Friday, February 27, 2009

WAR Is in Our Genes

Bulletin: I (thegrowlingwolf) am sorry to say that The Rocky Mountain News went belly up today--they are out of business. I started reading The Rocky Mountain News when my family would vacation in Colorado way back during the Eisenhower years. I loved reading their sports section in the summer time because they listed the box scores of all the Pacific Coast League games in those days and also a lot of minor league box scores like from the Frontier League, the Longhorn League, the West Texas-New Mexico League, the Western League--with coverage of the then Denver Bears who played in the original Mile High Stadium. This famous old newspaper was approaching its 150th anniversary this year--it was a controversial newspaper that started as a white-citizen rag back when Denver was a baby-white-invasion frontier city--The News had a vicious role in encouraging the Sand Creek Rebellion, for instace, where the Colorado whites massacred Native Americans without mercy--white toughies (read: cowards) scared shitless by "red people," shooting and butchering men, women, children, animals, in order to exorcise their fears of these "Red Devils." Recently, however, the News had a big change from racist white to progressive everybody in the Mountain States, and back a few years ago hired its first Native American reporter. The News also in the 90s changed its anti-Latino stance (Colorado is home to many Latinos, including Puerto Ricans as well as Mexicans--they originally came to Colorado to harvest beet crops (beets once were used to make sugar), cotton crops, etc.) and added nearly 100 Latino reporters, comprising half of its staff of 203. The News was not a nonprofitable newspaper. Its problem was that the McClatchy Group of greedy investors bought it as they went around buying up newspapers over the last 10 years or less--and this McClatchy Group paid so much for the newspapers it (speculated in) bought it took all these papers's cash reserves and ad revenues to cover that Group's huge bank loan debt--finally as Wall Street comes tumbling down, the McClatchy Group has run out of money and can't meet its loan payments so The Rocky Mountain News is having to go bankrupt. The McClatchy Group is also responsible for the recent bankruptcy of the Chicago Tribune and The Philadelphia Enquirer--again not unprofitable newspapers but unable to repay the subprime loans they got to buy these several big American papers. All due to these private equity rich fools who know nothing about the newspaper industry totally mismanaging and fucking up the viability of all they touched, meaning all they bought and took management of--or should we say "took mismanagement of." Yesterday, New York City's Newsday (a newspaper started on Long Island back in the 70s and was once owned by Brother Bill Moyers) declared it would now charge to read it on the Internet. So there ya go, folks--the great US newspapers are all folding. Read The Daily Growler instead now--we'll cover the Denver area--no problem.
War Quotes

A democracy which makes or even effectively prepares for modern, scientific war must necessarily cease to be democratic. No country can be really well prepared for modern war unless it is governed by a tyrant, at the head of a highly trained and perfectly obedient bureaucracy.

Good old Aldous Huxley said that.

Either war is obsolete or men are.

Our old pal Buckminster Fuller said that.
I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.

Old Al Einstein said that. Pretty cool, eh? (click on the quote and get info about it)-- 'cept Al's half wrong--there won't be any sticks left in WWIV.
I think a curse should rest on me — because I love this war. I know it's smashing and shattering the lives of thousands every moment — and yet — I can't help it — I enjoy every second of it.

Old privileged buffoon Brit snob asshole Winnie Churchill (half an American) said that during his lusty military heroics in WWI.

"When the rich make war it's the poor that die."
— Jean-Paul Sartre

"War, that mad game the world loves to play."
— Jonathan Swift

"Every gun that is fired, every warship launched, every rocket fired, signifies, in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed. The world in arms is not spending money alone. It is spending the sweat of its laborers, the genius of its scientists, the hopes of its children."
— Dwight D. Eisenhower


“Those who profess to favor freedom and yet deprecate agitation, are people who want crops without plowing the ground. They want the rain without the awful roar of the thunder and lightning. They want the ocean without the roar of its many waters. Without struggle, there is no progress. This struggle might be a moral one. It might be a physical one. It might be both moral and physical, but it must be a struggle. Power concedes nothing without demand. It never did and it never will. People may not get all that they pay for in this world, but they certainly pay for all that they get.”
—Frederick Douglass, 1857

And of course what list of "war quotes" would be complete without this quote:

“Why of course the people don't want war... Naturally... That is understood. But, after all, it is the leaders of the country who determine the policy and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along, whether it is a democracy, or a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the peacemakers for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in any country.”
—Hermann Goering


Check out the end of Brother France's statement on war--"financiers and manufacturers":

“A people living under the perpetual menace of war and invasion is very easy to govern. It demands no social reforms. It does not haggle over expenditures on armaments and military equipment. It pays without discussion, it ruins itself, and that is an excellent thing for the syndicates of financiers and manufacturers for whom patriotic terrors are an abundant source of gain.”

—Anatole France


And From a US original-thinker type:

"The loud little handful — as usual — will shout for the war.

"The pulpit will — warily and cautiously — object — at first; the great, big, dull bulk of the nation will rub its sleepy eyes and try to make out why there should be a war, and will say, earnestly and indignantly, 'It is unjust and dishonorable, and there is no necessity for it.'
Then the handful will shout louder. A few fair men on the other side will argue and reason against the war with speech and pen, and at first will have a hearing and be applauded; but it will not last long; those others will out shout them, and presently the anti-war audiences will thin out and lose popularity.

"Before long you will see this curious thing: the speakers stoned from the platform, and free speech strangled by hordes of furious men who in their secret hearts are still at one with those stoned speakers — as earlier — but do not dare to say so. And now the whole nation — pulpit and all — will take up the war-cry, and shout itself hoarse, and mob any honest man who ventures to open his mouth; and presently such mouths will cease to open.
Next the statesmen will invent cheap lies, putting the blame upon the nation that is attacked, and every man will be glad of those conscience-soothing falsities, and will diligently study them, and refuse to examine any refutations of them; and thus he will by and by convince himself that the war is just, and will thank God for the better sleep he enjoys after this process of grotesque self-deception." — Excerpted from Twain's "The Mysterious Stranger."


From old Sartre on down were collected off the following great "war quote" Website:


for The Solvent Daily Growler

Meet a Great and Honorable WHITE Man (our first entry):

They hanged him from a sour apple tree.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

You Can't Reconstruct the Old and Not Expect the Same Old Thing

Note: We have fallen behind in our posting--this should be read as though it were posted Wednesday, February 25.

The Problem With President Obama's Thinking

First of all, the speech turned out to be a boring disappointment. But then I'm always disappointed and wrong in my expectations no matter what I do in life. You know, you get all hepped up hot on something and your expectations of its probabilities grows and grows and grows and then you act on it...and suddenly you are seriously disappointed. Maybe I could relate it to Economics's "Law of Diminishing Return"--a law that applies to war, too; the longer the war, the less interest in it from both soldiers and civilians--DEATH so contaminates the soils of these countries that sort of endure continuous war they get tired of the stench--they, too, want fresh air--places like Afghanistan; like Iraq; like Palestine and Israel (the US gives Israel 30 billion bucks a year); like Pakistan and India; etc. Death becomes an everyday part of life--running from Death, or sleeping in fear that DEATH could kick in your door at any moment and machinegun every man, woman, child, baby, dog, cat in the house. That's a "here today, gone tomorrow" type probability; a hell of a way to live life. Look how supermannish we act until we're attacked in the heart of New York City and supposedly an on-target hit on the very headquarters of the bunch that is supposed to be guarding our perimeters with flights in the air at all times and a world's champion, supposedly, radar system--and look how scared we Americans became at that time--how ready we were to persecute Muslims, all of them, even our own black Muslims--and profiling though illegal became OK to do and illegally listening to all our phone conversations or scanning all our e-mails and blogs and Websites and Face Book and text messaging--and our communications corporations obeying without worry our nutjob poor little spoiled brat rich boy toy soldier criminal president--this loser criminal AWOL hero faux president placing himself above all laws even world laws, such a weasel and coward when it came time to defend us from whoever it was who attack us--to reprimand our military leaders for letting this chaotic attack prove to be one of the greatest military attacks in the world's military strategy annals--so successful--LOOK, it did what it said it was going to do, bring down the World Trade Center, the center of all the ungodly financial deals and the center for CIA's largest electronic spying system and also for the storing of US gold supplies--ah, how quickly we forget--and that was the whole object of the old blind shiek's effort to bring it down using a rented van and a fertilizer bomb to shake the WTC, to make it tremble, and yes to kill several innocent people--but, no, it didn't bring down the building--not only did this final attack bring down one WTC building but at least 5 other buildings--wrecking also beyond repair the Deutsche Bank's building--and that attack had, or at least this is how our media presented it to us, us shaking in our overpriced shoes or boots. Like I say in response to a brilliant military attack pulled off by 21 Saudi-Arabians--I mean, they came right through our lousy defense system--and how dare them to interrupt our phony president reading My Pet Goat to a bunch of grade school kids--then the coward ran like hell to the protection of his US Air Force. I must remind myself here that one of the 9/11 Saudi attackers was a Jordanian. Note: we are soon going to be giving Jordan billions of dollars since the Jordan royal jerk says Jordan's economy is sinking into the Jordan River--and you know why? Hey, the Royal Hoodoomaster of Jordan ain't no fool--probably Harvard educated--his mother was an American chick--daughter of the head of one of our airlines that later went belly up--Pan Am, I think. So this Jordanian royal potentate says Jordan's economy is sinking into the Jordan River--and the reason it is is because the US is pulling out of Iraq and also Kuwait and China's economy has returned back to China and has left Jordan with a bunch of unfinished hi-rise hotels--Jordan's main economy during the illegal invasion and occupation of Iraq--using enslaved Vietnamese, Nepalese, etc., workers to run these hotels (clean the shitcans and bow and scrape to the warmongerers and illegal arms dealers that would be staying in these hotels (built with Commie Chinese money) or Jordan also developed a slave industry when it (on orders from China and the US some say) then subcontracted these poor ass Asian dudes out to private contractors, those servicing US forces in Iraq--and these poor desperate Asians were answering ads in their local newspapers put in them by the Jordanian government, ads offering these desperately poor bastards hotel jobs with high salaries and amenities--like whores, big bucks, you know the lure--and then when these fools got to Jordan they had their passports collected, then they were blindfolded and shipped off to Iraq where they ended up enslaved--6 Nepalese "hotel workers" later found dead and some of the others going nuts their situation so desperate--and most of these poor bastards were never to be seen or heard of again. Besides, the West Bank in Israel used to belong to the Jordanians--half of Jerusalem was Jordanian--but Israel isn't afraid of the wimpy Jordanians, who kiss Israel's ass because most of Jordan's aid comes from the USA and not their Moslim neighbors--so you see the kiss-ass connection?

This fires me up and sets me to remembering: the old ways, the ways of war, the ways of letting 1% of the world's white men control almost 100% of the world's wealth, meaning its natural resources, like its lands--even its wildernesses and the capital gains made off those lands or through controlling things like fishing rights, mineral rights, even air rights (there are developers here in New York City who make their wealth off buying air rights over NYC buildings). The old ways continue the ability of that 1% of the owners of the world's wealth to rob us of everything we possess, especially our dignity, especially our faith, especially our human rights. With their impunity they enforce their agendas on us through their ability to control us through their loyal police forces and armies and world leaders who are crooked as snakes at night around the world--puppet enforcement armies who will enforce more and more more-stringent rules and laws against the people of the commonwealths of the world--therefore meaning all the wealth that 1% controls is stolen wealth. Our Wall Street criminals and banker criminals made all their billions off stolen wealth--like bank depositors's checking and savings accounts--the banks's source of capital. This is a wealth that is now so corrupted its certainly chaotic and maybe irreparable. It's really phony wealth; it's wealth that has been sold (remember the land a house sits on is the source of any wealth that house (a capital improvement) has), resold, traded, resold, given out as bonuses--its a perfect chaotic world economy now! Remember, this stolen wealth is not MONEY; this wealth is NOT CASH! When you base your wealth on speculations, gambling, risky ventures, one big loss brings the whole casino down. Everyone knows the chance theory of "going for it"--of risking all your worth to go for the big bucks, that gold sitting in that pot that sits at the end of that big neon rainbow luring all high rollers into the casino so the casino can fleece you of your WORTH, not your money--they've already go more money than you do--they can print their own money--casino chips--going electronic now, by the way. You see, those who own the wealth aren't going to give up that wealth--besides, they still get to go bankrupt and get government bailouts--they are actually banks, you see--they can loan money--and the money they are loaning out--same with banks--is your money anyway--you give more of your earnings to the casinos than you save for yourself).

We are dreamers and our expectations are always goals that are impossibly high. That's the way we've fought all our illegal and losing wars since WWII, we've gone all out for the glory in spite of the odds of gaining glory being next to no odds at all.

Then you slam on your mental brakes and think about how deceiving all of this Capitalism is. Karl Marx wrote of what was going to happen to us in Das Kapital--about how the workers of the world were being exploited by the royally-divine economic systems of the world, systems set up and controlled by men who think they are DIVINE because they are princes or dukes or potentates or robber barons--because they are rich therefore they are divine and because they are divine they are above reproach--above the laws they themselves lobby to have their royal governments impose on the workingclass--impoverishment of the populace their true goals...and that's what this is--everybody who is workingclass hates being workingclass! Yet, we have to have a workingclass, a comfortable workingclass, a workingclass covered with benefits, and long vacations, and clean and safe workplaces in order for our economy to actually work and actually grow and be based on actual wealth (land with factories and craftspeople and apprenticeships), sea (a clean ocean means clean drinking water, a clean source of food--you know how kelp grows wild in a clean ocean--and kelp is one of the most healthy foods for human monkeys to eat), air (look at the new windmill industry that is coming back to America from Scandinavia--windmill knowledge they learned from We the People's scientists--coming back to our wind states (like Iowa, Minnesota, and North Dakota (maybe our New Frontiers)))--and just look at how human monkeys are destroying their own natural wealth! How stupid are human monkeys?--chimps wearing diapers and ripping human monkey women's faces off seem much smarter and more logical economically than human monkeys.

President Obama last night (Tues. night) in his whatever it was called speech seemed well aware that his ratings go up every time he gives a big speech--besides look at the teevee time he gets--every network carrying his speeches--he's already given more big-time speeches to big-time crowds than any president ever. Kennedy gave the same kind of speeches before big crowds--but remember, ironically, Obama went to Berlin and drew a bigger crowd of Berliners than Kennedy did on his photo-op trip to Germany--of course, Obama had the advantage of having former East Germans counted in his crowd numbers whereas Kennedy only had West Germans at his big Berlin speech. In fact, President Obama's delivery is very Kennedian! And We the People are expecting so much from this guy--we thirst for his speeches--we thirst for him to bring this change he promised by hollering "Yes we can" at us, a speech Will I Am put to music and song it got our hopes (Admiral Stockdale, remember, said there is no such thing as HOPE--only FAITH in YOUR SELF) and expectations up so. And now this man is president. And everybody smiles when he comes around. And he smiles all the time; and he kids all the time; and he blows kisses at his spotlighted wife all the time. Sorry, but I'm beginning now to get cynical when I see the same act unfolding once again before my expecting eyes and the same disappointments after the show has packed up and gone back into the reality of things evolving in secret out of District of Corruption backrooms and the smoke-filled dens of the largest gathering of criminal politicians, criminal lobbyists, criminal Treasury controllers, criminal secret police and investigative units (CIA, Homeland Security, FBI, FEMA, the Border Security forces, the NSA, the new US Army combat division assigned for the first time (illegally of course) to US soil, the DEA) and the trillion-dollar-loaded Pentagon money launderers, the CIA doing drug dealings still--all of Congress full of warmongers, We the People now seen as world terrorists, as two-faced, selfished, and intolerant--we are intruders in the dust--plus We the People are now seen as economic phonies (the banks blaming We the People as causing this crisis when we fell for and took the financial crooks's sucker mortgages and remortgages and sub-prime loans)--and soon other countries will realize they are more powerful than We the People of the US. Look at the European Union. It's now really the dominant economic power in the world--what started as the Benelux back after WWII is now the most growing economy in the world, especially now since Communist China's growth has come to a screeching halt.

Also, look at how President Obama is reneging on all his peace commitments by continuing on with G.W. Bush's criminal invasion and occupation of Afghanistan--by sending his Sec'y of State to Asia as her first assignment--and in Asia she starts ragging on the North Koreans who suddenly have become a terrorist threat again now that they are announcing they are fixing to launch a satellite. Wasn't Iran also recently threatening to launch a satellite? Isn't that ironic? My question has always been, since we are constantly told the North Korean economy is in shambles--we are told--by Diane Sawyer for one--remember her trip to North Korea?--that North Koreans are starving to death from lack of food and freezing to death for lack of clothing--then how in the hell is this broke and starving nation--and they haven't seen their fearless leader in several months now--rumors are flying around that he's got a terminal illness and won't be with us much longer--so how is this nation able to afford a nuclear program that is now enabling them to launch a satellite into orbit--like where did this failed commie nation get the money and technology to build a rocket capable of putting a satellite into orbit? Who gave them their suddenly fast-paced nuclear knowledge to build and operate reactors? Where do they get the rocket fuels necessary to propel a rocket into deep space? Check out how some of our own most patriotic ex-leaders built the original nuclear plant in North Korea. And there's Hillary in Asia throwing the old American tough-guy bullshit around in Japan and then going to China and putting her nose deep into those Commie Chinese buttcracks, her tongue bull's eying that Commie Chinese brown eye--trumpeting, "Oh, please, oh gracious Commie/Capitalist bros and sisses--and yes, you are abusing human rights by the barrelsful, but hey, we can overlook that, please, because we need your cheap products and we need your Central Bank money to keep our own asses from having to sink or swim"--which is what we are having to do if you carefully listened to Obama's disappointing speech last night. For instance, the Commie Chinese are using child labor to make lead-laced soft-plastic toys that have been banned by the European Union so China has been dumping these toxic toys on the US market--but there's Hillary saying, hey, that's OK, there's nothing wrong with Commie Chinese being good Capitalists. And now, too, the whole of President Obama's advisors and military criminals are provoking Pakistan with unannounced drone flights invading their sovereign territory that are targeting innocent civilians and declaring them enemy combatants and therefore subject to extraordinary rendition flights--why, that's right, too, President Obama has approved 200 million dollars to enlarge the ruthless and torturous Bagram Prison in Afghanistan.

So, yes, last night's speech was disappointing. Disappointing in that it really didn't say a god-damn thing. It was all fluff, the same fluff a cheerleader acts out at football games (or at baseball games in Japan)--as if cheerleading has anything at all to do with whether a team is going to win or not. The game has to do with how your team is performing on the playing field--how its offense and defense balance out the team and turn it into a "possible" winner. The sports playing field is a controlled arena (nothing really chaotic at a ballgame--unless a human monkey goes berserk in the controlled audience) with set boundaries, with equal-opportunity sides of its equally distanced marked-off confinements of "play"--with several overseers, referees, of the game there to impose unbreakable rules and imposing penalties against corruption and in favor of the fairness of the game! Obama's being a great cheerleader EXCEPT, fuck the cheerleaders, we need a winning coach and a winning-minded coaching staff to pull us up from our now underdog position in the world standings back into viable winners again, no matter how incorrect our national legends are.

One way to end this dilemma is to just end both illegal wars the vote-stealing corrupt Bush presidency started in order to impose the New World (Neo-Con) Order on the oilfield nations of the Middle East--including Afghanistan whose land is needed for the oil pipeline that will bring the oil down from our Central Asian allies--and there aren't that many left--into Europe. Hell, its president is an oil-baron speculator whose brother is the leading dope dealer in Afghanistan. Dope and oil. Just think if we'd legalize dope and illegalize oil!

You know what, I'll bet if President Obama would have given every man, woman, child, and dog in the USA a million bucks out of that trillion dollar bailout package, not only would Obama have saved the economy but he would right now be maybe thought of as a permanent president--like Roosevelt demanded and got during his effort to rebuild a US economy after the Repugnican numbskull poor little rich kids (like the Taft Family of Ohio) had driven asunder under rich boy Herbert Hoover--who believed that the rich man's humanitarian love for mankind would be enough to save the world through his great charitable trickle-down giveaways from his vast vaults of stolen money. If Obama gave every man, woman, child, and dog a million bucks, he'd still have billions left to bail out his new rich and Power Elite friends in Washington, District of Corruption, the masters of this ruinous direction our conservative and racist whites have taken us.

for The Daily Growler

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

The Daily Growler Standin' Tall

Note: This post has recently been "sort of" reedited to read a "little" better.

You Gotta Stand for Something

Forcing people to stand on command is interesting to me. I remember as a little agnostic Christian kid how the preachers in the many churches in which I was forced by parental law to attend could say, "Let us all stand now...," and everybody would stand. I tested it. I sometimes purposely didn't stand. I loved torturing my parents like that. Forcing me to stand in church was a cataclysmic moment in my natural tendency to be a child rebel, though I was a rebel without a cause, readying myself for the real world I was raised in. It took me many developing years, through childhood into my late teenage years, for me to get to the point in time and space when I discovered my SELF ("To thy self be true"). Don't worry, I'm not going into psychobabble here. At this time, as close as I'd gotten to Freudian psychology was Georg Groddeck's Book of the It ["Es" in German]--nor did I at that time know that after Groddeck published his The Ego and the Id in 1923, Freud stole the "Es" (Id) concept from him, though giving him great praise and respect for his work as he did so. All I know is Groddeck's book opened my eyes to the "self" (Id) concept and turned me from an It into an identifiable character. An understandable character. This character's lines were alive in me as thoughts and thoughts turned into speech and then into print. The Way through the real world was in that character's thoughts, dreams, urges, controls, limitations, desire to compete! So a little rebel without a cause suddenly had a cause. His own self. Himself.
self (slf)
n. pl. selves (slvz)
1. The total, essential, or particular being of a person; the individual: "An actor's instrument is the self" Joan Juliet Buck.
2. The essential qualities distinguishing one person from another; individuality: "He would walk a little first along the southern walls, shed his European self, fully enter this world" Howard Kaplan.
3. One's consciousness of one's own being or identity; the ego: "For some of us, the self's natural doubts are given in mesmerizing amplification by way of critics' negative assessments of our writing" Joyce Carol Oates.
4. One's own interests, welfare, or advantage: thinking of self alone.
5. Immunology That which the immune system identifies as belonging to the body: tissues no longer recognized as self.
Myself, yourself, himself, or herself: a living wage for self and family.
1. Of the same character throughout.
2. Of the same material as the article with which it is used: a dress with a self belt.
3. Obsolete Same or identical.

[Middle English, selfsame, from Old English; see s(w)e- in Indo-European roots.]

The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2003. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

My own definition of the character I call "My Self" is based on the "Ego" definition of "Self"--meaning just waking up one morning and starting to honor the cause your self is designed to use in defense of its time and space. This self begins each day waking up to a new tale--and that is how all of my tales begin, something you would realize had you ever read any of my tales and are a reader of what a writer is saying between the lines. If you are that aware of my self then you already know this about my character, my self--that all my tales, my parables, begin on waking on mornings, familiar or strange. They all begin: "Waking up one morning...." And isn't that how all tales should begin? It's in the blues idiom, too, by the way, an idiom I tried to live by during my self's evolving years--and a lot of blues idiom tales are based on lines like: "Woke up this morning/Blues sittin' on my bed...." "I wake up in the morning/Her face's all full of frowns...." "Early in the mornin'/Afore I rise/She's layin' there/Rollin' her bloodshot eyes...." Yes, just as you wake up every morning, that's the start of another day, and what you find either in or out of your bed on awakening--or maybe you are puzzling over the part of a clearly remembered dream or vision you had while in the hypnogogic state becomes the start of another page in the script you're character has to read from, the continuing-to-be-upgraded script. And that's certainly the start of another act in the multiact plays of life; and that's the start on another page of the next episode in the novel that is actually your self's memoir; a start of another "I woke up this morning, my head groggy but still fraught with flashes of either real or imagined plots, plots that have to be unfolded; or it's at least a sign that your self is still alive and able to begin thinking and acting once again as though everything is different on every arising from sleep. Soon you'll be acting just like a pro actor can do the same play maybe 10 times a week for a year or more--on the same stage. On waking each morning you reach for another step up on the ladder of the your creatively guided direction. The problem, as an aside, is in avoiding the routine. That's when one starts reading the psychobabble for answers to a self-puzzle, you know studying the self in terms of the normal and the abnormal. That's where it all becomes semantics. "Am I an egomaniac?" "Am I an autolarist?"

What I was leading to with this is the fact that once I learned I was a rebel with a cause, I never stood up on orders to stand up again. It became a form of protest with me. In college at sporting events, I stopped standing up for the so-called National Anthem. I didn't see this country as being so deserving of such respect, as being so ethically correct, so straightforward, so humanitarian. So every time I heard over the PA systems of the sporting arenas I found my SELF in in college, "Let's us all rise for the singing of our National Anthem," I rebelled and didn't stand. Rebelled against being a robot for one. Robots rising under orders to stand and to salute a song no one knows the full lyrics to--not even those who sing it at sporting events. Honoring this boring national hymn under orders to rise as one and worship through this hard-to-sing song the divinity of our so-real and misdirected country. And the National Anthem is a long, boring, warmongering, old-style, jiggy song and the flagwaving it stands for is the flagwaving of bloody shirts. No one anyway can understand or explain the words of that boring national hymn. Nor would I, you damn right, stand for the invocations at these sporting events either--something considered "commie" by the routine-bound souls I grew up and developed my SELF around.

Like when a stupid judge comes into a courtroom, why should everyone stand on some stupid court cop ordering, "All rise." And if you don't rise, what? Are you subject to a contempt of court charge? You see, not obeying an order to stand up can get your ass in jail-time trouble, especially during these days of having to prove your patriotism with proper papers to Secret Cop types--and always carry with you your proper IDs.

Naomi Klein
, what a woman , has a new book out--she writes at least two a year--on a Fascism she's concerned about that is parading around posing as progressive when it's still the same old National Socialism of those good old days of Nazi fun and games. It's still this New World Order that even Obama seems to be standing up in obedience to--this Global One-World concept of righteousness and that the World is the territory the US Police Force has been divinely determined to control. One day, Naomi says, if we disobey these guys's orders to stand up or stand at attention could mean our deaths. And Naomi says she's concerned about our leaning toward private armies to do the dirty work or municipal cops suddenly appearing carrying military weapons cocked and ready to fire. She's concerned about the US Army how having an official combat division with their battlefield the USA--therefore, the US Army can now act as a cop and arrest US citizens as enemy combatants. Naomi says be prepared to obey orders given out by new-age Brown Shirts and SS (the acronym already of our own Secret Service). We are going to be subject to extraordinary rendition flights--and Obama finds nothing ethically wrong with these flights and is condoning them and is continuing them in his vision of his chance to takeover this New World Order as he turns his warring needs to Afghanistan--Obama's own war!--like his heroes Lincoln and FDR and JFK had their own wars. Now Obama wants his war. (It's all about money, but that's so easily told a tale. Obama can now play soldier and Commander and Chief--and already he is saluting the Marine Special forces that ceremoniously guard the White House and the President--and what a truer Progressive and man of peace he'd be were he to do away with saluting and the stupid Marine guard. I babble--psychotically so--but I'm so pissed as these phony profiteers who led us into this sudden having to deal with the Great God Chaos, the only god that makes sense to me. And Naomi Klein's concerned about military types that are gaining positions in the Power Elite that rule us. In this Fascist respect of the military and private and secret and undercover cops, I notice how Obama is relying heavily on his Secret Service, putting that one Secret Service guy in his administration as an overseer of the honesty of these bailout deals. Isn't that interesting? It is to my self. And I know this is Obama's self guiding him--a cautious self; a self trained to watch its back; a self trained to say to itself, "Fuck the past and what was, I'm only interested in what can be done now to get ready for what's coming." Humans are determined to KNOW what's coming. That's why science fiction fascinates so many literate souls. It's prediction. Soothsaying. And my character has always said soothsaying is easy as pie--anyone can predict futures and out of tons of predictions you can rattle off at will, maybe one of them will prove sort of accurate--you catch my agnostic drift? It was only a few months ago that I as a soothsayer let you all know that we were now in a world ruled over by the anarchist god, the great Lord Chaos. I mean I've been preaching this Great Lawd's coming for years now--"Chaos is'a comin'/It's sails are in sight/Chaos is'acomin'/It's comin' tonight." So now my self is learning (autodidactically or biosophically) how to step lively in defiance to the numbskull orders to stand that will be flung our ways in the not-too-distant future. "Halt! Stand at attention while we search you for shoe bombs and secret messages to our enemies. Like this tattoo you have on your shoulder! What is that an Iranian anti-US/Christ/Israel/Chosen Ones message of hate? Bend over, we are going to an anal cavity search on you and then we are going to arrest you and turn you over to the Moroccans. Those heathen bastards'll get the truth out of you." Remember, Obama has said extraordinary rendition flights are fine with him. So far over 100 innocent civilians have died from Obama's standing-ordered drone flights into Pakistan; the latest US-based-controlled flight killing over 40 men, women, and children, folks that Obama's military advisers (all of them old Bush Baby's ignorant generals) assured him were Taliban terrorists. That same week, Taliban terrorists were just outside Kabul blowing Afghanians up--way far from Pakistan. Hell, the Taliban are almost back in control of Afghanistan. Another unrighteous war (an invasion and occupation gone bad) that the Russians when they were Soviets warned us that if we got involved in the mess we'd be ruined. Since we don't listen to those we consider beneath us (like we consider the Russians still even though Russian whites are whiter than US whites--and just as ruthless and uncaring and inhumane as US whites) and feel we are divinely always right, we don't take advice from anybody but our own God-damn imagined God, a God who is white, male, a Gentile, by the bye, not a Jew. Yes, how stupid we Americans are. Are the stupidest of us WHITES?

That's a problem I recently had to confront with my self's persona. It happened in a white-black relationship. The black half of this relationship called me a racist and continued by saying she didn't give a damn how liberal and humanitarily WHITE I was, I was still to her a racist. She said I was a racist and didn't realize it, but she being black heard it in nearly everything I said, no matter the subject. That I displayed a white-privileged attitude that black people are so aware of when they are around whites. Then I listened to a Malcolm X speech--one of his last speeches--and Malcolm addressed that same problem, mentioning that no black in their right mind wanted to "integrate" with the white man--UNLESS--aha, by this time Malcolm had changed his purpose from religious to political--it was on EQUAL terms--and he didn't think the white man's ego would let him consider himself equal to any black man--or a white woman could consider herself equal to a black woman. I had this extreme black anger thrown against me after I spouted out that I kept an eye on the clowns that are ruining the world because they were such shiftless skunks and I knew this whole economy thing was about WAGES, about LABOR, about a return to slave labor (or "near-slave" labor)--and I blurted out, "Do you want to be put out in the fields choppin' cotton again!" And she went off on me way out there this time--and it was all prefaced with "You white people~-you're all so fucking racist, and you're such bullshit artists. Black people aren't afraid of you white people. Black people know how to deal with white people now. White people are so stupid and blacks are so much smarter and intellectual than whites--whites are deaf and dumb compared to blacks who are born majestic!" I stood up and applauded her. What a speech. That got me rebuke, too.

What a lesson my SELF learned though.
From an Interview Malcolm X Had With Louis Lomax Back in 1963:

MALCOLM X: Sir, how can a Negro say America is his nation? He was brought here in chains; he was put in slavery an worked like a mule for three hundred years; he was separated from his land, his culture, his God, his language!

The Negro was taught to speak the white man�s tongue, worship the white God, and accept the white man as his superior.

This is a white man�s country. And the Negro is nothing but an ex-slave who is now trying to get himself integrated into the slave master�s house.

And the slave master doesn�t want you! You fought and bled and died in every war the white man waged, and he still won�t give you justice. You nursed his baby and cleaned behind his wife, and he still won�t give you freedom; you turned the other cheek while he lynched you and raped your women, but he still won�t give you equality. Now, you integration-minded Negroes are trying to force yourselves on your former slave master, trying to make him accept you in his drawing room; you want to hang out with his women rather than the women of your own kind.

LOMAX: Are you suggesting that all of us who fight for integration are after a white woman?

MALCOLM X: I wouldn�t say all of you, but let the evidence speak for itself. Check up on these integration leaders, and you will find that most of them are either married to or hooked up with some white woman. Take that meeting between James Baldwin and Robert Kennedy; practically everybody there was interracially married. Harry Belafonte is married to a white woman; Lorraine Hansberry is married to a white man; Lena Horne is married to a white man.

Now how can any Negro, man or woman, who sleeps with a white person speak for me? No black person married to a white person can speak for me!


MALCOLM X: Why? Because only a man who is ashamed of what he is will marry out of his race. There has to be something wrong when a man or a woman leaves his own people and marries somebody of another kind. Men who are proud of being black marry black women; women who are proud of being black marry black men.

This is particularly true when you realize that these Negroes who go for integration and intermarriage are linking up with the very people who lynched their fathers, raped their mothers, and put their kid sisters in the kitchen to scrub floors. Why would any black man in his right mind want to marry a lyncher, a murderer, a rapist, a dope peddler, a gambler, a hog eater… Why would any black man want to marry a devil… for that�s just what the white man is.

LOMAX: I have heard you say that a thousand times, but it always jolts me. Why do you call the white man a devil?

MALCOLM X: Because that�s what he is. What do you want me to call him, a saint? Anybody who rapes, and plunders, and enslaves, and steals, and drops hell bombs on people… anybody who does these things is nothing but a devil.

Look, Lomax, history rewards all research. And history fails to record one single instance in which the white man �as a people�did good. They have always been devils; they always will be devils, and they are about to be destroyed. The final proof that they are devils lies in the fact that they are about to destroy themselves. Only a devil�and a stupid devil at that�would destroy himself!

Now why would I want to integrate with somebody marked for destruction?


The above comes from

for The Daily Growler

Sunday, February 22, 2009


Quote #1:
From Henry Miller's The Colossus of Maroussi.
Henry's leaving Marseilles on a boat heading toward the Athens port of Piraeus where Lawrence Durrell is to meet him and take him to Corfu. Henry decides to get acquainted with certain passengers on the boat:
"Quiet by accident the first friend I made was a Greek medical student returning from Paris. We spoke French together. The first evening we talked until three or four in the morning, mostly about Knut Hamsun, whom I discovered the Greeks were passionate about. It seemed strange at first to be taking abut this genius of the North whilst sailing into warm waters. But that conversation taught me immediately that the Greeks are an enthusiastic, curious-minded, passionate people. Passion--it was something I had long missed in France. Not only passion, but contradictoriness, confusion, chaos--all these sterling human qualities I rediscovered and cherished again in the person of my new-found friend....

"The next day I opened conversation with the others--a Turk, a Syrian, some students from Lebanon, an Argentine man of Italian extraction. The Turk aroused my antipathies almost at once. He had a mania for logic which infuriated me. It was bad logic too. And like the others, all of whom I violently disagreed with, I found in him an expression of the American spirit at its worst. Progress was their obsession. More machines, more efficiency, more capital, more comforts--that was their whole talk. I asked them if they'd heard of the millions who were unemployed in America. They ignored the question. I asked them if they realized how empty, restless and miserable the American people were with all their machine-made luxuries and comforts. They were impervious to my sarcasm. What they wanted was success--money, power, a place in the sun. None of them wanted to return to their own country; for some reason they had all of them been obliged to return against their will. They all said there was no life for them in their own country. When would life begin? I wanted to know. When they had all the things which America had?... Life was made up of things, of machines mainly, from what I could gather. Life without money was an impossibility: one had to have clothes, a good home, a radio, a car, a tennis racquet, and so on. I told them I had none of those things and that I was happy without them, that I had turned my back on America precisely because these things meant nothing to me. They said I was the strangest American they had ever met" [pp. 5-7, New Directions Paperback, 24th printing].
Quote #2:
"'Leisure' doesn't refer to indolence or quiescence--What it connotes is non-productive consumption of time" [p. 46, The Theory of the Leisure Class, Thorstein Veblen].
Quote #3:
"I'm an anarchist. I don't make laws for other people, just myself" [the late Utah Phillips].
Quote #4:
"No man could stand being overshadowed by a successful wife.... Love and ambition can coexist in a man but not in a woman" [pp 5, 6, From Reverence to Rape, Molly Haskell].
Quote #5:
"It's good to be fast" [from an AT&T Blackberry television ad].
Quote #6:
"You push people against a wall and start strangling them--nowhere in history do oppressed people in that situation have ever said 'Thank you.'" [Grandpa Al Lewis on his WBAI-FM radio broadcast from 2001].
Quote #7:
"Baseball is our game, the American game: I connect it with our national character" [Baseball Is Our Game, Walt Whitman].
Quote #8:
" interest in any art-activity from poetry to baseball is better, broadly speaking, if held as a part of life, or of a life, than it sets itself up as a whole" [Preface to 114 Songs by Charles Ives].
Quote #9:
"Don't let your worries get ahead of your long-term goals" [an Edward Jones Financial Planners television commercial].
Quote #10:
A definition of "Gremlin": "Gremlin. One of a tribe of imaginary elves, to whom the RAF in World War II attributed inexplicable faults in their aeroplanes. The phrase was coined just before this war by a squadron of Bomber Command serving on the N.W. Frontier in India. It was compounded from Grimm's Fairy Tales, the only book available in the mess, and Fremlin, whose beer was the only drink available. It first appeared in print in Charles Graves's Thin Blue Line (1941), the author having heard it previously used by Group Captain Cheshire, V.C., at a Yorkshire airfield" [from The Wordsworth Dictionary of Phrase & Fable, 1993 Wordsworth Editions Ltd. This book was originally the work of Ebenezer Cobham Brewer].
Quote #11:
"Invention comes from people of special talent and genius, not from those who are circumscribed by routine" [p. 2o8, Stompin' the Blues, Albert Murray].
Quote #12:
"Industry is effort that goes to create a new thing; with a new purpose by the fashioning hand of its maker out of passive ('brute') material; while exploit, so far as it results in an outcome useful to the agent, is the conversion to his own ends of energies previously directed to some other end by another agent" [p 28, The Theory of the Leisure Class, Thorstein Veblen].
Quote #13:
"Configuration, structure, theme, structural relationship (Korzybski) or meaningful organized whole most closely approximate the originally German word Gestalt, for which there is no exact English equivalent. As a linguistic example: pal and lap contain the same elements, but the meaning is dependent upon the order of the letters within their Gestalt. Again, bridge has the meaning of a game of cards or a structure joining two river banks. This time the meaning depends upon the context in which 'bridge' appears. The color lilac looks bluish against a red background, red against a blue background. The context in which an element appears is called in Gestalt psychology the 'ground' against which the 'figure' stands out" [p. ix, Introduction, Gestalt Therapy, by Perls, Hefferline, Goodman, 1951, Delta Book, Dell Publishing].

for The Daily Growler

Added Attraction From thedrummerboyfromcollegepoint
: A cool blog featuring an interview with a young Miles Davis. Check it out:

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Rupert Murdoch Is an Australian Racist Asshole

A The Daily Growler Bulletin: The family of The Daily Growler Hall of Famer and Departmental Hero, Chief Geronimo of the Apache Nation, are petitioning (suing) the Federal government and Yale University for the return of Geronimo's bones--with compensation, of course. According to Geronimo's heirs the bones are illegally owned by Yale University. They contend that the way Yale got Geronimo's bones was due to, listen to this, G.W.'s grandfather and old Pappy Bush's father, Prescott Bush (he was also Hitler's banker), on a challenge from the infamous Skull & Bones Society--made up of little spoiled brat rich kids who get special privileges at Yale because their families are keiko-muckity-mucks and contribute tons of money to the Yale Alumni Association and those fabulous Yale endowment funds--so the S&B challenge old Grandpappy Bush to steal Geronimo's bones. So Prescott Bush went to Fort Sill, Oklahoma, and dug up Geronimo's bones--stole them off government property where they were interred after Geronimo had died in the Fort Sill Stockade [Read Geronimo's Life Story Written by Himself--it's in the "Gs" in the List of Links on the far right of this post] So the Geronimos are suing the Feds for not protecting this great man's remains--imprisoning even his bones and not allowing him a sacred burial--and Yale University for possessing the bones illegally. Prescott Bush and those fine, upstanding, little prick Skull & Bones brats brought his bones back to Yale where they remain today. Geronimo Lives!
Geronimo at his chiefly best.
Surprise! "Here's Johnnnnnny..."
That asinine but criminal cartoon that ran yesterday in my hometown's most bullshit newspaper, "The New York Post" (I won't dignify it with italics) riled me up so I no longer could abstain from writing, from using words--yes, though I'm sick and tired of words, this cartoon bullshit knocked my socks off and brought forth from me a whirlwind of words. It pisses me off especially because I remember when the Post was this city's most liberal newspaper--with columnists like Murray Kempton, James Wexler, Robert Reno, and Jimmy Breslin. Then in swept this city's worst nightmare, Rupert "the Asshole Aussie" Murdoch. This sorry turncoat once-Aussie liberal newspaper publisher--Prince Rupert inherited his Aussie newspaper empire from his old Daddy, a rather left-wing, labor-respecter newspaper publisher. But like I've always said, never trust a son taking over his father's business! First Rupert left Australia to get some revenge on the British Empire that sent its criminals to what the Brits thought of as a worthless piece of crap land, the "island" continent of Australia, after almost successfully anilhilating Australia's original people, a black people, a unique people--otherwise how the hell did they get from Africa to such an outcast place like Australia? Australia is actually a leftover land from very ancient times, which the White Man hasn't yet conquered, i.e., the recent wildfires that wiped out tons of white homes and killed 200--were they mostly white people? I assume they were. Every white person I've ever met from Australia was a racist, and without mentioning names, that includes a very big female Aussie star from that era where Aussie babes were coming to this country by the droves to try and pitch a wedge into a market that predominantly black women singers that were dominating. The Aussie girls came in to replace the worn-out white American babes who were imitating black women singers very badly and white phonily, so the record industry brought these Aussies girls in to be #1 white chick singers--and more than one of them made it: Helen Reddy, Lana Cantrell, and Olivia Newton John (I know Helen and Lana came over here and made it before the Australian men came over here in droves, like the awful, vulgar, copycat BeeGees--ripping off the black falsetto singers--same as the Righteous "White" Brothers ripped off the black soul singers of their earlier age--and that includes the vulgar Tom Jones, too [Mr. Ed: We agree with the commenter--"Lay off old Tom Jones!"--keep throwing your soiled panties at him--remember, though, I'm a horse so panties mean nothing to me in terms of erectile excitement--though I admit to taking Extend--yes, I submitted to those ads all night long on the lonesome end of television]--British foppy cats who really believed they understood Native American music and its evolution better than "white" Americans--yet none of them ever paid any god-damn dues like American musicians white or black but especially black had to pay--those MF-ers were brought over here by the American recording companies, they could make more bucks off the Brit boys and girls because of the tax situation in England at that time, to interrupt the awesome success of black singers and musicians over whatever the American white bands and stars threw at them. That's why Jimi Hendrix had to go to England to be respected--and yet those bastards were hitching themselves like parasites to the brilliant Jimi--so much more brilliant than any of those floppy-shoe-and-red-bulbed-nosed Brit fops that dragged the beat down in the Experience, which didn't bother Jimi at all, just gave him longer to play--his music based on the natural blues--where you can hold a measure out as long as you want to--especially if your rhythm section is dragging your ass down! I saw the The Daily Growler Staff tribute to Buddy Miles. Check out the albums with Buddy in the Experience! Damn right Buddy let Jimi come home. And Jimi came home to fall in love with his true love, his Electric Lady--his magnificent-obsessional love--the true Jimi Hendrix experience being that of infinite playing and recording--living within an electronic assimilation of his soul--his recording studio--at that time the finest ever put together by recording engineers that flocked around the millionaire Jimi to sell him drugs and the most advanced in recording equipment and equalizers and Dolby stretchers--I mean to record at the Electric Lady was instant "Good" in terms of how the Electric Lady could make punkers sound good--like could make Blondie sound conservatory trained. I drift...

But this sorry asshole Rupert Murdoch, I believe, has published a death threat against Obama by publishing so disgusting a cartoon! All over the networks this morning in NYC there is coverage of this chimp incident--all brought on by the insane coverage of this poor ass imprisoned chimp up in Stamford, Connecticut, a city of leisure-class hotrods, a poor fucking chimp who got tired of fucking and jiving around with his babyless white woman owner, a woman with a desire for a child so bad she made poor old Travis (the monk's name) act as if that child, never allowing old Travis to grow up. And then this crazed woman made old Travis became an incestuous pawn in her own human-monkey-pleasure-seeking dreams--I mean this grown human monkey woman forced old Travis to wear a fucking diaper as if a child--this poor old ancestor of mine. He tried to rip the white woman's friend's face off, the bitch! Who knows how those two human geeks were teasing the poor old diaper-wearing Travis! Cheeta never ripped no woman's face off--and he's still alive living a damn comfortable rather monkey Power Elite life out in Hollywood. Show our ancestors respect and they'll easily adjust into our society--but treating them like they are human children--or mother-son lovers!--I mean, don't you think chimps understand human actions? He was pissed. He died for his desire to be free of this teasing human monkey's silly incestuous control. And how he died--how cowardly are Stamford police? "Hey, I had to shoot his ass. He was trying to open my cop car door and come after my face. I did just what I'd do if he'd a been a human being trying to open the door to my cop car and do away with my I shot the monkey's ass." Human monkey reasoning. Afraid of the Jungle. Afraid of the Savage. Afraid of our ancestors! Afraid of anything we can't tame--and look at how humans work so hard to tame wild animals--that's because most of us don't see ourselves as animals--oh, no, remember, most human monkeys believe they were "Intelligently designed"--and we know God ain't no monkey--though all gods have made monkeys out of all of us. Hell, I'm not ashamed to admit I felt a kinship with that police-killed chimp. This is the same reason the Stamford, Connecticut, cops are afraid of black men. This is the reason a limp-dick Australian criminal like Rupert Murdoch is afraid of blacks both back in his former home country Australia and then in his new adopted home England, until he got control of all the slanderous yellow-journalism rags in England, until he then came to his latest adopted country, the USA. Corporate racists, all white dudes, I am more than certain, despise Barack Obama with a passion that borders on "the wicked"--and I'll guarantee you, a consortium of these world Power Elite players wouldn't mind seeing Obama dead. You get what I mean? The cops in the cartoon have shot the black-colored chimp wearing the white diaper. The cop who has shot this chimp has left him lying flat on his back in the street in a pool of blood. The cop is saying, "They'll have to find someone else to submit the next stimulus bill." A parody? "It is a parody of what's going on in Washington," the revengeful white Post editor said in defense of the cartoon. And I say, yes it is a parody of what's going on in Washington, District of Corruption, alright--it was meant as a threat to the President of the United States--'cause Obama is the one who's submitting the stimulus packages--and it's Obama the Washington, District of Corruption, cops have shot in the cartoon--and Obama's the chimp. That's the message, folks. I'm sure Rupert "World Criminal" Murdoch has had politicians killed before. Don't you think? Come on, this son of a bitch got a monopoly deal with Communist China! Don't you think the Commies eliminated certain people who didn't approve of this asshole's coming to their country and controlling their information systems! Hell yeah. Look how many British publishers have been in trouble and some even found dead at sea over the past 20 years! Look how phenomenal the rise of this little pissant rich-daddy's little spoiled-brat son from barbaric white Australia has been in the world of information and controlling "truths"--using his Information Empire to control all his self-important moves as he tries to become the richest and most powerful man in the world's Power Elite.

I thank this guy for this piece of shiftless-skunk shit. I also think this cartoon threatens the life of our president and Murdoch and the whole "New York Post" editorial staff should be arrested and face a Grand Jury investigation while imprisoned on 1-trillion-dollars bail. Why not take old Rupert's old gnarly ass on a CIA extraordinary rendition flight to say Morocco for some serious torture--torture forbidden under American justice but approved by Islamic justice--don't you see why so many CIA extraordinary rendition (kidnapping) flights go to Morocco, Syria, Egypt, Afghanistan? Obama has approved continued use of these flights (that's amazingly stupid on his part)--any kind of torture goes under Islamic law. Things are so simple when we understand how really stupid and inane these privileged rich assholes who are competing with each other to rule us, to enslave us, really. And now look, another schemin' scammin' asshole has surface, this time in dear old flim-flam Texas, Robert Allen Stanford, a cheap-trick prick who hustled his way to his billionaire status with his offshore Bank of Antigua. Oh yes. And listen to this, now these sorry ass Dumbocrats--especially a bunch of Florida politicians--are coming forth and admitting they received hundreds of thousands of campaign contributions from this self-declared financial whiz--re: Wizard--and this asshole was praised and asskissed (I mean politicians opened up old Robert Allen's ass cheeks and planted their tongue kisses deep in his darkest most smelly asshole) by the likes of Nancy "Rich Bitch" Pelosi and President Slick Willie Clinton (an easily trickbagged hillbilly)--The Slick One even deemed old Rat's Ass Allen a true American patriot and privileged-rich gentleman! Even New York State's own Senator Chuck "Clueless" Schumer took a bribe from this Texas swindler (some of the greatest flim-flammers (which is what these assholes are really) ever came from Texas--like the brilliant Billy Sol Estes or the late absolutely great Kenny Boy Lay (who was actually an Economics major from Missouri); the Bush Family Empire, too, are great Flim-Flammers.
Billie Sol Estes: one of the great flim-flammers of all time; and from my hometown to boot!

I'm back...but maybe not for long. I still am tired of words.

for The Daily Growler

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

The Daily Growler Poetry Issue

Poets, Are They Warped Fools or Geniuses?
Poems fall like the leaves of the trees in fall but in spring they spring back to leafy full lushness again. In summer they brown and in October they fall again. A cycle. Here's a raw poem submitted by a man who says he's sailing on the oceans of the moon these days.


I am broken...
but broke?
Not yet,
Though surely...
Yes, surely...
Surely soon.

Nothing's working
And all tills
Are falling into
Empty spaces
When groped for.

I am broken
And breaking,
Yes, O.K.,
Breaking more,
Yes, I agree,
But like the
Flowers in winter,
You know they'll
fill out again
Come spring again,
That same spring
When the
Spring is back
In your step
And you walk
As though on
Waters flowing free
Though nothing
Is free
When you're broke.
I capitulate. It isn't a bad poem as though it is no poem at all but just a jest. Jesting is certainly poetry. Like Hip-Hoppers--yes, they are seriously jesting, but as though written in graffiti on the walls of space, what they are babbling and rambling through and rhyming heartily is afterall poetry. Are all wild statements the statements of poets?

Here's another little diddy from the same moon-sailing-dreaming dude.

Can Can-Can

I can't cant
like trotters
trottin' like tots,
but I can can-can,
can't I?,
or may I?,
or deed I do
that hoodoo
that boohoo
That how-to-do
Howdy do,
do, do, or don't
do if you can't,
but do if you
can can-can.
Ooo, a justly just poem of tidbit thinking--of jotted notations on current thinking and verbal actions unionized. Any words that have to be deciphered are ah wilderness words.

Here's another from this moon-ocean sailor boy:

After Reading Toni Morrison

Unable to be cognitive,
a cog in a tiff,
a hum from a spliff,
a waxing of the floor,
the parquet floor of the mind
that minds the store
that sells to miners
or minors or
minions, and still
stays stale,
the same old
same, sure, same.
Unable to be cognitive
in such a grinding
of every motion, totally,
during same everyday days.
Just plain stunned.
Otro mas, por favor?

When Was...Then Is Now

When was;
Then is now;
Which was once
But isn't
Anymore there.
Because when it
Knows exactly where
Today is now,
Then yesterday
Was when you
And tomorrow
Were forever.
Reads like "Barnacle Bill the Sailor." Well, after all, this poet is a moon-sea sailor. Hasn't been writing poetry long? Long enough, I would hazard a guess. Not Longfellow enough; oh no! I hope I'm trying not to be too harsh on this harsh "little" poet?

Shall we give him (or her) one more shot?

Including ME

I try,
I crunch,
I scribble.
I will
Write my will,
I will,
Leaving nothing
But a will...(breathe).
I did try though;
I did stall, yes, but
I lengthened my scribble
And I wrote a novel
Called My Will.
Still I will
Leave nothing
In my will or
My Will
But words
Upon words
Upon words
That express
What WE all are,
Including ME.
I'm not into definitions of poetry. Poetry is wide open, isn't it? What's a poem? Aram Saroyan publishing a book of blank pages? He called that poetry. Robert Creeley called his one-word slammer-jammers poetry. This "unknown" poet, me thinks, studied with Robert Creeley at the University of New Mexico--where he met Lenore Kandel while she was reading her poem "Fucking With Love." And he fell for Lenore, but then, what man who ever met her and heard her read "Fucking With Love" didn't fall in love with her?

For a true mad-male appreciation of Lenore, he's a link for you studs and brilliant ladies to enjoy--pleasure and peace, all we women are after:

Men sometimes are disgustingly historical; remembering a time when they were the masters and their women were their slaves. Lenore Kandel seems to enjoy throwing sexual objects at men, especially men who she knows are putty in her "perverted" hands.

Here's a quote from Lenore Kandel:

“Those who read modern poetry do so for pleasure, for insight, sometimes for counsel. The least they can expect is that the poet who shares his visions and experiences with them does so with no hypocrisy. To compromise poetry through fear is to atrophy the psyche. To compromise poetry through expediency is the soft, small murder of the soul.”

Once is enough. Have we all forgotten Jacqueline Suzanne?

for The Daily Growler

Note: The above poems are by "The Unknown Poet," or "Tup," as he would like to be known. One could call his poems "Tupperware."

Monday, February 16, 2009

The Photography of Carl Van Vechten

The Following Are Photographs Made By the American Photographer and Author, From Cedar Rapids, Iowa, Carl Van Vechten--These Are Prints Van Vechten Made in His Central Park West Studio in Manhattan, Numbered, and Signed on the Reverses From 1934 Until the 1950s. They Were all Once Owned by a The Daily Growler Staff Member and Are Now in Other Collections

"Self-Portrait" 1934

"Self-Portrait" 1935
"Peach Trees at Armonk, New York" 1934
"Mary Martin," the Actress, 1950.

"Charlotte Holloway, Blues Singer" 1953
"Chester Dale," 1940--Stock market whiz who collected modern American art and helped found the Museum of Modern Art and was a patron of Frida Kahlo.
From Brandeis Univ. Carl Van Vechten Photography Collection Catalog:

In 1932 Van Vechten moved on to a new career, from novelist to photographer. While he was always interested in photography, it was the introduction of the new Leica camera, portable and using the inexpensive 35 mm film, that caused him to take photography seriously. Van Vechten took thousands of photographs on all subjects, but his favorite subject, and the one he is most known for, is portraiture. Many of the portraits by Van Vechten are of friends and acquaintances in the arts world he moved in. Because of his interest and friends in Harlem, Van Vechten took many photographs of notable African-Americans, documenting an important part of early 20th-century American history ignored and neglected by others.

Van Vechten's photographic career lasted until his death in 1964 at the age of 83. He created more than 15,000 photographs during his career, attempting to chronicle the artistic world of his time. By the time he started his photographic career Van Vechten was financially secure and never had to worry about commercial success. It was only after Van Vechten's death that a serious market for art photography was established; thus Van Vechten was able to pursue his own interests and personal aesthetic.


From The African-American Review, Spring, 1995

In 1932 he [Van Vechten] became fascinated with possibilities of the Leica camera, just then being introduced in the United States, and gave up writing in its favor. Although he experimented with over- and underexposing his images, and with pulling and burning them for contrast, he never retouched any of his prints, nor did he ever crop them radically. Eventually his work became almost resolutely documentary, although he always said he didn't see any reason that it couldn't be beautiful, too. But Van Vechten could be his own worst enemy in the darkroom when he was eager to share his latest efforts with friends and sometimes failed to wash his prints free of their chemicals. As a result, many of his own silver gelatin prints have severely deteriorated.

Unlike most photographers, he made finished prints of nearly every picture he took. When most people recall the Yousuf Karsh portraits of Albert Einstein and Ernest Hemingway, or even the portraits of Carl Van Vechten himself by Man Ray or Berenice Abbott, they usually know of a single image in each case. Contrarily, there are about twenty Van Vechten portraits of Bessie Smith, all made during a single sitting, several of which have been reproduced; about forty of Marian Anderson during a midnight-to-dawn marathon session with some costume changes; probably that many of Paul Robeson and of Langston Hughes from several sittings over the years; and well over 100 portraits of Ethel Waters. The variety, for all its interest, leads to a lot of unevenness. Van Vechten claimed that he threw out "anything that isn't perfection"; even so, there are better and worse portraits of nearly every subject in his catalog.

Although Van Vechten did most of his work in the studio in his apartment, against appropriate backdrops, Byrd has included some rare al fresco shots: a serene Bricktop at Place Pigalle; a troubled Countee Cullen in Central Park; a very young Lena Horne at Joe Louis's training camp, caught seemingly in motion. And there are some surprises: Aaron Douglas photographed against the colorful murals he had painted on the walls of Van Vechten's bathroom in 1927; Ralph Bunche, the first African American Nobel Peace Prize winner; Cab Calloway, quiet as a still-life and a strong contrast to Van Vechten's better-known hi-de-ho pictures of him; Diahann Carroll at eighteen; Amiri Baraka - then LeRoi Jones - at the time his first book was published.


We Had Totally Forgotten: Buddy Miles Died Last February

Buddy Miles brought Jimi Hendrix back down home, took that British bullshit out of Jimi's soul, and brought him back to this soil in more ways than one in terms of the music he made with Buddy in the Experience.
Back to Reality
We here at The Daily Growler have been blowing the trumpets heralding the arrival of the one god of infinite design we believe in, the god of fractiles and graphically designed new puzzling mazes for we the people of this god to try and "survive" throughout until we reach the cheese at its end--we'd rather think of it in terms of Durrel's novel about going into the Minotaur's cave. We defend Darwinian evolution of the individual survivor--of the fittest in terms of the nonseperation of mind and body--the fittest in terms of reasoning and not anything purely physical (check out Stephen Hawkings or remember Ray Charles)--we believe in survival in terms of a child putting his or her hand in a flame and learning on-the-spot a definition of the original words "Yes" and "No" (it used to be called "reckoning" but now it should have been called "computing" because that's what it was we were doing when we were children learning the meanings of "Yes" and "No"). In most languages you can figure out pretty easily how to speak the yeses and nos. "Si." "No." "Oui." "Non." "Ja." "Nein." Easy as pie. The first words babies recognize are "Yes" and "No" in some form or another (usually accompanied by the shaking of the head sideways for "no" and shaking the head up and down for "yes").
Here's a couple of paragraphs about "yes" and "no" questionings in various languages from the amazing Wikipedia:

Languages have various systems for affirmatives and negatives, named the two-form, three-form, and four-form systems, depending on how many words for yes and no they employ. Early Middle English had a four-form system, but Modern English has reduced this to a two-form system. Several other languages have three-form systems. Some languages do not answer yes-no questions with single words meaning yes or no. At least one—Welsh—is widely but erroneously believed to have no words for yes and no. In fact it has, these being but one of the many ways in which yes-no questions are answered in Welsh. Welsh and Finnish are among several languages that employ echo answers rather than words for yes and no in such circumstances. Some languages, such as Latin, have no yes-no word systems at all.

The differences among the systems, the fact that in different languages the various words for yes and no have different parts of speech and different usages, and the fact that some languages have no yes-no word system at all, makes idiomatic translation difficult.


So that "live and learn" sort of child-like understanding and being able to identify "yes" and "no" in definite ways is the surviving we here at the The Daily Growler Think Tank are talking about, or jabbering about, depending on your understanding of the words we use or the way we corral English--though several of us are multilingual--like Franny & Zoe can speak Hebrew and a little Turkish--and we once heard thegrowlingwolf speaking French, awful French, yes, but French just the same. We overheard him trying to make out at a bar in a former French colony with a French woman he had been quite interested in all afternoon at the pool--plus, he was once married to a Tex-Mex woman who spoke fluent Spanish and pretty good Italian--and was planning to go to Middlebury College to study Chinese.

This is a sermon that is preaching, "Hey, folks, Chaos is here. Get used to it."

According to supercomputer nuts, Chaos can be figured out--the "tree" theory of all system evolutions and deevolutions--but Chaos is ever changing, like fractiles, except most fractiles have a steady state, while Chaos is never steady. Sort of reminds you of the Mad Max movies--remember them? Ah, sweet Chaos! Life is now like a chess game. Bobby Fischer was so chaotic for this reason. Computing every move and every move for many moves ahead will be necessary to survive in this our now Chaotic world. But we are getting too deep...much too deep. The solution is to trash the whole system and start all over--make a bold new move and trick Chaos into looking the other way while we repair ourselves, which is really what we have to do. The USA right this minute is the Chaotic center of the world, but once Chaos takes over, its wings spread wide--it will takeover, and it is doing it, the whole world! How about the judges sentencing teenagers to private-operated kid detention centers (kid prisons) for several millions of dollars in kickbacks?! That's what's headed our ways by the droves--a world of hustlers who may be already out looking for impoverished peoples to enslave. As long as Americans believe that money is wealth we'll be frantically looking for anyway we can get money to keep up our legendary American Dream lifestyles at that ultimate dream level. At the level of SUVs, and soccer moms, and Oprah's telling us what to read, and a continuing influx into the ruined system of extremely dumb and helpless children. And we'll have to learn to wrestle with corporate schemers who will be dying of thrist for money, anybody's money, and then we'll have to contend with the predators these schemers have trained, and soon we'll be dealing with ultraswindlers. And, too, and think of this, we may have to begin again being concerned about graverobbers--think of the valuable stuff buried in the coffins of our cemeteries! So, like we said, as long as we make money equal to wealth, then we're going have a hell of time--muggings are coming back--streetsmarts will be needed in places like L.A. and New York City. In New York City we just have to say to ourselves, "Well, here we go again. The world against New York City." That's how the paranoia starts--we've got to buck up against FEARS. Fears are fictional, you know.

for The Daily Growler

Saturday, February 14, 2009

All Along the Watchtower on Valentine's Day

The Photographer on the Roof
thegrowlingwolf has quit writing. He says he's tired of words and trying to string them together in a unique way. His stories he says are too abstractly woven of lies and truths to be of importance to anyone but the irreverent and holy-reverent at the same time--parallel lines, he says, are driving him lobo-mad, they keep blocking completions within his own creative process. He's given up struggling to unite them, like a kid tries so hard to tie his or her shoelaces perfectly--it's not just a tiring effort but it's like having to play an hour of improvised music without any breaks, including bathroom breaks. And he reiterates he's tired of words and blank spaces. He's retreated to roofs. He's sleeping on roofs with his Toshiba camera. "That camera's out-of-date now, Wolfie." "So am I." Aha! He feels out of date. It's a problem with older musicians and writers...though, and we had to stop and think about it, a photographer can keep on taking photographic images until he or she is no more. Just think, bury a camera in his grave and watch him turn back to whatever! We're sure it's been done.

So thegrowlingwolf refuses to write anymore. "It's over, Johnny." Ah, our hero struck by boredom. Tedium vitae as Oscar Wilde called it. Writer's bloc? We don't think so; we can't imagine The Wolf Man not writing. However, for the time being, we'll just show you what he's sending back from whatever roof he's on. He's got a laptop up with him. Here's the latest batch, enjoy: (Click on photos for larger more revealing images)

Looking toward 5th Avenue at 6:30 AM

Top of a corporate temple on Madison Square Park
Temples & Tanks: The Con-Ed Building the Temple
Facade on 31st

Eye of the Sun, 7 AM, Looking East From Somewhere
Progress Blocking a Western View of Manhattan

Blind Photography
A Portrait of Mary (of Donegal)


for The Daily Growler