Phil Rockstroh

Phil Rockstroh

Phil Rockstroh is a poet, lyricist and philosopher bard living, now, in Munich, Germany. Visit him at FaceBook.

Articles by this author

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Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Beaten Down, Isolated, Angry, and Distracted
A couple of decades ago, upon returning to Atlanta, Georgia, after spending a year abroad, I would frequent an independent bookshop that contained a small coffee shop/cafe, where I would sip tea, read books and periodicals, and engage in the nearly extinct art of long form face-to-face verbal discourse with other habituates of the cafe.
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Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Deranged Angels Of Self-Preservation and the Second Amendment
In the contest between Stupid and Evil, Stupid reaps far more destruction. Why? Stupid prevails by the sheer force of numbers in its ranks. 

 But the argument is moot: Because all too often Stupid is working for Evil…believing it is serving as a force for good…and, I might add, for degrading wages as well.
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Thursday, July 26, 2012
In the Land of Never Was: The Last, Desperate Hours of Climate Chaos Deniers‪ and Capitalist Rah-Rahs‬
Often, the world… forever unfolding, recombining, morphing, dying and transforming… changes before the mind can grasp the implications of the ongoing alterations. This is the basis of nostalgia, for memory freezes the world like an insect encased in amber.
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Monday, July 09, 2012
After The Fireworks Have Faded: Intimations of Bosons Among a Cacophony of Bozos
On July 4, the people of the U.S. marked the passing of another year's perfunctory, Independence Day festivities. The date, also, was occasioned by the formal announcement from physicists at CERN (European Organization for Nuclear Research) that, according to the banner headline at CERN's official website, "Higgs within reach […] Our understanding of the universe is about to change […] [Our] experiments see strong indications for the presence of a new particle, which could be the Higgs boson."
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Friday, June 29, 2012
The Footlong Hot Dog of the Apocalypse
Almost exactly ten years ago, in June of 2002, my wife and I were driving through Colorado, on our way from Los Angeles to New York City.
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Monday, June 11, 2012
In The Name Of My Father, Part Two: In the Shadow of the Corporate State Madhouse
My parents modest, single-level, brick home stands on property that was once part of a sprawling estate owned by the Candler family, Atlanta's Coca-Cola patricians. Built during the post-war, 1950s building boom, the small house is situated in a deep ravine that once served as the grounds of the Candler's private zoo. On the hilltop above, the point of highest elevation in the Atlanta metro area, the Candler family, in the tradition of the powerful and elite, laid claim to the highest ground.
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Friday, May 18, 2012
In the Name of My Father: Requiem and Renewal in the Shadow of Wall Street
On May 1, after a day of May Day activities on the streets and avenues of Manhattan, my wife and I and a troop of other OWS celebrants marched into Zuccotti Park to jubilant exhortations of "welcome home" from a throng of fellow occupiers. The next day, my wife and I boarded a southbound Amtrak train to join family gathered at my dying father's bedside to bid him farewell.
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Thursday, April 26, 2012
The Big Empty: Eating Cheetos with the Hungry Ghosts of a Corporate State
Due to the consolidation of wealth and privilege into fewer and fewer hands, thus requiring escalating amounts of officially mandated surveillance and brutality to maintain social order, the natural trajectory of unregulated capitalism tends towards hyper-authoritarian excess, even towards fascism. Moreover, by the standards of capitalist ideology, and exacerbated by the rigged nature of economic and social arrangements -- large segments of society are deemed losers, and, resultantly, will grow restive, if scapegoats aren't invented to mitigate a sense of humiliation and displace rage.
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Monday, April 09, 2012
Living Beyond the 'Folded Lie': On Life Before and After Collapse
Wall Street is again flush with the electronic facsimile of the stuff once known as money. But this is a Botox Recovery: A superficial procedure, accomplished with a nerve paralyzing poison, reserved for the wealthy whose vanity has driven them to transform their faces into caricatures of corruption…to acquiring a countenance, frozen as a creepy doll, incapable of showing emotion -- a grotesque simulacrum of the human face.
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Friday, March 30, 2012
On The Nature Of Self-Defeating Convictions
Although I have resided in New York City for many years, I was born in the Deep South. On a daily basis, I negotiate Manhattan's gridded streets and avenues, yet, in many ways, the terrain of my heart still winds like an Indian trail through a pine forest. I visit the south on a regular basis; the stain of red clay will never be scoured from my soul.
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