Some introductory food for thought...

"Threats to freedom of speech, writing and action, though often trivial in isolation, are cumulative in their effect and, unless checked, lead to a general disrespect for the rights of the citizen"
  - George Orwell

"There is only three states of being. There is slavery, tyranny, those are both forms of conflict, or negotiation. Negotiation depends on freedom of speech and you have to be able to talk to people if you are not going to fight with them or capitulate to them."
  - Jordan Peterson

"If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.”
  - George Orwell


The key proponents of the Bill and it's context...
On the 18th October 2016, Bill C-16 received Royal assent in Canada, despite having a small, but thorough opposition, even from those within the LGBT community who felt that the proponents of the Bill did not represent their desires, but that of the most extreme and ideological spectrum of their community. A prominent figure in the opposition to the Bill was Jordan Peterson, a Professor of Psychology at the University of Toronto, who has dedicated a great length of time in study into the **** and Soviet regimes of the past, paying particular attention to the ideological and psychological elements of those periods, which has built his principles as strongly opposed to ideological thought, Postmodernism and Marxism, all of which were instrumental or played roles in the mass genocidal regimes of the early 20th century that began with the subjugation of ideas and speech.

The Bill's implementation is an amendment to the Ontario Human Rights Code that makes the refusal by an individual to refer to someone by their preferred gender pronouns a hate crime. It also brands discrimination by 'gender expression' with the same impunity. To those who do not understand what these concepts mean, essentially what the gender pronoun debate is, is how a minority of the LGBT community demand they be refereed to by different pronouns, and have their gender expression (fashion choice) protected by law. For instance, those who claim not to fit into the binary gender pronouns (he/she) and therefor don't identify as either a man or a woman, wish to be refereed to with artificial neologisms such as ve, they and them.

These demands, however, are not being made by the majority of LGBT people, but a small minority of people, mostly younger students who've been indoctrinated into postmodern and social Marxist ideology. This means that the Canadian government is taking the most extreme representation of a group as the representatives of the entire group, which would be like taking the **** Party as a valid representation of Germans, or the British Olympic squad as representatives of the standard fitness of the entire British public. This is a key focus of opponents to the Bill, like Prof. Peterson who recognises (being an employee of a University himself) that Bills like these are the result of borderline indoctrination in the Universities, and not the demands of LGBT people in general.  


The innate authoritarianism of the bill and it's Marxist/Postmodern motives...
Why are the proponents of this Bill innately authoritarian in nature? Well, as Professor Jordan Peterson makes the clear distinction, that unlike other forms of what is deemed hate speech in law, that enforces what you CAN NOT say, this Bill enforces WHAT YOU MUST SAY. As an example, Holocaust denial is considered hate speech, and so you can not express such a position, however, here you are now forced to speak words that you might not want to say, something far more Orwellian that one might be able to conceive when concerning a seemingly trivial enforcement, and having often spoken of gradualism, this is certainly not the end of the issue.

What is also concerning is that the supporters of the Bill are evidently ideologically motivated, in terms that their ideology (Marxist/Postmodern) is in itself authoritarian in nature, and as they fail to gain support by ideas, they suppress them. Law like this should not be able to slide through the apparatus of the State this easily, for it conveys on many levels a lack of respect for the generations of people who suffered under despotic rule for centuries until finally the rule of law gave them rights (and now we throw them away). It also shows to those more nefarious groups, that the public will not blink, even when you chip away at their right to speak as they choose, which I don't believe is a habit that should be maintained.


- a short essay by FabiusSideman

The tavern roof was smokey
with a pall of blueish ash.
The juke box was a- booming
as it played "The Monster Mash".

A giant puffed a burning witch
whilst smoke rings he exhaled....
While victims of our neighbor,
Vlad...on stakes were all impaled.

The Faceless Man was grinning...
from ear to missing ear.
The hanged man turned his twisted neck
to sip a mug of beer.

The Headless Horseman shouted
for an aspirin or three.
He popped them down his gullet
where his head was meant to be.

The zombies waited tables
and the werewolf tended bar.
Mothra was the carhop
and took orders car to car.

Godzilla worked the griddle
and served burgers ala carte.
Dracula complained about the steak
caught in his heart.

Ghosts and ghouls were dancing
with abandon on the stage
While cyborgs did "the robot"
'cause they thought it was the rage.

The mummy came unraveled
as we took him for a "spin"
As Frankenstein played tuba
to contribute to the din.

Igor brought "the monster"
and then Freddie brought his claw.
Jason brought his butcher knife
and his buddy from "The Saw".

The guillotine was working
and the raven refereed
So nevermore would pardons
be
allowed to intercede.

The pendulum was swinging
to the beating of my heart.
I hoped that I would wake up soon...
then did so...with a START!

Halloween is coming.  So, I guess
I should prepare.
Watch out for bars with men from Mars...
'cause BEASTIES party there!

Part One
- Striking and the transfer of energy -

It would be my contention that most people, if asked where exactly the power in a strikers punch comes from, that many would reply with answers such as the arms, shoulders, hips or core. However, all of which are wrong to a degree, because these tenets of a strike are all secondary to the source of energy from which force can be generated: the ground. It is in fact the surface beneath a strikers feet from which much of the significant striking energy is generated up into the tips of their fist, with the mediator being technique. This knowledge alone of course does not produce an effective strike, however, this conception within the mind of a fighter alters how they see the process, for making a strike is simply the transfer of energy from one point to another.

How exactly that energy is transferred from the ground into the target is of course a matter of technique, but many traditional Martial Arts will teach the importance of the Stance in striking, particularly the rear leg. Before making an effective strike from a stationary or moving position, in many cases it is crucial that one's rear leg be straightened and not buckled at the knee, because, as the energy is generated from the ground into your target, that energy on impact will want to go back into the ground. However, by straightening the rear leg in your stance, much of this process will be eliminated as your body remains strong and upright upon impact. There are also many subtle nuances that can be developed regarding the Stance and the Strike, for instance, a short and strong push off of the rear foot before delivering a strike (whilst maintaining a straightened leg) can generate greater forward motion into your target. This technique can be developed through functional training of strength in the toes, ankles and lower leg, such as bouncing on the toes, jumping squats and other forms of exercise.

To use the example of the right hand straight punch (Gyaku tsuki) from a standard stance, it is also important to keep one's right side hip and shoulder locked back in a strong position, almost as a bowman draws his bow, as this creates a stance from which a tremendous transfer of weight can be shifted through your body. On making the strike, the sharp twisting of the hips and release of the shoulder will result in a launch of the striking hand out towards the target, not only creating speed and power, but also covering more distance via extending the shoulder and twisting the hips. This is why traditional Martial Artists are often able to fight from a distance and cover distance rapidly in making strikes.

Furthermore, to increase the power in a strike, it should be delivered in a whipping motion, and not in brute muscular strength. Many have a tendency to use the muscle strength in their upper body to create force, however, it is greatly more effective to relax these muscles when the strike is in motion, tensing only at the last minute in order to generate a whipping effect (sometimes refereed to as elastic recoil). Other ways in which this can be done is through a sharp twist of the wrist at the very last second from knuckles facing down to knuckles up (body punch) or to the side (face punch), as this will truly drive the strike into the target, also helping to generate that whipping effect on impact. On making this strike, as one's fist is thrown forward toward the target, a very slight and nuanced control of one's own body weight is too, greatly effective, as it is possible, through a short ****** of the upper body (whilst not lunging) to throw your weight through your arm, whilst remaining upright. This technique is so subtle that it is difficult to explain without demonstration, however, what is done is that as your leading foot lands before making the strike, one's body weight should follow that forward momentum for just a split second before releasing the strike which will create a kind of kinetic chain. This technique can be very effective if developed with control of your own centre of gravity.

Another greatly important tenet of making a strike that is often overlooked in many traditional forms of Martial Arts is protecting yourself whilst striking. It is important as you are most vulnerable when on offence (which is why timing is vital). Because of this I have tried to develop techniques that eliminate risk when striking, though, of course there are multiple methods that can be taken to minimise risk offensively, I will focus on what can be done regarding positioning. For instance, when throwing a right hand punch as your primary strike, to negate your opponents counter strikes, rather than advancing straight forward, it is possible to advance at an angle, i.e. stepping off with your leading foot to the left. This technique is more effective against straight punchers, however, can be effective in general as many are familiar with opponents advancing linearly toward them, thus the step off can be offsetting and will likely result in their punches travelling past you instead of into you, similar to how a boxer slips punches. What can also be added to this technique is that as you step off, rather than simply stepping with your foot closer to the ground, is to step with a swinging motion, lifting your foot clear of the ground. This will negate any possible sweeps to your leading foot that an opponent might make and will check any leg kicks. When defending yourself to counter attacks, your free hand can also be an effective tool to guard yourself. For example, it can be used to protect the left hand side of your head in a fist whilst the shoulder of your striking arm can be extended to protect your jaw. Alternatively, your free hand can be used to protect the right hand side of your head by crossing it across your body and having your palm outwards.

Finally I should add that a strike is most effectively made when your opponent doesn't see it coming.


  -  brought to you by JDH

When I was zero
I hope Dad felt like a hero
Holding me between his fingertips and elbow  
I scream from the shallow depths of my premature lungs
Nothing could calm me except for my thumbs
He carried me to the crib Mom built in a freshly painted room
It was probably white, but I can only assume
He could feel my pulse through his skin as my chest billowed
Dad laid me down gently so my head rested delicately atop a light pink pillow

When I was three
I was sad to leave the table under the lemon tree
And say goodbye to my artwork
To be enrolled in preschool at Mom’s work
Where employees build satellites and rovers
In the kid’s room, refusing to be a pushover
I got in trouble on the train track carpet
My cheeks burned scarlet
And scraped my chin falling off the money bars
For a moment I saw beautiful stars
I sat at lunch with apple slices
A few miles away Steve Jobs builds electronic devices

When I was four
God added to us one more
She’ll grow up to be taller than me
Only by an inch
When she scared me I wouldn’t flinch
Some days it felt like were Cain and Abel
As we sat fuming at the coffee table
But since your first breath of air in the hospital
Our bond has been unbreakable

When I was five
I pulled on a crisp white polo
Never without the school logo
Over my tangled blond hair
Zipped up a blue plaid jumper
With a matching sweater
The first day of school
What a day to remember

When I was six
I could not do soccer tricks
Dad bought me my first ball
Us girls got to decide what team name we would be called
Running around on the field
Rambunctious energy revealed
Oranges at half-time and Gatorade for the thirsty
Every year, I got a new colored jersey
Dad always refereed, Mom always cheered
It wasn’t long until I changed sports career
Gymnastics, volleyball, swimming, cross country
I tried each one in turn
Non-stop mediocre

When I was seven
Singing was my primary personality expression
I joined my churches children’s choir
Belting with boys and girls as if my tongue were on fire
We stood center stage
A pastor prayed
“Dear Jesus,
We thank you for the way you have blessed us through our kids
Give us the strength to do whatever your hearts bids
Amen”

When I was nine
I became aware of my spine
Mom signed me up for piano lessons
Learning music was a task for virtuous adolescents
On Tuesday’s I practiced with a smile
On Wednesday’s I thought it all vile
The teacher from Russia was intimidating, I admit
One day I stood on the stool and said “I quit”

When I was twelve
I didn’t know myself
Every day my body was changing
Every atom under my skin rearranging
Boys pointed and called me names
Girls laughed behind my back and played nasty games
I never understood why they call this school private
Everything I do is public knowledge in this climate
They call themselves Christians
But without CHRIST all I see are IANS
Immature Anxious Nefarious School-Kids

When I was seventeen
Wedged between two couples I sat between
I rode in a limo with friends to junior prom
Like a classic 80s rom-com
Dressed up to the nines
We took pictures in the sunshine
Never been asked on a real date
Probably why I’m independent and stay up too late

When I was eighteen
In my skin tight denim jeans
I started college in Montecito
Everyone had patagonia and that post-surf glow
A few years later the Royals moved in
Somewhere nextdoor lives Degeneres comma Ellen
But it’s okay because so does my best friend

When I was twenty
Almost no one at school was throwing confetti
I witnessed my first racially motivated student demonstration
After praising Jesus for our spiritual liberation
At school, on the news, in my town
Media making noise for brothers and sister Black and Brown
My sister and I made signs
Walked to the square ears open, eyes wide
Stood still
Listened
Pain, tears, anger that run in their veins
But hasn’t touched the surface of my pale frame
My blue eyes get red and swollen from time to time
But have not felt the weight of false accusation of crime
Of the multi-generational pain and censure
Their beautiful caramel brown irises have had to endure
I cannot begin to imagine
So I pray “Jesus, grant me compassion
Understanding and wisdom
Give me extra kindness, Holy Spirit help me spread the Kingdom”

Now I am almost twenty-two
These days the sky doesn’t seem quite as blue
Eyes numb to the dim overhead haze
Of the flickering light shadowing my days
It’s been long windy road to get here
Live loves to kick me in the rear
But I hold onto hope and don’t give up cheer
I shouldn’t cast my light from the mold of a pandemic year

We contradict here, all the premonitions of old,
that as hollow men and women, we should rise,
and take into our hand a pre-existing cause,
to band together, kindred of our character.

Though we strive to be forbidden to the difference,
harvested collaborators to our unrestrained hearts,
As our spirits try to ascend, we prohibit their actions.
We are bidden, overridden, and we are ******.

Did we grip our brother’s hand when he was losing?
Did we tend our mother’s hurt when she was broke?
We deprived our very sister, to implore till she was dead,
and we refereed the fingers, which fed us until they bled.

As a single man once intoned, on a stairway miles away;
We must subsist and struggle as one great homeland,
carry our neighbor’s burdens as though they were our own.
one kin, one race, though the color of skin may diverge.

Let us not stop in our virtuous endeavor, our strong destiny,
We are Lords of the future, master and slave, there be none.
We have risen from the catacombs of supreme despondency,
have accepted the heretical pressure of a ruined significance.

The night is no longer our mission; we travel unstained portals,
those which have always foreshadowed our meager gains.
We live for love, and cannot only give earned compassion.
We must love for the sake of devotion, and the sake of bounty.

We will take the apprehension of the mother, and the father,
and we will pacify it, will comfort their woes, and they will smile.
We will teach the child to go forth into the Dark, an existing torch,
upholding what we see as the shadows of bravery and optimism.

And when the times comes, and we lay down to die in peace,
we go, knowing the world had its little exploit of freedom,
its earned hope, not wasted, against bleak souls of the depraved,
having permitted the sun to shine; smiling as we resign to fate.

(or swing sets and monkey bars)

A pitch perfect spring day
such as today April 8th, 2022
within quaint hamlet
of Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
in close proximity within mind's eye
to Lake Wobegon, Minnesota
finds me reminiscing...

When, scads of light years ago
(half life of mein kampf),
while yours truly,
at that time a father linkedin
emotionally, mentally and socially
kibitzing with his two young adorable girls,
ah charming children indeed
(totally unbiased opinion that)
both sweet lassies to boot
figuratively got their daddy
tightly wrapped around all four

of their middle fingers,
matter of fact coercive Munchkin,
and her younger sibling Shayna Punim
both whose playful rebukes
courtesy daughters role playing
stern yet affectionate “mama,”
this papa feigned not to heed,
maybe begetting a boy
(cuz I ofttimes then
envisioned being pro creative
regarding bequeathing XY chromosomes

which engendered gifting us a son;
i.e. ideally conceived male child -
obviously at mercy
of biological random chance
genetic material receiving
proper allotment to garner
personal pronoun predicated
upon strict binary addressable as he/him),
when reproductive gamble roulette
never did yield nor diploid offspring
to carry forth Harris surname

constituting for good measure
genetic qua mixed breed,
would have elicited contrary response,
when playing reversed roles
whereby Matthew Scott the kid
(Billy me) not docile like his real self
and his imaginary male progeny
aplomb (fig your at Tivoli) found me
taking his fruitful lead
apple lee going bananas acceptable
make believe games regarding

above named adult playing
mischievous, innocuous, harmless
behavior committing neither
illegal transgression nor misdeed
from this grown man,
Sir Wren during self to architect
landing flat on me then
palm pilot sized ***
(measured by Andre the Giant)
as if drunk from mead,
where playfulness my creed

those were the days my friend...
years ago that streamed
flicked across thee ethereal net
at lightspeed, I experienced
manifest destiny nsync
with government assigned
mummy dearest head shrinker
taking eminent domain freed
Aladdin side me, those decades,
sans long gone fatherhood
plus roles he learned to succeed

recalling catfights ('twixt
daughters) he assertively refereed,
who cherished those
offspring, he did seed -
reckons adult opportunity
gifted yours truly mentoring
with excellence they did exceed
unlike yours truly
he rarely ever let loose maybe once,
the scairt (of his own shadow) boy inside
subsequently cowering frightened lad,

healthy development anxiety did impede
his spontaneity ****** and leveed,
thus renaissance awoke
to travel back in time
reliving boyhood non disrupted,
and prior to parenthood,
would be less apt to concede
how natural to bond with progeny
fostered by being keyed
into esprit de corps of biological charges,
now grown without need,

nor want of his company (halt)
sudden embarrassment that person,
whose absence in
“My Struggle” did bleed
unstaunched sadness till affixing
available spare time with books to read,
and poems to write attempting to feed
an errant stray tear every now and again,
more pronounced as father time guaranteed
begetting precious bundles of joy,
how pedestrian days

of yore like a tumbleweed
(think T.S. Elliot)
rocketed them thru preschool, kindergarten...
high school, college now this doddering
doth oft attempt (with futility) to reach them...
even cherished memories insync
with Jack and Jill Truck klaxon dost recede.