Thursday, September 07, 2006

As the World Turns (on All of Us)

Stop the World, I Want to Get Off
Remember the Anthony Newly movie of the same name? Terrible music Anthony Newly wrote, but then everyone knows I'm an anglophobe so blow it off as just me being me. I thought of this movie as I began thinking about dropping out a la Timothy Leary these days. Like, where does one go to hide these days?

Since childhood I have usually had a secret place (like Virginia Woolf's room), a hiding place. All folks seeking escape from the real world have hideouts--usually up in the hills or the hard-to-reach badlands. In other words, in order to drop out nowadays you have to start dropping out electronically and watch out for chips and things like that implanted in your clothes or a locator device in some ID card you have to carry around with you since 9/11 when all of OUR identities now have to be proven beyond just you saying you are who you are to now make you prove who the hell you are ("Your papers, please") with 2 pieces of government-issued photo-ed IDs (driver's license or government employee ID card), or a current passport--and to some even that's not enough; some scardy-cat ID demanders now are using palm-reader ID-ers or even eye-reading ID-ers, the extreme scared folks wanting to put ID chips in their employee's foreheads or just under the skin of their arms.

Hiding out ain't easy, though if you watch teevee's America's Most Wanted, these "creeps," as John Walsh calls them, outrun the law for years, some of them decades, seemingly always able to find 1) automobiles, 2) fake IDs, 3) the ability to be known under several aliases, 4) move great distances all the time--especially from the East Coast to the West Coast, 5) to always hook up with a girlfriend or a boyfriend while they're on the run. Why some of these creeps change their identities, get married, and have harmonious families and have people praising them for their community work and saintly shit like that. Money seems no problem for these people.

Money seems no problem when you walk around NYC either on any given day to anybody but you--I swear, in NYC it seems like everybody has plenty of free-flowing bucks and that includes people I'm real close to and know they don't really have as much money as I have and to me it's flat-out scary how much money it takes to merely exist in this humungous chunk of island real estate craved by all the wealthy fops of the world--NYC is maybe the cheapest big city real estate left on earth; certainly real estate is cheaper here than in Tokyo; than in HongKong; than in Saudi Arabia, Dubai, any of those oil-rich Princedoms over there in what seems like according to the U.S. media all under the control of this great massive armed force movement our "president" calls Al Queda.

The Nation of Al Queda is I guess who we are at war with really. Really? Do you think so? Do our great fearless monkey-thinking leaders and country-running pampered CEO-types know who the hell our real enemies are? Do they really believe in this semi-invisible force they first called Terrerists and then called Taliban and then called Saddam Hussien and now call Al Queda--these creeps exist in the whole world because in one of Georgie Porgie's early warwhoop speeches he declared WE and that great then 40-nation cooked up coalition of like-minded U.S.A-dependent nations like foppish Britain were going to rid the whole world of TERRERISTS.
Britain, by the bye, couldn't have survived WWII without U.S. help and aid both before and during that idiotic war started by pussyfooting duke and earl fops dealing with an insane ex-paperhanger ex-German army buck private and his homoerotic sidekicks--like all these types have their at least 12 disciples--12 is an important numerological number surely--it's an even dozen; multiplied by itself gives you a gross; it divides our years into months; it's the age at which most of us are expected to be on our own; it stands for high noon and midnight on the same clockface--even the digital clocks; 12 tolls of a bell at midnight make chills run up and down your spine; 12 tolls of a noonday bell makes us aware that the day is at its peak, let forth the bells toll with a bright and cheery tolling; and there are the 12 days of Xmas; 12 people on a jury; 12 strange people on the Supreme Court, and that 12th night...and yep, Jesus had 12 disciples--I don't know enough about what Mohammed taught to know what 12 means to Islam, Arabs, Persians, Indians, Pakistanis--God there are so many Muslims in the world!!! Gawd, Jehovah that is, help us if all these Muslims are really Al Queda in disguise. Could our "president" get it in his head a final solution for these pesky mostly Muslim (I'm profiling like our government here) irritation like that Austrian-German ex-paperhanger, army buck private, fear of having Jewish blood within his homoerotic veins got into his murderous head--his final solution didn't work of course, and left the whole nation of Germany in shambles, but then, these birds are too busy looking at themselves in the mirror and creating their own historic powers within their dreamy skulls to realize that even if you do conquer the world, historically you don't hold it very long and you nearly always end up dying horribly afore your time if you do conquer it--most of the times leading your armies yourself right into battle--the only way soldiers--who were hired guns in ancient history--would go into battle boldly--only if the boss were at the head of the charge. Alexander the Great, for instance; he didn't live long enough or old enough to even realize what he'd done. His father, too, died trying to conquer the world. Yet, conquering the world is always possible to these narrowminded thinkers, like our "president" and his Neo-Con scheme cookers think. Here, here's what I can imagine Georgie Porgie standing before a mirror saying to himself: "Well, hell, I have the greatest army ever put together by man on earth at my command. If needs be, I have the largest store of nuclear warheads on earth. I have the absolutely greatest air force on earth. I have absolutely without a doubt the greatest navy on earth. I have more money than any other country on earth and if I blow it all my Treasury dude tells me not to worry he'll just print somemore." Hey, folks, you think little spoiled brat rich boy Georgie W. Bush doesn't think things like that? And Karl Rove and Unka Dick? You don't think while these birds are wining and dining in high style, getting drunk as lords, don't cuss, spit, and brag about how powerful they are and how they could blow the whole god-damn world to smithereens if they wanted to? Don't you know these guys have these feelings; that's why realizing your armed force movements against hapless, rather helpless countries like Iraq and Afghanistan are killing hundreds of thousands of people is like swatting flies to them--the fact they are killing now nearly 3000 of our own troops and wounding, maiming, and psychologically ruining 100s of thousands more of these weary troops--these poor brainwashed numbskulls who go out on these bloody stupid and totally unnecessary in the first place missions--I lose it when I start trying to rationalize this world that is turning around me at a horrendous I'm afraid deadly speed. Some physicists believe we can at some point in universal space reverse time--sort of bring us all back again--you know, start us over again. If we could just turn time back to September 10th knowing what we know now--but, I dream and the only thing a dreamer gets is another dream (Lowell Fulsom one of my life heroes taught me that in one of his song lyrics). No one gives a shit about history. West Point teaches a lot of history. Their whole approach to making young men and women into OFFICERS, those who are supposed to lead the troops into war is through the history of war, from ancient times on up to modern-day warfare and battlefield techniques. They study and teach the history and philosophy of WAR. To continue their experiments they need more WARS. As long as we have this humungous army, we are going to be at war with somebody. These little power-mad pissants are putting us at the greatest risk we've ever been in, even during the mad wars of just our recent history--since WWII there's been the Korean War ("a little police action," said Commander and Chief Harry "Dumb S" Truman), the VietNam War (based on a totally phony Gulf of Tonkin incident--and reports from Michael Rockefeller (Nelson's geologist son) that there were millions of big barrels of crude under that Indo-China reef--oh, sorry, I'm getting carried away here; the Rockefellers were such a scumbag family to me); and then we had Persian Gulf War, Pappy Bush's great triumphant military move against Saddam "Hitler" Hussein when Al Queda was still only an Arabic word meaning "the camp," or something scary like that--and Prince Bandar Bush could bring his suit and tie wearing 50th-brother (old Pappy Bin Ladin had 50 kids by 50 different slave girls, didn't he?) Osama to high-level White House events or Harvard Yard parties.

The world is turning wobbly. Being out of balance is causing me to be confused. I'm doing me best to get me sea legs. I wish I could ignore all of this and live in a fantasy world--like go mad, you see, but like Henry Miller often confessed, I'm too sane to go insane. All I can do is keep growling like a mad-wolf about it--threatening to bite, but wolves work in packs and I don't see any wolfpacks out there right now trying to help put this world into a peaceful balance.

OK, the Dumbocrats proved that war was good for the economy. WWII got us out of that humiliating depression called the Great Depression, brought on by another host of superrich Amurican fops like Herbert Hoover and his pussyfooting rich fop friends and political hangersons. Hoover by the way was a mining engineer and had no business running this huge nation at a time when the Yahoos were partying hearty with their bank accounts filled to the brim with marginal stock buys...wonder what it's like jumping out of a high floor of a skyscraper? I should ask those poor souls who were leaping off the World Trade Center that day five years ago when an unknown really number of mostly Saudi Arabian young men, hungover from a previous night of drinking and whoring, getting their courage up--hell, when you live in a fantasy world, courage is easy, to pull off a most miraculous terrorist attack ever--more miraculous than the Japanese "supposedly" sneaking up on us at Pearl Harbor back on that December day of infamy in 1941--courage is easy, too, when you're Big Daddy tells you you're gonna get 10,000 virgins to screw up in his prophet Mohammed's big cave in the sky--up there by Jehovah's and his only son Jesus's big dude ranch in the sky--the invisible sky, of course. All bibles (the holy books of all religions) speak of their gods as the protectors of our natural fear of the Invisible; they depend on it to encourage their illiterate flocks to follow them as they try and conquer land in the name of their Big Daddies, land being the true source of wealth on this earth. We are at war with these "Invisibles." That's what Georgie Porgie is trying to say. We are fighting the same invisible forces all men of power have faced since Gawd made this earth into one big huge battlefield--Gawd the Fathead versus Lucifer the Prettiest Angel, the "Boys From Hell," in the old Christian rock 'em sock 'em Jesus knock 'em song.

The world is turning out of control and I'm trying to turn my back to it but I can't. Why's that? I ask myself. Oh hell, another question to ponder.

The new US passports, for example, supposedly contain a microchip device that can be activated somewhere in some secret government place any time the Big Brother government wants to know where you're cavorting--so they turn it on and what if it says you are in Pakistan attending an Al Queda graduate course at Osama University.

Our own government officials, all those scared bastards, have tons of hideouts all over the US--even after these bums retire or get voted out of office We the People still provide them with SS security--like Slick Willie and Hammer-in-hand Jimmy Carter and golf-club-in-hand Gerald "Chewing gum and standing still" Ford--Gerald's about 92 now--these old tough birds just never want to die or fade away.

"I Like Ike" Eisenhower's hideout was in a mountain outside Denver; Unka Dick has his secret bunker somewhere out near that mountain, is it in Virginia? that is hollow and full of CIA and FBI databanks; in time of big trouble, like say the day of the 9/11 attacks, our "president," the fart-joking, lovable Georgie Porgie Puddin' Pie, ran like a scared rat out to the safety of the Strategic Air Command headquarters in Omaha, Nebraska--SAC the original idea of Air Force General Curtis "Bomb 'em back to the Stone Age" LeMay.

Don't you just know our stumble-bumbling "president" was scared shitless that day when the Saudis with boxcutters and no knowledge of flying pulled off that miracle for them of bringing down the WTC? Don't you know he was cussing like a First Mate he was so scared? I can hear him now, listen, he's talking on Air Force One that day after finishing reading My Pet Goat to those lucky lil' Florida grade schoolers (Hey, didn't a couple of those kids vote for Bush in 2000?): "Holy Jesus, what the F am I gonna F-ing do. God-damn son of a bitchin' F-ing luck--get me Prince Bandar Bush on the phone...quick, and, dammit, be sure and get the Bin Ladins out of this country, god-dammit, use Air Force 3 or 4 and get them the hell out of this F-ing country. Holy shit, where the hell is Unka Dick in his god-damn bunker already, the rat bastard? What am I supposed to do, act like I'm really president?" Yes, I'm spoofing him but I'll bet that's pretty close to his expletive responses on that world-changing morning, a beautiful morning in New York City.

Rudi Guiliani, one time idiot mayor of NYC, a guy who grew up a goombah and knew who the hell came from Palermo and whose ass to kiss and which female aid to have sex with, built himself a hideout, a 40 million buck bunker somewhere hidden away in NYC. Even the governor of NY, George "Potato Head" Pataki [Grandpa Al Lewis called him "Potato Head" right to his face one time], another spoiled little rich boy, had his hideout on Third Avenue in NYC, very obvious when after 9/11 state troopers were thick as hops out front of the place and then checking IDs inside what otherwise was supposed to be the home of a large publishing firm.

Bill Clinton's hideout was the Oval Office with a big illegal Cuban cigar up Monica's wazzoo. Hillary Clinton's hideout was in the arms of Vince Foster until that fateful night in that Washington, District of Corruption, hilly park. Whoops, Vince, you just shot your ass in the head, you dumb romantic. Was Hillary worth dying for? At one time Hillary may have been a pretty good catch for an affair; she looks really cute and makeable in her Wellesley yearbook photo. Check out Hillary's commencement address back when she was still a Rodham in 1969.

Oh, how joyously optimistic Little Miss Human Restoration is when she was safe and secure on a Massachusetts college campus, graduating, having not yet met old Hillybilly Slick Willie.

But I'm like young Hillary; I don't want to stop the world and get off. I love the world. I want to stop the world and kick a huge number of assholes off the earth--line 'em up--Georgie Porgie..."Bend over, Mr. "President"...that's a good little spoiled brat, now..." WHAM. A boot in his ass and off he goes. Who's next? "Unka Dick? Are you able to bend that big fat body over enough where we can swift kick your smarmy old nasty ass off the planet? If you're
not, hell, we'll push you off the roof of the world in a wheelchair...yeah, you can take your shotgun with you." Hell, we might even kick Hillary's broad ass off the planet, too, if she doesn't shape up. I find it somewhat amazing that airheads like presidents's wives can go from a simple nobody wife to a US Senator from New York. New Yorkers are terrible liberals who wouldn't know a liberal from a hole in the backside of a donkey or an elephant if they saw one.

for The Daily Growler

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