On The Bible

if believe a fable like Mary Magedeline prenatal
or if you savor your savior
it will indefinitely turn out your intellect is in danger
your rational will become meek and mild
like christ in a manger
the evangelical avenging apathetic angels
make this world a lot less safer
say im lost and a devil so im hatin' on god
but it would seem that the believers are unreasonable frauds
peculiar and odd, like they want someone far off
to be telling them what to do so they excuse any wrong
victimizing us all
sitting high on a pulpit
so secularism brings a bullwhip and a bullhorn
to sound the call
time spent in the company of radical religion
is like purposefully blinding your vision
counterproductive and impairing decisions
so i will not be complacent as they wage wars for superstition
you need only look at history's precedents
to know that the bible is not evidence
not relevant, in fact quite the opposite
an atrocious and ominous, malevolent document.

Purpose of Self

What does it take to realize one's self purpose? Is it failure, or intrigue, or maybe it is the last time we put ourselves through such horrendous self-denial that we finally understand that our conceptions about everything concerning ourselves is wrong and illicit. Whatever the reason may be -- when we find or loose god, or proclaim ourselves as gods, for example -- it can assuredly be said that normative self purpose is the conceptualization that we the people are here to live as well as we reasonably can, and contribute to posterity before posterity begins to grow off of our vapid, decomposing remnants.

I don't want to be just a decomposing remnant for the grass to grow atop of. I want to be the decomposing remnant that started a new genetic breed of grass that is more green than that before it in the hopes that, stemming from my lifeblood, can those left behind who can do the same. I want to be the contributor to future greatness, but this can only be achieved by always being intrepid and never being insipid. Finding the balance between the two will not only define you as yourself, but give you something to live for more than any afterlife can offer.

As humans, we go through severe states of all emotions and apply them as we see accordingly to the situation we are in. However, this is weakness. The purpose of self is to resolutely dictate emotions to manipulate situations in a way that are amenable to all players, even those who are scorned by and outraged at the consequence.

Objective Morality Follow-Up

I thought I would follow up my following post on objective morality for two reasons.

The first is that I do not think it was entirely fair to post before without explaining my reasoning behind relative morality. Simply put, morality is not the measure of bad, but the measure of good. A lot like we have no way to measure cold, only the absence of heat; or darkness, we can only quantify the amount or lack of light... Further to this point is that morality and ethical questions are not science. They are rules, not laws, guided by language and the consequences of actions. One cannot look at morality through the lens of formal logic because it is too strict. This, of course, is the beauty of formal logic, but morality is more like chaos mathematics. Extremes, unpredictable events, and soft shrieking that blows out your eardrums...

Secondly, I was, as I usually do, watching a program about prisons/prison inmates. This one gentleman, scheduled for death by lethal injection, said something quite provocative. This inmate -- a self-expressed, devout Christian -- asked the interviewer something to the effect of "Is it worse to steal a cracker, or to kill someone?" The interviewer answers "Kill someone." To which this inmate replies, "No. God doesn't see it that way. You break one commandment you break them all."

True Evil: The Monstrous in Pan's Labyrinth

The monstrous in Guillermo del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth is shown in many different ways. There are horrible looking creatures that are not evil at all, and there are typical looking military men that are terrible monsters. This is especially true in the case of Captain Vidal, who is, in fact, the most monstrous character in the film, and is metaphorically represented by the fantastic monsters that Ofelia, the protagonist of the film, faces, as well as by Vidal’s own misdeeds.

The setting for Pan’s Labyrinth in Spain in 1944 under Franco’s Spanish Traditionalist Phalanx of the Assemblies of National-Syndicalist Offensive, allows for a pertinent context for a monster to emerge. Arguably, it is this setting that permits a character like Vidal to exist and successfully perform such heinous deeds, but also allows us to understand why fairy tales would enamor Ofelia as they do. She is so involved in imaginary worlds that she actually begins to “operate” in her personal make-believe realm. This is an escape from reality, and an escape from the cruel and unforgiving Vidal she is forced to live with and obey. In turn, the foes that Ofelia faces on her quest to be restored to the throne of the Underworld as Princess Moanna within her own personal fairy tale are representative of the foe she faces in her everyday life, Captain Vidal.
Even when Vidal is not performing some violent act, or exercising his tyrannical capabilities, his everyday behaviors mirror his monstrous persona as a whole; he is extremely calculating and ritualistic. We see him standing ramrod strait, meticulously shaving and shining his boots. He oils and tunes his pocket watch using a jeweler’s magnifying glass very slowly and methodologically in Scene 3 and does not look up until he is finished despite being disturbed by Doctor Ferriero’s knocking on his door. The care he takes of himself, his son, and his belongings, and the contrariwise belligerence, contempt, and indifference he holds for everyone else speaks to the idea that he is quite a monster indeed.

As a matter of reference, it is important to note one major personal characteristic that contributes to Vidal’s monstrous resume; his constant needs to be in control. This control may be exerted simply by his presence and rank, as it is with the men he commands, or it may be physical, such as when he puts his hands on Mercedes in Scene 3 while Vidal and his officers are discussing strategy, in Scene 6 after Mercedes serves him burnt coffee, and other characters numerous times to stop her from moving so that he can speak. We also see this physical control being exerted in Scene 2 when Ofelia extends her left hand to shake Vidal’s hand. He grabs her harshly, which we can deduce by the cringe she makes, and says “It’s the other hand, Ofelia.” Another example of this is when Vidal makes the farmer’s son remove his hat before talking to him, showing us that he literally commands the people he encounters to do as he says. Furthermore, Vidal tries to make sure that he is the only one with a copy of the key to the storage shed so that he alone may enter and exit. He also puts his hand on Carmen’s hand when they are at the dinner party, signifying that he wants her to be quiet while he speaks to his guests. And then, after she defies his controlling action and finishes her story on how she met Vidal, Vidal says, “Please forgive my wife. She hasn’t been exposed to the world. She thinks these silly stories are interesting to others” (del Toro, Scene 8). Definitionally speaking, a monster is always, through duress, applying his brutish control, which is why we need a hero, or savior, to stop him from doing so. That been said, because of this characteristic we are able to distinguish Vidal as a monster; as a result of his controlling actions and general demeanor we see the monstrous seeping through even these subtle behaviors.

Vidal is a genocidal megalomaniac who exerts his power through terror and murder, and he is proud of it. For instance, soon after Ofelia and her mother arrive at the mill Vidal’s men catch two farmers, a father and son, in the woods that they believe to be insurgents. Vidal’s men call Vidal out to where the farmer and his son are being held and their interchange begins. “SON: He was hunting rabbits-…” “VIDAL: Shut up, damn it.” When they attempt to explain what they were doing in the woods, Vidal tells them on three occasions to be quiet. Eventually, after the son speaks too directly to Vidal saying, “Captain, if my father says so, he was hunting rabbits.” Vidal, without warning, begins to slam a bottle into his face continuously (and quite unnecessarily by any rational standards) until he is dead. The father then calls Vidal a “Son of a bitch… [and] Murderer” (Ibid., Scene 4), which he obviously is after this gruesome act. Vidal responds by shooting him at point blank in the chest three times. Then, he shoots the father twice more in the head as he lay dying on the ground. At this point, Vidal’s actions are literally overkill. That is to say, when examining this event in terms of monstrosity, Vidal is brutal for brutality’s sake; there is no reason to shoot the insurgents after they are already dead except out of vitriolic masochism. Vidal then their bags and finds a rabbit carcass, which shows us that not only were they truly hunting rabbits, but also that Vidal is monstrous because of his hasty, unaffected disregard for life despite the circumstances.

Vidal’s father, who we never meet, plays an interesting role in the plot of Pan’s Labyrinth especially in terms of what is monstrous, or, at least, what contributes to the monstrous. The Guardia Civil Captain who attends the dinner party in Scene 8 tells Vidal that he heard Vidal’s father, after being mortally wounded in battle, had smashed the face of his watch against a rock to stop it with the intent of having his son know the exact time of his death, and “So [Captain Vidal] would know how a brave man dies” (Ibid., Scene 8). We are told that his father was a great general. However, Vidal claims that his father never owned a watch. Vidal then looks at his own pocket watch that he has previously been seen tuning and oiling and that has a smashed face. This alludes to the fact that this watch actually did belong to his father. But, then, why deny it? One might reasonably assume that the motive for such is that Vidal is a gross disfigurement of his father. Vidal’s father was an honorable man, but Vidal simply is not, and Vidal cannot admit this to himself. He attempts to mirror his father’s prowess and honor, but only knows how to achieve power through terror and coerced, aggregate control. This, in terms of Vidal’s soon to be born son, creates the possibility of a horrific primogenitary situation that could very well lead to generations of monstrosity within Vidal’s family.

“VIDAL: A boy should be born wherever his father is.” “DOCTOR: One more thing, sir. What makes you so sure it’s a boy?” “VIDAL: Don’t fuck with me” (Ibid., Scene 4). This exchange between the Doctor and Vidal illuminates the fact that he really is a megalomaniac in that not only does he need a child, but also that child must be a male. He needs a male “heir.” Furthermore, his obsession with this child is so contrived and meaningful to Vidal, that when he finds out there may be complications with the birth he says, “If you have to choose, save the baby. That boy will bear my name and my father’s name, too” (Ibid., Scene 13). Thus, he is so egomaniacal and narcissistic that he only cares about his son to continue his name, and he does not even care if the woman who bears this child dies; yet another display of monstrous disregard coupled with his horrific vainglory. This point is furthered by the fact that in the end of the movie, after Vidal kills Ofelia and takes his son back, he smashes his pocket watch to show the time of his death, just like his father did, and asks that his son be given the watch and told of his exploits. Mercedes replies by stating, “He won’t even know your name,” and then a revolutionary shoots Vidal in the head. The monster is thus subdued literally and actually; as he is now dead, it shall be as if he never even existed and the proper order of the village is returned. For while Vidal is a bitter individual due to his father’s death, Vidal’s son shall know nothing of Vidal, and the emergence of another monster in the village is prevented; the revolutionaries avert the progeny of a vicious despot from continuing the vile, martinetish legacy of Vidal.

Now that we have established Vidal as a monster in general, it is necessary to examine the role that Ofelia’s metaphysical foes play in the task of truly exemplifying Vidal as a definite monster. That is to say, in order to fully grasp Vidal’s true monstrosity, we must look at the role the ethereal monsters play as correlated representations of Vidal.
The Giant Toad that lives under the fig tree where “The Forest Folk slept” is in a monster in Ofelia’s fairytale world, and the tree that he stifles is representative of the village. “A monstrous toad has settled in its roots and won’t let the tree thrive” (Ibid., Scene 7). The Toad is fat, has an insatiable appetite for roaches and other insects that live beneath the tree, and will not allow the tree to grow because of his greed. Vidal is also a monster in this regard. Vidal will not let the people in the village thrive as he has settled in their midst, and stifled them under his cruel sovereignty. Furthermore, the city in general cannot actually thrive because he places a stipend of one ration ticket on its inhabitants. Thus, the situation of the Toad stunting the growth of the tree is a metaphorical representation of Vidal’s monstrous dominion and of suffocation the people within the village that retards their growth and quality of life.

This metaphor of Vidal as the Toad is pertinent. Directly after the toad is defeated, Vidal progresses his tyranny on the people, thus propelling both the imaginary conflicts and real monstrosity of said tyranny. Additionally, it is symbolic that Ofelia uses one of the roaches to entice the Toad, and then is able to subdue him, because the Captain, too, can only be sidetracked and felled when he is in search of and then given something that he wants, his son. Though this correlation cannot be made until the end of the film, the scene with the Toad helps to progress the parity between the surreal monsters and Vidal.

As is seen in the frescoes above where the Pale Man sits at his table, there are images of the Pale Man stabbing and eating babies. This, combined with Vidal’s obsession with his unborn child, relates Vidal to the monstrous Pale Man; just as the Pale Man does not want anyone to disturb his feast, or else he will eat them, so does the Captain not want there to be any issues (or anyone) impeding the birth of his child, or they will die. In fact, Carmen’s life is eventually lost during the childbirth because Vidal explicitly says, as stated before, that if the decision must be made whether to save the child or to save Carmen, the doctor is to save the child. Additionally, Vidal and Ofelia are forced to make a decision that will affect the outcome of his child being born and her skirmish, respectively -- Vidal chooses his son over Carmen, and Ofelia choose grapes over her and the fairies’ safety. Contributing to this parallel is Vidal’s precision when it comes to time. Just as Ofelia only has so much time to finish her task with the Pale Man, so does Vidal angrily note that Carmen and Ofelia arrive “Fifteen minutes late” (Ibid., Scene 2); exceeding time limits is not acceptable to the Pale Man or Vidal.

Moreover, the Pale Man lives in a world underneath Ofelia’s room. We see this when the Pale Man attempts to bang through the floorboards after she escapes his lair. For the purpose of the metaphor, Vidal sleeps downstairs, thus the idea of the monstrous Vidal is transferred onto a chimerical monster, and vice-versa.

Shortly following the episode with the Pale Man, Ofelia’s mother dies in childbirth. Following her mother’s death, Ofelia is given her final task by Faun, to bring her brother to the portal, in order to return her to her throne and save the child from Vidal. As Ofelia takes her newborn brother to the portal, the revolutionaries are attacking the Falangists at the mill. Despite Vidal’s investment in the village for him to maintain control, he chases Ofelia, drugged up and with numerous stab wounds, to try and get his son back. While this does not inherently show a monster since, after all, he only wants his son, it does express his megalomania and vicious nature in that he is able to withstand his wounds and the effects of the drugs for the sake of preserving his lineage at all costs. Ofelia interferes with his son, just like she did with the Pale Man’s feast, and just as the Pale Man tries to eat her, Vidal takes his son back and shoots her in the stomach killing her; this time, however, she does not escape the evils she is faced with, and pays for it with her life. Thus, after all her success with the ethereal monsters, the actually manifest monster does her in. And to take this even further, if we consider that the monster in her third task is tangible and real, and that her two prior foes were conjured, then we are virtually told that Vidal is, in fact, beyond a doubt, a monster.

Helping to perpetuate the metaphor between the fantastical monsters and Ofelia’s quests, and Vidal’s monstrous character is the Book of the Crossroads. All of its pages are blank until Ofelia receives and performs her task. In essence, what this is doing is showing us that she is transcribing her own “fairy tale,” and it is a fairy tale in which Vidal is represented as these otherworldly opponents. During or immediately after every encounter with the fabled monsters, Vidal commits his own offenses on either Ofelia, the people of the village, or the insurgents. The Toad and the limiting of rations, the Pale Man and the death of her mother as her brother is born; then, in an act of resolution, she takes her baby brother away from Vidal as the insurgents are raiding, showing us that the end of her personal fairy tale correlates to the demise of the monstrous reign of Captain Vidal. The Book of the Crossroads has reached its conclusion, as has Ofelia and Vidal’s lives. However, she is reunited with her parents in the Underworld, and Vidal’s suffocating, monstrous grip on the village is over.

In the end, after all is said and done, the punishment that Vidal receives is justice that would only be reserved for a monster. Everything that Vidal has worked for is gone. His power and control over the village, and his son -- his lineage -- all fades and are destroyed with his life. It is debatable as to whether or not it is Ofelia’s own imagination that constructed her tasks, or if the fantastical was actually present. One thing, however, is for sure: Captain Vidal is a real, true monster of grotesque inhumanity just like the monsters Ofelia faces are grotesque and inhuman.

On Poetry and the Writing Process

Poetry for me is a realization; it is meaning woven into carefully crafted cacography. It is undue influence, it is duly influential. Poetry must mean something way more to the writer than to the reader; I write for myself. Selfish as this may seem, what function can poetry have if it is devoid of the author’s grit and personae? Nothing. Who the hell has ever declared writing as an altruistic endeavor…? Even if I read an abstract piece, that seemingly means nothing to me, if I can, for any moment, feel that the poet is satisfied by their work, then I am obliged to read it. I may never read it again, but, at least it has been read.

Poetry knows form, but hates it. Words hate being told what to do, because it is the words that should be telling you what to do, or think, or contemplate, or act upon, or drive you insane to the point of becoming certifiable. Words know no bounds, so why bind them? Forms are just another function of an oppressive, bureaucratic oligarchy so that the ones in control, and assumedly the ones who have mastered the form, can pigeon-hole others who do not comply, and keep their own power of decision to themselves. It violates the social contract and grants sovereign absolutism to tyrants. Sestinas are by far the worst. We need a return to transcendentalism, and the British literary tradition. Enough of this cheesy, sub-par, lofty poetry about stars and galaxies and “her eyes twinkled like….” Form begets cliché, and students of formal poetry exemplify this. I am grotesquely horrid at writing formal poetry. I would prefer giardia, at least then I am uncontrollably shitting for a real reason. In fact, the writing of formal poetry has in some ways killed my poetic drive. But I worry not; a break is all that is needed. Poetry is in me, as it is in everyone, and once it is there, the enjoyment and splendor of poetic composition can never be lost unless some ulterior, or outside causal factor beyond the writer’s control makes it so.

My writing process does not involve anything specific. However, I suppose if I had to identify the points at which my writing is most intensive, and the conditions therein, I would say that it is during the revision process and involves a few requisites that are systematically adherent to finalizing a piece.

Firstly, I remove all excess papers, books, beer cans, and cigarette butts from my office and vacuum if needed. I am only slightly a “neat freak,” but I cannot have any distractions when I do revisions. During the writing process, or if I am writing more scholarly papers, clutter and outside influence doesn’t bother me so much, but when I am marking up a song or poem or short story with that .7mm, I try to keep my mind in and on the work exclusively.

Next, I read the piece aloud a few times to make sure that the flow is proper and fitting. After that, I do literal revisions - word changes/synonyms, semantics, mark things to be omitted, some grammar changes (though I don’t pay any especial attention to mechanics during this phase), rearrangement of paragraphs and phrasings, tense agreement etc. Once that is done, I put the piece away for a few days (if there is no looming deadline).

After a few days have elapsed, I take the piece out again and read it over and over, leisurely, making the aforementioned revisions until I think it is up to par. I then have someone (or a few someone-s) else read it and devise his or her own critiques. If there is no one available for this, I usually just repeat the process again and again until someone can.

I suppose, however, it is important to consider what actually goes on when I am composing, aside from actual transcription. I am usually in a strong-emotional state when I write; writing is for me, and I assume most, an outlet. (The page… a place to vehemently vent and corroborate ideas and actions into the ideal and active.) I certainly started writing for this reason so it only seems logical that there would be some Pavolvian causation for why I now, and still, pick up the pen and write until my carpal tunnel flares up. The nature of my writing, nurtured by subtly barbaric consequence and learned defense therein. When I close my eyes before I start to write, I can still see the world around me, only it appears in neon iridescence. Eventually the forms become amorphous and take on a new structural fortitude, and thus new meaning. The lines and curves that had before made up reality have succumb to the existential - and I am Nietzsche holding onto that horse before I collapse from madness, and die - and so, when I open my eyes, if I am not seeing double from all the scotch or the dizzying disarray of daily demands, I write.

I find it difficult to carry around a notebook all goddamn day so I carry small pieces of paper that can hardly hold a thought’s worth of material and then loose them. I’ve tried small, pocket notebooks, but you can’t keep it organized, and anything that can’t fit into a pocket is cumbersome. Maybe I should carry a bag, or backpack around, but then I’m carrying a backpack around. A backpack with wheels? But then I look like a dork. Who cares what they think? We’ll if I am laughing at it, and then doing it myself, that is hypocritical. And hypocrisy is by far the most shameless and rank practice of them all. Dante himself could not think of a Hell cruel enough for the hypocrites. Benedict Arnold is like St. Matthew compared to a hypocrite. So, then, what does this have to do with “my writing process?” Basically, everything. For while I may choose to personally live an amoral life, that is only in practice, whereas writing is existent. Surely, I live and exist, but I am not representative of anything other than myself. I am not ultimately accountable to anyone but myself. But my writing… that is a wholly different story. My writing is representative of me, which creates quite the paradox under the given premises, but I write for me so you can write for you, and you may not live as I. You see? we’ll call it auctorial responsibility…

Paper of today is vain and proud because it is mass-produced with rarely any imperfections. Parchment is a far more worthy adversary. Write on lambs.

All morality is objective... wha?

I got into an argument today on the Internet with a religious person (they blocked me before they ever fully explained their religion saying "no im not referring to judeo christian god, im referring to god, the one, it, THE ALL.") over moral relativism (me) vs. absolute morality (him). Well, not much of an argument after he blocked me, the technological equivalent of sticking your fingers in your ears and going "neener neener," when I cordially and humbly laid out, point by point, why he was incorrect about Nietzschean philosophy (this whole thing started over a Nietzsche picture I had on my profile). But the real disheartening thing is where he apparently got his misinformed view of morality... I didn't even get a chance to answer his profound philosophical questions!

First thing is that he literally copied, word for word, his "argument" from the Christian Apologetics and Research Ministry website. No source cited, nothing... Thus, his immoral hubris already begins to emerge. Because, you know, not citing sources is objectively evil....

Secondly, he seems to think that his "logic" against moral relativism is something more than a silly word game prefaced by loaded, self-serving questions with the occasional connotation of "truth" thrown in for good measure.

Which gets me to the point. This sort of propaganda is the stuff that people with agendas for conversion and religious domination spew constantly at the doors of innocent people who are so overwhelmed by this "feat of logic" that they end up scratching their heads in confusion and tensely thinking "Hey! Maybe ya got something there!" The people who do not know a strawman from a strawman and might be just teetering on the edge of their agnosticism. And I am not being hyperbolic here... Missionaries have been known to purposefully seek out and lie to people that they view as in need of salvation because of their "confusion." This propaganda is a farce to the science of formal logic and the philosophies of morality. A cold, hard list of how tautologies and outright fallacy can take a hold on those who either know no better, or who are easily swayed by what seems to be, on its face, axiomatic "proofs."

But, all reality aside, lets say that there is a stone-solid objective morality, the fact still remains that we needn't god for us to know it. And the world would certainly be a lot more boring.

Congratulations CARM, you either set formal logic back four hundred years, or you solved all of our moral problems.

As for me, I think I'll steal the bread if I am starving.

Lieberman's Folly

I was recently informed by email that Senator Feinstein (D-CA) had proposed S.J. Res. 37, a bill initially introduced to urge President Bush to participate in negotiations concerning the Declaration of the Oslo Conference on Cluster Munitions. He declined and that time has passed. The bill now urges the President to sign the Convention on Cluster Munitions. The Convention’s purpose is to stop the use of dangerous cluster munitions throughout the world as they, at times, go undetonated. Civilians -- many times children -- then inadvertently detonate the cluster munitions years after military conflicts have ceased. And don’t disregard the amount of civilians killed by cluster munitions during war, as well.

So I emailed Senator Lieberman like any good American interested in democracy would, only to receive a generic response stating that he was not opposed to the “strategic usage of cluster munitions.”

Enter unsettling paradox. If Senator Lieberman is informed enough to make the decision that banning cluster munitions would not be a good idea for the military, then surely he is aware of the maiming and wrath that cluster munitions unleash on completely innocent individuals – not even civilian casualties of war, but after the fact casualties whose deaths are the results of taking casual strolls to and from shops, and children walking home from schools. The question is then, is Senator Lieberman properly weighing the risk versus the utility of cluster munitions? If the answer is “yes,” then the probability that he simply does not care about the innocent lives being lost is exponentially increased. If the answer is “no,” then he is clearly misinformed. Maybe he is simply trying to find an amenable balance between the two. But we don’t need a balance, we need President Bush to sign the Convention so people can stop dying.

With all of the precision weapons systems that exist, what is the point in using cluster munitions, especially when, according to S.J. Res. 37, they have a 5-15% fail-rate? And for countries that do not have the technology, it is a safe bet to say that we don’t want them to have cluster munitions anymore than we want them to have WMDs or Uranium Enrichment Programs. The President won’t budge because he is stubborn. But Senator Feinstein’s noble Resolution to urge Congress to call upon him to sign the Convention is the perfect way to begin to address this issue. But Senator Lieberman won’t do it. He “support[s] the President's decision not to participate in the Convention on Cluster Munitions, which would require signatories to stop producing and using cluster bombs and to eliminate their stockpiles within eight years.”

I know war is a time of desperation, at times attrition, death and loss, victory at any cost, but come on, let’s get real for a minute here, warfare has come a long way from using trebuchets. We have missiles that can pinpoint a building thousands of miles away, do we really need to be dropping tons of tiny bombs that haphazardly fall like giant hail, and then don’t even blow up, leaving them strewed about for civilians to stumble upon and blow themselves to smithereens after a war has ended three decades ago, such as in Vietnam and Laos? It’s ridiculous, irrational, and it is in horrible form as far as humanity is concerned.

In Senator Lieberman’s email he stated that one reason for his opposition to ruling out the usage of cluster bombs was because, “our armed forces use cluster bombs under the most limited circumstances, only in situations where no other munitions would be capable.” but then, not two sentences later, he stated that he does support “develop[ing] more efficient and effective cluster bomb technology designed to limit the danger posed by munitions and submunitions that fail to explode.” His arguments thus lead us to the conclusion that Senator Lieberman is aware of the “limited circumstances” in which cluster bombs are used, but is in favor of developing the technology -- he is in favor of refining outdated technology that we rarely use and kills innocent people years after military conflicts have ceased.

When all is said and done, regardless of strategy or policy, cluster munitions are morally repugnant, and as someone who prides himself on having a conscience within the Senate, Senator Lieberman should know better.

For more information please see the following:

A text of S.J. Res. 37 - http://www.govtrack.us/congress/billtext.xpd?bill=sj110-37

Wikipedia entry on Cluster Munitions - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cluster_bomb

General background and news on the movement to ban cluster bomb practices - http://www.stopclustermunitions.org/ and http://www.clusterconvention.org