Saturday, March 31, 2007

It's Getting Deep Around Here

NOTE: Scroll to End for Need-to-Read Harold Pinter Piece on Why Bush Is Nuts!!!

Saturday Night Fish Fry

I should be out partying. Instead I sit here reading Jack Spicer's poems and wondering why every time I mention Pastor Melissa Scott on this bloggo I get hits galore and many exciting comments--I mean, I give all kinds of solutions to world problems here but no, no comments, not one, on those, but I mention Pastor Melissa Scott and whooboy, you'd think I hit blog-attention paydirt--I got one great comment from an Anonymous Moose on yesterday's mention of Pastor Melissa Scott where I called her a witch but I goofed up trying to publish it and instead must have rejected it--a goof; sorry Pastor Melissa Scott fans--I goofed it and I know Pastor Melissa Scott can't stand goofs!

One commenter said Pastor Melissa Scott lives in a 20-million-buck mansion and soaks her pastorate liberally for monies necessary for keeping her "way-above-ground" lifestyle intact. Poor ole Doctor Gene; she must'a cleaned his prostate clock--evil enough for me right there. Melissa, come here, clean my prostate clock, in the Lard's Syriac name, Ethioptic name, Coptic name, and Russian name--Russian name! Yeah, last time I saw Pastor Melissa Scott she admitted that Doctor Gene Scott had once bragged that he was going to have Little Melissa speaking Russian and Chinese before it was over and sure enough, here she went and proved old Doctor Gene mucho correcto during this show by translating her Syriac translation of some Holy Book gobbledy-gook verse into Russian, right there before our very eyes! Praise the Lard; see how I get so full of it (glory that is) when I start magnifying Pastor Melissa Scott? Her point, this particular Holy Book gobbledy-gook verse no matter the language you translate it from and no matter the language you translate it into it still says the same thing. Duh! Melissa! "It rained so hard I froze to death, the weather it was dry...."

Vex me, baby, I love it.

Jack Spicer (continued as is continued)

"Beauty is so rare a th__
Sing a new song
A busted flush. A pain in the eyebrows. A
Visiting card.
There are rocks on the mountains that will lie there for fifty
years and I only lived with you three months
Your absence seem so real or your presences
So uninviting?"

[Fifteen False Propositions Against God, #III, The Collected Books of Jack Spicer, Black Sparrow Press, Los Angeles, 1975.]

"I have already cited Jack's image of God as a big white baseball, somehow other than, but entering the game our lives are" [Robin Blaser in a Commentary at the end of The Collected Books of Jack Spicer]. Jack Spicer is from a generation that saw the God as Amuricans knew him as DEAD. Jack simply said there was a real within us but also an outside real, too, without us and it is from that outside real that poetry, that kind of language, comes--intimating that language is learned from outside to within and along with that language we learn as neosprouts comes poetry--an outside real language we must interpret through our inside real--then the poetry we write becomes our interpretation of that general outside real.

Whooo-eeee, that's deep shit. I think I'll go on out and party.

for The Daily Growler

Why George Bush is Insane

by Harold Pinter
March 30, 2007

Earlier this year I had a major operation for cancer. The operation and its after-effects were something of a nightmare. I felt I was a man unable to swim bobbing about under water in a deep dark endless ocean. But I did not drown and I am very glad to be alive.

However, I found that to emerge from a personal nightmare was to enter an infinitely more pervasive public nightmare - the nightmare of American hysteria, ignorance, arrogance, stupidity and belligerence; the most powerful nation the world has ever known effectively waging war against the rest of the world. "If you are not with us you are against us" President Bush has said. He has also said "We will not allow the world's worst weapons to remain in the hands of the world's worst leaders". Quite right. Look in the mirror chum. That's you.

The US is at this moment developing advanced systems of "weapons of mass destruction" and it prepared to use them where it sees fit. It has more of them than the rest of the world put together. It has walked away from international agreements on biological and chemical weapons, refusing to allow inspection of its own factories. The hypocrisy behind its public declarations and its own actions is almost a joke.

The United States believes that the three thousand deaths in New York are the only deaths that count, the only deaths that matter. They are American deaths. Other deaths are unreal, abstract, of no consequence.

The three thousand deaths in Afghanistan are never referred to.

The hundreds of thousands of Iraqi children dead through US and British sanctions which have deprived them of essential medicines are never referred to.

The effect of depleted uranium, used by America in the Gulf War, is never referred to. Radiation levels in Iraq are appallingly high. Babies are born with no brain, no eyes, no genitals. Where they do have ears, mouths or rectums, all that issues from these orifices is blood.

The two hundred thousand deaths in East Timor in 1975 brought about by the Indonesian government but inspired and supported by the United States are never referred to.

The half a million deaths in Guatemala, Chile, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Uruguay, Argentina and Haiti, in actions supported and subsidised by the United States are never referred to.

The millions of deaths in Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia are no longer referred to.

The desperate plight of the Palestinian people, the central factor in world unrest, is hardly referred to.

But what a misjudgement of the present and what a misreading of history this is.

People do not forget. They do not forget the death of their fellows, they do not forget torture and mutilation, they do not forget injustice, they do not forget oppression, they do not forget the terrorism of mighty powers. They not only don't forget. They strike back.

The atrocity in New York was predictable and inevitable. It was an act of retaliation against constant and systematic manifestations of state terrorism on the part of the United States over many years, in all parts of the world.

In Britain the public is now being warned to be "vigilant" in preparation for potential terrorist acts. The language is in itself preposterous.

How will - or can - public vigilance be embodied? Wearing a scarf over your mouth to keep out poison gas? However, terrorist attacks are quite likely, the inevitable result of our Prime Minister's contemptible and shameful subservience to the United States. Apparently, a terrorist poison gas attack on the London Underground system was recently prevented. But such an act may indeed take place. Thousands of school children travel on the London Underground every day. If there is a poison gas attack from which they die, the responsibility will rest entirely on the shoulders of our Prime Minister. Needless to say, the Prime Minister does not travel on the underground himself.

The planned war against Iraq is in fact a plan for premeditated murder of thousands of civilians in order, apparently, to rescue them from their dictator.

The United States and Britain are pursuing a course which can lead only to an escalation of violence throughout the world and finally to catastrophe.

It is obvious, however, that the United States is bursting at the seams to attack Iraq. I believe that it will do this - not just to take control of Iraqi oil - but because the US administration is now a bloodthirsty wild animal. Bombs are its only vocabulary. Many Americans, we know, are horrified by the posture of their government but seem to be helpless.

Unless Europe finds the solidarity, intelligence, courage and will to challenge and resist US power Europe itself will deserve Alexander Herzen's definition (as quoted in the Guardian newspaper in London recently) "We are not the doctors. We are the disease".

Harold Pinter

The Assassinated Press

Friday, March 30, 2007

Questions: Are There Any Answers?

Questions, Anyone?
Everything starts with a question, doesn't it? You see? Catch my drift?

Could one write a whole book of questions? Could one perhaps call that book Unanswered Questions? Can readers help me on this?

A question that's constantly floating around in the reservoir of my mind is: How come every day Congress meets a Congressperson isn't getting up and proposing a motion to impeach this phony "president" and all the obvious crooks he has working for him, from the guy who shines his F-ing expensive shoes (does the White House have its own cobbler? I wouldn't be surprised; and he makes $200,000 a year with full benefits--remember when that term "full benefits" meant something real and beneficial to the American worker?) to that A-hole, gun-blasting, V-pee, Unka Dick Cheney (Chain Gang it should be)?

How about this illegal immigrant, Alberto Gonzales? Right on into jail without bail and without hope of release, right? Can't Alberto claim he's really an illegal Mexican immigrant (hey, real truly good and white Christian Amuricans hate illegal Mexicans worse than they hate their black next door neighbors or still believe Native Americans are Injuns, Redskins, Wahoos, whatever) and have Condo-Leasing Rice deport him back to Cancun or Cozumel--I'm sure he has a couple of summer homes in his homeland, aren't you?

How'm'I doin?

Is there a dictionary of contraction constructions? Contraction deconstructions?

How come there isn't a daily Voice of Impeachment in Congress? How come, dammit?

Dennis Kucinich talks a good game, but he's been in Congress now for a while and hasn't really done a god-damn thing, has he?

I was surprised to see that Bernie Sanders, the Socialist now, is voting to give Bush Boy another 100 billion bucks for his illegal war on the poor innocent Iraqis thereby supporting the troop increase, too--isn't that a shame?

This Gumby-look-alike "president"--remember, he was appointed president by the Supine Court his first term and even up until today there is quite a bit of evidence he outright stole the 2004 election using the same tactics he was using to steal the vote in his 2000 election--I mean, come on, folks, I tried to make a straight statement about Gumby-balls, but I can't, I just find all of this questionable, dammit, don't you see what I mean? How is this "president" able to commit all the crimes in the Constitutional book and keep getting away with it? Isn't that an important question, too?

Do you think an investigation into Anna Nicole Smith's past is more important than what this illegal, phony, outrageously stupid, unfunny, dopey, alky-looking, condescending spoiled rich brat, Yale goofball, son of a wimp is doing to this country?

Where the hell is Congress getting all these billions of dollars to pay for this spoiled rich brat's folly of follies? Where, dammit? And where are these 2nd-story operators getting the billions we need to pay off the interest on these huge loans this illegal "president" has taken from the Saudi Royal Family (they may be turning on their Bush branch of the family--due to Sunnis and Shi'ites now whacking each other to ribbons in this madcap fight for power in Iraq, for territory, for the right to NOT BE IRAQIS ANY LONGER), the Dubai Royal Family (he's already given our ports to Dubai; and how about good ole patriotic American company Halliburton coming open and confessing it really is a Dubai company now, owned lock, stock, and barrel by the Dubai Royal Family--oh, yeah, don't believe me?), the Commie Chinese (imagine that; imagine JFK or Tricky Dick Nixon trading our economy for loans from Capitalistically more successful than the USA Communist China?--and they still officially are the People's Republic of China, with a 9 trillion dollar overflow in their coffers, doesn't that warm your cockles?), and the Brits (of course, our forefathers whether we're black, yellow, red, whatever the hell the color of our skins, were Brits--OK, so they abolished slavery in 1804--they still kept it hopping in their colonies, right, old boy? They still considered Native Americans savages, right, old boy? Didn't our white forefathers write all of this into our Constitution? Doesn't it, too, say Native Americans are savages that need to be either extinguished or penned up on reservations (white folks have reservations about all folks of other colors and persuasions); like we white folks felt about Jap-Americans in WWII, we didn't trust 'em 'cause they were really Americans to white folks who are Americans no matter when they got here or from what European country they come from--all Americans are really immigrants, escapees, the helpless poor, slaves, indentured servants, the downtrodden, the greenhorns, the speechless, the paralyzed...well, wait a minute, haven't I gone too far? This same Constitution, doesn't it say blacks aren't full humans? I think it does, doesn't it?

And my last question is: Why am I so hooked on Pastor Melissa Scott? I don't believe in her bullshit, nor do I believe she's a saint, nor do I believe in the God she so devotedly worships in "only God knows" how many languages, and if she's made in God's image, then, OK, I say, come on, God, bring your best, why am I so hooked on this woman? I mean, like a sheep, every night I watch her convoluted explanations in "only God knows" how many languages on my teevee at midnight every night, the bewitching hour, and believe me, Melissa is a witch if I ever saw one, and, yes, I don't believe in witches, though I once was madly in love with an NPR personality who said she was a witch, so why this "spiritual" (yes, I know, Herr Doktor Freud, it has to do with sex and sexual pleasure, I know, sir) affectation on my part towards this freak of a beautiful woman?

and is this really for The Daily Growler?

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Trippin' the Heavy Fantastic

I Am Not of This World
I'm watching teevee (absolute fantasy--everything on teevee--everything, even the lottery numbers). I'm watching one of the CSI shows, the Vegas one--believe it or not, the Vegas CSI is much more believable than the others.

In this one, six showgirls (it's always girls, show or not) are found murdered in this house where they all lived. They're all tied up and all murdered as viciously as these CSI shows dare show--these girls all had their throats slit--and they are pretty daring with the graphic realities, especially during the scenes in the pathologist's lab where they dissect the bodies, you know, like gut them, or saw off the tops of their craniums--they show that very graphically--I mean with superPhotoShop applications these graphics geniuses can produce just about any damn realistic-looking thing they please--but still, there's something phony about them.

This is why horror movies never scared me. I always saw the papier mache qualities of the props used to scare hell out of you, especially kids. You know, like King Kong--he looked so damn phony to me--I didn't see the filmic qualities of those complicated graphics, all hand created in those days, you know, miniatures shot from angles where they look giant--or the use of a blue screen--I think they've used blue screens all the way back in the Dark Ages of Hollywood-type film.

I have been frightened by the drama of a film: Dali & Bunuel's Un chien andalou caught me offguard--you know, the eyeball-shaving scene. Shit, that happened so quick it made me gasp, though I looked at it, stared it right in the eye, in other words.

Another movie gave me a chill. Bergman's Cries and Whispers, about a woman dying at the beginning of the 20th Century among her frightening sisters. The chill came because of the exquisite cinematography of the great Sven Nykvist, a dude I've already praised in a previous post--the darkest camera work I've ever seen--darkest in the sense of how he used the black and whiteness of this hallway leading back to the bedroom where this beautiful woman is dying in this huge white bed--boy, that's a creepy scene--approaching that bedroom as if with Death itself, Death's shadows slipping along the white wall with the darkness outside--all done with camera work--no physical presence just Nykvist using the lighting and different shades created by those patterns combined with the right motion--movement of the camera. Scary as hell; especially when you dig Bergman's Swinbergian-type mind.

But, Jesus, how violent and bloody these CSI shows are--this one I'm watching tonight dealing deeply with death, with watching people die, this one dude talking to this CSI babe about how many people he's watched die--looking into dying eyes. Morbid and macabre.

Have you noticed how many military recruitment ads are running on network teevee these days--I saw three during the NCAA basketball tournament, an especially deceiving one put out by the Army that makes it seem just by joining the army you're suddenly a major player in a career field (yeah, a career soldier), you know, like showing a black dude dressed in a cap and gown, you know, graduating from college, followed by this same dude in his Army dress uniform standing in front of the flag and some other best and brightest boys and girls all wearing dress uniforms--during the whole commercial there is no sight of war or what the Army really does--no sign of that. At least the Air Force ads say you'll be flying a hi-tech-operated jet plane, though they don't say why you're flying the plane--you know, shows no bombs blowing the hell out of an Iraqi hospital. The best one is the Marine ad. Oh my God, you would think the Marines are the most honorable and gentlemanly of all the armed services. The Marines have an ad that opens with the words "They've stormed beaches defending our freedoms..." on and on how the Marines builds MEN--oops, aren't there women gyrenes? Jarheads we Army 6-month wonder officers used to call the gyrenes. My brother was a Marine--he was really Navy but he was assigned to the Marines and wore a Marine uniform and emblems--plus he was a proud member of the Marines Who Served in China organization, carrying their card in his billfold with him to his grave.

One of my very best friends in Santa Fe was a Marine--he's the drummer I wrote about a few posts back, the guy who had to take Thorazine to keep himself from going stark-raving destructive and mean, and that Thorazine worked like steroids on him, you know, made him strong as a bull. He was a Marine. He told me his commanding officer was still alive, in his nineties, and that he still made the Corps reunion dinners and was in splendid shape, as all Marines were always supposed to be. Marines are nuts. But then, isn't anybody who volunteers to go and kill or be killed nuts?; the Marines are a volunteer branch like the Navy and the Air Force. The draftees went to the dog soldier Army as combat troops--draftees were poor ass dudes who were too dumb to get college deferments and too F-ing poor to have their daddies bail them out of action.

Now the U.S. Army is volunteer; it really scares me to see a young man volunteer to join the Army. Why? Most of those who die in our wars are dog soldiers; combat troops; tank troops; airborne troops; artillery units...those are the ones who get killed. A lot of pilots got shot out of the air but they survived--like Cap'n John McCain, whose plane was shot down by the Cong and he was captured after he bailed out of his plane--and boy did they F old John up--he has to be crazy, doesn't he? Georgie Porgie Bush was right when he shot old Cap'n McCain down when he tried to run for president--said VietNam had made old John crazy as a bedbug. I agree with the Bush Boy on that one. Hey, Bush figured out a way to get out of that war; how come John McCain was too stupid to get out of it?

What a world. That's what I mean by I never have really felt a part of this world. Could my seed have been blown in from another galaxy? Buckminster Fuller believed we were riding on this earth spaceship being blown across the universe by solar winds like a cottonwood ball's seeds are blown in the wind to eventually reach their destinations, that place where they land and start a new cottonwood planet.

More Jack Spicer
"Look I am King Of The Forest
Says The King Of The Forest
As he growls magnificently
Look, I am in pain. My right leg
Does not fit my left leg.
I am King Of The Forest
Says The King Of The Forest.
And the other beasts hear him and would rather
They were King Of The Forest
But that their right leg
Would fit their left leg.
'Beauty is so rare a thing,' Pound sang.
'So few drink at my fountain.'"

[From Fifteen False Propositions Against God, II, The Collected Books of Jack Spicer, Black Sparrow Press, Los Angeles, 1975.]

"So few drink at my fountain," so sez Ez.

for The Daily Growler

Boys Choir of Harlem Dude Gives Up the Ghost

Boys Choir of Harlem founder dead at 62

Walter Turnbull died in a New York City hospital on Friday, March 23. He had suffered a stroke several months earlier. Turnball was born in Mississippi and studied music at Tougaloo College. He moved to New York to be an opera singer, eventually performing with the New York Philharmonic. Turnball founded the Boys Choir of Harlem in 1968 at the Ephesus Church. The choir provides music training and personal counseling to hundreds of inner-city teenagers. The choir has released over a half-dozen albums and can be heard on the soundtracks to movies including Jungle Fever, Malcolm X, Bobby, and Glory. Turnball was 62.

Sources: Associated Press,

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

You Just Can't Ignore These Fools

Can't Ignore These Idiot Politicians
They're absolutely money-mad-crazy, all politicians; they care nothing in the world about We the People; they are all egoistically insane, including Nancy "Rich Bitch" Pelosi babbling her insulting reason for backing a further 100 billion-dollar spending increase for this totally Gothic demolition of Iraq as a sovereign nation--it's over for the Iraqis as they were; they're 3 different countries now. Remember the Kurds? You can't ever forget the Kurds in all of this.

So what that the Dumbocrats got their nonbinding resolution to end the unConstitutional war in Iraq added to the increased spending bill of Bush's stupid and dull demand. Big F-ing deal. Fools. All of them are fools. Rich, privileged fools playing with 300 million of us.

Does it make sense that one F-ing stupid little spoiled rich brat can absolutely ruin the lives of 300 million American people?--and with impunity for whatever horrible crimes he commits in order to do his dirty deeds. One F-ing stupid monkey-man leading 300 million of us off the edge of the god-damn brink and we seem like lemmings unable to turn this doomsday man around. Dennis Kucinich is talking kind'a tough, but, dammit, even he says some stupid things, though on most subjects he's pretty cool and level-headed. Like saying he doesn't think the American people voted the Dumbocrats a majority in Congress back in November for this bunch of rich fools to now say that that vote really meant We the People don't really want the illegal War in Iraq ended immediately, but we really wanted the Dumbocrats to keep this illegal, extremely cruel war going on another year--the Dumbocrat stupid nonbinding resolution to bring the troops home by March of 2008. In the meantime, a few hundred more stupid American soldiers will have to die; another few hundred greedy private contractors over there will have to die; another 100,000 rather innocent Iraqis will have to die; another million or so Iraqis will become refugees; another 100 or so Iraqi girls will have to suffer rape and then probably murder at the hands of a crazed US Marine on a gung-ho mission to destroy the Allah-asslicking towelhead ho's and smarmy families; plus, this 100-billion-dollar extra money for this illegal war also includes giving the Iraqi's main wealth, their oil, away to American oil companies--the bill allows American and Brit oil companies (why there is an Iraq in the first place) to take most of Iraqi oil out of the country. So more and more of We the Peoples's money will be wasted, devaluated...COME ON! Where's the opposition to this crooked presidency?--the whole gang of them are CROOKS, LIARS, MURDERERS, MASS MURDERERS, POSSESSORS OF WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION...and Nancy "Rich Bitch" Pelosi says IMPEACHMENT is not on the table. Oh, thank you, Nancy, you two-faced Yahoo rich bitch!

Ralph Nader is right, the Dumbos and Repugs are absolutely the same. We get war and our wealth stolen no matter which party we put in power.

As I type this, I am hearing this former publisher talking about the American publishing industry is now mostly owned by two German publishing giants. Holy shit. We've sold our publishing companies to Germany! Achtung! Siegheil! My new book is Goosestepping as a Way to Longer Life. No wonder writers today are so insufferably lost among a bevy of wordy words that they wordily work into 24-hour books by the bales. Hey, Hitler Brought the German Economy Back to Its Feet, by Prescott Bush, a lost manuscript found in the new, great Georgie Porgie W. "The Little Spoiled Rich Brat" Bush Phony Presidential Library!!! SMU doesn't want it but since Pickles is on the SMU board, they may be forced to take We the Peoples's hard-earned money to build such an atrociously insulting "presidential" library. Why do we have to have presidential libraries? Why can't they build their own libraries to house their stupid crap papers. God, we get so screwed by our government and politicians. Did you know that we have a military to defend our borders; to protect us from attack? Though we have been invading countries at will since the beginning of this white man's land of the free, white, and twenty-one and home of the Atlanta Braves.

I so wish I could just go somewhere and...blah, blah, blah....

Thinking of living on a Rhode Island beach this next winter and finishing my million-word novel tentatively called Oops. [No, it's not the story of Afghani War poster boy Pat Tillman.] [I support American troopers like Lynndie Englund, remember her? She's my hero soldier boy.]

A friend of mine tells me a town in Alaska is giving away free land to folks who'll come and live there. Holy Shit, could I live in Alaska? I used to own a Husky and a Malamute from Fairbanks, Alaska--they were swell dogs, man; so I could make it in Alaska with a dog team--hell yeah--Oh hell NO!

I was once in Newfoundland, sailing into Placenta Bay aboard the QEII--you should have seen that boat docked in this out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere bay, the dock being the dock for a jet fuel refinery my wife's boss had heavily invested British Petroleum's and the Saudi Royal Family's--the Feisals in those days--billion dollars to build and put on line.

My wife left the flock on that boat trip to Newfoundland and we ended up in a St. John's bar talking to transplanted Scotsmen and beating two of these blokes for a hundred bucks shooting 9-ball snooker, a game I deceitfully substantial at, which we blew giving our new St. John's friends a big elk dinner that night--and somebody broke open several liters of single-malt Scotch, and that was that. I woke up a day and a half later in a Halifax, Nova Scotia hotel room with my wife thinking I was dying from alcohol poisoning. No such luck, honey; I'm still your sober man. She divorced me a year later; all because I got shit-faced on single-malt Scotch in St. John's, Newfoundland, one bald-dreary, windswept lost weekend there.

Escape seems impossible these days.

for The Daily Growler

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

No Speakee A-rabb

Some Statistics
Out of 20,000 State Department workers, only 20 of them speak Arab.

From a teevee show: "All I know is he wears the uniform so he gets our best."

That's totally BS to me.

A uniform seems to cleanse a man of all blame.

We shield soldiers from blame: "This man was a fighter"--again from a teevee show.

"He really cared about his recruits...why we got 2 death reports a day from Iraq..." From a popular CSI show. A Marine recruiter's wife is talking about her husband.

Military good & evil. The good soldier and the bad soldier. Both are killers. They are trained "to kill or be killed," remember? That's the army's motto. That's a police motto, too.

From Jack Spicer
"The self is no longer real
It is not like loneliness
This big huge loneness. Sacrificing
All of the person with it.
Bigger people
I'm sure have mastered it.
'Beauty is so rare a thing,' Pound sings
'So few drink at my fountain.'"

From Fifteen False Propositions Against God #1, The Collected Books of Jack Spicer, Black Sparrow Press, Los Angeles, 1975.

Jack Spicer died in San Francisco in 1965. He hung out in North Beach bars and "practiced" his poetry, as he called it. Jack would write a "book" of poetry and then abandon it with a friend or a stranger--he was always in the bars "to be met" by young poets "to be asked" about poetry and life and living a life of poetry--by then he would be at work on a new "book" of poetry. After Lorca was his first book, completed in 1957, the year Spicer gave his "Poetry as Magic Workshop" at San Francisco State. Spicer believed in what he called "the Outside Real." It's kind'a like Gertrude Stein's continuous present tense or writing in what she called the continual present. Faulkner's way of writing this way was called "stream of consciousness" writing. It's all the same; Kipling said it was a muse sitting on his shoulder. Some from "without" coming to "within" to become a disturbance their, a disturbance that can't be quelled unless it's written out in poetic code--it is a continual presence of the Outside Real..."'Beauty is so rare a thing,' Pound sings, 'So few drink at my fountain.'"

for The Daily Growler

Monday, March 26, 2007

Yellow Dog Blues

Monday, Monday
Sitting here with the drabs on an early Monday morning. The Apple is coming alive, it's beginning to roar, though the roar right now is in the distance, like out on the freeways and turnpikes and side roads all over the area, rushing to work, like wingless birds hustled through mazes of machined traffic shoving and herding.... Soon these human birds will be chirping away at their boring jobs of producing the goods that will make a few big shots filthy rich and a few middle managers think they're getting rich.

I'm just flat tired of rich people--the privileged; privileged usually on the backs of their successful fathers, like Donald "Urban Trash" Trump--or privileged due to a lucky break like our little man mayor being handed a billion-dollar business because no one else dared to take it over; Little Mikey Bloomingidiot--a nerd; Billy Gates a nerd; nerds laughing all the way to their own private banks. "Hey, Mayor, why're your boys flyin' to the Cayman Islands so much? And what's in those suitcases they're carrying?"

One of Bloomie's buddies is beginning the destruction of downtown Brooklyn as he begins demolishing the Atlantic Railroad Yards in Atlantic Heights, Brooklyn, and replacing it with a whole new city centered around this billionaire bum's bum basketball team that is currently playing in the Meadowlands as a New Jersey team, though they did start off as a New York team on Long Island years ago. The team's a wreck since it once was great under that coach that coached those great Detroit teams in the 70s-80s but he eventually quit in disgust and since the New Jersey Nets have been rather disappointing considering the millions they pay those big men who must suffer some form of giantism. It looks strange to me to see a 7-foot 2-inch college freshman playing basketball. They're strength comes from their height but not their dribbling ability or shot-making agility--they make mostly dunks--most of them are horrible free throw shooters--like Shaq, one of the worst free throw shooters in B-ball history.

Anyway, soon downtown Brooklyn's skies will be filled with 55-story luxury apartment buildings surrounding a big, max-tacky basketball gymnasium--and this politically conniving bastard is doing all this egotistical destruction, ruining Brooklyn's old New York flavor, putting it into competition with overbuilding Manhattan through his manipulation of the awful City Council and the Zoning Board with promotion from his little buddy our billionaire nattily-attired nerd little guy mayor--like this asshole using eminent domain enforcement granted him by the city to tear down whole neighborhoods and businesses, intending to replace them with an astounding number of 55-story luxury apartment buildings all around this basketball arena complex, a gated community in downtown Brooklyn for the rich. Oh what a maddening heights that's gonna be one day when the Brooklyn Nets open their season in their new 20,000-seat arena--where's the 20,000-car parking lot gonna be? Then how big is the subway station servicing this complex gonna have to be and who's paying for that? This city-within-a-city idea has been around for years--think of the oldtimers like the Levittowns, the Sterrett Cities and Co-op Cities and Seagate out on Coney Island (look out for those coneys--anybody remember what a coney is?). Also Donald Trump for years has wanted to convert the old Pennsylvania Railroad Yards on the West Side of Manhattan into a Trump City--a complex that included 20 highrises the tallest of which would have been 70 stories--the limit for years in Manhattan was 50-stories--our little man mayor has now raised it to 55-stories, with special permission given to the eyesore Freedom Tower to shoot for the heavens, that pink elephant being built over the sacred ground at Ground Zero down at the site of the 9/11 attack (who did it? who did it?). At first they said this piece of architectural horror would be 1776-feet--in honor of Freedom, see--how stupid, but then they found out they could be the tallest building in the world by going up over 1800 feet--I'm not gonna swear on these facts, but anyway, my drift is, this piece of crap building has special permission to go sky higher than all these other plastic-plexiglass-boxes they refer to as "55-story high-rise luxury" apartment buildings. Zeus help our asses if a galeforce wind every blows down Manhattan's Broadway Alley--plexiglass will be flying everywhere, huge slabs of it, and pieces of concrete-slab balconies (nobody in New York City in their right minds uses their balconies--the air's too filthy) will be sailing around, too--Or-well, maybe I won't be here when that happens--though hurricanes do follow me around.

Brother Bill Moyers is so hitting the nail on the head about these wealthy assholes taking us over in his speech I posted a couple'a days ago.

The Edwardses
Oh boy oh boy, there are a lot of evil glances at the wolfman over these Edwardses; for instance, I've just been reading a bleeding heart liberal's defense of Miz Edwards as the bravest and most geniune woman in America right now, and then later this same correspondent reported how unfair Katie "the Cheerleader" Couric had been to Mrs. Edwards during her interview with them after their press conference (why would anyone take an interview by "the Cheerleader" seriously (she's obviously copycatting Bah-bra Walters, don't'cha think?).

I got a little rough on the Edwardses because, as I said yesterday, I consider all politicians, especially rich guys that don't really need the money these political jobs (jobs of service to the people, as Johnny Boy Edwards puts it) pay, total liars--always lying about something, especially about how they are not driven to politics by their superegos but by some altruistic impulse--get outta here!

It seems to me like the more honorable thing for this John Edwards to have done would have been to have dropped out of the presidential race he hadn't much of a chance of winning and given his wife as comfortable and enjoyable a life as possible in the small amount of time she has left instead of putting her right to work on your campaign--how conceited is that? Why not take your fortune your ole daddy left you--wealth made off the backs of slave labor probably--and buy a villa in the south of France and one in the Caribbean and one in the South Pacific and just travel around the world enjoying life till she finally succumbs...then trot yourself back out as a presidential candidate--you know, show off the little tow-head kids--the lonely daddy--he'll be married again pronto, don't you worry. Politicians to me are besides being liars also scumbags.

Or, hell, John, why not drop out of trying to be president to show your ole Southern Daddy up and research cures for the cancer invading your wife's body like We the People have invaded the bodies of the people of Afghanistan and Iraq--how many of those women have cancer and there's nothing they can do about it except set themselves on fire like the women do in Afghanistan rather than having to go back to putting on a burka and be treated lower than a camel's asshole.

"Impeach Bush" should be the only message these presidential candidates should be spouting. And John Edwards should be hollering to impeach the little spoiled rich brat phony "president" simply for his being against stem-cell research that may one day keep other women from getting the cancer your wife has and may one day make getting rid of the cancer in your wife's body a routine treatment. Of course, if you're heavily invested in HMOs or pharmaceuticals then you don't want to cure cancer--hell no.

So I said Johnny Boy Edwards was trotting out his dying wife in a political move--I mean politics is all these rich boys know--it was their daddies who made the wealth from the family businesses--OK, OK, I'm jealous; mark it up to that. F the rich; even John-Boy Edwards.

How many people are dying in Iraq as Mrs. Edwards is championed overhere as a saint?

Oh, sorry; those are just nameless heathen towelheads--lower than human assholes.

I also got a kick out of ole Trent Lott's returning to the political podium by condemning the Dumbocrats for wanting to bring the troops home NOW and not NEVER like Bush wants by saying we should let the generals in command in Iraq decide whether or not the troops come home or not. How is that big racist fool still able to comment on our affairs so boldly on television?

Trent Lott is back. Newtie Gingrich is back. Rudi "Mussolini" "I Had Three Wives--Though One Was My Second Cousin So She Didn't Count" Guiliana is back, the big dumb goombah Federal prosecuting attorney from Brooklyn who trickbagged New York Citians into believing they should be treated as criminals in order to stop the crime wave in NYC--especially if those citizens were black or Latino, who Rudi and white New Yorkers blamed for all crime in NYC; so Rudi swept into neighborhoods with his brown shirt goon squads and yeah, he stopped the crime wave--oh brave Rudi. Turned out it was Mayor David Dinkins who had doubled the NYC police force who had actually started tackling the crime wave and instead when Rudi was mayor, he rebuked the cops and firemen by never giving them contracts and never giving them raises and never giving them good equipment--look at what happened with the cops and firemen the day 9/11 hit--I mean they were as confused and scared and wondering as the rest of us--trying to act like cops and firemen but finding the enormity of this "odd" attack overwhelming--nobody was prepared for 9/11--nobody--nor are they anymore prepared now for say an attack on their precious Freedom Tower--that really does architecturally look like a big middle-finger aimed right at Mecca.

Pretty evil things I'm thinking, I know. I mean this bleeding heart liberal babe I was reading pitying poor Miz Edwards and nominating her for saint of the year--now that Anna Nicole Smith has been sanctified and sent to the "Heaven" area of the deepest parts of Heavenly Hell and most of Amurica has totally forgotten Amurica's dead princess. I'm so full of jest; it makes a wolf laugh his ass off.

I'm swearing off politics and going under the headphones and listening to some jazz: How about one of the greatest musical events ever recorded: Jaki Byard and his band at Lennie's on the Turnpike up in West Peabody, Mass, on the Mass Turnpike--April 15, 1965, Jaki Byard Quartet Live! with Joe Henderson, George Tucker, and Alan Dawson--the cut "Twelve" has got to be one of the best live things I've ever heard in me life! Prestige CD PCD 24121-2.

Now Jaki, there's a great loss of a human life--

Jaki took a bullet from some unknown source while he was laying across his bed resting one day years ago--one sad day years ago for me.

for The Daily Growler

A thegrowlingwolf Addendum:

I've been castigated by a bleeding-heart-liberal friend by saying my treatment of Johnny Boy Edwards and his lovely wife Elizabeth was outrageous--that didn't bother me--I thought their press conference outrageous--but anyway, my friend went on to say that John Edwards wanted to end poverty in America. I retorted that he voted for the Wars in Iraq and Afghanistan (you know I consider this war illegal, too) and he has consistently voted for more funds for the Wars and for the Pentagon and for Homeland Security; plus he voted wholeheartedly for the Homeland Security Act; nor has he ever stood up on the floor and caused any kind of controversy or debate--hell no, these days he's too busy running for president and saying now, that it's too late, he's sorry he voted for the War in Iraq--proud he voted for the Afghani annihilation all because of an oil pipeline that runs from the oil and gas-rich Caspian Sea, onto which IRAN borders, by the way, to the heavy buyers in Europe (remember Unka Dick is heavily invested in gas--he's from Wyoming, don't forget--he's a Texan, but he ran out of Wyoming to get elected to the House--and Wyoming's main source of income is from its vast coal fields and gas wells in eastern Wyoming--check out the Powder River Basin area in your Wikipedia). It's all for oil and gas--ENERGY--it's all about energy. Staying alive is about energy. You've gotta have ENERGY to keep on struggling with this unfair Capitalist system we are forced to live under.

I'm listening to Zev Confrey's lovely African Suite written in 1924. It's soothingly American--it is very folksy and peaceful like the American landscapes are.

as an afterthought for The Daily Growler

Sunday, March 25, 2007

Sic, Sic, Sic

I'm Sick of Politics and Politicos
I'm watching this South Carolina-rich-boy fool J0hn Edwards making a self-important wimp out of himself while allowing his wife to either join him on continuing his presidential bid (it'll be one of those Hell-freezing-over days if he even gets the Dumbocratic nomination) or go ahead an die; he ain't gonna do a damn thing to comfort her--and even if she dies during the campaign, he won't miss a step. Boy, these rich assholes sure do want to be in politics don't they? Like Brother Bill Moyers said in his speech I posted in yesterday's post, the rich and powerful are taking us over through politics; through lobbying; through perks, kickbacks, vested interests--all these rich bastards whether politicians or outright crooks (most politicians definitely are lying crooks) are investing and gathering in the sheaves through these two illegal occupations the US is carrying out in Afghanistan and Iraq--making Afghanistan and Iraq our dependencies--and itching to mightily waddle into Iran, kill another 600,000 people in the name of Freedom, and leave them all standing around wearing Depends given them by the Halliburton Humanitarian Foundation. The wealthy, the plutocrats, are jabbering and backstabbing among themselves over these piles and piles of billions upon trillions of US big bucks out there for the taking, stealing, forging, counterfeiting, or simply picking up off the ground. And oh how wealthy these wealthy are getting: wealthier and wealthier, with the really Big Daddys of the wealthy world like Little Billy Gates having more wealth than most of the sovereign nations of the world. Think about that. Bill Gates and Warren "Junk Bond" Buffett are in tow wealthier than all Third World nations's wealths combined.

Isn't that too much? Can't We the People regulate the wealthy through our government? Bill Moyers cynically thinks it's impossible. I agree with him. We the People have to revolutionize our government if we want control of it; We the People have to change our obsolete voting laws and the "aristocratic" electoral college; We the People have to revolutionize the banking system in this country; We the People have to regulate our own Congress; We the People really need to modernize our Constitution; We the People have to drastically change the tax laws--add Wealth taxes; Luxury taxes; Excess Profits taxes--bring some of this plutocratic wealth back home where it was produced on the backs of the US labor force and the fights that labor force had to go through a 100 years ago over the same problems our workforce and economy are facing today--either We the People take production back or we allow ourselves to become cheap labor in the global marketplace. We should figure how to relocalize our production--like, why can't communities themselves produce their own energies, their own foods, their own futures. What happened to the farmer's co-ops and things started in the 30s in this country? As far as that goes, what happened to "conscience raising," though I, of course, wolfishly deny there is such a thing as a conscience.

I'm so tired of politicians. They are such out-and-out crooks, bingers, egomaniacs, and big liars. They are two-faced. Ultra-hypocritical. Natural born liars. They lie so much they can't distinguish the fake from the genuine. Hillary? A liar. Obama? A liar. Slick Willie? A liar. Unka Dick Cheney? A prevaricator royale. Georgie Porgie, our phony "president"? He is an anthropomorphized LIE--a lying machine. John Edwards and his cancer-stricken wife? I'm sorry, but I think they are lyin' like dogs, too. Cancer doesn't spread to your bones and you start acting like nothing's wrong and you're going on with your life as normal. She'll be dead in a month; John Edwards's presidential career is already dead.

for The Daily Growler

77 Wasted Hours of Intellect?

symmetrical mathematics

one of the most symmetrical mathematical structures in the universe, calculated by 18 mathematicians over 4 years & generated by about 77 hours of supercomputer computation. as one of the most complicated of the "exceptional simple Lie groups" , "E8" describes the symmetries of a 57-dimensional object that can in essence be rotated in 248 ways without changing its appearance. according to the researchers, this "some sort of curvy, torus type of thing" ... "could well determine the deep inner structure of the universe".

see also ulam prime spiral & number spiral & math sculptures & lorenz manifold.

[links: & (pdf)|via &]

continue reading "symmetrical mathematics" »

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Amongst the Rabble

Yet Another Inscription Set Upon the Great Gate of Theleme
From the pen of Rabelais:
"Here enter not fond makers of demurs
In love adventures, peevish, jealous curs,
Sad pensive dotards, raisers of garboils,
Hags, goblins, ghosts, firebrands of household broils,
Nor drunkards, liars, cowards, cheaters, clowns,
Thieves, cannibals, faces o'ercast with frowns,
Nor lazy slugs, envious, covetous,
Nor blockish, cruel, nor too credulous,--
Here mangy, pocky folks shall have no place,
No ugly lusks, nor persons of disgrace.

"Grace, honour, praise, delight,
Here sojourn day and night.
Sound bodies lined
With a good mind,
Do here pursue with might
Grace, honour, praise, delight."
[Rabelais, Gargantua and Pantagruel, First Modern Library Edition, 1928.]

Imagine putting drunkards, liars, cheaters, thieves, cannibals, and faces o'ercast with frowns under the same roof. It would make a hell of a sitcom. Or a "survivor" series. [How awfully Hollywood casting couch unreal are those teevee produced "Survivor" shows--a bunch of Hollywood bartenders, waiters, cannibals, cheaters, liars, would-be bun-squeezers and prom queens, sex switchers and muddled brained latest craze mimics. Most of what's on teevee is idiotic.

I have a reply from Mark Green, new head of Air America Radio, in my mailbox but I'm not ready for it yet. I was pretty hard on Air American and Randi Rhodes in a comment on a letter Mark Green sent me explaining how Air America was America's new progressive voice, blah, blah, blah, and a whole lot of, you know, thegrowlingwolf snarling out his fang-drippings at the lot of them and calling the lot of them not progressives but just regular stupid old Dumbocratic Party line followers who were the breeders of loser candidates, especially Randi Rhodes great babbling praise of our stupid troops in Iraq and especially giving high praise to rascal generals like Wesley Clark and ex-VietNam vets in the Senate, like Murtaugh...I was pretty wolfishly vicious. But I didn't give a shit what Mark Green's reply would be, a standard bullshit statement declaring Air America importance and declaring me full of racism, professional envy, bitternesses galore, and primarily shit.

F-em. I made my statement and that's that. No rebuttals in my courtroom. I don't listen to Air America anymore.

When I open it, I'll post it--I'll even post my comment, if it's still on their site.

Another Wake-up Call From Brother Bill Moyers
I keep quoting old Uncle Bill Moyers because he's a fellow Texan with a similar growing-up experience, except old Bill follow Jesus into theology school and then into politics and I disavowed Jesus and travelled off down a path I cleared myself through the Jungle of Life. Brother Bill knows what's going on in this country--he really does; he's worked for Lyndon "Big Balls" Johnson, so Bill was there when all the VietNam mess was going on, when Johnson decided not to run for reelection in '68. Then Brother Billy became head of Long Island's newspaper Newsday and he tried to bring it up to the level of an all-New York City newspaper but he never got it that high on the newstand racks; where it is today, I don't know.

Bill hired Les Payne though as his editorial writer and old Les was a smart one he was.

Here's Bill making a speech at Occidental College out in L.A.:

for The Daily Growler

The Daily Growler has been saying the very same things Uncle Bill Moyers and all the indie newsblogs and Air America but with more venom and intelligence--Bill Moyers had 50 years to spill the beans about what was going on in Washington--now he's coming clean; why? Because Bill is on the outside when it comes to these Neo-Cons. He's on their hitlist.

The Daily Growler sees Bush and his political family as being worthy only of IMPEACHMENT and definitely prison for the rest of their dirty lives--why debate anything else? Why not attack the disease at its core?

Friday, March 23, 2007

Peace? What's it?

There's No Such Thing
I’ve decided that there will never be “peace perfect” peace. Never. Why? It’s impossible, that’s why. Think of yourself and your daily life; every day, estimate how many hours of pure peace you have. Don’t use sleeping as peace unless like me you don’t dream and even if you don’t dream most people’s sleep is not peaceful at all. If anything, your body is regenerating while you're sleeping and that can’t be very peaceful. The process of human evacuation isn’t a peaceful process either, is it?

Art thou catching my drift?

There certainly cannot ever be any kind of world peace—in the Gestalt sense—unless there is an undiscovered place still left on the planet, a Shangra-La (no it’s not Los Angeles!), where everything’s in harmony and the principles of pleasure are followed diligently and where even human evacuating is a pleasure and not a chore.

According to my instincts, I am constantly being called back into the Jungle, the perfect state of Nature, the compleat world. No, I do not want to go back into the Jungle and live under Nature's laws. Hell no there is no peace in Nature. Case closed. But we humans were supposed to through our heightened instincts figure out how to CONTROL (opposite of peace, right?) the Jungle and turn its treasures into a civilized form and its “evils” into extinction—that’s why humans naturally don’t give a damn about “wild” (savage) animal brothers and sisters disappearing from the world—that’s the whole idea of Civilization—the eradication of all EVIL (Live spelled backwards), including those "evil" animals--"the beasts of the fields."

The Chinese thinkers seemed to better understand this than Westerners did and they also seemed to better understand how to deal with it in a true “two sides to every object” sense, that sense expressed in the Chinese concept of yin and yang. Confucius especially seemed to understand it and Lao Tzu—they understood it as a statistical problem, a sociological study where all sides are valued and then graphically visualized and then “poetically” explained—I now think that “pictorially” may be a better word than "poetically" since to me the pictograph is the first true dictionary, a society of socially minded human beings grunting and ugh-ing and flailing about their hands in gestures of trying to identify something like “big deer with big horns is correct deer to kill for food; smaller deer with no horns is mother deer and necessary to keep alive in order to have big deer for festival and dancing and mafficking and much, much fun after the braves have proven themselves with a successful hunt. Amen. Selah.”

Death, of course, is the real TERRORIST in all our lives, both individually and socially. Death is behind everything we do. Living is the struggle. As new beings on this planet, and we are very young compared to other beasts, we have established “paths” for ourselves, to get us through the jungle or the desert or the wilderness, and it is these paths that show us the easiest way to get through life with as little to fear as possible, though all these paths lead to an ending; all these paths lead to death—unless society so worships the path you set for them that they begin to idolize you as “eternal” and through that sanctified state start believing (“true believers”) (Am I full of Baedeker parentheses?) they are “reborn” to show their new divine path, that path that leads past the grave and into a great mysterious unknown paradise in which billions upon billions of us and billions upon on billions of wild savage beasts will live together in thankful brother- and sisterhood plentiful paradise in that distant unknown space in some hidden other world outerspace—I assume from reading the Christian Book of Their Path and the Baghavad-Gita or Zarathustra—you know, that “one day the lion will lay down with the lamb,” though I honestly know that's BS. Let me assure you, folks, there will never be a day anywhere where you can put a lamb down by a lion and the lamb won’t get eaten. Even put a lamb down by a human and he might get eaten, too. “The blood of the lamb of God—(that’s Jesus, folks)” is the bait Christian priests and shamans use to get folks to line up and tithe, the scent of that lamb’s blood stirring up the believers's hunting instincts as we first have to satisfy our thirst, then our hunger, and then we look for pleasure, which should include sleeping, which is why sleep is not a basic instinct. We struggle to stay awake—that time when we are alert—you know—the time we are on constant alert, where when we’re asleep…you get the picture.

All a writer is is a pictographer. They now say cuneiform was an actual alphabet rather than a pictographic language, to which I say, OK, why can’t it, though, be a higher form of pictography?

So there will never be any peace because due to our fear of death we don’t know how to trust. Hippies found out during the Vietnam War protests that your enemies are trained to kill you due to their fear of your talk of peace and love. Sex is not a pleasure to most people; it is an instinct that has to be performed if WE are to continue to live—the thinking that says (and this is pure MALE thinking, which most of the written-down paths are, by the way, MALE paths—because the males are the ones who go out and clear the paths through the jungle; males are also the mapmakers—OK, here we go, who came first the chicken or the egg?—impossible to answer, except I sometimes answer it by saying a woman is simply a reverse man—she has a penis and if you don’t believe me go on the Internet and look at photos of clitorises. Wow, there are some clitorises in this world that look exactly like little penises coming from right where a man’s penis comes from, at that vee under the stomach, just over where her testicles have reversed and become ovaries—and the vagina is a blossoming flower, that it is, “the vestibule of love” as the Romans called it that beckons the penetration of the thirsty male’s pollinating prong—though need I go into it—it’s really too poetic a subject for this common ordinary blog.

So peace is impossible. Moments of peace in history—could we call it periods of stability in history—I don’t know—I suppose there is somewhere on this earth a place where there has never been war or murder or assassination or criminals—I don’t know where it is—Switzerland is as close as I can come to it—maybe New Zealand—or maybe as close to perfect peace while alive is found high up in the Himalayas with that people called the Hunzas—anybody ever heard of them? The Hunza diet is supposed to be the healthiest diet on earth—whole grains, dates, nuts, stuff like that. The US Christian cult of the Seventh Day Adventists practice the Hunza style of living—or they used to—their famous hospital in Loma Linda, California, was based on Hunza diets and exercises and stuff like that. I may have my cart before the muskox here, but I once dated a 56-year-old virgin who amused me with that fact all one evening who was a Rosicrucian (another California nut cult) and she told me all about the Hunzas and gave me a book on them that had in it the Hunza way of curing a backache. This exercise actually helped a friend of mine when I told him about it and showed him how to do it—you lie on your back, gather your legs up to your chest, move your head forward, and then you rock like a rocking chair, back and forth, using your spine as the rocker. This dude praised me highly for helping him cure his back pains—why, I thought he was going to nominate me for a Nobel Prize that year he was so thankful. I never have had a backache in my life so I don’t know if that Hunza method works or not.

for The Daily Growler

Thursday, March 22, 2007

More Jots and Tittles

Off the Cuff Stuff
I'm going to write like the late Larry King--oops, I'm sorry, he just looks dead-- did when he used to write a newspaper column back when he was at his peak and on his third wife, maybe after his first heart attack, who the hell knows or cares? Anyway, Larry used to write stuff like: "Hey, that Stephen King has written another bestseller I'll bet you; it's surely going to raise him to the writing icon of this new century." So here we go, thegrowlingwolf as Larry King:

1. Marilyn Monroe told her best friend she had never experienced an orgasm--she told her this right before they found M.M. dead in her apartment, supposedly a suicide though a lot of people were suspicious of how she died, some saying the Kennedy boys had her offed--both of them were banging her at the time, especially Bobby--or some said the Kennedys's Mafia association with Sam Giancono (sic) of Chicago (the Mafia and Mayor Richard Daley go Jack Kennedy elected by rigging the Chicago vote enough Kennedy carried Illinois and that put him over the top in a close election with the Tricky One, Quaker Dick "I Am Not a Crook" Nixon) had her whacked because she was talking about the boys too much. By the bye, rumors were the Feds offed you in those days by injecting you with drugs--there was a rumor that LBJ was shot full of cancer by the FBI on a helicopter flight from Austin, Texas, back to his Pedernales Ranch--and he did die of cancer not many weeks later. Jack Ruby, by the bye, died of cancer in the Dallas jail before he ever had a chance to say who had paid him to off old crazy ass CIA agent Lee Harvey Oswald, a Fort Worth boy whose weird military experience with the US Marines is a weird, weird story, full of intrigue and spies and ending with Lee marrying a Soviet bimbo, Marina brother told me that after he had interviewed Marina for his newspaper, a Federal agent told him that Marina was F-ing every Fed agent on the case--

2. A Neo-Con obsession: MARKET ACCESSIBILITY.

3. The Spanish teevee network has what they call Calleoke--singing in the street to popular tunes--comprende Vd?

4. I think I saw on teevee that KY Jelly now has a jelly product called "Intrigue--for intimate moments." I love advertising; I love how sleazy, wholly sleazy, it is. Why not just say, "Men, lather this on your cock and it'll slip like a pocket rocket into your baby's tight-tight vagina--and HOT DAMN! your smooth action will have her singing a high-voiced song of total ecstasy before the night is over--OR, perhaps, another period of lathering up with INTRIGUE, and the night may never end. Remember, MEN, when it starts perkin' up, it may need a little Intrigue to smooth out the rough edges and give you that winning ride you know you're capable of...and she'll reward you with her best prize!"

5. The popular teevee show CSI Miami uses a tune called "We Don't Get Fooled Again"--though I have no idea who the band is on the tune. I can't keep up with pop music these days--the stars come and go so fast I'm lost in the stars without any idea who any of them are these days--like whatever happened to the big fat Burger King-eating black singer with the falsetto voice who won on American Idol? (Does it piss you off like it does me that a British fop, a has-been ex-disco queen, and an unknown black dude are choosing who our current singing stars and their copycat styles are these days--though winning amateur shows has been a way for young people to become stars in this country from way back, but, come on, now...American Idol is the worst of our amateurs, isn't it?)

6. "Music is the organization of sound," said Lester Bowie, the late jazz trumpeter.

7. Did you hear that the Supreme Idiot Court recently declared that Puerto Rico "is foreign in a domestic sense." What the hell does that mean? Where do these fool rightwinger judges come up with such shit?

8. Blackwater, in their inifinite care, gave a benefit for Katrina victims--they forced their way into New Orleans in the aftermath of the storm uninvited--did you know that?--and they raised $130, 000, which they gave to the worthless and crooked Red Cross. At the same time, Blackwater was overcharging Homeland Security for their services in New Orleans to the tune of $240,000 a day. Amazing this Blackwater. A private army who could actually come to your neighborhood, surround it, declare it a security zone, and come in and begin searching your home or apartment without warrants, without any right to do so except that granted it by it's Homeland Security and State Department contracts--worth close to a billion dollars--which means everything Blackwater does they can declare it National Security and "top secret." This happening in America! How about that, folks!

9. Simple commands lead to the complicated images we call Fractals.

Wow, I got rid of all these worthless jots and tittles that are all over pieces of paper that are all over my desktop....

Baseball is looking better and better as it gets close to opening days--looks like both New York teams are again going to be major players in their divisions this year--except the Mets haven't looked that great in spring training. It all depends on pitchers and the Mets pitching staff is instable at the moment.

A friendly little post, don't you think?

Getting very close to April 6th, which will be the one year anniversary of The Daily Growler and at which time I'm headin' back to Davenport and a little r and r with a jug of Keokuk moonshine, maybe a hot Davenport babe, and some Chet Baker on the hi-fi.

Sometimes I hate blogging. I'm sure I would hate most bloggers--including myself.

for The Daily Growler

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Looking for Peace When There Is No Peace

Perhaps I've Been Looking in the Wrong Place for Peace
Maybe peace within is the only peace there really is--and there is never really any peace within. What animal has perfect peace on earth? None. Name one. Even in the insect world--except with something like ants, assiduous ants, each with a role to perform for a royal lump of bee jelly fat-ass queen bee ["I'm a king bee, and I buzz around your hive...I can give a hundred reasons to let me come inside" James Moore (Slim Harpo)--and this is something youthful intellectuals don't consider because they've intellectualized themselves to believe WE are unique--so they don't believe that we can be reduced to an ant-like society of robot workers producing royal bee jelly for the fat, sassy, and bloated rich, our future rulers, the plutocrat aristocracy--which includes Saudi Arabian princes, including our old pal Osama Bin Laden, Bill and Melinda Gates, good ole Warren "Thank you, Daddy" Buffett, Jimmy Buffett, Unka Dick Cheney, Bill and Hill Clinton, Nancy Pelosi, John Kerry and Mrs. Heinz Ketchup, Unka Teddy Kennedy, all the Kennedy clan, Okra Winfrey (I'm sorry, Oprah, Harpo spelled backwards, for Slim Harpo? oh no, Harpo Marx--I'd call my production company Lark X-ram if I were Okra)--and all the other filthy rich of the world and trust me, there are millions of these goons and they're rich enough to rule our asses easy--you know, with the help of the Blackwater gang, the new corporate army that is developing right under our stupid noses--our noses that have no smell capacity due to our smoking and sucking Vick's rub up our nostrils--ugh--and I had a point. I was going to compare robotic ant-like human cheap labor with scientifically stupid Christians who really believe that an underage Judean chick married to a 75-year-old Judean carpenter from the slums of Nazareth, Judea, bore the son of THE BIG DADDY in the sky and they ardently believe the totally unscientific legends (expressions of pure instinct a la Carl Jung) over the scientific fact of evolution...already I have no peace. Bringing up Christianity to me causes me to start growling so fiercely my heart overpalpitates and my fangs start dripping with mad-caused phlegm...I want some throat, dammit...

There is no F-ing peace.

There is some peace, a wee drop of peace before the storm of progress hits New York City. thedailygrowlerhousepianist just emailed around an interesting article on the old subject of predatory economics currently ruling the world--cosily fitting snuggly cheek-to-cheek with the Neo-Cons and their designs for us all--WE ARE INTENDED TO BE EVENTUALLY BE GOOD GERMANS, all of us, red and yellow, black and white, as the racially intent Christians put it. We are all eventually going to be like ants, worker ants, drone ants, but none of us queens--well, some of us can still get to be queens.

Are the tanks in the street yet?--"Oh, look, ma, the tanks say 'Blackwater Ground Forces' on their sides--oh, look, ma, I think that tank's fixin' to blow us to Kingdom Come, Praise the Lard and pass the biscuits and gravy." I will try and excerpt some of this predatory eco article later in this post of peace searching.

These posts--hell, blogging is anything but peaceful. I came across a new blog by a dude who was influential in my brother's end-life career as a college department head. It was a cheery start for a new blog--all wide-eyed and full of himself, underlining how he wasn't a native Texan but that he had become a more-than-native-Texan since embedding himself within the state and then becoming the head of an important studies department at a major Texas university. He was gonna stick with this blogging and was gonna have a fine time doing it. His first post was interesting, about a part of Texas that is very economically and ethnically interesting, the old coal-mining and oil-boom area of Texas that ran from Breckenridge north down through the Brazos River Valley through Strawn (especially Strawn) and Palo Pinto, the ghost town of Thurber, on down south of there into Erath County near Stephenville (no oil there just good land and good crops), mentioning my grandmother's novel in it in regards to Palo Pinto and where that name comes from.

That was it. I looked for more postings but there weren't any. That post, believe it or not, got about 10 comments--I mean 10 comments for his first blog entry! Wow! Nobody must read The Daily Growler based on comments--we've not gotten 10 in over a year of struggle (actually we've gotten nearly 500 hits and we've gotten over 220 comments, though most of the comments were SPAM invasions--"Hi, loved your blog, it's really cool...just like Jerry and I were discussing investing in Carl's new pool table looks really promising, I kid you not...." All bloggers know these comments. You reject them without opening most of them. And then just as I think nobody is reading my posts, I get a comment from a very important person relative to the subject discussed in the blog, like my post on the poet Vachel Lindsay got back an interesting comment from the president of the Vachel Lindsay Society (the Vachel Lindsay fan club). That impressed me. I see now, it depends on your subject as to how many hits and comments you get--like my old pal l hat and his ex-blog-now-site--he gets tons of comments, some long and important in the discussion of l hat's research in the world of linguistics. l hat's risen from a coworker of mine in the grubby advertising game to I think a very important voice in US linguistics. I once told someone l hat was the smartest man I'd ever met and I've met a hell of a lot of men and women who were acclaimed for their smartness but I'd put l hat up against them in a intellectual cockfight any day. I've been lucky in my life; geniuses seem to like me and understand me; geniuses and criminal types--who was it said criminals can't be geniuses? Ezra? I'm thinking to myself.

Anyway, I keep going back to this Texas guy's site and, nope, nothing more than that one post. Either he realized he couldn't even dare keep a blog running and live a decent life at the same time or he died. Given my luck lately, he's dead. Don't worry; I can't curse the guy; since I didn't use his real name, he may not even exist; he's a figment of my imagination.

Just before New York City explodes into cacophony, it's 8:45 am as I type this--I'm listening to Virgil Thomson's film scores, The River and The Plow That Broke the Plains (really great American classical writing; as close to Ives, my gold standard in classical composing, as I've come--a little too precise for Ives--but at least in keeping with American musical forms with as little Euro influence as possible--I mean, Virgil was a Francophile and studied with Nadia Boulanger, who loved young American boys, especially the gay boys and girls--and certainly loved Virgil, though her influence was on his compositional style and not necessarily the music he had in his head he had to write out--it's American music written European compositionally--Ives, you see, even rejected European notation to a degree--that's why he loved experimenting with dissonances and antiphonies, especially quartertone music, the "playing between the cracks" music, which is how you perform the quartertone scale that Ives invented--you literally have to make a clear note out of the cracks, like from C to C sharp and then C sharp to D flat--you have to make that 5 notes--see! Isn't that exciting? Thomson's is pithy compared to Ives but he's cool and he sticks to the plains for his folk background--he grew up in Kansas City, Mo, and even played church organ in Kansas City, Mo. Virgil grew up in Kansas City at the same time swing hit town and Charles Parker, Jr. was down on 12th Street and Vine diggin' Lester and Buster Smith...Wow, think of that; that's how related all our music is, dig?

I am at peace for the rest of this day--except I can still hear the opposite of peace reverberating all around the world. Is the world neurotic or is it just me?

for The Daily Growler

Today's for your entertainment:


I was going through a pile of stuff from my distant past, and I came across an errata slip I seem to have acquired in the late '70s. There's no indication of the book it came from, and most of the half-dozen items are perfectly normal typos (p. 129, line 1, read "Gongbo" for "Gangbo"). But the first and last items are:

p. 57, line 14, read "pornographic" for "pomographic";
Back cover, line 3, read "literature" for "illiterature".
That's what's wrong these days: too much pomographic illiterature!