Tuesday, January 31, 2012

A The Daily Growler Children's Tale

Foto by tgw, New York City, Jan. 2012
Bundy Buell & His Three Bears

Act 1
Bundy Buell was a shadow boy. His mother and father were 3-D shadows. As a shadow boy, Bundy Buell liked to take risks. Like, you know, positioning himself as a one-dimensional shadow on his parents's bedroom wall. "Like a fly am I," he boasted with shadowy glee. And then observing the antics of his parents he observed to himself, "That's real flesh, I'm truly sure, yes, it's real flesh."

Incidentally, Bundy Buell had a dog named God. God was a wonder dog who did tricks in response to his master's wanting God to cover for him while he did his shadowy spying on his parents's bedroom wall. Like being a wonder dog, God could play the piano, and very loudly, enough to distract Bundy's parents while he spied on them.

"What will we do about Bundy?" his mother in the flesh said one night to his father in the flesh.

"Let's buy him a bear," the father replied.

"A bear of his own?"

"Yes indeedy...in fact, why not two bears?"

"But, hun, where will we put two bears?"

"We'll build them a house of their own on that vacant lot next door."

"Wow! Two bears of my very own," Bundy thought to himself as he positioned himself on his parents's bedroom wall.

"But, hun, why just two bears?" the mother suddenly asked.

"Of course, how lame of me not to make it a magic number of bears...of course we'll get him three bears," the father proclaimed.

"And a little blonde white girl, too?" the mother said chortling.

"Let's don't get carried away with this," the father replied judiciously.

"Hun, I was only jesting...you know how I love jesting, especially jesting you, hun," the mother said continuing to chortle.

Act 2
"The bears are here! The bears are here!" Bundy was screaming at the top of his lungs.

A huge 18-wheeler truck was backed up into the Buell's driveway. "Uncle Floyd Banger's Zoo Animal & Circus Animal Haulers" was painted in big scripted calliope-gold letters on the side of the truck.

"Hey, folks, where you want these bears?" a big brute of a man who had hopped out of the cab of the truck hollered up toward the Buell house.

"You're at the wrong house. The bears live next door," Bundy's father hollered back, going to the front door in his bathrobe.

"Next door?" the other moving man asked astonished.

"Yes, that's their house, that low-level villa-like structure over there. Just back your truck up in the circular drive and the butler will let you in."

"The butler will let us in?" the big brute of a moving van man asked sarcastically, then shaking his head in disbelief he turned and climbed up into the cab of the huge truck and soon had its big motor roaring and black smoke coming out of its huge silver stack.

"Listen, hun," the mother said to the father, "you can hear the bears growling pleasurably from inside the van."

"It's a pleasurable sound that is bringing us all together," the father, a poet, said blissfully.

"It'll be so nice and rewarding having those bears living next door to us," the mother beamed.

"I just hope they can pay the rent on time," the father joshed.

Both then broke into guffaws.

Act 3
The bears held a dance their first night in their new home. And oh what a joyous affair it was. Bundy, due to his age, could only watch the goings on from his room's bay window.

"Those are my bears, darn it, but I can't even enjoy them because of my age. Dad says it's the insurance man's fault."

Bundy squinted as he spied on the goings on next door. He shared his disappointment with God, who was trying to cheer him up by playing the Buell's baby grand very loudly.

Bundy gasped as he watched his mother dancing gaily with Papa Bear. And his father! Gosh! What he was doing with Mama Bear! Surely that's wrong. But? And it was a long lingering but, but where was the other bear, the third bear? Bundy knew there were three bears ordered and that three bears were delivered but he hadn't seen the third bear only Papa and Mama Bear. Where was that other bear? Baby Bear, Bundy assumed, "My own little brother or sister bear," he thought continuing to assume.

Soon Bundy Buell went to sleep with God by his side. And Bundy dreamed all night of being a bear himself.

Act 4
At breakfast the next morning, Bundy was solemn as he ate his Farina.

"What's wrong, son?" his mother asked him.

"Mother, I've got to admit to spying on the bears's party last night and I saw you with Pappa Bear and I saw daddy with Mama Bear, but I didn't see my third bear, who is Baby Bear, I assume. I thought daddy bought me three bears...and bought them for me."

"Yes, my little honey bun, he bought those bears for you, but you see, son, it's like this--hold on to your hat--but last night, you see, son, your mother fell in love with Papa Bear, his name's Leon, and you see, son, your father, well, he fell in love with Mama Bear, Nelly's her name. As a result, your dad and I have agreed to a divorce so I can legally marry Leon and he can legally marry Nelly--and tonight, we're all getting together and celebrating and you can decide which new parents you want to live with, and as a surprise we're all gonna eat big thick juicy steaks!"

"OH NO!" Bundy screamed horrifically, "BABY BEAR!"

"They say it's more tasty than beef," his mother replied trying to calm him down.

The End

thethedailygrowlerstaff: No one on our staff will admit to writing this child's rather highly dramatic tale--let's blame it on our editing horse, shall we?

A Little Taste of American Indian Art:
The image “http://www.theeaglesnestonline.com/content/products/images/scan0001_002.jpg” cannot be displayed, because it contains errors.
Spirit Bear art card by Joe Wilson measures 6 x 9 inches. "In this design I have tried to provide the best rendition of a traditional 'Spirit Bear' design in Coast Salish Style. My research over the past 25 years has included most of the ancient bone, stone and wood carvings. The idea for this design came from an old comb design made of bone and represents to me a revival of some of the powerful art forms of our ancient people. The design with the huge protruding tongue and eye style is reminiscent of the traditional 'Sxwaixwe' mask- a sacred and rarely seen mask outside our culture."

From: www.theeaglesnestonline.com

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Existing in the Police State of Billionaire Heaven, New York City: Confessing to Google

Foto by tgw, New York City, Jan. 2012
Google Needs to Know All About Me (and You)

Google has announced that on March 1 it will begin data mining every one who logs in to one of its sites or uses Google search. Google says it's to offer a better privacy policy!!! Huh? They really mean what they are going to do is follow you as you search on Google or as you log in to your blog on blogspot (Google owns it) and they are going to collect data via cookies they'll plant in your computer as they follow you and those cookies will give them a clue as to everything you do. Like say you email a friend and brag explicitly about who you had sex with last night. Since Google owns G-mail and a lot of Yahooers and others switched over to G-mail a year or so ago, Google's sensitive-to-your-needs implanted cookies will advise Google's advertising-spammers to send you advertisements via your email that may offer you sex education courses at the University of Phoenix or maybe they'll send you an invitation by a sex therapist for a session on his or hers couch or maybe the Trojan condom promoters will offer you a free pack of rubbers if you'll order some K-Y Jelly from their on-line sexual-aid store. Or, dig this, you may joshingly email someone how you hate President Obama--Google may feel it in the common interest to supply the FBI with that email for them to analyze to see if maybe you don't win a one-way ticket to Guantanamo.

The Daily Growler posts on blogspot.com, so Google already I am sure has thoroughly analyzed the old Growler's growling messages (sermons) and have reached the conclusion that...well, I tell ya what I'll do, let me just go ahead and give Google all this info right now:

Dear Google:

Here's some info on me you may need when you start hurling spam-like ads at me while I'm searching or perhaps you'll redirect me first to one of your advertisers--you know those huge shadowy screens that suddenly pop up when you're say scanning the Washington Post's Website--those overshadowing pop-ups telling you that "Be AHEAD of the Game, be the envy of your Friends! How? Well, Verizon has a Droid waiting for you in your name--ready to ship to you"--you know those kind of new sales intrusions into our exposed private lives? These are the pop ups that have the "X" up in one corner you can hit and exit the ad or it will say CLOSE and you click on that and close it. Intrusive, but, hey, in or about 1973, the sales forces of companies took over the management of these companies and it effected most everything in this country and thus began first talk about shelf life and store accessableness and futuristic designs and shit like that and now it has puffed itself up into what it has always called "the Global Marketplace," marketeers expanding the sales potential universe--sales, promotion, tracking, dividing the country up into buying zones. Google also has a satellite that can practically break into your home or apartment and film your whole life without you the least knowing about it--Google can put a surveillance camera on your ass 24/7, while some computer-nerd-intern number crunches all the info that private-corporation-owned satellite collects. Google openly talks about "mapping" you in their announcement of this data mining they're going to do on their sites starting March 1st of the Year of Doomsday.

thegrowlingwolf's Giving Personal Information to My Lord, Google
For my first admission:
Yes, Google, I do read Ezra Pound's poems and his little essay books like The ABCs of Economics.

Google, I was never a member of the Communist Party, but I do dig Karl Marx and Frederick Engels and I am presently reading The Communist Manisfesto. Here go, Google, let me quote you the first line of it: "The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles." Can you relate that line, Google, to what's going on presently in the USA? Would you say it was a class war?

Google, oh by the way, let me stress that I am a White male who feels inside like he's more related to the wild wolf than he is to a civilized human being--who I admit I refer to a lot as a human-monkey, or as the late great president G.W. Bush would have put it, a human-animal-hybrid.

By the way, Google,
I must confess I hate that little spoiled brat prick G.W. Bush--I call him Georgie Porgie a lot--he and Pickles; what a fucking good life they've got for themselves off the working backs of sliding-into-poverty Americans but also off the dead American soldiers's bodies and the millions of Afghanistan and Iraq corpses his War on Terror has brought about. And, by the way, if I were president, I'd bust his ass as an enemy combatant and send him and Pickles--I might even throw the twins in the mix, too--off to Syria for some legal torture before CIA-airing them back to their new home in that gorgeous Caribbean spa, Guantanamo Bay Homeland Security Prison and Torture Administration Center. The guilty go free while the innocent are imprisoned and tortured.

Google, I graduated college with a Masters Degree in Sociological and Economic Theory. I wrote my thesis on the Sociological theories of Georg Simmel, a very difficult man to understand. Since you now own all of the books in the world, I would suggest you read some Simmel.

Google, after college I couldn't find a job in my focus field, Urban Sociology, so I opted to do what all Sociology students with Masters Degrees in Sociological and Economic Theory do when they can't find a job in their fields, they get a job as a Social Worker. My first job as a Social Worker took place in New Orleans, Louisiana, where I was hired as an Intake Worker for the Orleans Parish Court. At the time I worked in New Orleans, my official boss was District Attorney Jim Garrison. And, yes, Google, many a'mornin' I've had breakfast with the Mayor of New Orleans at that time, Vic Schiro, and Jim Garrison. Why, Google, Jim Garrison introduced me to Bullshots one afternoon in Don's Offshore Lounge down on Carondelet in Center City New Orleans.

Google, I've been married three times to three beautiful and extremely intelligent women all of whom after they kicked my ass out of their lives went on to be extremely successful. My first marriage happened in Mexico, so to hell with telling you about that one; my second marriage was my real marriage. A Texas girl I'd first met in the Disneyland parking lot in Anaheim, California, after she had just turned sweet sixteen--and what a young beauty she was--White as the driven snow in the winter; becoming brown as a Tex-Mex berry in the spring; and as red as the skin of her Choctaw grandpa in the middle of summer. When we lived in Mexico, Mexican caballeros and young chicos would gang along behind us and beside us and in front of us spouting rapid Spanish advertisements for themselves in terms of being a better sexually (mucho macho) for her than the norteamericano gringo-bastardo-ching-golly-cock-a-rony she was strolling with down the Reforma. We were married 10 years, Google, and then one day in our East Side Manhattan apartment overlooking the East River on a quiet Sunday while reading the New York Times she casually, dropping her paper as she did, informed me that she wanted a divorce (and for your sales techies, Google, note that I no longer read The New York Times and certainly never plan ever to subscribe to it no matter the fabulous offers it will be sending me via your cookies...ah what's the use--OK, yes, the Growler does have a link to the People's Daily on-line newspaper, which you will determine we Growlers do click on and read haphazardly some times. The reading of it is improvisational with us--though, hell, I reverted back to a time when Red China was one of our bitterest enemies--now it's OK to read a Red Chinese newspaper, is it not? Your call on that one, Lord Google).

Google, how 'bout we don't mention my third wife at all. Thirty years that one lasted...but, hey, I'm keeping some of my life undercover--in a steel lead-lined vault I've had installed in the concrete floor of a rented warehouse hidden somewhere out in the Lehigh Valley.

So far, Google, what do you think? I guess you want me to reveal more about my income and what I spend it on, right? Fuck all this silly personal college and marriage stuff--oh, did I say I'm a ex-military man? US Army Artillery. That ought to stand me good as a patriot, that is if a part of your data mining includes gathering information on my patriotism! I think most Americans are as stupid as Newtie Gingrich and Mitt Romney, but hey you already know that.

Google, mark me down as a cheap-ass son of a bitch when it comes to spending my money. I have an Achilles heel in my money spending secrets though, but more about that later. In terms of how I spend my money on clothes: hellfire (a good American cuss word), my wardrobe consists of about 100 tee shirts, two pairs of jeans, several pairs of Boxer Joes with holes in them, four pairs of black sox, no belts, about 30 baseball-type caps or hats--two or three I wear more than any of the others, especially my old alma mater sidelines hat--my UNT hat--a hat that some vulgar folks at first sight think spells out CUNT. They are very disappointed when they find out there's no C in my old alma mater's acronym.
The Wolf Man's UNT cap. See, there's no C.
Shoes? Well, currently because it's winter, I'm wearing my Doc Martin-imitation Italian-made thick-sole shoes with cleated soles so I don't fall down on the New York City icy sidewalks this winter when the hawk starts talking a mean frozen lingo.

Google, let's see, what do I eat? Well...that depends on how much money I have. Aha, now your ears are perking up. "He's maybe about to tell us how much money he has--fine tune me into his room so I can watch to see if he has a safe--maybe we should inform the IRS about this guy...." Sorry, Google, I'm putting words in your mouth. Where is your mouth, by the way? Oh, sorry, I'm not an info gatherer, you are. I worked in advertising long enough to know what you are data mining for. Here ya go, you'll love this: I EAT OUT EVERY DAY AND NIGHT. However, I've established a series of neighborhood restaurants, one in particular where you'll find me dining at my own table--but then you could zoom your satellite tracking device down on my apartment--it does penetrate brick doesn't it?--and when you see me puttin' on the Ritz--putting on a clean tee shirt and my same-ole green jacket made in Mongolia--when I was a kid if you'd'a told me I was going to be wearing a winter coat made in Mongolia some day, I'd'a laughed in your face--and, Google, when I'm exiting the building, just follow me and you'll see where I directly head--it's that Irish pub right there--see it?--on the left side of the street--yeah, that's it--of course this pub owner, my pal, owns three more restaurants in the area where I hide out sometimes.

Google, I know you're interested in what I buy on line. I have a tendency to say Fuck You, it's none of your business, but then I wake up to the fact that it is your business. Google ads, those particularly bothersome interventions on otherwise solid Websites--you know, you go on one of those Medical advice sites and there are all these Google ads salted in among the site's actual articles and such. And speaking of medical advice, I don't trust most doctors. I've had several friends in my life whose brothers were and are doctors; in fact, currently, three of my closest friends's brothers are doctors. I would trust a doctor in a one-to-one situation; in fact, one of my friend's doctor brothers was influential in helping me get a professional evaluation of an infection I had decades ago, a professional urologist who I trusted and who was I thought very thorough in explaining the cause of this infection, even drawing me a very well-done sketch showing me exactly where my infection was located. And, yes, I've had good results especially with eye doctors--I had a viral eye infection in the 80s and I found this very clever, witty, and seemingly knowledgeable eye doctor who prescribed this stuff that cost $80 a bottle and it worked miraculously and I haven't had any eye troubles in many a moon since. Dentists I go to, but I really don't trust these guys--I've had some hairraising experiences with dentists--but I've already exposed those moments in past posts on the Growler.

Google, one horrible thing about me is I don't believe in insurance and I don't believe in using credit so I have NO credit rating. Does such an admission get me marked off your list of your potential cookie embeddings and phishing and spamming expeditions? Probably not, but anyway, you see I'm not really a good source for someone to be suckered in by Google ads's come ons.

I could reveal a hell of a lot more--was I ever a criminal? Were you ever a criminal?

What Was Timmy Geithner Doing in Africa?
I don't believe I ever recall in our past history where a Secretary of the Treasury made US sales junkets to foreign countries, but Little Timmy Geithner took such a trip just a week or so ago. Little Timmy showed up in Africa. What was he up to? I think he was bringing pressure on them to buy our arms and genetically engineered vegetables and fruits. And speaking of genetically modified foods, did you hear that Monsanto has bought Blackwater (or whatever their latest name is)?

Oh, shit, Obama is lying sideways, backwards, upsidedown...his every word is a bunch of well-hook-punctuated bullshit. He's still trumpeting himself as a man of change--yep, he changed the Homeland Security bullshit to where he's now able to tell HIS armed forces, now a combat unit active in the USA, a first in our history, "Hey, dudes, I don't like the looks of that American down there, see, that guy in that surveillance photo there--that White guy wearing the turban...let's whisk his ass off the streets, nail him as an enemy combatant, and ship his ass off to our friends in Syria for a little legal torture--WHA! My CIA has started a revolution in Syria...my man, Assad, what? But didn't I give him a Medal of Honor for his role in torturing those renditioned al-Queda agents?...so what there's no proof he's an enemy combatant, that makes no difference to me--bust his ass anyway; I'm the Commander 'n Chief, by gum by golly."

[Google, I forgot to confess to you that I'm not voting for any of these sham bastards this time--all of them, including Obama, are backwards-thinking lyin' dogs.]

I feel so much better after confessing to my Lord & Master Google.

thegrowlingwolf (Google me)

for The People's Daily Growler

A Little Taste of Canadian Art:

Foto by mw (Ontario, Canada, scene)
I'm more and more impressed with our old pal at wood s lot's photography. He's already a The Daily Growler Hall of Famer for keeping publishing one of the best sites on the Internet--now he's going in as a Hall of Famer photographer.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Existing in the Police State of Billionaire Heaven: New York City: Biding My Time

Foto by tgw, "Through a Glass Darkly," New York City, Jan. 2012
Time Waits for No Man

My dad used to say, "Don't let time pass you by." After he'd say that I would wonder in my child-curious way how time could pass one by. I had never felt it passing me by. I'd look at my wind-up alarm clock by my bed, my first timepiece ever, and I would imagine the hands flying freely around the dial, hours and hours and hours passing me by. Swooshing by me.

Time is a movable feast, I suppose. Since it's man-invented, of course it can't pass me by. Time is imprisoned within our chronological devices, which are the concepts of our brains. Time is a controlling agent. Time is an incarcerator. Time is a method of measurement. Time is a measurement of just how long we have...to live...to die...to be imprisoned...to wile away time...to take a lot of time outs--and the time out is one of the means one has to keep time in tow. You get frustrated, you just take a time out. Time outs stop the clocks; yet the shadow of time keeps on keepin' on.

Your heart is a timepiece. It tick-tocks.

Before there were quartz time or digital time, before our Naval Observatory time was computerized and nanoseconded down to minutia of time, clocks tick-tocked either from side to side or up and down.

Back in my good ole days, I used to hang on my three-hour lunch breaks at a Midtown Manhattan restaurant called Ho-Hos. It was in the ground-floor back of the old Time & Life Building in Rockefeller Center. I first heard about Ho-Hos on the long-ago-and-now-forgotten Long John Nebel's all-night radio talk show that aired back from the 50s, 60s, up until 1978 when Nebel
died of prostate cancer. Ho-Hos was one of his sponsors. Two of the bartenders in Ho-Hos were Jimmy Chin and Mister Yick. One day I was sitting at the bar when this musician friend, he'd been big during the bubble-gum rock phase, came in needing money. He was peddling this pocket watch he'd gotten as a wedding present from his wife who he had now divorced. He said he definitely hated her and he also hated this watch because she had given it to him so he said I could have the watch for $20.
That's it...the Majestime Pocket Watch I Bought for $20 From the B-Gum Rocker
Twenty bucks was chicken feed to me then since I was working in a high-cotton field knocking down big bucks-per-month, so out of feeling sorry for the dude, I'd just gone through a divorce of my own, I bought the watch. After the dude had split, Mr. Yick asked me to see the watch. He took it and held it up to his ear. "Yes, velly good watch," he said handing it back to me. Curious, I asked him what he was listening for when he held it up to his ear. He said cheap watch tick-tocks up and down but good watch tick-tocks back and forth sideways.

I at one time invested a whole ton of spondulex in antique wristwatches. My oldest and most treasured one was a 1907 Elgin porcelain dial solid silver wristwatch with solid gold works inside the silver filigree case. I still have it--one day the stem broke and it has sat dormant for several years now. The time contained in that old precision-made chronometer has been frozen in time. I tried to sell it on eBay as is for an opening bid of $100 but nobody was interested. I paid $375 for it ten years ago. At one time my watch collection contained 50 timepieces, of which I've now sold off 20, leaving me still with right at 30 watches in various states of running, some having their own time-works frozen and in need of repair. If you ever see me in the street or at dinner or playing a gig, I'll be wearing my favorite of all my watches, a 1950s Bulova
automatic with a black dial. Bulova may not have invented the self-winding wristwatch, but its were the best and this little watch has been running faithfully for me for over 10 years now. The longest I had a wind-up wristwatch run was 18 years, a Gruen watch my dad bought me for high school graduation, claiming he paid $80 for it, an exorbitant price for a wristwatch in those days. That watch ran until one day it simply just stopped winding and working, so I put a nail in my apartment wall and hung that watch up on it as a work of art.

The most amazing wristwatch I've ever owned is what we called the Casio Rubber Watch. It is a battery-operated watch--it has all kinds of bells and whistles on it, too, like an alarm, a stop watch, military time, etc. It also lights up in the dark. A friend in the watch business sold me this watch for $30 back in the 80s--the insert that came with the watch said it had a 7-year battery in it. That watch, my friends, is still running today, 20 years later--keeping fairly accurate time--sitting in a never-used coffee mug up in my loft bed right now as I type on this post. The last time I wore it, about a year ago to an Ives program at Town Hall, it started falling apart, a little metal strip falling off the watch face, the band, rubber, tearing slightly near the clasp--so I returned it to the coffee mug and there it sits today still telling time. Just look at the time this old rubber watch still is recording--the time of my life up there in my loft bed for the past 20 years.

Sitting here looking around my apartment, I count four wall clocks--and there's one in my bathroom (my Charles Parker, Jr., clock), too, so that's five. I love clocks but I hate time. One of my clocks, it's celebrating the 10th Anniversary (1994-2004) of the Hudson Valley Renegades minor league baseball team, stopped one day about a year ago at 15 minutes of 12--and I have just left it set that way. Another one of my clocks is an hour off because I never change it come Daylight Savings Time beginnings and endings--in the spring it will be two hours off--and in the fall, it will return to being one hour off.

Daylight Savings Time was a Rooseveltian move to give folks longer days so they could work their asses off in the WWII defense plants. Why we kept Daylight Savings Time after the war I'll never know; the politicos on the left say it's so the little kiddies won't have to trudge down to their schools in the dark; the rightwingers say it blasphemes God's time. All that Daylight Savings Time proves is that man is the clockmaker and he can start and restart time at will. I mean why couldn't Congress pass an amendment saying 12 midnight was no longer 12 midnight but was now 12 night noon or some such bullshit as that? Man could even add an extra hour to a day if he so chose.

A good quote about time? Here's one from Somerset Maugham (in The Moon and Sixpence):
"I don't think of the past. The only thing that matters is the everlasting present."
Living in the present tense continuously. I learned living in the present tense continuously from Gertrude Stein who said she wrote in the continuing present tense. Writing in the present tense. Solving all your problems in the present tense. Because the present tense is where we all are at the same time. It is in the present that I sit now presenting you with this little presentation on time. My time. I know my time, but I don't know your time.

Some Antique Watches, the Collecting of Which Was One of My Pastimes
A Famous Hilton Triangle Watch From the 1930s.
This Is a Nelson Celluloid Watch, Also From the 1930s.
A Lord Elgin Gold Watch With Black Dial and Wire Lugs From 1940s--I still own this watch; unfortunately its works are currently frozen.
This Is the White-faced Version of the Lord Elgin Gold Watch With Wire Lugs From 1948. All but the Black-Dial Gold Elgin (3rd from top), I no longer own.

There aren't many old watchmakers still around who really know their business. The guys who knew how to work on the above watches are all gone now and today's watch repair people here in New York City have no knowledge of these American watches--most of the watch repairmen in my neighborhood are Russians. There is still a world-renown Elgin watch restorer out in California but he's quite expensive. However, those Elgin Gold jobs above when completely restored sell upwards in the 300-to-400 dollar range.

So remember, time will tell, but what it will tell, we'll not know until the time comes for us to know. A lot of people are looking forward to a coming time; while some are dreading any kind of waking time.

for The Timely Daily Growler

A Little Taste of American Art:

"Big Red Flower?" by California artist, Geoff Greene--Acrylic on 2 canvas panels - 48" x 38" (August, 2007) The question mark is explained: he didn't remember what kind of flower it was.

Monday, January 23, 2012

Existing in Wall Street, USA: Here It Comes Around Again

Foto by tgw, "Through a Glass Darkly," New York City, Jan. 2012
Ready for More of the Same

Notice the same stays the same seemingly forever. The stage was set with the evolution that brought us to the human-monkey state, this human monkey who refers to himself as MAN, or in his intellectual sense, Homo sapien--very few Homo sapiens have ever heard this name, however--it's a name preserved for use in our ivory towers. Man is the same today as he was yesterday and the day before yesterday. Man is the same all over the world. Even though a man is speaking in a rare language only understood by a very few people, he is still speaking everyday language: "Hi, Hugh, how you doin'?" "Just fine, Lugh, how the hell are you doin'? And how's that cute wife of yours...I intended to knock her out and drag her off to my cave but you, you son of a bitch, you beat me to her."

I regularly read www.languagehat.com, a site filled with linguistic discussion by some of the sharpest minds in the business. A recent post on L Hat's site dealt with the subject, "Have Americans Ruined English?" The linguistic responses to this post were all primarily concerned with yes Americans have butchered the real English language, blah, blah, blah. Mostly answers only a linguist (there are sociolinguists, you know--me trumpeting about how all of these thinkers are in fact Sociologists, my favorite human-monkey invention, a biased opinion, of course, since I tout myself as a Sociologist, though non-practicing in the active and up-to-date sense). THOUGH, the whole premise of this post is that all, including Sociology and Linguistics, are still the same, the same goals, the same intentions, the same research methods, the same taught elementals--producing the same ole-same ole--yes, perhaps a modified same ole-same ole, perhaps a same ole-same ole moved on to a higher plane, but still it's the same ole-same ole.

All animals have language. My neighbor has two cats that he sometimes allows to kick the kinks out of their apartment-confined activities by letting them tumble about out in our small but spacious hallway. One of the cats knows me from when he was a big kitten and always comes directly to me corresponding with me in terms of rubbing his head against me, in terms of purring heavily in friendship; the damn cat knows me as a friend. The other cat, however, who I've never touched or talked to, avoids me, is standoffish, though I try and get her to come to me, she relinquishes her getting petted to the cat who knows me--and who when the other cat seems to be coming to me, blocks her path and tells her in an easily understood way that I am his friend and not hers. We have developed a language consisting of words, of sounds, of touch, of even me turning the key in my door lock and this cat knows that sound and runs to my door to wait until I come out--and then he's ready for a little conversation with me.

Did you ever notice that most animals know the meaning of the word "No"--in English, French, Spanish, etc., but then no seems to be a common sound that means what it means to all animals including Homo sapiens. Like when chimpanzees (our next of kin) have a conflict, there's always one big mama who puts a stop to it with firm looks and shrieks that mean NO to the offenders.

Another thing this cat knows are my hand signals. Like most cats and dogs understand the sign language that means "Come here"--or they know the whistle that means the same thing--or in some animals, the hand signal combined with the words "Come here" are easily understood by most animals I have a friend who has a parrot--and even parrots understand "No" and hand signals signaling them to fly down and perch on a finger, or hand signals and sounds telling them it's time to eat. All animals know what "It's time to eat" means, too, no matter how it's phrased: in sound, or whistle, or words.

I looked up "animal linguistics" in Wikipedia (you may love or hate Jimmy Wales, but he pulled off a cool move by shutting down Wikipedia sites for 12 hours--and the SOPA and PIPA bills were thrown off the table as a result--for the moment, the Internet is still left wide open--it's like a huge world-wide bulletin board)--and here's what I found:

"With linguists, the interest of animal communication systems lies in their similarities to and differences from human language:
  1. Human languages are characterized for having a double articulation (in the characterization of French linguist André Martinet). It means that complex linguistic expressions can be broken down in meaningful elements (such as morphemes and words), which in turn are composed of smallest phonetic elements that affect meaning, called phonemes. Animal signals, however, do not exhibit this dual structure.
  2. In general, animal utterances are responses to external stimuli, and do not refer to matters removed in time and space. Matters of relevance at a distance, such as distant food sources, tend to be indicated to other individuals by body language instead, for example wolf activity before a hunt, or the information conveyed in honeybee dance language. It is therefore unclear to what extent utterances are automatic responses and to what extent deliberate intent plays a part.
  3. Human language is largely learned culturally, while animal communication systems are known largely by instinct.[citation needed]
  4. In contrast to human language, animal communication systems are usually not able to express conceptual generalizations. (Cetaceans and some primates may be notable exceptions).
  5. Human languages combine elements to produce new messages (a property known as creativity). One factor in this is that much human language growth is based upon conceptual ideas and hypothetical structures, both being far greater capabilities in humans than animals. This appears far less common in animal communication systems, although current research into animal culture is still an ongoing process with many new discoveries."
How fascinating, eh? [What am I, Canadian? The last time I was in Canada--Newfoundland and Nova Scotia--I was very bored]. But these things are fascinating to me in a Sociological sense, though I don't agree with a lot of those above points--like animal communication is instinctual, meaning to me it never changes; yet I think animal communications depend on their location and relation to human beings and in that sense they pick up new ways of communicating with each other.

As a writer--hell, I can easily communicate with other animals--even put words in their mouths if I want to--like writing a children's book narrated by an English-speaking bear perhaps. Writers can use language any damn way they please, as long as it's, shall I dare say, entertaining. It's all about being entertaining. Getting parrots to speak human words is done because it's entertaining when these birds do seem to be understanding and speaking OUR language. Writers must be entertaining--the language they use or abuse in being entertaining in terms of correct usage is irrelevant in a work of fiction. Conversation--the first definition--the second definition having to do with sexual intercourse--which, by the way, has its own form of language--in all animals not just humans. All animals growl and groan with pleasure as they have sex. Humans have a knack of using scurrilous words from their language to add more spice to the action.

And action it is, too. Action is entertaining. Action. Acting. The Act. Act One. A play in 4 Acts. Act yourself. Act like a lady. Act your age. Your actions speak louder than words. Actors. And actors are entertainers.

I'm back to reading Somerset Maugham's wonderful little book, The Summing Up, and I'm in the part where Brother Maugham is talking about his time as a produced playwright and his relationship with the actors and actresses who recreated his written plays onto the stage in a reality setting. In writing about actors and how hard it is to pin them down as to who they are in terms of who they really are--you know, like Maugham says, actors seem to be a conglomeration of all the parts they've ever studied for or succeeded in performing. And, then, in a typical Maugham way, he boils actors and actresses down to the nitty-gritty by writing: "Make-believe is their reality, and the public, which is at once their material and their judge, is also their dupe. Because make-believe is their reality they can look upon reality as make-believe" (Somerset Maugham, The Summing Up, chapter 31, last paragraph).

I've never had any trouble writing dialog--though I never tried to write a play. I was tempted way back when Tennessee Williams wrote Camino Real (1953) and later In a Bar in a Tokyo Hotel, where one critic wrote that Tennessee was "fracturing language" to fit his characters's actions, or where the play is leading its characters--up to the final scene--and then BOOM, the audience is shocked and left stunned. That's what I began to like about Tennessee's play writing.

And as to the language of Camino Real, here's a reply from the main woman character in the play, Marguerite (Camile like)--(thanks to www.sheilaomalley.com/)--and I think this is great writing:

"MARGUERITE. Oh Jacques, we’re used to each other, we’re a pair of captive hawks caught in the same cage, and so we’ve grown used to each other. That’s what passes for love at this dim, shadowy end of the Camino Real … What are we sure of? Not even of our existence, dear comforting friend! And whom can we ask the questions that torment us? “What is this place?” “Where are we?” — a fat old man who gives sly hints that only bewilder us more, a fake of a Gypsy squinting at cards and tea leaves. What else are we offered? The never-broken procession of little events that assure us that we and strangers about us are still going on! Where? Why? and the perch that we hold is unstable! We’re threatend with eviction, for this is a port of entry and departure, there are no permanent guests! And where else have we to go when we leave here? Bide-a-While? “Ritz Men Only”? Or under that ominous arch into Terra Incognita? We’re lonely. We’re frightened. We hear the Streetcleaners’ piping not far away. So now and then, although we’ve wounded each other time and again — we stretch out hands to each other in the dark that we can’t escape from — we huddle together for some dim-communal comfort — and that’s what passes for love on this terminal stretch of the road that used to be royal. What is it, this feeling between us? When you feel my exhausted weight against your shoulder — when I clasp your anxious old hawk’s head to my breast, what is it we feel in whatever is left of our hearts? Something, yes, something — delicate, unreal, bloodless! The sort of violets that could grow on the moon, or in the crevices of those far away mountains, fertilized by the droppings of carrion birds. Those birds are familiar to us. Their shadows inhabit the plaza. I’ve heard them flapping their wings like old charwomen beating worn-out carpets with grey brooms … But tenderness, the violets in the mountains — can’t break the rocks!"

for The Daily Growler

A Little Taste of American Art:

Leonore Knight, Pen and Ink Illustration of GOP Elephant, circa pre-1900 (that's William McKinley and Teddy Roosevelt in the handbasket).
Little is known about Knight other than she was an illustration artist for the Los Angeles Herald in the 1920's - 1940's. I first heard of her when I bought an autograph item of Betty Roche's, Duke Ellington's vocalist from the mid-forties up into the fifties, very famous for her versions of Ellington's and Billy Strayhorn's Take the A Train--on her own with the Savoy Sultans and later on the famous version by the Ellington Ork released in the early fifties. Betty's autograph was with regards to Leonore Knight whose address at the time, 1944, was in Hollywood. I have learned from dealer descriptions that Leonore Knight sent out autograph requests via return mail to many Hollywood celebrities (a photograph of Hattie McDaniels signed to Leonore recently sold at auction for $1600) and entertainers. Recently on eBay, a lot of several of Leonore Knight's pen and ink drawings was offered for $699. The above illustration is from that eBay auction.

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Are 50% of Americans Dumbasses?

Foto by tgw, "Nightshot Through Glass," New York City, Jan. 2012
"Political economy came into being as a natural result of the expansion of trade, and with its appearance elementary, unscientific huckstering was replaced by a developed system of licensed fraud, an entire science of enrichment"--Frederick Engels.
I'm listening to Duke Ellington's filmscore to Otto Preminger's Anatomy of a Murder. I then look up and watch a newscast with the sound off. It's showing and hoopla-ing about how Newtie Gingrich won the South Carolina Repugnican primary. They show a photo of pig-jowled Newtie. They are now showing a photo of the The Mitt Mann. He looks so dull. A dullard. Though, hey, I can easily poke fun as these two backwards-thinking jerks--come on, we have language that puts these snake-oil salesmen in their place. Call Mitt "the Mormon" Romney an asshole. Don't worry, he'll not sue you for libel because he is an asshole. Call Newtie Gingrich a big fat fool and that's too mild. Newtie is lower than a big fat fool. He's more like a man with his fat head up his fat ass. How's that?

Remember, I'm listening to Duke Ellington's music. Watching a soundless television screen. The music is overwhelming my spewing rebuke at those soundless images on that television screen. The reporters look so serious as they report that Newtie won in spite of all the revelations of his pornographically inclined male-dominance principle of using women as masturbational devices, because Newtie, I'll guarantee you, is a big-time masturbator.

I spin my thoughts upward into this portion of Duke's score he titled "Grace Valse," a place so high above a low-life like Newtie Gingrich will never reach it. He can't even reach underneath so high an accomplishment.

In Newtie's favor, however, I must sleazily admit that all men dream of threesomes. Newtie's in a Beltway privileged place where he can fulfill his lowest pornographic dreams--and winning in South Carolina is pornographic in itself, according to me--and racist, for without a doubt South Carolina is now our most racist state--even more racist than Gawjah, Alabanana, or Mississippi? Well, that's a tough one; Mississippi is still an open pit of racism even though the majority of the state's population is surely not White. All of these states from Gawjah over to Lawsbanana are old plantation states; South Carolina has been the epitome of a White-controlled state that still wants to belong to the Confederacy (remember, they wanted to fly the Confederate flag over their capitol building). South Carolina is a big Military Industrial Complex state also and Newtie represents that bunch of crooked arms dealers in Congress. It is also a big nuke-wasted state. A polluted state. The home of the late great hypocrite, J. Strom Thurmond.
"Our mutual value is for us the value of our mutual objects. Hence for us man himself is mutually of no value." Karl Marx
Just by quoting Engels and Marx I'm subjecting myself to surveillance. When dumbass people hear the name Karl Marx they immediately cringe in fear--they are totally dumb to his writings and his Sociological findings in Das Kapital. And Marx was a Sociologist. The above quote to me is magic thinking--a wit that can throw thoughts directly in your face--you get them when you think--if you're a dumbass you don't get them. We are what we own.

Do Mitt Romney and Newtie Gingrich represent We the People? Yes, because they own more than the average man does and to own more is our overall mutual ambition no matter where we are or what god we believe in--even our gods want MORE. Plato said man was searching for what was good for him. What is good for us in our minds, as an old song lyric sings, is "to be as rich as Rockefeller." [And, folks, believe it or not, the Rockefellers are still our ruling royal family--their power is still way above the power of even Little Billy "More" Gates [a little weasel of a man] and Warren "I Ain't Bluffing" Buffett [a weasel of a man].]

Yes, we all want to be rich. Money, not Jesus, Buddha, or Allah, is salvation. Dumbass Repugnican's, those at the voting level, have no hope of ever being as rich as Mitt "the Mormon" Romney (inherited wealth)--none of the money Mitt has made was earned--even he admitted that when he tried to backwards think his way out of having to disclose his tax returns--his father, ole George Romney (he gave us the Gremlin), disclosed his tax returns for six years back when he ran for president many moons ago. Yet, and here's the irony, getting as rich and powerful as Newtie Gingrich does seem possible to them. Ron Paul? Well he's a rich son of a bitch, too, but he's too wacky for a backwards-thinking Repugnican to comprehend. These boobs know nothing about Austrian Economics and Ron Paul is steeped in it as a Calvinist Libertarian, which is what American Libertarianism is, Calvinism: "Work for the night is coming when you'll work no more."
“There is no work, however vile or sordid, that does not glisten before God.” John Calvin
So now the backwards-thinking Repugnicans have three wonderful choices: Mitt "the Mormon" Romney (the winner in the low-attended New Hampshire Repug primary); Rick "Man on Dog" Santorum (squeak-by winner of the dumbass Iowa caucus); and now Newtie "Hey, Honey, How 'bout a Threesome" Gingrich (winner of the Racist State primary--also not very well attended).

Is President Obama shaking in his boots as he watches these foolish clowns compete for a chance at knocking the African off his perch and drown him in the deep waters of backwards-thinking Neo-Conism? Not that President Obama isn't a backward thinker himself, this Nobel Peace Prize winner who is under the bootheel of the Military Industrial Complex and the criminal bankers and the financial institutions they are still running in fraudulent and criminal manners. Obama seems to continue to favor old Clinton assholes and top CEO criminals as his closest advisors. His latest bullshit move is to make Larry "Failed Economist/Failed Harvard President" Summers head of the US-controlled World Bank, a position G.W. Bush gave to Paul Wolfowitz. Surrounded by backwards-thinking and corrupt men of wealth and privilege, there is no hope to me of this man ever returning to his "Yes, We Can" bullshit--all lies it turns out--LIES, LIES, LIES.

You tell enough lies, some truth begins to leak out.

Our future looks bleak--I can see why it's more sedating to look behind us at the Good Ole Days, that weren't Good Ole Days for all of us--always for White folks, but not so hot a look back for our nonWhites.

Did you read where the Chinese artist who conceived and rendered the Martin Luther King memorial on the Washington, District of Corruption, Mall fucked up one of King's quotes?--edited it down so it would fit on this rather bland King memorial that mocks the Vietnam Memorial (ironically, also done by a Chinese artist). Now the government's trumpeting goons are trying to figure out how to rectify the fuck up without having to do the whole thing over. Why does our government love Chinese artists so much? Maybe our government is behooven to the Chinese Communists because this is the gang that owns us lock, stock, and barrel. Our government is letting the Chinese Commies use hundreds of thousands of acres of our Western wilderness lands. Most of our clothing and television and computer production is happening in Communist China. Why, they are going to be the main tenants in what was once called the Freedom Tower, a hypocritical building that has now been named No. 1 World Trade Center--Freedom having nothing to do with that sordid development, a gift of We the People to one of the crookedest real estate developers in the country and the Power Elite-run, always needing more money, New York-New Jersey Port Authority--an authority We the People of New York and New Jersey really don't need. Did you know that a lot of the splurging of high-rise luxury buildings in New York City is due to their being financially backed by China's state investment bureau?

So, hey, folks, you better learn a little Mandarin. Remember when our nation's corporations sold all of OUR productive assets to Japan (our television, our movies, our recording industry (this Duke Ellington Anatomy of a Murder CD I'm listening to was original recorded on Columbia Records, but we sold Columbia Records to the Japanese and now all those old Columbia albums are being reissued by Sony), our camera production, our automobile industry--Datsun (now Nissan), Toyota, Mitsubishi, big arms producers during WWII--and Japan was buying up our property, too--Japan bought Rockefeller Center once--a move that almost brought down the Japanese economy--so bad a move, they had to give it back to the Rockefellers thereby losing millions of dollars in reneging penalties. And all of our corporate goons started advising us we'd better start learning Japanese--the future was in Japan! Now Japan is on the brink of disaster--their economy sinking daily--their air now polluted by radioactivity from their buying our nuclear technology (General Electric's technology)(General Electric is also a member of the Military Industrial Complex).

So goes the world of high finance. Voodoo economics continues to strangle us--Voodoo Capitalism is bringing us down--BUT, we are so dumb we still believe we're the best and brightest people in the world.

for The Sunday Daily Growler

A Little Taste of Chinese Art:

Notice, "Democracy" is represented by rather Western-faced people, while the oppressed look very Chinese. So why do we accept Mao's kind of Communism but rain down bullshit on Karl Marx's Communism?

Friday, January 20, 2012

Existing in the Police and Corporate Welfare State of New York City: Waiting for the Nazis to Reveal Themselves

Foto by tgw, New York City, January 2012
Say Goodbye to:
Johnny Otis, 90, American R&B singer-songwriter. Johnny Otis, a Greek cat who chose to be Black--Johnny was an amazing man. First time I ever noticed Johnny he's playing drums with Prez's septet on some early Aladdin records (Norman Granz's first record label). Johnny introduced to the world: Esther Phillips, the Ravens (who became the Coasters), Etta James, Jackie Wilson, Hank Ballard and the Midnighters, Little Willie John; he produced and his band backed up Big Mama Thornton on Lieber and Stoller's "Hound Dog." His band also backed Charles Brown on his famous "Driftin' Blues." Plus Johnny brought us his biggest hit, "Willie and the Hand Jive," a tune eventually stolen and used by phony blues man, Eric Clapton, going about his business of stealing his sounds from American original musicians like Johnny Otis. I happen to know all the lyrics to Johnny's infamous "Signifyin' Monkey." Johnny also played vibes, was a preacher, a club owner (the famous Barrelhouse Club), was a disc jockey, and ran for Congress in California--his brother was our ambassador to Jordan at one time--Johnny Otis who grew up in a mixed Valejo, California, neighborhood decided he wanted to be Black and he almost pulled it off. Johnny always made me think of Mezz Mezzrow, a Chicago Jewish lad who also decided he wanted to be Black--White guys who find they are more attuned to a Black way of life than they are a White way. I know how that feels, trust me.
Say Goodbye to: Etta James. How ironic that Etta James dies a day or so after the man who discovered her and gave her her first gigs, Johnny Otis, died; she at one time being a member of the Johnny Otis Show. Etta James, 73, American singer ("At Last"), leukemia.
Obama Idiocy: President Obama is fixing to appoint Larry Summers as head of the World Bank. What the hell does this little creep have on Obama? Why not Suzanne Somers?
What Is Wrong With Me?
This silly presidential-campaign politics is so beneath me; yet, these idiots, these Yahoos, have the privilege and power to literally drive me into homelessness--to ruin what life I have left--and now with filthy powers given to one man, our president, the resident president, this first Black president taking the power to have his army target me, pick me up off the streets, whisk me over to Guantanamo where without trial or hearing or anything, I can be left to rot there and disappear into an unknown space. Our president is our armed forces Commander in Chief don't forget--plus he inherited G.W. Bush's Executive privileges, privileges passed on to President Obama by this little sorry specimen of a man who is obviously his mentor (Obama said after meeting Georgie Porgie for the first time that he liked the guy a lot), that little spoiled brat bastard whose family, headed by the old Reagan-Raggedy-Ass Pappy Bush and his New World Order, has run this country into the god-damn ground--a ground being stolen out from under We the Common People of the USA by our divine Power Elite.

I disagree with the 99-to-1 ratio the Occupy Wall Streeters keep depending on--at least 45% of that 99% are living in some form of rightwing racist dream state--that's the 45% who, I'm sorry to say but I'm thinking this way, would vote for Adolf Hitler and throw Jesus Christ in Guantanamo as a leftwing radical. Like I can see Mitt "the Mormon' Romney sporting one of those little Hitler moustaches and wearing an SS uniform (remember, Prince Harry has a cool SS uniform he could loan the Mitt Mann)--"Sieg Heil, it is none of your fucking business the taxes I pay--I'm rich--so I'm divine, you petty heathen bastards, you poor slobs who've had to work your asses off so my family could become filthy rich--Praise Macaroni and Baloney, those Mormon gods." But now I read that the Mitt Mann's offshore bank accounts and the financial shenanigans he pulled with his Bain holdings have gotten his old sagging ass in trouble with his own party of backbiting goons--Bain holdings crookedly obtained millions of crooked dollars, shenanigans all done through backroom insider finagling and a shifting of paper funds all night long by teams of number-crunching MIT and Harvard fops who work all night long in front of those latest computers all hooked together all over the world--a world of united pirates fleecing the common man (Every Man) of all his wealth and natural resources.

In my last Growler post, I tried to open almost-asleep eyes to history--a history of banks and bankers and financial shenanigans and how Imperialist Royal Families, like those who ran the British Empire, allowed holding companies and private equity investors and hedge-fund conglomerates to form their own armies and navies with fleets of ships cruising the wild seas of the world looking for the planet's wealth, captained by half-madmen and manned by men of adventurous, criminal, egoistic natures--going about the world sniffing out the common wealth with their new navigational tools and instruments and their new cartographical printings coming out daily to guide their ironclad ships with their multiple braces of heavy-duty cannons in their quests to invade, occupy, and steal that wealth when found, their ships's hulls reserved for tons of gold, silver, spices, coffees, teas, medicinal plants, whale oil, timbers, and slaves. Whatever they could conquer by force and steal by force! The White Man ever Capitalistically evolving--always seeking New Frontiers--and taking them by force, of course.

I am compelled to bark forth--from out of low growls comes harsh barking--rebelling against a coming ideal that I was warned against all my young rebellious life--the idea that this nation was skidding on a greased-lightning sleigh ride headed for the very depths of another economic hell--a hell only made worse by the instigators of these depressions who are using the mass fear of them to start more of their profitable wars, wars in which while our youth die needlessly our so-called enemies are decimated, killed by the hundreds of thousands, by the millions in some cases, and millions are driven out of their homes, off their lands, to flee to safe haven countries, like the 2 million Iraqis we displaced and who are now living in utter chaos in camps in Lebanon and Palestine. I hold post-World War I Germany up as an example of the way we are headed. A Corporate State leads to National Socialism, which is, folks, in case you've forgotten, Nazism when wearing German uniforms..Fascism, when wearing Italian uniforms--economic systems devised by Sociologists/Economists--echoes of it still prevalent in the politics of the Ayn Randers, the Ron and Rand Pauls, the Von Hayek and Von Mises Libertarians (and throw that big phony rightwinger Ayn-Rand-loving fool Allen Greenspan into that sordid nutjob mix).

We are ripe right now for a military takeover. You don't think so? We are ripe for a dictator. What do you think? We the People have no power whatsoever anymore. We are being duped by sorry bastards. I know them as what C. Wright Mills called the Power Elite--if you know me you should also know C. Wright Mills (a Texan, by the way)--and what the great American Economist/Sociologist Thorstein Veblen called The Leisure Class--and what Karl Marx called the Bourgeoisie. Allen Ginsberg said we were being governed by the working-together CIA, FBI, Mafia, and Corporations--Listen to Rage Against the Machine doing Allen's poem "It Hadda Be Playin' on the Juke Box":


It's just a crying shame how this all has evolved, undercover, behind closed doors, gradually but surely going out of control and there's nothing We the Measly People of the USA can do about it except via radical means, like not paying taxes; like taking your money and savings out of the big criminal banks; like not voting for these fools. Occupy Wall Streeters tried to stir us up, but they have been driven off by a police-state-Homeland-Security-coordinated government plot against them, to simultaneously attack them, beat them, pepper spray them, give one of them a severe head wound that has left this Iraqi War vet half-goofy and out of balance and having to go through expensive rehab--and they threw an old paraplegic grandma out of her wheelchair, pepper spraying her as they did, and they deliberately pepper-sprayed a group of peaceful OWS protesters at UCal-Davis--pepper spraying them in a cruel and mean fashion--like "Here you god-damn al-Queda-ass-kissing dipsticks. You're all traitors! President Obama, declare these cheesy bastards enemy combatants and let's ship 'em off to Guantanamo Concentration Camp--and while they're there, why don't we 'round 'em up, pack 'em in a shower room, and then gas their worthless asses! Praise God, and may God Bless America! Rick Santorum for President!"

My generation warned you of a coming Fascism. There were huge numbers of Brits and Americans during World War II who remained loyal to Germany--who stood behind Hitler--people like Charles Lindbergh and the Duke and Dutchess of Windsor found Hitler charming, intelligent, worthy of being listened to.

I know the Ku Klux Klan were willing to lynch Jews along with Blacks in the real fine Yee-Haw Old South of the Jim Crow era on into the 1940s. "Wake up, White people! The niggers, the Spicks, the Kikes, the Gays, the Lezzies, the Moozlimbs, the Woggies, the Gooks, the Chinks..." is the Ku Klux Klan's shout out, spouting out their blasphemous tags, Ku Kluxer types believing what spews from their mouths is a divine defense of heathen White people, the Euro-blends that Pat Buchanan says are being allowed to be swallowed up by these savage brown, black, and yellow peoples. God help us, Pat cries. And God-damn, I wish Pat's drunken Irish God would stop helping us.

What I'm trying to say is that we are in the same economic situation that led Germany to accept a psychopath like Adolf Hitler as their fearless leader, their Fuhrer--the Germans, the Barbarians, the Visogoths, the Lutherans, the Teutonic Crusaders.

for The Daily Growler

Saving John Coltrane's Last Home


Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Existing in the Corporate State of New York City: Oh No, thegrowlingwolf Dons His Master's Robes

Foto by tgw, "String Theory Photography," New York City 2012
How's This for an F-U at We the Poor People of the USA From the Dumbocratic Party and President Barack Obama:
First of all, by holding its convention in Charlotte, North Carolina (a huge banking headquarters city), the Dumbocratic Party insulted all Progressives, Commies, Workingslobs, the Unemployed, the returning War Vets, the Uninsured, the Blacks who voted overwhelmingly for the President in his fraudulent campaign of 2008 (remember, too, the Repugs came back strong in the 2012 election)--plus they shoot the bird at all those names on the Statue of Liberty that are said to be welcome to these shores--and now the US says FUCK the meaning of that Statue of Liberty sitting out there in the middle of my hometown's harbor and my hometown's billionaire mayor has chiseled off that statue's original meaning and replaced it with the exorbitant fee they now charge these hayseed tourists, these hick hinterlanders who flock to this city to gawk at our sights, to clutter our streets with garbage, and then paying big bucks to ride on these fleets of diesel-spewing double-decker tour buses up and down Fifth Avenue--these Euro trash and Middle American hicks who frequent the cheaper hotels that are mostly owned by Indians and Israelis and Chinese Commies and Arab Royal Families--the money these bastards make not staying in this country but going back to the motherland, except in the case of the low wages they pay their mostly immigrant staffs.

But to top the insult of the Dumbos holding their convention in Deep South Charlotte--it was announced yesterday by President Obama's campaign headquarters that President Obama's acceptance of the Democratic Party nomination speech is going to be made OUTDOORS! YAHOO! And WHERE!!! Why if you said BANK OF AMERICA STADIUM, you are correct, sir or madam. What a fucking fist in the face of those of us silly enough to still have any hopes that this totally phony two-faced dude would confess his sins and correct the many errors he has made and renew the many promises he has wimped out on--this winner of the Nobel Peace Prize--this President who has gotten us more deeply involved in world warfare and has gotten us closer to a nuclear war (with Iran) than even that little crooked weasel of a spoiled brat G.W. Bush did, a bastard who I still resent getting to live the Life of Riley down in Dallas, Dumbass, Texas (and I'm from Dallas), in a mansion he got through a foreclosure deal, living the leisure life, the pampered privileged life, and living it high on the hog on We the People's slowly depleting earnings and pension monies.

Can you imagine what possessed President Obama
and his sidekicks, first of all to hold their convention in Charlotte, Yassuh Boss, North Carolina, but then to hold his acceptance speech in a stadium named after the CRIMINAL BANK OF AMERICA, a bank that if the truth be revealed is currently on the brink of bankruptcy! I mean this dude is a god-damn confused two-faced man--same as Slick Willie--same as Mitt "the Mormon" Romney--that corporate pimp paying 15% taxes while We the People are paying 25-to-30%, the poorer we are, the higher taxes per capita we have to pay. Plus, don't forget, it was just reported, the IRS is 300 million or so in the hole. Let's sell our IRS to Communist China!

The Old Wolf in Sociologist Clothes Growls Again
Let me tell you what's goin' on. It's simple. Our government, in cahoots with We the People who are Corporations, has evolved to the point of sacrificing its own people (especially its own young people) for a chance to rule the world--a Corporate takeover of the world led by Goldman-Sachs-World and embraced by the White superpowers of the world, the US (though we are fastly becoming Paper Tigers), London, and Germany--and I say London because Great Britain as an economic whole is stone broke and in debt to the International Banking Cartel (Oligarchy) led by Goldman-Sachs-Deutsche Bank, et. al., and the US through its control of the IMF and the World Bank, and in this instance, I use US in the sense of that part of the government We the People of the USA have no access to, that secret US that is currently in the driver's seat in a seemingly impregnable way overhere, while at the same time Germany is financially regaining control of Europe (the European Union)!

And Germany is who We the People, the Common People, should be concerned about in terms of their redomination of Europe. Remember, the Deutsche Bank was among the cluster of buildings around the World Trade Center that was ruined on 9/11, a building this bunch of German pirates allowed to just sit there in ruin until finally they were forced to start bringing the unsafe mother down.

Check 'em out--from Wikipedia (which is blacking out some time tonight (Jan. 17th) to protest the SOPA and PIPA censorship of the Internet bills now being considered by our corrupt Congress, which also has something to do with Corporate control of the Internet):

"Deutsche Bank is the largest foreign exchange dealer in the world with a market share of 21 percent.[2] Deutsche Bank has offices in major financial centers including New York, London, Frankfurt, Paris, Moscow, Amsterdam, Dublin, Toronto, São Paulo, Singapore, Hong Kong, Tokyo, Sydney, Dubai, Riyadh and Mumbai"

Do you have any idea what being the world's largest foreign exchange (wheeler)dealer means?

Check this out about 'em:

"Fears that Deutsche Bank could neglect its German roots and expand risk-taking activities prompted key members of the supervisory board to opt for the dual CEO model. Deutsche Bank is listed on both the Frankfurt (FWB) and New York stock exchanges (NYSE)."

Neglecting its German roots. Guess where Goldman-Sachs's roots were originally rooted? However, during World War II, Deutsche Bank was very loyal to its German Aryan roots. Check 'em out--again from Wikipedia:

"After Adolf Hitler came to power, instituting the Third Reich, Deutsche Bank dismissed its three Jewish board members in 1933. In subsequent years Deutsche Bank took part in the aryanization of Jewish-owned businesses: according to its own historians, the bank was involved in 363 such confiscations by November 1938.[19] During the war, Deutsche Bank incorporated other banks that fell into German hands during the occupation of Eastern Europe. Deutsche provided banking facilities for the Gestapo and loaned the funds used to build the Auschwitz camp and the nearby IG Farben facilities. Deutsche Bank revealed its involvement in Auschwitz in February 1999.[20] In December 1999 Deutsche, along with other major German companies, contributed to a $5.2 billion compensation fund following lawsuits brought by Holocaust survivors.[21][22] The history of Deutsche Bank during the Second World War has been documented by independent historians commissioned by the Bank.[19]

"During World War II, Deutsche Bank became responsible for managing the Bohemian Union Bank in Prague, with branches in the Protectorate and in Slovakia, the Bankverein in Yugoslavia (which has now been divided into two financial corporations, one in Serbia and one in Croatia), the Albert de Barry Bank in Amsterdam, the National Bank of Greece in Athens, the Creditanstalt-Bankverein in Austria and Hungary, the Deutsch-Bulgarische Kreditbank in Bulgaria, and Banca Commercial Romana in Bucharest. It also maintained a branch in Istanbul, Turkey."

They were of the "Good Germans."

Here's a site that is openly anti-Israel and Zionist that defends Hitler's handling of the banking cartel after, as this site says, the Treaty of Versailles laid the burden of unfair war reparations payments on the backs of the World-War-I-whipped Germans (Germany had to pay the war costs of all the countries opposing them in WWI--costs that were 12 times more than the worth of all the property in Germany) and that is what wrecked the German economy and brought the International Banking Cartel in to try and keep the Germans from printing their own money rather than, as these bankers wanted, the Germans continuing to go deeper into debt to this International Banking Cartel (this site, by the way, emphasizes that the International Banking Cartel after World War I was headed by the Rothschilds Bank agents who were Jewish but also Germans). Yes, I am certain this site is condemned as anti-Semitic, that I don't doubt--but then a lot of White Christians in this country are very anti-Semitic though pro-Israel --pro-Israel for their own selfish reasons and not because they're not anti-Semitic. Most White Christians still subconsciously blame the Jews for crucifying their fabulous savior, their made-up Messiah (a dude Ancient Jewish history ignores). At rightwing fundie Christian megachurches you don't see many Jewish converts, if any, trotted out before the mixed-bag audience of hayseed and hillbilly Whites (a lot of 'em ex-snake handlers) and freedom-seeking (in the sense they can become White before the White God) poor Blacks. (The White Massuh God, you see, wipes Blacks clean of their Black sins (those put on them by the Christian God because Noah's Black son, Ham, gazed upon old drunken Noah after he had passed out naked as a jay bird. This cleansing in the Blood of Christ according to the Fundie gospel means these Blacks who were Black with that ancient sin have been washed clean and are now before this Christian God White as the driven snow, Praise the Holy Lard Bucket.) I mean, Jews have too much intelligence to believe that Christian crap--but, of course, Israelis cater to these Christian deceivers because of their political sway in this country.

So check out this site anyway--it's very interesting to me--not so scary to me in terms of it being anti-Israel and anti-Zionist but more scary in terms of its pro-German stance in terms of excusing the Nazis killing 6 million Jews, Gays, Gypsies, Commies, and the physically impaired in exchange for respecting their so-called "brilliance" in how they so quickly in a matter of 4 years brought fallen and totally bankrupt Germany back up to the height of a world superpower.


Again from Wikipedia:

"Goldman Sachs was founded in New York in 1869 by the German-born Marcus Goldman.[4][5] In 1882, Goldman's son-in-law Samuel Sachs joined the firm.[6] In 1885, Goldman took his son Henry and his son-in-law Ludwig Dreyfuss into the business and the firm adopted its present name, Goldman Sachs & Co.[7] The company made a name for itself pioneering the use of commercial paper for entrepreneurs and was invited to join the New York Stock Exchange (NYSE) in 1896."

First of all reading the above history of how Goldman-Sachs came to be it's easy to notice that these German-born men were Jews. In the German historical mind, it was the Jewish bankers and financial dealers (the Rothschilds in particular) who brought down the German Empire, actually starting back in the 1850s at the time of Karl Marx and his coming out of Germany warning us about this economic system called Capitalism--a system coming out of London, at that time the city on which the sun never quit shining, the financial center of the British Empire--of Imperial design--a system designed to keep Kings and Queens and other world leaders in the splendor necessary for these stupid, common, ordinary human-monkeys to declare themselves divine. Capitalism became the system of the divine. To the divine go all the profits (the spoils)! And the Imperial Courts of the world embraced this Capitalism whole hog and they sent these pirates around the world conquering the valuables of the Continents around the Seven Seas, their future colonies invaded, occupied, and founded by Trading Corporations (the well-armed and manned ships of the East India Company or the South Seas Company), hedge-fund and private-equity corporations--all of these Imperialist nations had these large Capitalist investment and development corporations to go out and do the dirty work of warring and pirating necessary to keep THEIR ROYALS more splendid and powerful with gold and silver and slaves than all the other ROYALS.

The United States of America was founded by the Dutch East Indies Company, making New Amsterdam a Dutch Colony.

What Am I Saying?
What I've started harping on of late: IT'S THE SYSTEM, CAPITALISM, THAT'S THE PROBLEM. Capitalism depends on first the ability to own private property including common lands. Second, the ability to Capitalistically improve one's Capitalist holdings, thus raising the value of the property. Capital investments are the improvements you make to the property you own. Capital means the value of what you produce on your private property. Money is not Capital. Money is simply a means of exchange. Its original value depended on bartering--"I've got 5 fat sheep ready for slaughter--I need a team of horses for my spring plowing, so, how 'bout it, my 5 sheep for your team of horses?" "How 'bout you throw in another sheep and I'll thrown in a new plow?" So what happened then when say one lambing season when for some reason all the lambs are born dead? Well, you go to the men you've traded your sheep to in the past and you say, "Brothers, look, all this year's lambs have died on me, so I've got nothing to barter with but I need several barrels of flour and meal and tea and coffee and several bolts of cloth and some tools, so how 'bout you all give me what I need on credit and I'll promise on the Holy Bible to pay you when my corn and bean crops come in this coming spring, what'a you say?" And thus began credit. And the holders of these credit slips began to charge interest.... Do you see where I'm leading you?

The Difference Between Ricardo's Capitalism and Marx's Capitalism:
"Because Marx was critical of capitalism, he examined it with a view to finding faults or contradictions in the system; Ricardo basically accepted it and saw it as a harmonious working-out of the economic process. The chief actor in the Marxian model, as in the Ricardian model, is the capitalist. The capitalist's search for profits and reaction to changing rates of profits explain, in large part, the dynamics of the capitalist system. But whereas capitalists in the Marxian system rationally and calculatingly pursue their economic advantage and sow the seeds of their own destruction, in the Ricardian system these same rational and calculating capitalists, in following their own self-interest, promote the social good. Although the classical economists' long-run prediction of a stationary state is certainly pessimistic, such a state is not the fault of the capitalistic system; rather, in their view, it follows from Malthusian population doctrine and historically diminishing returns in agriculture. For Marx, however, the capitalistic system produces undesirable social conse­quences; as the contradictions in capitalism become more manifest over time he said, capitalism as a phase of history will pass away."

It is Ricardian Economics that our Capitalism is based on. Ricardo saw Capitalists (Wealth of Nations Capitalists) as "rational and calculating" and that by their following "their own self-interest" they "promote social good." Marx simply took the opposite view of the Capitalists of his time. He saw them as dependent on the poor workingclass for their production, CHEAP LABOR, a workingclass they had to keep POOR in order to manipulate it for their own lordly benefits and their own conspicuous consumption. The number of workingclass laborers you employ and the wages you pay them and the amount of product their labor produces determines your wealth. When you don't pay fair wages and you force your workers to overproduce (work 16-hour days, 6 days a week), you begin wearing them thin and you piss them off and they eventually revolt and bring you down. Marx believed Capitalism and Capitalists would destroy themselves. Marx's periods-periods-of-downturn predictions, whether you dig Marx or not, have been dead on the bull's eye so far since he made them--in London, by the way--back in the 1860s.

Check out our current economic situation; the enormous debt the stupid-ass Neo-Cons drove us into trying to drive down our standard of living and the worth of the dollar, those goons with their arms up G.W. Bush's tight ass manipulating him to do like his father and the Republican godfather, Ronald "McDonald" Reagan, did before him and drive the US into the largest debts in this nation's history; larger debts than FDR had gotten us into during World War II--I mean these Repugnicans, the Milton Friedman-follower idiots, so hate Keynesian Economics--in a depression (or a war economy), the way out is through government spending--and they blame Keynes and FDR for all our current problems (why do you think they so want to wreck the Social Security System?)--such BULLSHIT--it's the very system CAPITALISM that's the problem. (And always keep in mind that President Barack Obama in his book said he admired Ronald "McDonald" Reagan especially for his economics policies--meaning in particular his Free Trade policies, which Obama has continued to promote and commit to agreements, just recently his signing a Free Trade Agreement with South Korea that will send 150,000 US jobs over there.)

This kind of growling peters me out fast...

Let's pause for a station identification,

for The Daily Growler

Please note, like Don Rickles always excused his most bigoted statements by saying it was all in fun, our above attempt at laying wide open the wounds of this ravaged world right now may seem to some leaning toward bigotry--well, like some might protest that we are promoting Adolf Hitler as an Economics genius--and that by guiding you, dear readers, toward a site that is revealing but, yes, certainly anti-Semitic in being anti-Israel and anti-Zionist, which doesn't necessarily mean this site is promoting the hatred of all Jews--besides, for all we know, the blogmeisters of this site may be Jewish. The point is, their analysis of the reason Germany rose from being a totally worthless nation after World War I back up to, in just a few short years, back up to being a world superpower--this all happening under Hitler, though most decidedly this refinancing was not of his suggestion even--I'm pretty sure Hitler was an idiot when it came to most anything except trying to prove to Germans his grandfather wasn't Jewish and that he was a pure Aryan when look at this Frankensteinian-looking little prick, his shortness, his Austrian peasant background, his warped sense of art--anyway, whatever, we found the article entertaining in the sense it was revealing another side of the Banking Cartel--this in dispute of statements after World War II that the Jewish Bankers had supported Hitler up until he decided Jews were not human really...but then notice how the Deutsche Bank fired its Jewish board members and became the Gestapo's bankers and helped finance the building of Auschwitz, etc. Bankers, whether Jewish or Aryan, are still pirates and greed merchants who'll sell their grandmothers, wives, daughters, dogs, and favorite stud horses for more piles of gold (money having to be founded on a gold base to be worth more than the rag paper it's printed on)--profits!