."
"I'm not sure I see what you mean."
"I mean that in the absence of food, baboons will organize themselves to find a meal, but in the absence of leopards they will never organize themselves to find a leopard. In other words, it’s as you say: when animals go hunting-even extremely aggressive animals like baboons-it's to obtain food, not to exterminate competitors or even animals that prey on them."
"Yes, I see what you're getting at now."
"And how can you be sure this law is invariably followed? I mean, aside from the fact that competitors are never seen to be exterminating each other, in what you call the wild."
"If it weren't invariably followed, then, as you say, things would not have come to be this way. If competitors hunted each other down just to make them dead, then there would be no competitors. There would simply be one species at each level of competition: the strongest."
"Go on."
"Next, the Takers systematically destroy their competitors' food to make room for their own. Nothing like this occurs in the natural community. The rule there is: Take what you need, and leave the rest alone."
Ishmael nodded.
"Next, the Takers deny their competitors access to food. In the wild, the rule is: You may deny your competitors access to what you're eating, but you may not deny them access to food in general. In other words, you can say, `This gazelle is mine,' but you can't say, `All the gazelles are mine.' The lion defends its kill as its own, but it doesn't defend the herd as its own."
"Yes, that's true. But suppose you raised up a herd of your own, from scratch, so to speak. Could you defend that herd as your own?"
"I don't know. I suppose so, so long as it wasn't your policy that all the herds in the world were your own."
"And what about denying competitors access to what you're growing?"
"Again . . . Our policy is: Every square foot of this planet belongs to us, so if we put it all under cultivation, then all our competitors are just plain out of luck and will have to become extinct. Our policy is to deny our competitors access to all the food in the world, and that's something no other species does."
"Bees will deny you access to what's inside their hive in the apple tree, but they won't deny you access to the apples."
"That's right."
"Good. And you say there's a fourth thing the Takers do that is never done in the wild, as you call it."
"Yes. In the wild, the lion kills a gazelle and eats it. It doesn't kill a second gazelle to save for tomorrow. The deer eats the grass that's there. It doesn't cut the grass down and save it for the winter. But these are things the Takers do."
"You seem less certain about this one."
"Yes, I am less certain. There are species that store food, like bees, but most don't."
"In this case, you've missed the obvious. Every living creature stores food. Most simply store it in their bodies, the way lions and deer and people do. For others, this would be inadequate to their adaptations, and they must store food externally as well."
"Yes, I see."
"There's no prohibition against food storage as such. There couldn't be, because that's what makes the whole system work, the green plants store food for the plant eaters, the plant eaters store food for the predators, and so on."
"True. I hadn't thought of it that way."
"Is there anything else the Takers do that is never done in the rest of the community of life?"
"Not that I can see. Not that seems relevant to what make that community work."
"This law that you have so admirably described defines the limits of competition in the community of life. You may compete to the full extent of your capabilities, but you may not hunt down your competitors or destroy their food or deny them access to food. In other words, you may compete but you may not wage war."
"Yes. As you said, it's the peace-keeping law."
"And what's the effect of the law? What does it promote?"
"Well . . . it promotes order."
"Yes, but I'm after something else now. What would have happened if this law had been repealed ten million years ago? What would the community be like?"
"Once again, I'd have to say there would only be one form of life at each level of competition. If all the competitors for the grasses had been waging war on each other for ten million years, I'd have to think an overall winner would have emerged by now. Or maybe there'd be one insect winner, one avian winner, one reptile winner, and so on. The same would be true at all levels."
"So the law promotes what? What's the difference between this community and the community as it is?"
"I suppose the community I've just described would consist of a few dozen or a few hundred different species. The community as it is consists of millions of species."
"So the law promotes what?"
"Diversity."
"Of course. And what's the good of diversity?"
"I don't know. It's certainly more . . . interesting."
"What's wrong with a global community that consists of nothing but grass, gazelles, and lions? Or a global community that consists of nothing but rice and humans?"
I gazed into space for a while. "I'd have to think that a community like that would be ecologically fragile. It would be highly vulnerable. Any change at all in existing conditions, and the whole thing would collapse."
Ishmael nodded. "Diversity is a survival factor for the community itself. A community of a hundred million species can survive almost anything short of total global catastrophe. Within that hundred million will be thousands that could survive a global temperature drop of twenty degrees-which would be a lot more devastating than it sounds. Within that hundred million will be thousands that could survive a global temperature rise of twenty degrees. But a community of a hundred species or a thousand species has almost no survival value at all."
"True. And diversity is exactly what's under attack here. Every day dozens of species disappear as a direct result of the way the Takers compete outside the law."
"Now that you know there's a law involved, does it make a difference in the way you view what's going on?"
"Yes. I no longer think of what we're doing as a blunder. We're not destroying the world because we're clumsy. We're destroying the world because we are, in a very literal and deliberate way, at war with it."
"As you've explained, the community of life would be destroyed if all species exempted themselves from the rules competition laid down by this law. But what would happen if only one species exempted itself?"
"You mean other than man?"
"Yes. Of course it would have to possess an almost human cunning and determination. Suppose that you're a hyena. Why should you share the game with those lazy, domineering lions? It happens again and again: You kill a zebra, and a lion comes along, drives you off, and helps himself while you sit around waiting for the leavings. Is that fair?"
"I thought it was the other way around-the lions make the kill and the hyenas do the harassing."
"Lions make their own kills, of course, but they're perfectly content to appropriate someone else's if they can."
"Okay."
"So you're fed up. What are you going to do about it?"
"Exterminate the lions."
"And what's the effect of this?"
"Well . . . no more hassles."
"What were the lions living on?"
"The gazelles. The zebras. The game."
"Now the lions are gone. How does this affect you?"
"I see what you're getting at. There's more game for us."
"And when there's more game for you?"
I looked at him blankly.
"All right. I was assuming you knew the ABC's of ecology. In the natural community, whenever a population's food supply increases, that population increases. As that population increases, its food supply decreases, and as its food supply decreases, that population decreases. This interaction between food populations and feeder populations is what keeps everything in balance."
"I did know it. I just wasn't thinking."
"Well," Ishmael said with a baffled frown, "think."
I laughed. "Okay. So, with the lions gone, there's more food for hyenas, and our population grows. It grows to the point where game becomes scarce, then it begins to shrink."
"It would in ordinary circumstances, but you've changed those circumstances. You've decided the law of limited competition doesn't apply to hyenas."
"Right. So we kill off our other competitors."
"Don't make me drag it out of you one word at a time. I want you to work it out."
"Okay. Let's see. After we kill off our competitors for the game . . . our population grows until the game begins to get scarce. There are no more competitors to kill off, so we have to increase the game population. . . . I can't see hyenas going in for animal husbandry."
"You've killed off your competitors for the game, but your game has competitors as well-competitors for the grasses. These are your competitors once removed. Kill them off and there'll be more grass for your game."
"Right. More grass for the game means more game, more game means more hyenas, more hyenas means . . . What's left to kill off?" Ishmael just raised his eyebrows at me. "Then nothing left to kill off."
"Think."
I thought. "Okay. We've killed off our direct competitors and our competitors once removed. Now we can kill off our competitors twice removed-the plants that compete with the grasses for space and sunlight."
"That's right. Then there will be more plants for your game and more game for you."
"Funny. . . . This is considered almost holy work by farmers and ranchers. Kill off everything you can't eat. Kill off any thing that eats what you eat. Kill off anything that doesn't feed what you eat."
"It is holy work, in Taker culture. The more competitors you destroy, the more humans you can bring into the world, and that makes it just about the holiest work there is. Once you exempt yourself from the law of limited competition, everything in the world except your food and the food of your food becomes an enemy to be exterminated."
"As you see, one species exempting itself from this law has the same ultimate effect as all species exempting themselves. You end up with a community in which diversity is progressively destroyed in order to support the expansion of a single species."
"Yes. You have to end up where the Takers have ended up-constantly eliminating competitors, constantly increasing your food supply, and constantly wondering what you're going to do about the population explosion. How did you put it the other day? Something about increasing food production to feed an increased population."
"`Intensification of production to feed an increased population leads to a still greater increase in population.' Peter Farb said it in Humankind."
"You said it was a paradox?"
"No, he said it was a paradox."
"Why?"
Ishmael shrugged. "I'm sure he knows that any species in the wild will invariably expand to the extent that its food supply expands. But, as you know, Mother Culture teaches that such laws do not apply to man."
"I have a question," I said. "As we've gone through these things, I keep wondering if agriculture itself is contrary to this law. I mean, it seems contrary to the law by definition."
"It is-if the only definition you have is the Taker definition. But there are other definitions. Agriculture doesn't have to be a war waged on all life that doesn't support your growth."
"I guess my problem is this. The biological community economy, isn't it? I mean, if you start taking more for yourself, then there's got to be less for someone else, for something else. Isn't that so?"
"Yes. But what are you getting at by taking more for yon self? Why do it?"
"Well, this is the basis for settlement. I can't have settlement unless I have agriculture."
"Are you sure that's what you want?" "What else would I want?"
"Do you want to grow to the point where you can take over the world and put every square foot of it under cultivation and force everyone alive to be an agriculturalist?"
"No."
"That's what the Takers have been doing-and are still doing. That's what their agricultural system is designed to support: not just settlement growth. Unlimited growth."
"Okay. But all I want is settlement."
"Then you don't have to go to war."
"But the problem remains. If I'm going to achieve settlement, I have to have more than I had before, and that more has got to come from somewhere."
"Yes, that's true, and I see your difficulty. In the first place settlement is not by any means a uniquely human adaptation. Offhand I can't think of any species that is an absolute nomad. There's always a territory, a feeding ground, a spawning ground, a hive, a nest, a roost, a lair, a den, a hole, a burrow. And there are varying degrees of settlement among animals, and among humans as well. Even hunter-gatherers aren't absolute nomads, and there are intermediate states between them and pure agriculturalists. There are hunter-gatherers who practice intensive collection, who and store food surpluses that enable them to be a bit more settled. Then there are semi-agriculturalists who grow a little and gather a lot. And then there are near-agriculturalists who grow a lot and gather a little. And so on."
“But this is not getting to the central problem," I said.
"It is getting to the central problem, but your vision is locked on seeing the problem in one way and one way only. The point you're missing is this: When Homo habilis appeared on the scene-when that particular adaptation that we call Homo habilis appeared on the scene-something had to make way for him. I don't mean that some other species had to become extinct. I mean simply that, with his very first bite, Homo habilis was in competition with something. And not with one thing, with a thousand things-which all had to be diminished in some small degree if Homo habilis was going to live. This is true of every single species that ever came into being on this planet."
"Okay. But I still don't see what this has to do with settlement."
"You're not listening. Settlement is a biological adaptation practiced to some degree by every species, including the human. And every adaptation supports itself in competition with the adaptations around it. In brief, human settlement isn't against the laws of competition, it's subject to the laws of competition."
"Ah. Yes. Okay, I see it now."
"So, what have we discovered here?"
"We've discovered that any species that exempts itself from the rules of competition ends up destroying the community in order to support its own expansion."
"Any species? Including man?"
"Yes, obviously. That's in fact what's happening here."
"So you see that this-at least this-is not some mysterious wickedness peculiar to the human race. It isn't some imponderable flaw in man that has made the people of your culture destroyers of the world."
"No. The same thing would happen with any species, at least with any species strong enough to bring it off. Provided that every increase in food supply is answered by an increase in population."
"Given an expanding food supply, any population will expand. This is true of any species, including the human. The Takers have been proving this here for ten thousand years. For ten thousand years they've been steadily increasing food production to feed an increased population, and every time they've done this, the population has increased still more."
I sat there for a minute thinking. Then I said, "Mother Culture doesn't agree."
"Certainly not. I'm sure she disagrees most strenuously. What does she say?"
"She says it's within our power to increase food production without increasing our population."
"To what end? Why increase food production?"
"To feed the millions who're starving."
"And as you feed them will you extract a promise that they will not reproduce?"
"Well . . . no, that's not part of the plan."
"So what will happen if you feed the starving millions?"
"They'll reproduce and our population will increase."
"Without fail. This is an experiment that has been performed in your culture annually for ten thousand years, with completely predictable results. Increasing food production to feed an increased population results in yet another increase in population. Obviously it has to have this result, and to predict any other is simply to indulge in biological and mathematical fantasies."
"Even so . . ." I thought some more. "Mother Culture says that, if it comes to that, birth control will solve the problem."
"Yes. If you're ever so foolish as to get into a conversation on this subject with some of your friends, you'll find they heave a great sigh of relief when they remember to make this point. ‘Whew! Off the hook!' It's like the alcoholic who swears he'll give up drink before it ruins his life. Global population control is always something that's going to happen in the future. It was something that was going to happen in the future when you were three Billion in 1960. Now, when you're five billion, it's still something that's going to happen in the future."
"True. Nevertheless, it could happen."
"It could indeed-but not as long as you're enacting this story. As long as you're enacting this story, you will go on answering famine with increased food production. You've seen the ads for sending food to starving peoples around the world?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever seen ads for sending contraceptives?"
"No."
"Never. Mother Culture talks out of both sides of her mouth on this issue. When you say to her population explosion she replies global population control, but when you say to her famine she replies increased food production. But as it happens, increased food production is an annual event and global population control is an event that never happens at all."
"True."
"Within your culture as a whole, there is in fact no significant thrust toward global population control. The point to see is that there never will be such a thrust so long as you're enacting a story that says the gods made the world for man. For as long as you enact that story, Mother Culture will demand increased food production today-and promise population control tomorrow."
"Yes, I can see that. But I have a question."
"Proceed."
"I know what Mother Culture says about famine. What do you say?"
"I? I say nothing, except that your species is not exempt from the biological realities that govern all other species."
"But how does that apply to famine?"
"Famine isn't unique to humans. All species are subject to it everywhere in the world. When the population of any species outstrips its food resources, that population declines until it once again in balance with its resources. Mother Culture says that humans should be exempt from that process, so when she finds a population that has outstripped its resources, she rushes in food from the outside, thus making it a certainty that there will be even more of them to starve in the next generation. Because the population is never allowed to decline to the point at which it can be supported by its own resources, famine becomes a chronic feature of their lives."
"Yes. A few years ago I read a story in the paper about an ecologist who made the same point at some conference on hunger. Boy, did he get jumped on. He was practically accused of being a murderer."
"Yes, I can imagine. His colleagues all over the world under stand perfectly well what he was saying, but they have the good sense not to confront Mother Culture with it in the midst of her benevolence. If there are forty thousand people in an area that can only support thirty thousand, it's no kindness to bring in food from the outside to maintain them at forty thousand. That just guarantees that the famine will continue."
"True. But all the same, it's hard just to sit by and let them starve."
"This is precisely how someone speaks who imagines that he is the world's divinely appointed ruler: `I will not let them starve. I will not let the drought come. I will not let the river flood.' It is the gods who let these things, not you."
"A valid point," I said. "Even so I have one more question on this." Ishmael nodded me on. "We increase food production in the U.S. tremendously every year, but our population growth is relatively slight. On the other hand, population growth is steepest in countries with poor agricultural production. This seems to contradict your correlation of food production with population growth."
He shook his head in mild disgust. "The phenomenon as it's observed is this: `Every increase in food production to feed an increased population is answered by another increase in population.' This says nothing about where these increases occur."
"I don't get it."
"An increase in food production in Nebraska doesn't necessarily produce a population increase in Nebraska. It may produce a population increase somewhere in India or Africa."
"I still don't get it."
"Every increase in food production is answered by an increase in population somewhere. In other words, someone is consuming Nebraska's surpluses-and if they weren't, Nebraska's farmers would stop producing those surpluses, pronto."
"True," I said, and spent a few moments in thought. "Are you suggesting that First World farmers are fueling the Third World population explosion?"
"Ultimately," he said, "who else is there to fuel it?"
I sat there staring at him.
"You need to take a step back from the problem in order to see it in global perspective. At present there are five and a half billion of you here, and, though millions of you are starving, you're producing enough food to feed six billion. And because you're producing enough food for six billion, it's a biological certainty that in three or four years there will be six billion of you. By that time, however (even though millions of you will still be starving), you'll be producing enough food for six and a half billion-which means that in another three or four years there will be six and a half billion. But by that time you'll be producing enough food for seven billion (even though millions of you will still be starving), which again means that in another three or four years there will be seven billion of you. In order to halt this process, you must face the fact that increasing food production doesn't feed your hungry, it only fuels your population explosion."
"I see that. But how do we stop increasing food production?"
"You do it the same way you stop destroying the ozone layer, the same way you stop cutting down the rain forests. If the will is there, the method will be found."
Page 220
"In other words, hunter-gatherers lead a very grim life."
"Yes."
"And why is it grim?"
"Because it's a struggle just to stay alive."
"But in fact it isn't anything of the kind. I'm sure you know that, in another compartment of your mind. Hunter-gatherers no more live on the knife-edge of survival than wolves or lions or sparrows or rabbits. Man was as well adapted to life on this planet as any other species, and the idea that he lived on the knife-edge of survival is simply biological nonsense. As an omnivore, his dietary range is immense. Thousands of species will go hungry before he does. His intelligence and dexterity enable him to live comfortably in conditions that would utterly defeat any other primate.
"Far from scrabbling endlessly and desperately for food, hunter-gatherers are among the best-fed people on earth, and they manage this with only two or three hours a day of what you would call work-which makes them among the most leisured people on earth as well. In his book on stone age economics, Marshall Sahlins described them as `the original affluent society.' And incidentally, predation of man is practically nonexistent. He's simply not the first choice on any predator's menu. So you see that your wonderfully horrific vision of your ancestors' life is just another bit of Mother Culture's nonsense. If you like, you can confirm all this for yourself in an afternoon at the library."
"Okay," I said. "So?"
"So now that you know that it's nonsense, do you feel differently about that life? Does it seem less repulsive to you?"
"Less repulsive maybe. But still repulsive."
"Consider this. Let's suppose you're one of this nation's homeless. Out of work, no skills, a wife the same, two kids. Nowhere to turn, no hope, no future. But I can give you a box with a button on it. Press the button and you'll all be whisked instantly back to prerevolutionary times. You'll all be able to speak the language, you'll all have the skills everyone had then. You'll never again have to worry about taking care of yourself and your family. You'll have it made, you'll be a part of that original affluent society."
"Okay."
"So, do you press the button?"
"I don't know. I have to doubt it."
"Why? It isn't that you'd be giving up a wonderful life here. According to this hypothesis, the life you've got here is wretched, and it's not likely to improve. So it has to be that the other life seems even worse. It isn't that you couldn't bear giving up the life you've got-it's that you couldn't bear embracing that other life."
"Yes, that's right."
"What is it that makes that life so horrifying to you?"
"I don't know."
"It seems that Mother Culture has done a good job on you."
"Yes."
"All right. Let's try this. Wherever the Takers have come up against some hunter-gatherers taking up space they wanted for themselves, they've tried to explain to them why they should abandon their life-style and become Takers. They've said, `This life of yours is not only wretched, it's wrong. Man was not meant to live this way. So don't fight us. Join our revolution and help us turn the world into a paradise for man.'"
"Right."
"You take that part-the part of the cultural missionary-and I'll take the part of a hunter-gatherer. Explain to me why the life that I and my people have found satisfying for thousands of years is grim and revolting and repulsive."
"Good lord."
"Look, I’ll get you started. . . . Bwana, you tell us that the way we live is wretched and wrong and shameful. You tell us that it's not the way people are meant to live. This puzzles us, Bwana, because for thousands of years it has seemed to us a good way to live. But if you, who ride to the stars and send your words around the world at the speed of thought, tell us that it isn't, then we must in all prudence listen to what you have to say."
"Well . . . I realize it seems good to you. This is because you're ignorant and uneducated and stupid."
"Exactly so, Bwana. We await your enlightenment. Tell us why our life is wretched and squalid and shameful."
"Your life is wretched and squalid and shameful because you live like animals."
Ishmael frowned, puzzled. "I don't understand, Bwana. We live as all others live. We take what we need from the world and leave the rest alone, just as the lion and the deer do. Do the lion and the deer lead shameful lives?"
"No, but that's because they're just animals. It's not right for humans to live that way."
"Ah," Ishmael said, "this we did not know. And why is it not right to live that way?"
"It's because, living that way . . . you have no control over your lives."
Ishmael cocked his head at me. "In what sense do we have no control over our lives, Bwana?"
"You have no control over the most basic necessity of all, your food supply."
"You puzzle me greatly, Bwana. When we're hungry, we go off and find something to eat. What more control is needed?"
"You'd have more control if you planted it yourself."
"How so, Bwana? What does it matter who plants the food?"
"If you plant it yourself, then you know positively that it's going to be there."
Ishmael cackled delightedly. "Truly you astonish me, Bwana! We already know positively that it's going to be there. The whole world of life is food. Do you think it's going to sneak away during the night? Where would it go? It's always there, day after day, season after season, year after year. If it weren't, we wouldn't be here to talk to you about it."
"Yes, but if you planted it yourself, you could control how much food there was. You'd be able to say, `Well, this year we'll have more yams, this year we'll have more beans, this year we'll have more strawberries."
"Bwana, these things grow in abundance without the slightest effort on our part. Why should we trouble ourselves to plant what is already growing?"
"Yes, but . . . don't you ever run out? Don't you ever wish you had a yam but find there are no more growing wild?"
"Yes, I suppose so. But isn't it the same for you? Don't you ever wish you had a yam but find there are no more growing in your fields?"
"No, because if we wish we had a yam, we can go to the store and buy a can of them."
"Yes, I have heard something of this system. Tell me this, Bwana. The can of yams that you buy in the store-how many of you labored to put that can there for you?"
"Oh, hundreds, I suppose. Growers, harvesters, truckers, cleaners at the canning plant, people to run the equipment, people to pack the cans in cases, truckers to distribute the cases, people at the store to unpack them, and so on."
"Forgive me, but you sound like lunatics, Bwana, to do all this work just to ensure that you can never be disappointed over the matter of a yam. Among my people, when we want a yam, we simply go and dig one up-and if there are none to be found, we find something else just as good, and hundreds of people don't need to labor to put it into our hands."
"You're missing the point."
"I certainly am, Bwana."
I stifled a sigh. "Look, here's the point. Unless you control your own food supply, you live at the mercy of the world. It doesn't matter that there's always been enough. That's not the point. You can't live at the whim of the gods. That's just not a human way to live."
"Why is that, Bwana?"
"Well . . . look. One day you go out hunting, and you catch a deer. Okay, that's fine. That's terrific. But you didn't have any control over the deer's being there, did you?"
"No, Bwana."
"Okay. The next day you go out hunting and there's no deer to be caught. Hasn't that ever happened?"
"Assuredly, Bwana."
"Well, there you are. Because you have no control over the deer, you have no deer. So what do you do?"
Ishmael shrugged. "We snare a couple of rabbits."
"Exactly. You shouldn't have to settle for rabbits if what you want is deer."
"And this is why we lead shameful lives, Bwana? This is why we should set aside a life we love and go to work in one of your factories? Because we eat rabbits when it happens that no deer presents itself to us?"
"No. Let me finish. You have no control over the deer-and no control over the rabbits either. Suppose you go out hunting one day, and there are no deer and no rabbits? What do you do then?"
"Then we eat something else, Bwana. The world is full of food."
"Yes, but look. If you have no control over any of it . . ." I bared my teeth at him. "Look, there's no guarantee that the world is always going to be full of food, is there? Haven't you ever had a drought?"
"Certainly, Bwana."
"Well, what happens then?"
"The grasses wither, all the plants wither. The trees bear no fruit. The game disappears. The predators dwindle."
"And what happens to you?"
"If the drought is very bad, then we too dwindle."
"You mean you die, don't you?"
"Yes, Bwana."
"Ha! That's the point!"
"It's shameful to die, Bwana?"
"No. . . . I've got it. Look, this is the point. You die because you live at the mercy of the gods. You die because you think the gods are going to look after you. That's okay for animals, but you should know better."
"We should not trust the gods with our lives?"
"Definitely not. You should trust yourselves with your lives. That's the human way to live."
Ishmael shook his head ponderously. "This is sorry news indeed, Bwana. From time out of mind we've lived in the hands of the gods, and it seemed to us we lived well. We left to the gods all the labor of sowing and growing and lived a carefree life, and it seemed there was always enough in the world for us, because-behold!-we are here!"
"Yes," I told him sternly. "You are here, and look at you. You have nothing. You're naked and homeless. You live without security, without comfort, without opportunity."
"And this is because we live in the hands of the gods?"
"Absolutely. In the hands of the gods you're no more important than lions or lizards or fleas. In the hands of these gods-these gods who look after lions and lizards and fleas-you're nothing special. You're just another animal to be fed. Wait a second," I said, and closed my eyes for a couple minutes. "Okay, this is important. The gods make no distinction between you and any other creature. No, that's not quite it. Hold on." I went back to work, then tried again. "Here it is: What the gods provide is enough for your life as animals-I grant you that. But for your life as humans, you must provide. The gods are not going to do that."
Ishmael gave me a stunned look. "You mean there is something we need that the gods are not willing to give us, Bwana?"
"That's the way it seems, yes. They give you what you need to live as animals but not what you need beyond that to live as humans."
"But how can that be, Bwana? How can it be that the gods are wise enough to shape the universe and the world and the life of the world but lack the wisdom to give humans what they need to be human?"
"I don't know how it can be, but it is. That's the fact. Man lived in the hands of the gods for three million years and at the end of those three million years was no better off and no farther ahead than when he started."
"Truly, Bwana, this is strange news. What kind of gods are these?"
I snorted a laugh. "These, my friend, are incompetent gods. This is why you've got to take your lives out of their hands entirely. You've got to take your lives into your own hands."
"And how do we do that, Bwana?"
"As I say, you've got to begin planting your own food."
"But how will that change anything, Bwana? Food is food, whether we plant it or the gods plant it."
"That's exactly the point. The gods plant only what you need. You will plant more than you need."
"To what end, Bwana? What's the good of having more food than we need?"
"Damn!" I shouted. "I get it!"
Ishmael smiled and said, "So what's the good of having more food than we need?"
"That is the whole goddamned point! When you have more food than you need, then the gods have no power over you!"
"We can thumb our noses at them."
"Exactly."
"All the same, Bwana, what are we to do with this food if we don't need it?"
"You save it! You save it to thwart the gods when they decide it's your turn to go hungry. You save it so that when they send a drought, you can say, `Not me, goddamn it! I'm not going hungry, and there's nothing you can do about it, because my life is in my own hands now!'"
Ishmael nodded, abandoning his hunter-gatherer role. "So your lives are now in your own hands."
"That's right."
"Then what are you all so worried about?"
"What do you mean?"
"If your lives are in your own hands, then it's entirely up to you whether you go on living or become extinct. That's what this expression means, isn't it?"
"Yes. But obviously there are still some things that aren't in our hands. We wouldn't be able to control or survive a total ecological collapse."
"So you're not safe yet. When will you finally be safe?"
"When we've taken the whole world out of the hands of the gods."
"When the whole world is in your own, more competent, hands."
"That's right. Then the gods will finally have no more power over us. Then the gods will have no more power over anything. All the power will be in our hands and we'll be free at last."
"Well," Ishmael said, "are we making progress?"
"I think so."
"Do you think we've found the root of your revulsion toward the sort of life that was lived in prerevolutionary times?"
"Yes. Far and away the most futile admonition Christ ever offered was when he said, `Have no care for tomorrow. Don't worry about whether you're going to have something to eat. Look at the birds of the air. They neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, but God takes perfect care of them. Don't you think he'll do the same for you?' In our culture the overwhelming answer to that question is, `Hell no!' Even the most dedicated monastics saw to their sowing and reaping and gathering into barns."
"What about Saint Francis?"
"Saint Francis relied on the bounty of farmers, not the bounty of God. Even the most fundamental of the fundamentalists plug their ears when Jesus starts talking about birds of the air and lilies of the field. They know damn well he's just yarning, just making pretty speeches."
"So you think this is what's at the root of your revolution. You wanted and still want to have your lives in your own hands."
"Yes. Absolutely. To me, living any other way is almost inconceivable. I can only think that hunter-gatherers live in a state of utter and unending anxiety over what tomorrow's going to bring."
"Yet they don't. Any anthropologist will tell you that. They are far less anxiety-ridden than you are. They have no jobs to lose. No one can say to them, `Show me your money or you don't get fed, don't get clothed, don't get sheltered.'"
"I believe you. Rationally speaking, I believe you. But I'm talking about my feelings, about my conditioning. My conditioning tells me-Mother Culture tells me-that living in the hands of the gods has got to be a never-ending nightmare of terror and anxiety."
"And this is what your revolution does for you: It puts you beyond the reach of that appalling nightmare. It puts you beyond the reach of the gods."
"Yes, that's it."
"So. We have a new pair of names for you. The Takers are those who know good and evil, and the Leavers are . . . ?"
"The Leavers are those who live in the hands of the gods."
Page 251
"I have neglected one small point," Ishmael said, then gave way to a long, groaning, wheezing sigh, as if he were sorry he'd allowed himself to be reminded of it.
I waited in silence.
"One of my students was an ex-convict. An armed robber, as it happened. Have I told you that?"
I said he hadn't.
"I'm afraid our work together was more useful to me than to him. Primarily what I learned from him is that, contrary to the impression one receives from prison movies, the prison population is not at all an undifferentiated mass. As in the outside world, there are the rich and the poor, the powerful and the weak. And relatively speaking, the rich and the powerful live very well inside the prison-not as well as they do on the outside, of course, but much, much better than the poor and the weak. In fact, they can have very nearly anything they want, in terms of drugs, food, sex, and service."
I cocked an eyebrow at him.
"You want to know what this has to do with anything," he said with a nod. "It has this to do with anything: The world of the Takers is one vast prison, and except for a handful of Leavers scattered across the world, the entire human race is now inside that prison. During the last century every remaining Leaver people in North America was given a choice: to be exterminated or to accept imprisonment. Many chose imprisonment, but not many were actually capable of adjusting to prison life."
"Yes, that seems to be the case."
Ishmael fixed me with a drooping, moist eye. "Naturally a well-run prison must have a prison industry. I'm sure you see why."
"Well . . . it helps to keep the inmates busy, I suppose. Takes their minds off the boredom and futility of their lives."
"Yes. Can you name yours?"
"Our prison industry? Not offhand. I suppose it's obvious."
"Quite obvious, I would say."
I gave it some thought. "Consuming the world."
Ishmael nodded. "Got it on the first try."
"There is one significant difference between the inmates of your criminal prisons and the inmates of your cultural prison: The former understand that the distribution of wealth and power inside the prison has nothing to do with justice."
I blinked at him for a while, then asked him to explain. "In your cultural prison, which inmates wield the power?"
"Ah," I said. "The male inmates. Especially the white male inmates."
"Yes, that's right. But you understand that these white male inmates are indeed inmates and not warders. For all their power and privilege-for all that they lord it over everyone else in the prison-not one of them has a key that will unlock the gate."
"Yes, that's true. Donald Trump can do a lot of things I can't, but he can no more get out of the prison than I can. But what does this have to do with justice?"
"Justice demands that people other than white males have power in the prison."
"Yes, I see. But what are you saying? That this isn't true?"
"True? Of course it's true that males-and, as you say, especially white males-have called the shots inside the prison for thousands of years, perhaps even from the beginning. Of course it's true that this is unjust. And of course it's true that power and wealth within the prison should be equitably redistributed. But it should be noted that what is crucial to your survival as a race is not the redistribution of power and wealth within the prison but rather the destruction of the prison itself."
"Yes, I see that. But I'm not sure many other people would."
"No?"
"No. Among the politically active, the redistribution of wealth and power is . . . I don't know what to call it that would be strong enough. An idea whose time has come. The Holy Grail."
"Nonetheless, breaking out of the Taker prison is a common cause to which all humanity can subscribe."
I shook my head. "I'm afraid it's a cause to which almost none of humanity will subscribe. White or colored, male or female, what the people of this culture want is to have as much wealth and power in the Taker prison as they can get. They don't give a damn that it's a prison and they don't give a damn that it's destroying the world."
Ishmael shrugged. "As always, you're a pessimist. Perhaps you're right. I hope you're wrong."
"I hope so too, believe me."
I forgot to mention. This kid who had walked by earlier and accepted my website, he came back and he's listened to my story. My whole Odyssey and everything.
3:48pm I just finished Ishmael. Man, what an awesome book! I so want to read the other ones by Daniel Quinn. Umm, EVERYBODY READ THIS BOOK! I'm going to try and quote of that book as much as I can. Download it for free! Go on Undernet, channel #bookz with a zee at the end.
There's a store that says Collectables. I could've sworn it was spelled with an I instead of an A. I'll search Google and see if it tells me, "Did you mean.." I did and it seems both forms are acceptable. Well, at least to Google.
I hope something really cool happens to me today. When my friends show up.
I'll ask them for a ride to the truckstop to take a shower.
This kid Alec just listened to my story at the gazebo.
Some other kid.
5:04pm Man, check out this magic that happened today. I was supposed to meet Ashton at four, but he never showed up. All of a sudden this other kid rode by on his bike and I hit him up for my story. As soon as I mentioned marijuana he said, "Oh, my mom would like that." He agreed to listen to my story so we sat in the gazebo. His mom showed up later and she asked me where I was going to now. I told her, "I'm trying to get to the truckstop to take a shower." She quickly invited me over. We're driving away in the car right now. She's going to let me take a shower at her house. I appreciate it, Tracy. Everybody gets credit, thanks.
5:43pm Just witness the magic that has just occurred. I was waiting around for Ashton. He was supposed to meet me here at four. I had walked all the way to the laundromat today and did my laundry. I came back and waited at the gazebo, just reading Ishmael. I hit some random kid up for my story and tell it to him. His mom pulls up and take me to their house where I scored a shower. And guess what. I'm on my way to Wichita! Tracy just happens to be driving up there tonight to get weed! Doesn't everybody see how everything happens for a reason yet? Thanks for mobilizing me, Tracy. Arkansas City was a blast!
Pictures when they dropped me off in Wichita.
7:00pm What a great adventure I'm having. Tracy: "My husband died on seven seven of oh seven."
7:10pm Man, that was just awesome how I just got whisked away to Wichita real quick. Just for hanging out at that magical gazebo. All of a sudden, bam! I'm in Wichita. Tracy was going to Wichita to score some marijuana! Haha.
I'm walking down Broadway. I couldn't tell Tracy my story because she had the radio on in the car. I scored a shower! I feel like a million dollars, man. I was able to call my mom in San Antonio on Tracy's cellphone. She said she really misses me. She told me, "I always pray to God to keep my Vic-Vic safe." I told her, "I will be okay, mom. You will see me again, I promise."
Let the peace signs commence. Let the waving commence.
A lot of people wave back in Wichita.
I didn't tell you. I got dropped off at some gas station on 16th and Broadway. I've already walked like two or three blocks. I'm on 17th and Broadway now.
7:25pm I'm walking by 1528 Broadway. There's a cool car with all these marbles all over it. I took a picture of it. It's cool.
The bumper sticker says JESUS FREAK. I took another picture.
I saw these two black guys crossing the street and I gave them my website.
7:52pm I'm still walking down Broadway. Passing the Lord's Diner.
8:00pm Turning left on 1st Street for no reason whatsoever.
8:26pm It's gotten dark and there's nobody to talk to in this town. I'm taking a risk here. I'm already crashed out. It's like eight thirty at night, it's still early. I crashed out behind this dumpster next to this big wall. I'll take a picture of it in the morning when I wake up. I'll be okay. I've got protection. I can feel it. I don't know. Let's see what happens. Please Love, protect me during the night. Please don't let anything happen to me or any of my stuff. My mission means the world to me and I'd die without it. I'm going to crash out. I had a big day.
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