Thursday, July 29, 2010

thegrowlingwolf Facing a Full Mooning Moon

Foto by tgw, "Moon in the Window," New York City, 2010
"That Damn Moon Is Mooning Me"
At 5:30 this slippery moon came rolling through a veiling of misty clouds to be hidin' and peepin', peep, hide, hide, peep, "anyway you wanna let it roll"--and it was rolling, a rolling moon. I thought it was laughing at me. Me, the full-moon worshipper. "Why me, my supernatural moon?" I tried shooting it with my old Toshiba digital camera but the shots kept turning out moon-blurred, or with triple-image moons, as though the damn moon was mooning me. I stretched down almost to the floor of my apartment to try and shoot it full face. There was no man or woman in this rolling moon. It was faceless. "Of course," I wised up, "that's not the face of that moon, it's that moon's ass, bared and glaring mistily ghost like at me as this rolling moon peeped and hid--its face winking from the other side--winking in gleeful prankster success. A mooning moon. A mooing cow jumped over the mooning moon ass backwards, a feat of udder surprise.

And, yes, I am purposely trying to write nonsense. Nonsense that makes sense. But does nonsense ever make sense?

I tried reasoning and then writing like a well-educated chimpanzee.

Interview With a Chimpanzee Writer

Q (from the The Daily Growler on-staff monkey interviewer, Panzee Poo): Should I keep asking you questions in Chimp or do you know English?

A (our on-staff monkey interviewer is interviewing Chimpy Spillane, a Chimp hard-boiled detective-story writer from Moline, Illinois): I speak 5 different monkey dialects, but I prefer, yeah, make out like you are interviewing Cheeta or J. Fred Muggs, Chimps who were so humanlike they managed to allure worldwide fanship with their best Chimp-style-acting antics.

Q: OK, English it is--do idioms bother you?

A: Idiots bother me, yes, but not idioms.

Q: Touche, on that one, Mr. Spillane, we, too, here at the Growler have our idiot firewalls constantly up and running. Are you into computers?

A: No, I'm still using an old Underwood typewriter the Yerkes people gave me after they gave up trying to get me to express myself in simpler terms than I had evolutionarily advanced to using. Like rather than, 'Would one of you jerk offs hand me one of those bananas?' they wanted me just pressing this yellow button on this machine and grunting something like, 'Unn--unn--hoo--hoo--arhrumph-arhrumph,' and hitting that yellow button and then beating on my chest like a god-damn gorilla. That's the only way these academic bastards wanted to award me with a banana.

Q: Are bananas your main diet?

A: Hell no. I'll eat anything really. I've known brother and sister Chimps who ate their own feces. Some of us older Chimps develop a taste for meat once or twice a year. For this meat, the more desperate hunters amongst us go wildly after those little cute monkeys that live way up in the tallest branches of the tallest trees in the tribe I'm from--Gibbons maybe. The demon-possessed Chimp hunters scramble up into those upper branches and start shakin' monkeys down out of those trees. These hapless monks fall down into the meat-maniac frenzy of Chimps below who grab a just-ground-hit-fresh Gibbon, baby or grandpa makes no difference, and start tearing it meanly limb-from-limb gnawing off and gulping down that fresh bloody relative meat as they go, ripping it off those freshly ripped apart arms or legs and gut-exposed bellies. The best part, and I could mention Idi Amin here, but I won't, is the brains. They'd crack their skulls open on rocks and then suck out the brains. I had an uncle, my Uncle Spike, was insane for monk brains. He loved monkey brains so much, he sometimes went out at night by himself and caused a frenzy in the treetops, though he always was up early the next morning with a full belly and a big smile on his mug. Myself, I've eaten meat, but it was leftover ground meat the Moline Monkey House got given them by a local hamburger meat processing plant--vulgar smelling stuff, but, hey, it was mighty tasty to me. It could have been the ground up meats of some of the little monkeys who died in the famous Moline Monkey House fire set by a pyromaniac Chimp named Queen Isabella a few days before I first ate some that stuff. But then, hell, you barbecue any kind of meat and it tastes good. Remember, as a child, I grew up on fresh jungle fruits and nuts and leaves, with an occasional grub worm or termite thrown in for flavor. My mom was a good provider. My dad, he was into perpetual masturbation. Became so addicted to it, the tribal council had to socially outcast him--exile him to a freakish corner of our territory--where the gay and prostitute Chimps congregate, though, there's still plenty of public displaying of monkey masturbation in the main square by some of the testosterone-jived-up young monks out looking for attention.

Q: Do Chimps have morals?

A: Damn right we do. We aren't allowed to have sex with our mothers. That's pretty moral isn't it? There are no motherfuckers in the Chimp world I grew up in. that's a whole 'nother ballgame.

Q; Do you believe in God?

A: I believe in God spelled backwards. Hah, hah, a little Chimp humor there. God? No. Chimps don't have any concept of God. Maybe a couple of Chimps with mental disorders claim they are King Kong occasionally---I met a Chimp at the Moline Monkey House who'd been treated pretty badly by a cheap two-bit circus trainer with a back-alley circus out of Fort Wayne and this Chimp, his real name was Pugs, one night announced he was Jesus Christ. The rest of us shouted really loud, "WHO THE HELL IS THAT?" We had no concept of Jesus Christ...Messiahs...that Jewish stuff. Funny story though, some of my tribe were used as lab Chimps and one Chimp, Izzy, testified to the fact that one experiment at Yerkes hooked him up to electro-magnetic probing machine. They probed his brain via getting into it by going in through his eyeballs. Izzy said after one of those brain probes to project just how far he could advance in learning a human language, he came away from it knowing an amazing number of Hebrew words and phrases. He said he was scheduled to be crucified by a scientist interested in Chimp reactions to extreme forms of punishment but was rejected because the fact Izzy could "speak" Hebrew so righteously it gave the scientist, Dr. Yael Gooseman, the holy willies...I'm rambling now. We Chimps have a habit of rambling. Blabbing. Just sitting around picking fleas and mites out of our buddies crotches while just blabbing away. Rumors galore. "Did you hear about Lady Puck and that Chimp who calls herself Lips, how they got into a cat fight over that new male who just joined the tribe, Long John Thomas he calls himself, prancing around on the balls of his feet like he's a fucking ballet dancer."

Q: You never really answered my you believe in God?

A: God, no. Chimps don't have the capacity to transcend their mental stance at the bottom of the primate ladder...the capacity to take in the idea of a huge human monkey who lives way up there in that void--Chimps you know don't know stars from holes in the sky--and who sent his only son who was born of a virgin--I mean, come on, how could a common ordinary Chimp think up such complicated bullshit as that?

Q: Well, Chimpy Spillane, we have a copy of your latest book here, The Prehensiled Hand Murder Case, and we notice it's another Detective Ohgee Uhf Uhf mystery.

A: Yep, again Ohgee's helping the Moline Police Department solve a murder case.

Q: I don't usually associate Moline, Illinois, as the murder capital of anywhere much less the USA.

A: Hey, I'm writin' fiction here. Fiction doesn't have to be accurate. Would you believe Ohgee more if he worked with the Bourbonnais, Illinois, Police Department?

Q: Hey, you got me there, mother was from Bourbonnais...small world, isn't it?

A: The world ain't small to a Chimp. Think about it.

Q: So there you have it book lovers, an interview with Chimpey Spillane, the hard-boiled detective story writer from Moline, Illinois. You still at the Monkey House there?

A: Yep, still at the Moline Hilton, as we call it. By the way, I'll be doing a reading from my new book there on the 35th of, I mean the 15th of August...I'll do a book signing, too, at the same time. Remember, The Prehensiled Hand Murder Case on sale now at your nearest zoo bookstore. I've got to go now. I have an interview over at The Daily Howler later.
How's that for being rediculous?

for The Daily Growler

PS: Speaking of Hebrew and Detectives:
Check out L Hat's post of yesterday:

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

thegrowlingwolf Under the Influence of a Full Moon

Foto by tgw, "Full Moon Over Manhattan," New York City, 2010
[A The Daily Growler Red Alert: Our dear sweet humanitarian Congress just gave Obama 33 more billions of our borrowed money for his precious WAR against Afghanistan--his evil war against Afghanistan--his continuing of George W. Bush's WAR policies and Surge-military-tactics that so far have not worked--WE ARE LOSING THIS WAR, you Fools--but it's a WAR Obama cannot help continuing--his balls are being tightly squeezed by our Corporate-backed WARmongering Power Elites to continue with the Iraq War, the Afghanistan War, the murderous over-the-border attacks into Pakistan, the threatening War with Iran, and the really big-time threatening NUCLEAR WAR with North Korea (those dirty sorry commie rediculous bastards). Obama will give a glowing speech of great backwards-thinking Harvard-debate-team platitudes when he announces we are going to NUCLEAR WAR with North Korea on a presidential order and not officially through Congress. And you threw away those gas masks.]
[Do you find, like we do, that the Clintons spending 3 million dollars on Chelsea's wedding a bit insulting given the state of the economy and people losing their jobs and their homes...HOW DO WE THE PEOPLE TOLERATE THESE INSULTS TO OUR HARD WORK, OUR TAXED LIVES--THESE PEOPLE ARE LIVING OFF OUR EARNINGS! Remember this when you're watching Chelsea blow 3 million bucks on her wedding (the wedding of the New Century), her father as President took more civil rights away from We the People than any president before him. President Slick Willie did do away with habeas corpus and did give us the original Patriot Act.]
The Wolf in Me vs. The Man in Me
Comprehending the incomprehensible. That hit me this morning during my morning reading--and God that sounds so old-fashioned...dammit, and "old-fashioned" is so old-fashioned now. And NOW. And I live in the damn NOW but the society I live in lives in the past or the future, both of which do not exist. Only the NOW. Living in two worlds at the same time gives two definitions to everything. I try to comprehend this two-sided world in the sense of the fictionalized (comfortable) world (my own world) I have set up for myself to live in from which I can comfortably empirically view the real world (the world I exist in) as it amoebically spreads alive beneath me (my view that is). My own world, as I've constantly harped on in my past, is one of a continual present (or presence) (Gertrude Stein writing in her continual present tense). Thoughts come to me on the fly in this world, dig? And old-fashioned way we (my generation) used to say "dig" after we'd posed a solution to a problem and you either said "I can dig it,'" in return or you could retort with, "I can't dig that, man." But dig is NOW so moldy-oldy, another old-fashioned term from, Jesus Christ, as far back as Louis Armstrong's time in the spotlight on this revolving stage (when an entertainer is on stage entertaining that's his or her continual present). We would say something and ask a question: "I'm pretty sure I can lift that car, dig?" "What? Dig you liftin' that car? Come on, man, you jivin' me. If you can lift that car I'll kiss your ass from here to Milwaukee, dig?" Now, there's no question only, "Oooh, that's awesome, dude." Or is awesome old-fashioned by NOW? [I make mention here of the generation following mine--the Hippy Generation, a mostly all-White generation--used to end every sentence with "you know?" "I think love is beyond my dimensions, man, you know?" From whence came a lot of "er-ahs" (dumb pauses within what you're trying to say), also followed by "you knows." "Hey, dude, er-ah, you know, like, why are carrots silver when I'm high, man, you know?"]

And living in the NOW is living fast. In the NOW, manmade artificial time sails along as fast as that grand full moon, that big laughing orange spaceship that sailed into my field of vision around 5:30 this morning and had sailed on and gone by 5:45. What a moon, you dig?" Fat and full it was. Clearly full of vexing symbolism, long oolooloo poems, and clocking the consistent tide manipulations as it swept the heavens clean of moonbeams.

And all speed is getting faster. We are now deeply into nanosecond thinking. The real world is a world of instant information. Boom, and like a pop-up toaster sending up your nicely toasted bread, up pops information all nicely toasted and buttered and served to you on a silver screen or a print-out sheet. Everyone's a renaissance person now!

Walmart (or Wal-Mart, or the Sam Walton Shopping Mart of Yahoo (Bentonville), Arkansas), I read, is now going to radio tag all their pairs of underwear. Wallmart is NOW in the information gathering business. Walmart's explanation is that it's only an inventory thing--when you by a pair of shorts or a pair of panties, Walmart's snoop doggies can route this signal into the inventory reorder bin and those shorts you're wearing can be automatically reordered--plus, Walmart's spy network can know when you throw those shorts away and send you an alert e-mail: "We noticed you just threw away your faux-cotton 'Made in Communist China by 5-year-olds' genuine inflammable Moxey Joxey crotch-adjustable shorts/panties. Bring your used shorts/panties into your local Walmart for a coupon allowing you 50 yen off our regular low price on another pair of shorts or panties--besides, whewwww, it's about time you got a new pair of underwear. Your Friendly Walmart Underwear-Tracking Manager, Ted Brownstain, Jr."

I'm such a rediculous man. I think rediculouse would have been a more clever put down of me and my full-moon thoughts. I refer to a commenter's comment on our last post (remember, I suffer from multiple identities). I had pissed this commenter off when I referred to the three Triple Canopy hired guns (two Ugandans and one Peruvian--none a US citizen) who were killed several days ago in Baghdad in a rocket attack on the Green Zone (home of the world's largest embassy) as "soldiers." It's kind'a like he's saying, "How dare I call these Triple Canopy hired guns soldiers. Triple Canopy, you see, is simply a for-profit PRIVATE "security" firm paid a billion or 2 bucks a year to GUARD the freedoms that GREEN ZONE represents to true patriots, of which, of course, I'm not included; therefore, I'm "rediculous." Yes, I am ridiculous (I like drunken John Wayne's way of putting it, "I'm ree-god-damn-dickulus"). I'm meaning to be ridiculous. One must be ridiculous to get one's point across in this vast sea of television-cell-phone-iphone-droid-electro-magnetic-info numbskulls who believe the incomprehensible principle of "my country right or wrong"--and if you don't go along with that--you see, these idiots see the opposite of Capitalism as Communism (or Socialism, or Humanitarianism--"Godless" political and economic systems)--and they don't know one fucking thing about Communism or Capitalism. They don't know why Adam Smith called his book The Wealth of Nations. That's what Capitalism is, going about stealing or acquiring the wealth of nations, thus bringing all that RAW (unrefined) wealth back to your superiorly armed but natural-resource-poor nation where it is refined (produced into a good (the opposite of a bad)). This is one of the inherent reasons why We White People of the USA respect the British as being so much more refined than us--so mannerly and so civilized--so much more civilized than We the People of the USA--yet, We the Rainbowed-Colored People of the USA have the most intelligent and wildly experimental of young people coming up--curious--genius in certain learned ways, like knowledge of computers and how to manage them and use them for promoting your talents and wares--yet, our Power Elite (our rulers) are eager to sacrifice our best and brightest young kids (now both boys and girls) on the altar of the God of WAR, our current economic and political system, a WAR economy/politics governed by contributions of cash, WARS our current distraction from the real world we actually NOW live in. All this distraction while the world's corporations are secretly setting up their NEW WORLD ORDER--a Global Nation broken up into corporate states--broken up into corporate police states. Maybe one day we'll see on teevee: "The U.S. Army today announced they'd made a deal with British Petroleum and from now on the U.S. Army will be referred to as 'The British Petroleum U.S. Army,' with a cosponsorship from Nike and Walmart." But then, oh how REDiculous I sound.

Now, here, let me really be REDICULOUSEY: you should know I believe with Jung and Philip Wylie (an American-born writer whose niece's murder became one of the most famous murder cases in the long history of murder in New York City) that man is simply an animal. An animal under the illusional belief that he or she has a divine beginning. A supernatural beginning. An animal who has justified his being by historically tracing it back to what he has projected onto his mind's screen as his "Heavenly Father," a big huge White man who once lived in a Green Zone where the Tigris and Euphrates rivers come together (why that's Baghdad) he called Eden--and God resided in the Garden of Eden (L.A. once had an apartment complex called the Garden of Allah) and created the first human, a man, of course, who this big huge White man called Adam. This is the animal we know today in our heads as Homo sapien, in our own particular language (the language of our heads)--or in one of our ancient languages--at least one of our ancient Western languages, the language we call Latin--Homo sapien. It means "wise man" in this language we call Latin. Now that's rediculousey, ain't it? Man the illusional animal lives in the past and the future. Living in the NOW stuns him and leaves him helpless. Leaves him looking ridiculous.

What Do Writers Have to Do With It?
Back in my loft bed this morning, the full moon having sailed on past to sail in gloom over New Jersey--I felt growly and not in the mood to howl. To calm down, I tried a little early-morning radio--this guy I know for his radio show of a couple of decades now was interviewing a famous Sci-Fi writer (the only ones I truly know are Samuel R. Delaney and Robert Heinlein)--and I mean my radio friend was really trumpeting heartily this guy's style of writing--"it's marvelously complicated," he said. I laughed my Wolf Man ass off during this interview. The writer, I have no idea who he was, had a gruff gravelly voice and was doing his best to answer stupid-dick questions like "I know this is a bothersome question to a writer of your regard, but I'm puzzled as to just...well, er-ah, I'll come right out and ask you, how do you come up with such do you begin to write such marvelously complicated stuff?" How does a real writer respond to such a full-moon question? Oh sweet amateurs.

As a band singer I've faced audiences out of which I know at least a third of them figured they could sing as well as I could--and that's balderdash because I'm a damn good singer and I've actually studied breathing technique and finally learned to sing with the 1 (the time) in my automatically measuring mind and singing from the solar plexus (diaphragm)--plus I had a damn good band full of damn good musicians behind me too--no Pro Tools pitching my voice to perfection over a computerized PA system. I hear all these modern-day Janice Ian-Fiona Apple-type lady singers and all these Bobby Brown-Jay Z imitators and I know their voices are Pro Tooled (they also love vocal coders) and their harmonies with themselves perfectly pitched and blended and looped and shit--wasn't that called "quantizing" in the old days? I feel the same way when I'm writing--readers thinking, "Jesus, I can write better than this rediculouse bastard." (Bet you can't write as much as I can though--just thought I throw a barb of my own into this rediculousey mix.)

And writers talking about writing are boring as hell, too. Most good writers aren't good at holding seminars or teaching writing classes. I mean really, how do you teach somebody how to write? Yet, I know from experience, most of our "great" writers today are academically trained or met in a writing class--or if they aren't academically trained, they are natural-born writers of local experiences, like that phenom woman from North Carolina who writes her Smokey Mountain hillbilly stories attractive enough they attracted the New York City bigwig agents who are constantly looking for local color writers.

Little Truman Capote wrote a wonderful little book called Local Color (about traveling in Europe a la Mark Twain's Innocents Abroad) after the wonderful Other Voices, Other Rooms (also a local color book about growing up in Alabama) both early stories before Truman hit the big time with Breakfast at Tiffany's--and how forgotten is he now?--and once Truman was the talk of this town after In Cold Blood allowed him to go all-out gay and hold a self-glorifying party at Madison Square Garden--and, oh yes, he got to have Liz Taylor, that celebrated celebrity whore, as one of his dearest friends--and oh how Liz loved gay men (Truman, Michael Jackson, Malcolm Forbes)(did I just call Michael Jackson gay?).

Writing is easy. That's what most people think. I once worked for a trick-bag crooked-as-a-snake-at-night vanity publishing firm. I read over 300 manuscripts a year for this bunch and of those 300 manuscripts, I wouldn't have published a one of them, not even if the author had supplied me with his or her used toilet paper to print it on. Therefore, most people on average are horrible writers. Even some highly trumpeted writers to me are horrible writers. Stephen King, for instance. I tried reading Pet Semenary--whoops, I think I've punned this title--anyway, I tried reading it and got only two paragraphs down the first page when the urge hit me to throw this piece-of-shit book in the garbage where it belonged. Which I did--and really, I'm a guy who doesn't throw books in the garbage. Also, Danielle Steele. I couldn't read her--horrible writer. Sentences like a fifth grader at their toiled-and-troubled best. But, you see, I'm a male so I don't understand women writers anyway. I remember it was a Norman Mailer review of one of Mary McCarthy's novels that turned me on to this woman who became as a result one of my favorite women writers--in one of her books she describes how Bunny Wilson showed her the best way to suck his dick--relating it to bowing a string on a violin--wonderful writing; yet, Norman Mailer found her very undeveloped.

For the present, a decision: Mary McCarthy is judged Guilty of Meretriciousness and equally: Guilty of conspiring not to give the goose away, which means thus, Guilty of refusing to reveal that the genteel lords and ladies who manage America are the psychic descendants of Conrad’s Kurtz. “Ah, the horror, the horror,” and she will not take a burning look.

Norman Mailer.

From that other side of Norman's world come some quotes from Mary McCarthy's world:

The labor of keeping house is labor in its most naked state, for labor is toil that never finishes, toil that has to be begun again the moment it is completed, toil that is destroyed and consumed by the life process. [Same as toiling with writing a novel.]
Mary McCarthy

Every age has a keyhole to which its eye is pasted.
Mary McCarthy

Every word she writes is a lie, including and and the.
Mary McCarthy

The suspense of a novel is not only in the reader, but in the novelist, who is intensely curious about what will happen to the hero. [If you are a "real" writer, you know exactly what this means.]
Mary McCarthy

We all live in suspense from day to day; in other words, you are the hero of your own story.
Mary McCarthy

You musn't force sex to do the work of love or love to do the work of sex.
Mary McCarthy
Mary McCarthy young and Mary McCarthy old

A Writer Writes Because He or She Has to Write (They Are Not Good At Much Else)

A writer, like Mary says, writes about himself or herself--as the main character within all his or her characters. I struggle with women characters, for instance. Just like Mary struggled with men characters. I think I've got female dialog down pretty good, but in terms of feelings, shit, I feel sometimes like I'm a universe away from what a woman really feels. And yes like any horny male, I write about men as though they were me, sexual adventurers in a jungle of wildly available lusting females--it's my male conscious that cooks up whatever tales lie within my life experiences. I've nowhere near lived the variable life Mary McCarthy experienced; yet, there are so many sides of even my life left about which to write, sides of the darkness as well as sides revealed by sunlight--or a spotlight. Though under the spotlight things are so phony, so decided in terms of make up, position on the stage in terms of marks, places where the spotlights can highlight you--devised by a lighting team--it is all so phony.

We have a local newswoman talking head--her father was a famous (to me) jazz bassist. This woman, she's been around for nearly 30 years now, at one time, way back when she was freshly young
(and still a flower in bloom) out of Toledo or somewhere Middle America like that, appeared to be charmingly beautiful and sexy cute and was lusted after by those male voyeurs who get off on teevee babes.

I worked at Time-Life at the time of the big world premier of John Huston's "Annie" at the Radio City Music Hall directly across Sixth Avenue from Radio City. Several of my Time-Life cohorts and I stood on the curb there and watched all the spotlighted Hollywoodites arriving in their stretch limos--"Hey, look, there's that drunken old underage-girl hound John Huston." And there he was, getting out of his stretch limo (that's stretching a point to its fullest, isn't it? Important elites riding around in cars that have been "stretched" via adding extra metal links into their chassis and bodies so they stretch out longer than the average car to denote, "Hey, get out of the fucking way, peasants, you pissants, this royal carriage is carrying a VIP motherfucker who's in a hurry to get to his appointment--perhaps it's with his masseuse...or his mistress." Yep, it's the continuance of the necessity of the ancient royal highasses going all the way back to ancient royal Africa possessing excessively bulky and extra-roomy and designed-to-be-big-and-awesome carriages. Carriages big-enough they had the privilege of running your walking ass down should you trundle inappropriately into their right of ways).

One of my pals watching this Hollywood-comes-to-New-York-City show with us turned our attentions to an NBC remote truck parked just to our right. On the roof of that truck the crew had set up a camera and standing by the camera with a mic in her hand was this talking head cute-babe newswoman. And, yeah, man, she looked good up there, too. She looked cute, nice body, pretty face. Quick as a mouse aware of a nearby cat, this pal o'mine took off toward that NBC truck. And quick as a cat after a mouse, he was up the ladder at the back of that truck and soon he was on the roof and heading toward this newsbabe with a big goofy smile on his face and his arms opened ready for a love hug. He was immediately stopped by the cameraman and then the newswoman turned on him and he got wise and shimmied his ass back down that ladder and ran back breathless over to where we were standing. "Bitch," he was yelling as he approached. His face was fiery red. "That bitch! You know sumthin', boyz?" "What?" "She's fucking ugly as hell up close. That bitch has so much make-up on she looks waxy, man, like she's a fuckin' wax woman. Shit, she gave me the creeps."

Ah deceit. Ah illusion. Ah the stage!

for The Daily Growler Full Moon Edition

Friday, July 23, 2010

Living in New York City While Billionaires Fiddle Away as Our Rome Burns to the Ground (Zero)

Foto by tgw, New York City, 2010
Fiddling While the Good Ole USA Crackles Down Into Ashes
Ever notice how jungle growth takes over abandoned ruins or once-great civilizations, whether ancient or modern? Like I watched Tavis Smiley (where'd he come from, by the way?) touring the wiped out areas of New Orleans and as his bus tooled along through the Lower 9th Ward and out around Lake Ponchartrain I noticed how jungly lush the landscape was. Lush wild grasses and vines and small-tree and shrub overgrowth, wild nature growing up and over the ruins still sitting in ruin from the results of Katrina (actually, the results of the Army Corps of Engineers's poorly built, maintained, and managed levees breaking--if those levees had been built right in the first place.... But there are so many "in the first places" all over the place; all over the nation).

Amy Goodman's Democracy Now was broadcasting from Las Vegas yesterday (Thursday, July 22) morning and started off the program by announcing that Nevada's unemployment situation had just passed Michigan's unemployment situation in the race for the first state to totally go out of business--Nevada's unemployment rate is now 14.9%. Yes, a notch higher than Michigan's. Also, Nevada has replaced Michigan as the state with the most home and business foreclosures in the nation (report today reports home sales are down and foreclosures are up and yet our stock market is zooming back up into the 10,000s on some reports of some of these corporations we bailed out turning in huge quarterly profits [plus the We-the-People-insulting projection that all employees at Goldman-Sachs are in line for $500,000 bonuses this year-end/how insulting is that? AIG employees, poor bastards, will only get $400,000 bonuses--and the poor slobs at J.P. Morgan are only gonna get $250,000--that's every employee, folks]--yes, the world of billionaires has never had it better). Nevada's whole reason for existence is due to gold and silver mining and wild-west prospectors. And as the gold and silver miners got rich, they'd traipse into the little tent city of Las Vegas for some stiff drinking and some stiff whoring and some serious gambling. It took the Mafia to see the potential of Las Vegas during and after WWII, after the building of the Boulder Dam (now called the Hoover Dam--or is it vice versa?) grew the population of that desert watering hole into the 10s of thousands...and soon a mob goombah on his way to do some whacking in L.A. just happened to stop in Vegas for a look see and liked it so much he stayed--and the mob, most of 'em out of Chicago, turned Las Vegas into Lost Wages.

Nevada's whole economy is based on human monkey's believing in miracles (the miracle of gold and the miracle of "breaking the bank" (how ironic that our banks just broke us). Superstitious about numbers and odds and systems, those who believe in miracles flock to Vegas in order to experience a wild adventure based on a chance for the GOOD, the Lucky, to BEAT the BAD, the HOUSE, the DEVIL--all based on miracles and not facts. Nobody has ever beaten the house in modern times. The house can beat itself. Check out Donald Trump's casinos going bankrupt ever so often in order to bail the Donald out of huge debts his too-gaudy casinos bring to his overall inherited wealth pool. And let me put in a snide remark here, Donald Trump is a fucking phony. Most of these cheesy billionaires are phonies. Sometimes the illegal immigrant labor they use in their homes and businesses and on their yachts and at their spas and mansions and beauty contests actually have more cash than they do--you see, illegal immigrant laborers always have pockets full of cash, or mattresses stashed with cash since they don't have bank accounts--or they wear money belts--but they always have cash.

My 2nd and now long-gone wife was a woman who rich men loved, not in terms of sexual lusts, but in terms of her being able to miraculously keep their affairs (money, political, shadinesses, crooked ventures, etc.) under control. She was so practical she was bottom-line perfect in her advice and actions. When she and I arrived in New York City she carried a letter of introduction with her from the millionaire whose affairs she managed in New Mexico to his New York City pal, a Lebanese-American man, who had access to the treasury of the royal family of Saudi-Arabia and who on paper was worth close to a billion bucks; in fact, soon after my wife took over his affairs, he got into building jet fuel refineries with the countries he built them in putting up most of the cost of building them. He was soon building so many refineries he started buying on time payments his own fleet of tankers. At the top of her game with this man, my wife soon found herself (and I was involved in this, too) a VP and major stockholder in an old-brand California oil company that is still involved in the news today--they are big deep-water drillers in the Gulf of Mexico, by golly. This young woman, not even 30 yet, ended up owning around $200,000 worth of stock in that company. When we divorced, her lawyer struck my name off all her holdings--married we filed a joint return and kept joint bank and savings accounts--and there was also some stock in an Australian offshore drilling company we had bought jointly. I didn't protest at our divorce. "Give her everything, god-dammit, I don't want a damn thing from her; I don't need her." One brave dumbass lad speaking because when my wife died, her estate panned out in the millions.

One night my wife came home from a big strategy meeting at her office with the Lebanese and his henchmen--he was opening a new refinery in Newfoundland and he was bent on chartering the QEII in order to party-hearty up the North Atlantic to Newfoundland with that great liner packed with his kind of celebrities (Nixon was president and Spiro Agnew was VP and this guy was a former member of the OSS (Office of Secret Service in WWII) so you can imagine the politicos and rightwing shakers and movers that were being invited on this junket. This great ship's decks were gonna be swarming with smarmy Middle-Eastern sheiks, Jordanian diplomats, the Saudi royals, world oil company executives (at a banquet he gave in D.C. one year, I sat at the table with the CEO of Gulf Oil, by the guy's wife, who, as my parallel-line theory would have it, was from a little town just north of my hometown--and then it turns out the CEO was from the same place--they'd met in high school--and so we hit it off famously--why, hell, they even invited me and my wife to come visit them in Houston any time we were in the vicinity)--and my wife eventually arranged with the help of--guess who?...if you guessed British Petroleum, you're correct, sir, or madam, the QEII booked and the guests all accounted for and the project started to gallop fastly along where without her, it would have probably never happened. Yep, when BP came on board this refinery project, they got Cunard to give up the QEII for a week--so then the big bucks were being thrown this dude's way now from London as well as Riyadh--and there was my wife smack-dab in the middle of this world-fuck-up group of the world's richest men plotting constantly on how to get richer and richer and richer--and when she got home that night, she was pissed. She threw her brief case with a disgusted-minded pitch onto the couch and said, "I need a fucking drink," and we were into Planter's Punches since our New Orleans days, so I made a pitcher of Planter's Punches and she took a shower and then came out and she said, "Those sons'a bitches." "What's wrong, toots?" "Those motherfuckers...I mean you know who was there, the world's richest man, right...and J.S. was there on the phone with one of the Faisals...and that sorry C___ was there--do you know Nixon's considering him as head of the SEC! Do you believe that?" "Boy, you're really wound up tight, toots." "So J.S. showing off orders dinner from Chris Cellas, steaks for everybody...and extra steak fries and burgundy and desert, and then the dinner shows up all carted and served on silver service with real silverware and the fucking bill comes to $550. Do you know not one of those world's richest men had enough cash to cover that. Do you know who had to pay the bill?" "You, right?" "Me. Yes. I had cash in the office safe." She stewed. I plied her with more Planter's Punch. "I am so sick of working for these Paper Cowboys." And that was her term for them. Which meant, they were cattle-herding cowboys on paper but nothing but back-40 fencemenders when it came to cash.
Scared Shitless of Teabaggers, President Obama Shafts a Black Woman; But Then So, Too, Does the NAACP. Meet Shirley Sherrock;

Shirley Miller
was born in 1948 in Baker County, Georgia, Georgia to Grace and Hosie Miller.[6][7] In 1965, when she was just 17 years old, her father, a deacon at the local Baptist Church, was shot to death by a white farmer, reportedly over a dispute about a few cows.[7] No charges were returned against the shooter by an all-white grand jury.[7] This was a turning point in her life and led her to feel that she should stay in the South to bring about change.[7] During the same year, she and several other African Americans decided to to register to vote.[7] However, the county sheriff blocked their registration and she says that he pushed her husband-to-be down the stairs. As a result of that incident, they obtained a restraining order against the sheriff, thus allowing them to register.[7] Sherrod studied in Fort Valley State University, which was then a college.[6] She would later study sociology at the Albany State University in Georgia while working for civil rights with the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee.[7] She then studied in Antioch University in Yellow Springs, Ohio, where earned her master's degree in community development.[7] She would later return to Georgia to help the Department of Agriculture in Georgia "to help minority farmers keep their land."[7] After finishing her education, Sherrod went to Lee County, Georgia, where she co-founded a black communal farm project known as New Communities Inc., which was modeled on kibbutzim in Israel.[7] The 6,000-acre project was opposed by white farmers, who accused participants of being communists.[7] A drought in the 1970's ultimately led to the project to be shut down in 1985.

Obama caved in like a pussy to the doctored speech that Shirley made about a White farmer coming to her Black self and applying for Federal assistance in keeping his farm from falling into the hands of the banks and eventually Archer Midland Daniels and the Monsanto Round-up seed squads. Mrs. Sherrock in this speech that at first embarrassed President Obama related how her father, a farmer, had been murdered by White farmers in an argument over some cows--and that the White farmers were acquitted by an all-White jury, blah, blah, blah. Then a rightwing Murdoch-supported prime asshole, Andrew Breitbart, ran the doctored speech on YouTube via his blog--he had doctored this speech in a way it convinced President Obama and the NAACP that the speech was a racist speech in which she laughed in the face of the White farmer who came to her for help. Turns out, yes, that's how she introduced the subject of her speech, by telling of how White farmers murdered her father and then one dared to come to her asking her to save his farm. But, that's not how she ended the speech. She ended the speech by saying she had to put the fact that her father had been murdered by White farmers behind her and realize that now farmers, White or Black, are in the same desperate boat, desperately in need of Federal help in saving their farms. Turns out, Mrs. Sherrock had actually worked with this White farmer and had saved his farm. The irony of it all is, this White farmer came to Mrs. Sherrock's side in this affair and as a result Obama and the NAACP hearing the real speech had to come out with their hats in their hands and their heads humbly bowed and ask for Mrs. Sherrock's forgiveness, apologizing to her for forcing her to resign her post. And the way they did that is eccentrically weird, too--coming alongside her car as she was going to work and forcing her to pull over so they could tell her she had to resign, blah, blah, blah. Now these ninnies who kowtow in fear before these pissant Teabagger goons are offering Mrs. Sherrock not her original job back, Obama's got somebody else doing that now (is he a White guy?), but a related job. Mrs. Sherrock surely isn't going to take the job--and surely she's going to go one-on-one with Obama over his views on race and racism--I heard her say she was wanting that to happen before she made any decision on working for the Agriculture Department again.

Obama is a god-damn ninny--but so are all his Dumbocrat asshole-buddies like Rich Bitch Nancy Pelosi (no balls at all) or the Las Vegas Senate Majority Leader who is currently having to dig deep into his flush campaign coffers (old Harry will take money from any damn corporate cesspool of corrupt money--as will most of our Congresspeople) in order to fight off a Teabagger woman opponent in the upcoming Nevada Senate election.

Check out the members of We the People's Congress who are pocketing nice life-changing lump-sums of dirty oil campaign money as they say, "Fuck You--Oil Rules Me" to their constituencies--I mean, Blanche Lincoln of Arkansas (one of the poorest states in the Union)--and look at the nice bundle she's taking to her bank, some of which I'll guarantee you old Blanche is banking offshore:
Lincoln, Blanche (D-AR)$329,650
Vitter, David (R-LA)$250,100
Murkowski, Lisa (R-AK)$216,726
Boren, Dan (D-OK)$152,450
Bennett, Robert F (R-UT)$141,800
Blunt, Roy (R-MO)$139,200
Cornyn, John (R-TX)$137,325
Specter, Arlen (D-PA)$129,900
Edwards, Chet (D-TX)$127,130
Conaway, Mike (R-TX)$117,950
Barton, Joe (R-TX)$110,620
Coburn, Tom (R-OK)$108,750
Dorgan, Byron L (D-ND)$93,950
Thune, John (R-SD)$93,040
Tiahrt, Todd (R-KS)$86,800
DeMint, James W (R-SC)$84,951
Boustany, Charles W Jr (R-LA)$83,600
Cantor, Eric (R-VA)$82,450
Burr, Richard (R-NC)$81,700
Ross, Mike (D-AR)$78,450

And hey, how 'bout old Mike Ross of the Great Poor State of Arkansas (not too high up in the population statistics either) has dirty oil money stains on his hands--don't worry, he'll take some more, wouldn't you?

In the 2004 Presidential campaign in which President Obama promised us change--"Yes, We Can"--nutjob John "Captured by the Enemy" McCain let over 2 million bucks in dirty oil money slide greasily into his spare offshore bank account (of course, we have no proof that these two-faced clowns take some cream off the top of these big-buck contributions--but you wanna bet us they don't?); and our great President of Change, President Obama, unfortunately accepted the second-most dirty oil bucks, over $800,000 to help pay for the most bucks ever spent in the history of running for President of the USA. I truly hope Mr. and Mrs. Obama and the daughters palmed a few million of the billion bucks his campaign took in. And, why lookee here, next in line for dirty oil bucks in her run for the presidency was Sugar Sweet Hillary Clinton.

And Speaking of Hillary Clinton
She's currently stirring up trouble in Asia. How about the US Army and the South Korean Army--they lost us the Korean War those two--holding WAR GAMES in the South China Sea with the intentions of taunting the North Koreans into some kind of aggressive response so we can justify invading and occuping, finally, them (and thanks to Unka Dick Cheney and good ole Donald Rumsfeld and a Swedish Nuclear Co., North Korea does have weapons of mass destruction)--and Hillary's over there now justifying We the People's intentions of invading and occupying any country we are afraid of--and We the People are pissing-in-our-military-fatigues afraid of the North Koreans--I mean, why aren't they docile and submissive like the South Koreans?

But listen to this: Hillary and her State Department gang are requesting from Congress their own private army! What?, you're asking. Wait a minute, there's a reason Hillary needs her own army. You see, yesterday there was a rocket attack on our beloved Green Zone (home of the world's largest embassy) and three of Triple Canopy's private-army soldiers were killed--listen to this, two were Ugandans and one was Peruvian. Triple Canopy, you see, like Blackwater, hire their troops out of South American and African countries--though they are leaning more towards hiring Africans now rather than Peruvians--Africans work for cheaper wages, some for like $450-a-month, like the two Triple Canopy Ugandans killed in this rocket attack on the Green Zone. So here's the deal. You see, when We the People pull our troops out of Iraq (yeah sure), it's gonna leave the world's largest embassy without an army private or otherwise to guard it (to the tune of billions of dollars a year). And who's legally responsible for guarding our embassies? Why, son of a bitch, it's Hillary's State Department. So Hillary's asking Congress for a fleet of armored vehicles (we hope some Bradleys because their profits go into the pockets of the Bush Family Empire), even some airplanes, and lots of expensive surveillance and security equipment. I say implode the fucking Green Zone and get completely out of Iraq. OK, we could maybe rent a floor in the Saddam Hussein Hilton for our embassy there--or how about taking one of those FEMA trailers over there and using it as our embassy?

Oh what a life Hillary is living. World traveler; vaunted mother of Chelsea whose coming wedding is one of the truly patriotic American events of the new century; longsuffering wife of Bill "I Did Not Have Sex With That Woman" Clinton, now the head of a ton of big-time world conferencing organizations and several nonprofit funds--when you get rich, you immediately start a fund or a foundation--good way to beat paying taxes and reaping a nice salary off being head of each fund and foundation. You go, Slick Willie.

And in further clown news, Congress just voted down a bill that would have stopped We the People from subsidizing big oil companies--like British Petroleum. Twenty Dumbocrats voted against this bill, including John "Is That a Bottle of Ketchup in My Pants?" Kerry.

And, by the bye, in case you hadn't noticed, that little bitty oil leak in the Gulf of Mexico is still pissing 200,000 barrels of oil a day into the now oily Gulf of Mexico. Our Gulf ports are going to look like the Niger Delta before long--the Niger Delta where children light cigarettes by gas flares and all drink good ole thirst-quenching oily water and they bath in oily water and they eat foods grown in oil patches. Yeah, Gulf Coasters, Nigeria is coming to Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas.

Wow, ain't life grand?

for The Daily Growler

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Living in New York City: Under a Half Moon

Foto by tgw, "Repeat Moonshot," New York City, 2010
A Wolf Man Under a Half Moon
Makes for half a lunatic. The photo above is wrong. That's an old photo showing a full moon sailing over lower Manhattan Island. The moon these past few nights that has come sailing brightly orange into my wide-open-eyed bay window's view at around 10 in the eve is a half moon, not a wolfman-inviting full moon as depicted above. My old Toshiba camera was helpless. It needed new batteries to be functional. And though there's an all-night drugstore just a block and a half away from me that sells authentic Duracell copperheads, I was too lazy and too concerned with my current financial straits to go down there, battery up, come back and photograph the moon. My irritated photo-ego blasphemed me in my meditations ("mutterings to myself" definition) for wasting a chance at photo-ing so remarkable a dyed-hair orange bright and flaming half moon, the example of which I haven't seen sailing across that window in the blankity-blank-too-many years I lived in this decadent apartment.

Waste. And, yes, I hate waste. Yet, I waste a lot of time. I justify it by saying I'm not wasting it because I'm thinking during that time and some of those thoughts lead to ideas, ideas containing possible future plots, characters, situations, dialog techniques--why thinking just last night of illustrating my own adult children's book--how about, A Child's First Interest in War? Or how about, The Illustrated Handbook of War for Children? You see, I'm off on a wasteful jag right here at the moment. A habit of mine...of drifting off the topic, or drifting out of the picture like that half moon does every night now--sailing in like a brightly lit Aladdin's lamp and suddenly being shooting-star gone--leaving behind a darkness sparkling with empty apartment windows lit up to pretend that they are occupied. I read where the real estate industry in New York City calls empty apartments in buildings "see-through apartments," meaning you can see through them clearly from uncurtained or unblinded window clear through to the other uncurtained and unblinded window (and there are tons of these see-through apartments I can see clear through behind me out that same bay window in the jungle-like rise of hi-rise luxury condo buildings going up all up and down Sixth Avenue). What a racket this real estate racket is--and what a racket it makes in terms of existent rentals left in this city--buildings standing empty because no one can afford to buy the apartments in them. But I'm writing blah-blah-blah shit now.

A half-moon is half romantic. I like to imagine while I'm seeing that half moon sailing by my window someone beauty of a moon goddess I love is seeing it sailing by her, too, at the same time--now that's the kind of romantic thoughts I get looking at a half moon.

And, yes, in an atypical lycanthropic way a full moon isn't romantic to me--though the contradiction lies in the fact to the wolf in me the full moon is an incitement to romantic passion and lonely longing--longing enough to eventually have to let go and howl at that moon--in a lust for life--lycanthrope (from the Greek λυκάνθρωπος: λύκος, lukos, "wolf", and άνθρωπος, anthrōpos, man)--though rest assured, I am not a werewolf; I am not Lon Chaney. I do not turn into a hairy beast during my enrapture with a full moon. I am not Larry Talbott.

At least you can stare at the moon and jive romantic off its silver-screen face when it's full and in high-density mode. There's not much romantic poetry based on staring at the Sun, is there? Sun poets. "Glare!/Glistening the angles of the objects I seer/Through/No rosey lenses for me, my blinding love." You see how bad sun poets are?

Ralph Haselmann, Jr. A Man Who Was Dedicated to Moon Poetry
Ralph Haselmann, Jr., created:
Ralph created the Lucid Moon Poetry Magazine
Lucid Moon Poetry
I'm sad to now show you what follows the above Ralph original painting (Ralph's wolf does actually animatedly howl at the moon on the Website):

"Dear friends and poetry buddies of Ralph Jr.
It is with sadness that Kathy and I inform you that Ralph Jr. passed away on
February 2, 2006 at age 40. preliminary indications are cardiac arrest.
As you may know, as a quadriplegic he was always subjected to respiratory and circulatory problems, as well as a compromised immune system, pneumonia and other issues.
He held on for four years and remained productive, editing his newsletter, and preparing a cartoon book for publication. He enjoyed music, reading and keeping in touch with his poetry friends. We were very proud of him for persevering in the face of great odds. At last he is at peace.
Our family thanks all of you for your friendship to Ralph and to us over the years.

Ralph Sr."
Here's an entry by Ralph Hasellmann, Jr., from Lucid Moon Poetry Magazine, 2006:

The stupidity of the American people continues to amaze me. This past holiday season Christmas shoppers were ravenous and greedy. On Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving and the busiest Christmas shopping day of the year, people started lining up in the wee hours of the morning outside Walmart. In Orlando, Fla. a brawl broke out at the Walmarts there over a guy cutting in line. People were dialing 911 to report that other people were cutting into line. The doors opened at 4 a.m., and there was a mad dash for ipods, mp3 players, cell phones, laptops, and flat topped hdtv sets.. As I watched the footage of this brawl, I was incredulous. I’m so glad that I don’t have to put up with this Christmas shopping shit. This Christmas season an expected $435 billion will be spent on merchandise, food, postage and fuel. It’s mind boggling. Maybe Americans should spend their time and money feeding and housing the poor and homeless.
Albert Collins
wrote a tune called "The Moon Is Full"--opens: "You know the moon is full/Makes my love come on down...." And, yes, a full moon does make your love come on down.
I am off to join thedailygrowlerhousepianist in an hour or so for pints of ale at our uptown Irish pub...then we're rushing over to my world's favorite Mexican restaurant for a meal...then we're hustling over to Avery Fisher Hall for an evening of the music of Edgard Varese. Either it will excite me or seduce me into a deep sleep. I one year bought a season ticket to one of the Cleveland Orchestra's yearly visits to Carnegie under their then music director the great George Szell. I went first class in those days and my seat was in the first ring of boxes--one of the end boxes nearest the stage. The first concert that year featured "Til Eulenspiegel" followed by an Anton Bruckner symphony, #6, I think it was. "Til Eulenspiegel" gave me no problem--it's a loud and boistrois romp through Strauss's fairy-tale imagination with plenty of off-stage horns blaring and the orchestra rising and falling as this merry prankster goes about doing his mischief. But then came the Bruckner symphony. I already knew Bruckner wrote very tight, precise, filmy symphonies--coldly German in their strictness in their orchestrative construction--they're intellectual as hell--and though I was very familiar with all of Bruckner's symphonies and had been attracted to this concert by this Bruckner presentation, still before George and the Cleveland ork were halfway into the opening movement, I lost consciousness. I don't know how long I was out, but in the middle of my reverie, I was rudely awakened by a kick on my red-velvet-upholstered confortable deep-cushioned seat located right by the balcony rail just above the right side of the stage. Dammit, who the fuck is kicking my seat, I fumed in turning around and facing a grey-haired dowager and her tuxedo-ed husband (don't worry, at the time I was well-dressed by my rich wife who had a charge account (remember those?) at Bloomingdale's where she took me every now and then and bought me sport coats and slacks and suits and sweaters and alligator belts and Greek handmade shoes, so I wasn't intimidated by an old fart in an out-of-style tuxedo). "Please, young man," she said, "you're snoring is drowning out the orchestra...." Then I felt the drool at the side of my mouth and turned around and fought falling back asleep for what seemed like several more hours--Bruckner's symphonies are that slow and that long, too. Seems in that opening movement, I'd gradually sunk down in that plush seat and had gradually let my head slide over to rest on that wide balcony rail and BAM, I'd hit the skids for the Land of Morpheus. I wonder if anybody was taping that concert? Wouldn't that be cool, my snoring coming in over a quiet serious passage being played with such sensitivity by this at that time world-class orchestra.
"Look at that moon it's shiny so pretty/It's shinin' up there for me and for you/For as long as we're together...."
And Then There's:

for The Daily Growler

Monday, July 19, 2010

Living in New York City: WOW, Ain't Life Grand Again!!

Foto by tgw, New York City 2010
Hallelujah, Thine the Glory!
Hillary Clinton is in Pakistan today giving away more billions of our printed-by-the-bales worthless dollars. Our dollar is worthless but hey the dictatorship in democratic Pakistan will take it--hell, they probably have a couple of billion in counterfeit US dollars to go with Hillary's 30 billion. But that's Hillary's job, to buy love for We the People of the USA. Remember, to Hillary the world is a village. And Hillary's like a White Christian missionary out to buy the love of ruthless dictatorships. To buy the love of a Muslim country that has nuclear weapons! On the other side of the worthless coin, Iran is a Muslim country that doesn't yet have nuclear weapons and yet We the People of the USA are ready to start WWIII to keep them from getting to a nuclear weapon capacity.

When all your policies are built on LIES and secrets and clandestine shenanigans, surely We the People should wake up to the fact we are destined for ruin unless Obama gets a message from some inner-God that suddenly redirects his ego (now that he and Michelle are officially millionaires) to a more envisioned future--an humanitarian future rather than a future of further division and destruction.

The commercial news business is sort of chuckling this morning--they are so thrilled that the Right Wing is "making a comeback," as one dumbass reporter said on this morning's early editon Right Wing newscasts. Plus consumer spending is way down. Why? Why people don't trust Obama's administration. There ya go.

Is this country divided? You bet it is. How is it divided? Why along the same lines that has divided it since the White Man declared himself the originator of this country. This is a White Christian nation that was dedicated by our White forefathers (those old Tory rascals) to the principles of OUR Christian God, that person that We the People's presidents always end their foamy speeches by saying, "And may God Bless America!" And as George Carlin asked, "What the fuck does that mean?" Like if you're at a New York Yankees game and you come to the 7th inning, they don't play "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," they play big fat, insane Kate Smith singing "God Bless America." It's old pure-White-style pop. I mean, they could play Al Jolson singing "Mammy" and it would probably mean the same thing. And all the numbskull dumbass Yankees fans eagerly line up to pay $35 or $40 to sit in the bleachers at the House That George Built (at an overrun cost of billions to We the People of New York City), a democratically designed ballpark where the elites and the Japanese businessmen all sit in $2,000-a-game field-level boxes where they can congregate in splendor and drink champagne and eat filet mignon served to them by actor-waiters and actress-waitresses--so that say 6 Japanese businessmen can drop 13 or 14 thousand bucks during one game. How great is that? Does that sound like the New York Yankees are going broke and trimming salaries and pensions and firing some excess players and executives?

And over at CitiField, too, the Mets are packin' 'em in at somewhat cheaper prices but in the range of $35-to-$40 bucks for a cheap seat--another 45,000-seat ballpark that is named after the great American-patriot institution started by the patriotic and democratic Rockefeller Family (oh what a proud good ole American White parasite family they are), the very generous with YOUR money CitiBank and CitiGroup--why, this bunch of pirates are so necessary in today's NEW WORLD ORDER that our former faux-president and his Goldman-Sachs henchmen bailed them out with We the People's money and kept them from going surely under--"too big to fail"--I suppose CitiGroup used some of that bail-out money to buy the name of the Mets new cost-overrun stadium that We the People of New York City also bore the brunt of the expenses on.

And it is mid-summer here in New York City and though New York City is under constant warnings concerning terrorist attacks, and though the city treasury is about 8 billion bucks in the hole and the Metropolitan Transit Authority is claiming it is broke--cutting transportation services all over this huge metropolitan area that depends on public transportation--and our transportation system is being managed by goony billionaires who find subway and bus riding beneath them--with all of this chaos going on against We the People of New York City, still the tourists are piling into town, paying out big bucks for a common-old-ordinary sheetrock-walled-aluminum-studded room whose mattresses probably have bedbugs and whose carpets are steeped in formaldehyde and earwigs and whose high-priced luxury restaurants probably have mice and rat and cockroach infestations--but tourists are still willing to come here and get gouged and robbed--there's a 14% city hotel tax on all final bills here in the Tourist Capital of the USA. "Where's that damn limo?" the New York City bigshots are shouting as they take their million-dollars-a-month paychecks to the local check-cashing outlet for billionaires--"Oh, my God, I've got a payment due on my yacht today!"

And all the while New York Citians are stuck with this sitiuation that looks rather much like a permanent situation unless Mall-Mad Mike Bloomberg runs out of his billions of dollars or gets impeached. I mean this is a truly humanitarian and patriotic mayor, a billionaire 7 or 8 times over---think of that!--who spent 100 million dollars of his pocket change--think of that!--to buy an illegal third term as mayor. His reasoning: Since he's a successful businessman--though he's the mayor who got us 8 billion bucks in the hole--he's the man we need as mayor in this time of terrorist trials and troubles and the billion-bucks-bilking perpetual construction of the infamous Freedom Tower down at the tourist hotspot they call Ground Zero and the MTA constantly asking for transportation price increases and cutting services and the City Council with its nose up Bloomberg's rotten old ass cutting services all over the city trying to do this mayor's dirty work for him, like rezoning Manhattan communities thus enabling all the mayor's big developer buddies to gobble up all the former rent-controlled apartments they want, all the land and landfill they want, all the riverfront properties they want, all the permissions to build hi-rise luxury condos and hotels in any damn neighborhood they want regardless of how this wildside building wrecks a community, even to the point of changing the make up of public schools--on and on I could go--but still Mall-Mad Mike is changing the face of Manhattan and the whole city. Just last night, the mayor's big Coney Island rehab project (he's sold off Coney to a bigshot developer) allowed Neil Sedaka, that old fart who still is singing his old over-and-over rehashed teenage love songs to an audience of old White rocker farts--that Billy Joel bunch--that Elton John bunch--the people who support the hideous Sting--and as a result there were numerous complaints from the Coney Island community about the noise and disruptions that concert caused. God, I so tire of having to growl again like I've had to do ever since I started this blog. And this blog pisses me off, too.

But oh boy oh boy, the tourist business is booming here in New York City. Hi-rise luxury condos are the thing and the real estate industry is booming, selling Manhattan apartments that once rented for $300-a-month, for 6 and 7 million bucks as condos to Euro Trash and Asians with so much money they don't know what to do with it.

I was just reading about how this year there were more new billionaires in AUSTRALIA than ever in the history of that country, led by one of the richest assholes in the world, a 30-ish man named James Packer who made his billions in communications--television, radio, cell phones, etc. They also announced the first woman billionaire in Australian history. Most of these Australian billionaires by the way made most of their billions by investing in foreign markets, like the US and Russia (yes, Australian billionaires love investing in Russia).

And, ain't it great that a thirty-ish Russian billionaire has bought the New Jersey Nets basketball team! And the destruction of downtown Brooklyn continues with the Atlantic Yard project going ahead full steam in spite of the majority of Brooklynites not wanting it. This boondoggle project for billionaires--like the rapper Jay Z--wiped out block after block of community affordable housing and community-minded local businesses to be replaced by hi-rise luxury executive suite hotels and hi-rise luxury rich-boy condos, one of which, the reconstructed Williamsburg Bank Building, is now owned by Magic Johnson, the basketball billionaire who at one time said he had AIDS, but who has continued on with his same old lifestyle and seems healthy as a god-damn horse as he goes about buying up properties all over the country--Magic is in the mall business, too, or is it multiplex movie houses? Oh, and the mall business is always a winning business since the tax breaks and eminent domain land grabbing done by the mall developers in cahoots with local governments is a win/win business-deal situation--a win for the mall developers but at a big cost and loss to the community. One of the new Australian billionaires, ironically, is a Polish refugee deli owner who turned his deli profits into mall developing throughout Australia--and Forbes magazine was bragging how though this pastrami-on-rye peddler doesn't speak very good English, he's one of Australia's newest and wealthiest billionaires.

And boy howdy, we have won the War in Iraq. Case closed. And the War in Afghanistan? Well, the Surge is working though there's no physical evidence of it working. Hillary is giving billions to Pakistan today in hopes they will help the Good Ole Intruding USA with going after all those filthy dirty remaining Al-Queda and Taliban forces that are still using Pakistan as a training base--and using the Pakistan secret police as a source of income. Hillary gives Pakistan billions of our tax dollars, some of which, ironically, is passed on to the Taliban. Another little irony in all this bullshit, even our government has vouched that there aren't but maybe about approximately 150 active-maybe Al-Queda left in Pakistan and Afghanistan--and the Taliban, well, hell, they're native to that part of the world--the Taliban weren't invaders and occupiers--they were the duly chosen government in Muslim Afghanistan before Neo-Con-Nazi-lover G.W. Bush criminalized the whole country and declared We the People of the USA were going to send in our crack forces over there and bomb the towel-head bastards back to the Stone Age in our "sure 'nuff" goin' to catch that evil Osama Bin Laden, though there's no proof this CIA agent had anything to do with 9/11--it was as big a surprise to him as it was to our goofy faux President and Unka Dick "Scared Shitless" Cheney who ran in the face of danger (doesn't cowardice get you the death penalty in the Military Courts?)...well, you know the story from then on--Afghanistan now being the longest WAR ever--and the most costly WAR ever! Billions of dollars a month, billions upon billions of dollars every year--and billions of dollars going to the crooked Pakistan regime and billions of dollars being handed over to Indian government officials and billions of dollars still being spent monthly in Iraq and billions of dollars going to the crooked government of Georgia and billions of dollars being poured into Israel to jack-up and keep alive the brutal Israeli government and the brutal Israeli Army and leadership and Hillary peddling billions of dollar handouts to Colombia and Honduras--and now she's headed out across South Asia (her latest "tour") shoveling bucks off the cargo bay of her Air Force jet by the billions in every Asian port she docks in.

These wars continue wrecking our economy. Though on the commercial teevees Wall Street in Review program, their woman moderator said our wrecked economy was due to the housing bubble bursting. How 'bout this from an Applied Economics graduate, the fucking housing bubble bursting was caused by the cost of those two illegal WARS! These WARS are backfiring on us.

Did you know over 800,000 people work for our national securities organizations in over 10,000 locations across the USA? The Washington Post is running a series of articles coming up this week (they have it on a special Website if you Google it) called "Top Secret America." What started as 200 private firms involved in this national security-terrorist-scarce bullshit has risen to 2,000. In the Washington, District of Corruption, area alone there are 39 new gigantic office buildings going up--the new headquarters of Booze-Allen PR Firm is one of them. The new headquarters of Northrop-Gruman is another. And while we're on Booze-Allen, check out how many of our Congress people and administration people and ex-military goons work or have worked for Booze-Allen. Or check out how many of our candidates for public office use Booze-Allen as their campaign planners and advisers, like Hillary and Bill, for instance. And another, for instance, how 'bout good ole patriot, Mike McConnell, former head of G. W. Bush's national security--in G.W.'s administration where all this shit began that has now landed in poor old Barack Obama's lap--shit so fucking deep, this corporate lawyer has no idea how to handle it so he's caved in to it--"If you can't beat 'em...." So where'd SuperPatriot McConnell go when he lost his government job? Why he's right this minute making a million-a-year with a beautiful new office overlooking the Potomac and then looking right square dab in the eye of the Capitol Building and the White House at Booze-Allen's new headquarters complex.

This is so corrupt, this national security waste of money--billions upon billions of unfollowable dollars going into these PROFIT-MAKING national security private companies like Booze-Allen, or this company called CACI (also building a new gigantic office building along the same line of buildings as the new Booze-Allen headquarters), or Northrop-Gruman (also building a new gigantic office building in this same row of buildings--why, Northrop-Gruman is moving their whole national headquarters from California to that Potomac shoreline of brand new National Security Private Corporation office towers). What's even more irksome is that most of these 39 new office buildings raring up along the Potomac are new government office buildings--buildings being built by We the People--like the new headquarters of the National Geophysical Data Center (NGDC) that was headed by this ex-Air Force General Nutjob James Clapper (read: Crapper) that unbelievably President Obama has in keeping with his respect for G.W. Bush's national defense policies nominated to head We the People's National Security.... I STOP IN MY TRACKS...WE THE PEOPLE OF THIS COUNTRY WOULDN'T BELIEVE THE TRAITOROUS BULLSHIT BEING PERPETRATED ON US BY THIS BUSH-CLINTON-BILLIONAIRE MARRIAGE THAT IS PURPOSELY ATTEMPTING TO, AND BEING SUCCESSFUL AT IT, TOO, BRING THIS ECONOMY CRASHING DOWN TO A BOTTOM--TURNING WE THE PEOPLE INTO A THIRD WORLD PEOPLE--I MEAN READ THE NEO-CON'S MANIFESTO--READ LEO STRAUSS; READ PAUL WOLFOWITZ; READ MILTON FRIEDMAN--they all philosophize about driving our economy down to as low as it can go--IT'S STILL VOODOO ECONOMICS, WHAT PAPPY BUSH CALLED IT--A SLIP OF THE TONGUE FOR OLD PAPPY THAT HE LATER TURNED INTO A 'READ MY LIPS' KIND OF CONFESSION THAT WHAT HE WAS ACTUALLY SPEAKING WAS SIMPLY THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT HE MEANT--MEANING, FOR THE TRUTH, READ MY LIPS, YOU DEAF AND DUMB MOTHERFUCKERS--WHICH IS WHAT WE THE PEOPLE ARE EVIDENTLY TO OUR RULING CLASSES.


I have thought recently about seeking asylum on a Native American "Reservation" (Concentration Camp)--you know go there and volunteer my services for a place to shack--to die. I think I'd love to "pass away" on a Native American Reservation. Native Americans to me symbolize the true way to live in this vast country. Open Spaces. No fences. No private property. Respect for the land and its provisions of life. To live in nomadic tribes. The earth as our mother and father. The earth as our provider--of the cleanest and refreshingness of ancient waters--of unpolluted waterways--vast plains and rolling hills and monstrous mountains chocked with foul, chocked with wild animals--chocked with unspoiled forests--waving in millions of acres of native grasses, grasslands chocked with millions of roaming bison and antelope and caribou and elk--chocked with sacred spaces where man could go and worship the land, the earth. When a Navajo looked at the moon in the ancient times, he saw the moon as crying--and thus silver became more precious to a Navajo than gold--silver being the tears of the crying moon. Was the moon crying because it once was a piece of the earth and it was homesick?--moaning being condemned to simply sit in the dank darkness of space waiting for the moon's true god the Sun to illuminate it silvery in the night skies--and oh how significant the Moon was in ancient lore--before we had polluted our skies--when on high cloudless nights that Moon cried its silver tears down all over the earth--enriching the earth--the laughter of gold of course coming from the earth's true savior, the Sun, the only Son of the Galaxy God.... But, heckfire, I've drifted far off course--regressed a bit, though I am serious about considering making for the border soon or finding ourselves under the bootheels of a NEW SS...and SS in any language stands for "Secret Service"--Siegheil! Silent squadrons. Secret Societies. And ironically, Social Security. And that's the Security I'm worried about. But anything "social" in this programmed society is COMMUNIST! SOCIALIST! And you tell me why in the hell on this earth did President Obama put this Wyoming idiot asshole, Alan Simpson--he hates old people though he's an old fart himself--and this J.P. Morgan (they wouldn't be in business today without We the People saving their asses) nutjob named Balls on his special committee to recommend ways of lowering the deficit? Both these clowns, Simpson (Homer Simpson is actually smarter) and Balls hate Social Security--Simpson because he hates old people and Balls because his cronies in the banking and financial world (Wall Street) want their hands on that pool of guaranteed with bonds money. So they've already said they're first gonna recommend cutting Social Security deeply to the bone and at the same time raising the retirement age to 70 (you poor slobs just turning 60 who thought you only had 5 years to go to retire are now facing having to work 10 more fucking years before you can retire! And, remember, too, before you can get on Medicare. Aha! Ten more years of paying high prices for Pay-or-Die health insurance from our too big to fail health insurance industry. When is a company not too big to fail?--when you own it and not some corporate conglomerate. Bill Clinton, by the way, is responsible for recommending increasing the working age to 70--he made it possible for you to work on until 70 on your own cognition, though Congress went against him and kept the legal retirement age at 65--plus, now there will be no unemployment insurance any more--so perhaps insurance conglomerates will offer "job-security insurance" policies--you know, you get a job and take out an insurance policy that will support you in case you get axed or get laid off--insurance that will pay you a minimum wage until you can obtain another job (they'll later charge you for it, of course). Ah, ain't Capitalism GRRRRRRRRRRRRRREAT!! I mean, what the hell is Obama's logic behind putting these backwards-thinking clowns in such powerful and decisive positions--which brings me back to that revealing paragraph that C. Wright Mills wrote in 1956:

The power elite is composed of men whose positions enable them to transcend the ordinary environments of ordinary men and women; they are in positions to make decisions having major consequences. Whether they do or do not make such decisions is less important than the fact that they do occupy such pivotal positions: their failure to act, their failure to make decisions, is itself an act that is often of greater consequence than the decisions they do make. For they are in command of the major hierarchies and organizations of modern society. They rule the big corporations. They run the machinery of the state and claim its prerogatives. They direct the military establishment. They occupy the strategic command posts of the social structure, in which are now centered the effective means of the power and the wealth and the celebrity which they enjoy.

C. Wright Mills, The Power Elite

for The Daily Growler

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Living in New York City in Amazement

The power elite is composed of men whose positions enable them to transcend the ordinary environments of ordinary men and women; they are in positions to make decisions having major consequences. Whether they do or do not make such decisions is less important than the fact that they do occupy such pivotal positions: their failure to act, their failure to make decisions, is itself an act that is often of greater consequence than the decisions they do make. For they are in command of the major hierarchies and organizations of modern society. They rule the big corporations. They run the machinery of the state and claim its prerogatives. They direct the military establishment. They occupy the strategic command posts of the social structure, in which are now centered the effective means of the power and the wealth and the celebrity which they enjoy.

C. Wright Mills, The Power Elite


AP - A federal official said Sunday that scientists are concerned about a seep and possible methane seen near BP's busted oil well in the Gulf of Mexico.]

Sitting in Amazement on a Hot Saturday Morning in the Big Apple (Now Full of Billionaire Worms)
First of all, I was amazed to see this morning on an early television program on New York State politics that old fool Ed Koch (We've called him Ed Crotch for years) is still sticking his phony liberal nose into New York State political business. The 87-year-0ld loyalty switcher deluxe is promoting something he calls a project to redistrict New York State. Koch, an old queen by desire, is still bitter that he lost his last election for mayor to a Black man, and worst of all for old Ed, a Black man like David "Sweatin' Heavy, Meanin' Well" Dinkins. God, that pissed old Ed "How'm I doin'?" Koch off. Over the years he's tried over and over to get back into NYC politics, even so far as to joining the Guiliani bandwagon when that racist demogogue worthless piece of crap man became "America's Mayor" and then appearing at G.W. Bushy-Wushy's New York City Republican Convention, the one Joe LIEberman gave a speech at--and while we're talking about Joe LIEberman--this little whining weasel of a man is still coddled by Nancy Pelosi and the Power Elite Dumbocrats--and, yes, Pelosi and hubby are multimillionaires--and, yes, Nancy is a Baltimore politician's daughter and attended a Catholic girls school and has a Roman Catholic upbringing and a Baltimore Italian family background--huh? what'd'ya think?--sorry, I don't trust Nancy Pelosi. The fact that Joe LIEberman is still allowed to have power in Congress amazes me.

Ed Koch and Joe LIEberman are in the same league.
The Amazing British Petroleum Company
Are you as amazed as I am how suddenly out of nowhere BP "scientists" have come up with the perfect cap over this little Gulf of Mexico oil leak (leakage) and that by golly the son of a bitch is holding so far--48 hours and no signs of leaks. SUCCESS! BP IS ONCE AGAIN A HERO!!!! How much do you wanna bet that well is about to blow the whole fucking bottom of the Gulf of Mexico to Hell and Back? Capping a well spewing out that heavy a gushing of oil--that long-lasting a full-blast explosion of gushing oil--I mean, that's a hell of a supercap these birds have screwed onto that gaping-mouthed ocean-bottom unrighteous well. Using my logic of backwards thinking, I read this as, "Well, the 'leak' hasn't really been stopped's still leaking...but it's not leakin' but a little bit now--nothin' to worry about." A coverup. A "Hey, look over there at that naked woman!" distraction-type form of propaganda bullshit. Amazing, amazing, amazing!

And then last night I heard BP, now it is shown, had something to do with covering up some Lockerbie Pan-Am flight crash evidence or some such OIL-ELITE power playing with our Libyan pals. What a time for these fucking swindling, lying, dumbass overpaid executive creeps are having! They all have "Stay Out of Jail Cards" and they all have free-ride passes. I was reading where it is quite possible today in the corrupt trading and financial management world to knock down a salary of a billion-a-year. Most of that tax exempt. Amazing, isn't it?
The Amazing Spectacle at Yankee Stadium Last Night
Derrick Jeter laying a wreath on home plate while every eye in the House that George built was bawling as old Sorry George was being asskissingly liberally admired. Jeter with tears in his eyes remembered how old George was so good to him and how proud he was to be a Yankee because of George. Hey, Derek, how 'bout what Joe Torre did for your rookie ass? Fuck George. He didn't know a future all-star shortstop from his overblown ass when you showed up in the farm system. It was Joe Torre who saw the baseball brilliance in you and played you--same as it was Joe who saw the potential in Robinson Cano--in Jose Posada--who didn't want Jason Giambi but got him anyway, forced on Joe by Big George who was wanting home run hitters--I mean this clown moved the Yankees fences in--he bespoiled the sacred Yankee Stadium earth by demolishing the old stadium and building his multibillion-dollar overrun stadium that We the Citizens of New York City ended up paying for more than half of that amount on the area where once there were sandlot baseball fields. Plus the new stadium only holds 45,000--the figure these baseball czars have come up with as a number they surely can fill stadiums with nearly every game or at least it will look that way on teevee (where these teams make big-big low-overhead bucks)--the Yankees proved they could fill the 55,000-seat Yankee Stadium nearly every game while Joe Torre was manager. But, hey, they were blowing their trumpets for old George Steinbrenner as Mr. New York Baseball last night--nothing bad about this worthless piece of crap team owner--no one tributed old George as being kicked out of baseball one year--he couldn't even be seen near Yankee Stadium. Nope, no talk of that. One commentator said, "Yes, old George had his bad baseball moments, but all in all, he brought World Championship baseball back to New York City...and that makes him a true baseball Hall of Famer in my book."

Amazing, amazing, amazing.
Obama Amazes Me By Saying the Economy Has Turned Around and, By God, All Is Well in the USA Once Again
I heard Obama say that in a speech he gave after the bullshit Financial Reform Bill passed. He related his confidence to the passage of this worthless piece of Wall Street reform bullshit--and it is bullshit reform--Goldman-Sachs can still go on commiting fraud and rigging commodities markets and stealing money and land and then smiling like Cheshire cats as they give themselves billion-dollar-a-year salaries and multimillion-dollar bonuses on top of those. What a bunch of ruthless assholes and we worship them rather than imprisoning them. Why was Bernie Madoff made to pay so heavy a price for pulling off the same kind of schemes as Goldman-Sachs and AIG and J.P. Morgan-Chase? At the same time our corporate lawyer president was giving that speech, it was revealed that Goldman-Sachs (truly a bunch of AMAZINGLY crooked-as-snakes-at-night thieves) was fined 750 million bucks for a little fraud they pulled off with this slick-ass motherrobbing motherfucker Loftis (sic) fellow, or whatever his name is....I mean, I've got to stop right here in my tracks and stand AMAZED at how Obama is pampering the likes of Goldman-Sachs, who after they paid the fine that very afternoon made that money back and millions more on stock-trading commissions and swindling deals. Sorry sons of bitches. Who allowed banks to become stock brokers? Why, Slick Willie himself. Mr. Perfect President and his Mrs. Perfect Wife and his now Big Perfect Daughter who is getting to have the Perfect Wedding--a big affair with hillbillies flocking by the thousands to be at Chelsea's wedding. How long before Chelsea heads her own non-profit organization--funded with the same government handouts the Bush Family and the Cheney Family live off of?

And then I was amazed to hear old humble Bill himself on teevee--he was down in Haiti (Bill's done a lot of traveling over the past few weeks--South Africa, Russia, now Haiti)-- among that still-embarrassing ruin and rubble--that with the rotting bodies of the 300,000 dead still smelling up the airs of the mostly tent cities and in-the-rubbled-street dwellers--and what little and swift coverage there is of the Haiti situation these days you can easily see that nothing's been done to help Haiti rebuild yet. And there was Good Ole Boy Bill saying he was pissed off 'cause only a small amount of the billions promised for Haitian relief to his and G.W. Bush's joint-venture relief fund has trickled down to the Haitians. And then he started assailing countries for not coming through with what they promised. Old Bill had the same problem with his tsunami fund he cohosted with at the time his best new friend, old Pappy G.W. Herbert Bush. Just think, these greasy palm bastards got their controlling mitts on billions of dollars in that tsunami fund business they both hustled up together.

And in our game of "Where in the World Is Hillary Clinton?" how amazed was I to read this morning that Hillary had shown up in Afghanistan. Seems she's worried about the back-home bitching about this fucking illegal WAR on this election year, a WAR started by the little jackanape bullshit cokehead drunk Georgie Porgie Bush--a fraudulent two-faux-term president who should be sitting in a basement cell at Guantanamo being waterboarded as a fraud and a traitor right now--or he should be donating his heart to his Unka Dick Cheney--and how amazing was it to read that UNKA DICK may need a heart transplant! Oh donors please don't kill youselves or get involved in traffic accidents or your heart may be used to keep this evil old OIL-soaked criminal alive for a few more dastardly years--and at the expense of We the People; We the People providing this trickbagging, shotgun-shooting-people-in-their-faces, sneering old Devil the best of free health care on earth. Watch how long Unka Dick waits for a heart. Why, hell, maybe some Dumbocrat will take a small plane flight to a campaign dinner and--why, heck fire, there's a fresh heart for Unka Dick right then and there. UNKA DICK, one of the pride and glories of the Bush Family Empire, the eviliest bunch of traitors this country has ever had controlling it. Obama is caught between the Bushes and the Clintons. He's been treated like a house boy but he seems incapable of giving up the glitter, glamor, and speech-making (the Step-and-Fetchit role) for actually moving on up on his own powers and coming up with some ideas that really could change the direction of this country (like firing all the ex-Bushies and Clintonistas and ex-Goldman-Sachs operatives who are advising him in such a wrong direction that I can easily see the Repugnican (White racists) regaining control of Congress in the coming elections. I will, however, be optimistic and say that maybe there are enough progressive white voters and unionists and unified blacks and Latinos and immigrants and feminists and college kids and such to rebuff these Repugnican clowns. I mean all of our problems could easily be solved and those WARS easily ended--but such humanitarian decisions would go against the White Christian principles the White Minority who rule us--the Bushes and Clintons and the Generals and the Billionaires--those principles on which they falsely tell us this country is based on--even if Obama and his wife know full well that's a heap of bullshit (as do the Bushes and Clintons, too, I'm quite sure). So Hillary's in Afghanistan (she's actually beginning what they are calling a "tour of South Asia." We are so dumb.

Managing Editor of The Daily Growler