7:58 pm CST
LOS BRAZOS DE DIOS
Part Four

I yanked my leg free, which allowed the canoe to shoot under the tree, sending up a huge wave that slung me over the tree, while at the same time increasing the suction so that Jim was yanked off his feet and pulled under the tree to the other side.

The wave carried me straight to the island and washed me ashore. I lay in the mud, dazed, for a few seconds, then I heard Jim holler and looked up. He was struggling to pull the canoe out of the whirlpool. He hollered again as he gave it another pull and freed it. Then he started guiding it towards the shore.

I stood up. My thigh hurt. I looked down and saw a monstrous, blood-streaked, oval-shaped bruise, measuring six by five inches.

Then I saw all our stuff bobbing and spinning around in the whirlpool—all our stuff, that is, except for Jim's shoes, a loaf of bread, and a few other objects that had broken free of the whirlpool and were now traveling towards the open river.

There was still time to salvage everything. I waded out into the waist-deep, fast-moving current, one hand holding onto low-hanging tree limbs to stay on my feat while with my other hand I grabbed everything within reach—oars, life jackets, water bottles, sleeping bags. Jim came back into the water and joined the salvage operation.

When we had salvaged everything, we sat on the bank of the island, catching our breath and collecting our wits, not saying anthing. After awhile, Jim started cussing. I opened my first-aid kit, found some antiseptic pads, and began swabbing the bruise. It was starting to hurt.

Jim finished cussing, then shook his head. "We're lucky we weren't killed," he said.

"Yeah. I guess that wasn't a very good idea, taking this side of the island."

"Well, how were we to know there'd be a damned tree in the way?"

We agreed it was just bad luck—but good luck that we had managed to survive and salvage most of our things.

Then I remembered something: the drugs. I unbuttoned my shirt pocket and took out four joints, all soggy. I set them on a rock to dry in the sun. Then I opened my backpack. Everything inside was dry, including the baggie containing the mushrooms.

"Well," I said, "we lost all our food, and most of the water, but we've got plenty of drugs."

After awhile, the joints dried and we smoked one. Then we loaded the canoe and started rowing down the river, yet without the carefree feeling we had experienced earlier. The least wobble of the canoe would cause my heart to leap to my throat. We rowed cautiously, intently, wearing our life jackets, and did not talk much. Another thing that affected my mood was the giant, blood-streaked bruise on my thigh; it was hurting more and looking uglier by the minute.

However, as the hours passed, we relaxed a little and began to enjoy the scenery and talk.

The conversation kept returning to the accident.

"Well," I said, "I guess I got the inspiration I needed for that story I’m working on.”

Jim said, “How’s that?”

“The comic strip I’m working on--'Rio Bardo.'"

"Rio Bardo?"

"You've heard of the Bardo. In the Tibetan Book of the Dead, when the soul leaves the body and begins to dream, it’s entering a state called the Bardo."

"Yeah."

"So, I was just thinking it’s kind of interesting that I come on this trip expecting to get inspiration for a story about a river that symbolizes Death and, wouldn’t you know it, I have a Near Death Experience."

Then I laughed, as another thought occurred to me. I shared it with Jim: "Hey, maybe we did die back there, and maybe we’re in the Bardo state, just dreaming we're still alive, rowing down the river."

Jim laughed. "Well, I don't feel dead,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I feel alive—more alive than I've ever felt."

"Me too. It's like being born again.” Which reminded me of something else: “It’s like we were baptized—you know, full immersion, like the Baptists do it. They do it that way because it’s supposed to scare you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah,” I continued, “when the preacher’s holding you down in that old river water, he knows just how long he has to do it to put the fear of God in you. He holds you down till you think you're gonna' drown, then at the last minute brings you up, so you really do feel re-born."

Jim mused for a minute,then said, "Baptized by the Arms of God."

“What?”

He said, "Did you know that that’s the original Spanish name for this river? El Rio de los Brazos de Dios—the River of the Arms of God. We were baptized by the Arms of God.”

We laughed about that, then I said, “Well, now that we've been baptized, let’s have Communion."

I got out the mushrooms. It seemed like a good idea at the time …

(To be continued)

8:08 am CST
MUST READ transcript of Alex Jones’ interview earlier this week with Col. Donn de Grand-Pre, U.S. Army (ret.) which reveals that the North Dakota Air Guard shot down Flight 93 on September 11, a missile and/or Global Hawk hit the Pentagon, and much more. Read it HERE.

8:35 pm CST
To all those who have asked: Yes, I do plan to post the next episode of my autobiographical story “El Brazos de Dios” soon. I’ve been awful busy trying to get caught up after the Big Computer Crash of last week, as well as working on my next book The Bush Junta, thus have not blogged as faithfully as I should. However, all that will change. In another day or two, you will find out what happened. Did I survive the canoe mishap, or did I (gulp) die? I can’t wait to find out myself. So, tune again: same Bat-Time, same Bat-Channel …

8:25 pm CST
The “Comics on the Verge” art show, which features artwork by a number of great underground comics artists, including yours truly, has been getting rave reviews, such as THIS ONE. If you live near Baltimore, check it out. The show will be up until March 14.

8:16 pm CST
And now a few articles to end the day:

I highly recommend this article by my fellow Austinite, Boyce Brown:
This is the Moment

As if the Matrix system wasn’t enough:
Cops to Spy on You with Military Database Network

Hey, Big Brother, surveil THIS:
Telescreens Spying on Southern California Internet Cafes

8:14 am CST
A few provocative articles to start the day:

Was young John Kerry an intelligence operative?

"Kelly Was Murdered" Says UK Intelligence Insider

Mel Gibson’s Passion: Pornography for Christians

Mel Gibson’s Passion: An International Hoax

7:24 pm CST

U.S. Pressing for High-Tech Spy Tools

DARPA creating a race of robo-grunts

DARPA: Engineering the Beast System

3:10 pm CST
Today’s News Roundup:

Bin Laden “Surrounded”

Congressman asks for probe of flights of bin Laden kin

Anthrax shots made Australian troops sick: report

Patriot singer released from jail

Security Efforts Turning Capital Into Armed Camp

3:05 pm CST
"A Multigenerational Family of Fibbers" – Former Top Republican Strategist Examines the History of the Bush Family

We hear a speech by Kevin Phillips, a former top Republican strategist, who was generally acknowledged as the Republican party's principal electoral theoretician after Ronald Reagan's election in 1980. His latest book, "American Dynasty: Aristocracy, Fortune and the Politics of Deceit in the House of Bush" examines how the Bush family has been consolidating its power for four generations. [includes transcript] GO HERE

6:53 pm CST
LOS BRAZOS DE DIOS
Part Three

"The river's a lot higher than it was last time," said Jim. "Last time was in the middle of a drought. The river was so low in some places we had to carry the canoes.” He shook his head at the memory, chuckling. “That sure was a lot of work. Which is probably why Billy Ray had that heat stroke—that and all the beer we were drinking."

"Well, we'll stay hydrated this time,” I said, referring to the bottles of water on board.

Our canoe had come with two life jackets. Jim now placed his on the metal seat, using it as a cushion.

"You don't think we ought to put on these life jackets?" I asked.

"Nah," said Jim, "there's no rapids on this stretch of river. It’ll be smooth sailing."

So, following Jim's example, I placed my life jacket on the seat and found it quite comfortable. Also, for added comfort, we took off our shoes.

We rowed out into the middle of the river, Jim at the front of the canoe, me in the back, both of us sitting on our life jackets. There, the current caught hold of the canoe and carried us at such a clip we no longer needed to row. Thus, we gave the oars a rest and let the canoe drift. Jim stretched out on his back, lazily looking up at the sky, and I got out my camera and took a few pictures of the cedar- and oak-covered hills as they glided past. I was hoping to get some good reference photos for a comic strip I was planning--"Rio Bardo," a metaphysical Western set in the Afterlife, its key scene occurring on a river.

Thus, without guidance, the canoe drifted, spinning around, slowly at first, then spinning faster. Aware that the increasing rate of spin might cause the canoe to tip, we picked up our oars and started rowing again.

We had been rowing for about an hour when we saw a small island ahead.

"Let's pull ashore on that island," I said, "and burn one."

"Sounds good," said Jim.

We decided to take the left (or starboard) side of the island and began paddling in that direction.

As we rowed around the island, the fork we had chosen grew narrow, and narrower. Before long it was only ten feet wide, and the current was carrying us faster. Meanwhile, we were approaching a bend, beyond which we could hear burbling water..

Then we shot around the bend, and Jim said, “Shit.”

Less than twenty feet ahead of us lay a large oak tree which had fallen under the force of the recent rainstorms, forming a natural bridge from the bank to the island, and also forming a barrier—a wall—toward which our canoe was hurtling at breakneck speed.

Frantically, we began paddling backwards, trying to turn the canoe around and head back the way we had come. But it was too little too late; we were paddling against the current, and it was too strong to fight. Thus, our efforts succeeded only in sending the canoe sideways towards our inevitable collision with the tree.

At the last moment, we stuck out our oars towards the tree, hoping to cushion the impact, but when the oars touched the tree, the Laws of Physics caused our canoe to flip over, dumping everything, us included, into waist-deep, cold river water with one loud, sickening splash.

Underneath the tree was a powerful suction of water which, in one second, pulled everything—ice chest, oars, life jackets, shoes, backpacks, sacks of food, everything we had—under the tree and to the other side where they bobbed to the surface and were destined to quickly ride the current around the island to the open river and be lost.

This, as I say, happened in one second. In the next second, the suction pulled our canoe underwater.

We grabbed it—and were shocked by the power of the suction. The canoe went down, down, down, despite our efforts. For two or three futile seconds, we played tug-of-war with the river. Then, as the canoe went deeper underwater, its metal edge caught me by my left thigh in a sharp, vicious grip that pulled me down with it, chest-deep into the water, and kept pulling me down, down, down.

In a flash, I realized my predicament: There was not enough room under the tree for both me and the canoe. Thus, if I did not yank my leg free now, either my leg would be sheared off, or I would be pulled into the water over my head, and the canoe and myself would be caught beneath the tree, and I would drown …

(To be continued)

1:01 pm CST
John Ashcroft's Subpoena Blitz: Targeting Lawyers, Universities, Peaceful Demonstrators, Hospitals, and Patients, All With No Connection to Terrorism

Bush Plays Bait-and-Switch With 9/11 Panel

Maimed in Iraq, then mistreated, neglected, and hidden in America