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Sananda Maitreya

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Welcome to these HOARSE WHISPERS, may it help dispel the HEGEMONY OF TEDIUM.


Philosophy is our attempt to explain our own psychology. It doesn’t need to be more than that and usually isn’t.


SOCIETY IS THE CONSPIRACY.


Congrats new Supreme justice SOTOMAYER. Well done!


We are clear about this. Trends follow mimicry, and mimics adhere to trends. I simply cannot see another man, as is now ‘de rigueur’, accompanied by a dog which he can carry in the palm of his hand. ‘Aw, how sensitive, how sweet, look at him and his precious little canine, and his cute little vest’. Enough of this mockery of manhood, this assault on machismo sensibility, these are dogs for men who wear eyeliner, and not just to work. Leave those micro dogs to models and therapists. The essential rules are basic. Unless Fido is hurt or injured, we simply do not carry our dogs. Why not just get a purse instead and carry that around? A man’s dog has to be bigger than a rodent and it is entirely appropriate that the Chinese season and eat these canine runts. And they are mean little sons of bitches. A man’s dog should be no smaller than a good old Jack Russell terrier, smaller is far too gay (and you know this). And if you have to walk around holding your dog in the palm of your hand, then you are not real, though I am willing to make exceptions for very gifted clothing designers.


We have respect for the Jack Russell tribe, they are a good blooded tribe, from good stock they come.


Moses’ strength came from the knowledge that despite all of the immense manifesting powers of EGYPT, inclusive of their great power to obscure, their answers were only ever the echoes of his own questions. And if the answer obscures the question, the question was the right question.


I saw a very tall basketball player sized blond Scandinavian in an airport with a striking red t-shirt that read, MOSES WAS A BLACK MAN.


It took a while for me to catch up to it, but METALACOLYPSE rocks! It’s like a cross between BEAVIS AND BUTTHEAD and SPINAL TAP, though more gothic and dry in its sensibility. It’s funny most of all and does tell a truth about the state’s fear of its people’s natural will. DETHCLOCK RULES! (Cue head exploding in a grisly mass).


The ‘Waterboarders’ Ball brought to you by the DISORIENT EXPRESS.


OK, true confessions, even at the risk of embarrassment. Once, during the mid 90’s, I sat right next to a beauty in the front row of first class and I was the only asshole on the entire flight who didn’t know who she was. And only as I were very tired and anxious about the meeting I were due to have once landed in NYC did I not make an at least cursory pass at her loveliness and divine scent. That’s right, me, who didn’t recognize myself sitting smack dab next to KRISTEN DAVIS of SEX AND THE CITY. Because, naturally since every other guy I know would’ve drooled and gagged somewhat, I’m the butthole who never watched TV, brooding over music, and therefore missed out on what could have at least been an interesting conversation. We were in that cabin at the front, up against the wall, off to the right of the main aisle, as cosy as that. I just remember being exhausted, disoriented from a busy and jet lagged schedule and mindful of not being a nuisance to a pretty woman who seemed to already be getting bothered a lot by everyone else on the flight. Not knowing who she were at that point, she were pretty comfortable to fall asleep next to on an airplane. It were important I sleep, as once arrived in the city, we had our usual meeting awaiting us with the legendary Sony executive troika whereby I would be given the usual dosage of whatever bullshit most amused them to pass on to me at that time. It often began by me being told that I were still considered a ‘jewel’ in the Sony crown (though seemingly not one of the ones on the top or in the front, perhaps one of those ‘applique’ ‘fugazi’s’ right in the back of the crown by the neck, the part that the naps of hair obscure), it were clear even then that they were tap dancing for time while my ‘fatwa’ were in effect. As we recall, they were very interested in my ideas, just not in me being the one to realize them. I cut off from them completely after surmising that they were bleeding me, but not feeding me. I was certainly not going to be THAT nigger for them anymore. They had no class, neither did their support system, which were all the more obvious for pretending to be silent and not involved. Conspiracy is already written into the way they do business and present themselves. Of that there is no doubt. I may have fared better had I skipped the meetings altogether and simply followed Kristen Davis to the set of her series and tried to get a job as BEST BOY.


After my return from a holiday on the fair isle of CRETE, we can say without fanfare that we didn’t once run into any CRETINS, as might have been expected.


Though clearly more and more men have beef, particularly, black entertainers are stripped of their assets when appearing in family courts. Men with much larger, independent fortunes do not seem as punished per dollar as are performers, who are largely themselves dependant on the largesse of their industry. It seems designed, these ‘sentences’, to chastise them for their wealth, while keeping them tied to the source of it for maintenance of control. I’ve had white friends keep a larger share of their income as opposed to black friends who always seem harder hit by the judgement, whose children have to be clothed as if in ermine, their little feet never touching the ground, insuring that they will have not necessarily a better more productive, confident life, but certainly a more spoiled and expensive one.


SUFFOCATION BY THEORY.


Death does not come when your life ends, but when your dream dies.


PMR- MUSIC FOR UNCENSORED MINDS!


Health care is a civil rights issue. Among its opponents are those who fear the ‘equality’ it may engender and encourage and it has ‘survival of the fittest’ connotations which make many uncomfortable. It mat serve to inspire a more level playing field. ONLY LOSERS FEAR A MORE LEVEL PLAYING FIELD. It seems silly to oppose health care for Americans, we deserve it, our viral prejudices notwithstanding. We are mean and hostile bastards and naturally the big multinational ‘medical’ industry wishes to remain in charge of our lives, without exactly doing anything for us but remaining in the way of healing and what we claim of our Christian values.


For the numeric, THE 9 WORKS FOR THE 8.


There is no truth to the most recent allegations that PMR is a music enhanced by steroids.


…otherwise when stuck for inspiration, the right critical answer in the all important now moment, I ask myself WWSAHD? It has become almost a mantra, a helpful mind relaxant. Perhaps in crucial moments you may also ask yourself, WHAT WOULD SEAL AND HEIDI DO?


Boys unsure of their mother’s love gravitate towards being daredevils, some even are drawn to the commission of death defying acts.


Our best work is done without having to explain ourselves.


A warrior is always walking the thin line between epaulets and epitaphs.


Respect your anger.


Our world is gone mad as the few who maintain control of the many have themselves gone insane and are engaged in a brutal power struggle for control of the fleecing of the future. It is a good strategy for the other animals to escape the farm while the big dogs are fighting amongst themselves.


AUNG SAN SU KYI!


…IS ONE OF MY HEROES. The problem with the Myanmar military/government is that they are ALL TALK AND NO AXIOMS.


Preparation is one of the greatest forms of prayer.


I get on well in the Greek lands, being that I myself am an UNORTHODOX GREEK.


No soul inhabits a human life to be neutral. Choose your side and then be willing to kick ass for it.


Above all TRUST YOURSELF. Trying leads to crying. Resolve and do.


Philosophy keeps us company while a man is growing a pair of balls. ACTION is the best philosophy. It can be explained later.


If it looks real, it is real, even if it is not there.


Sight and vision. The difference? Vision trusts what it sees, whether anyone else can see it or not. Sight can only imagine what it sees. Vision is imagination. Sight is fact and because of that, flat. Sight sees what is. Vision sees what will be, as vision is itself a function of will.


If you love it, it will work itself out.


Hypocrisy leads to defeat.


Often, FASCISM is but a fancy word for BANK TAKEOVER AND TRANSFER OF ASSETS.


The Fable Recording Groups newest sensation, ACAPELLA AL CAPONE, have announced the cancellation of their Fall 40 city North American tour. The band and their management determined after having sold out all of the tickets in advance, that having seen just how popular they were, there was no interest thereafter in having to go out on the road and do the ‘actual’ shows. ‘The show was in seeing how much faster we could sell tickets than our label mate rivals BANNING SHAWN FANNING, and we did what we set out to accomplish, which was to embarrass them. We are content’, said band spokesman, LEE HARVEY KILLER. No word yet from their label about a refund policy. The band’s latest million seller was the controversial, HAVE YOUR COCK AND EAT IT TOO.


Your mother bleaches her thighs.


Knowing the difference between fear and instinct allows one to master both.


We celebrate our life in our clothes. Choose them well as they appeal to you. Wear them well!


To appear slovenly is an apology for our being alive.


Somalia’s so called ‘self-destruction’ is receiving a LOT of help from interested parties. An Africa at peace, turned inward, is a SCARY THOUGHT to Europe and her apologists. Africa focussed and in control means a lot less for us. Greed dominates all foreign policy.


Africa’s curse? All of those amazingly rich resources and all of those blacks running around on top of it. You get the feeling that were they not so rich and exploitable, we’d give them more credit for their humanity. We’ll be better neighbours once they run out of stuff everyone else wants.


For whom we export GOD, we import the bulk of their stuff.


Once come the missionaries, the land ‘developers’ seem not far behind.


The missionaries come not to ‘sell’ God, but to trade him for resources.


I am not a socialist, though to claim that all socialism is bad is to ignore how our sports leagues are by and large run like SOCIALISM FOR THE RICH. Parity and all of that salary cap stuff is hardly a system designed by true Capitalists. We are suspiciously silent, opponents of anything which smacks of socialism (like Universal health care), when the major networks and sports leagues and the way they do business are discussed, and they have entrenched socialist ideals when it comes to our games, and whatever else it is that minorities and poor whites are successful in. Only when the poor or middle class behave like socialists do we feign upset and bouts of misplaced nationalism. One of America’s dirty little secrets is how, the richer you are, the more socialism offered to you by the state.


Even the idea of the ‘draft’ is socialism at play. Otherwise your and my team would raise more money and dominate the scene as they are supposed to. We would attract the new talent that wishes to be there and not a talent which has less choice of work environment than you or I. Socialism is better in medicine than in sports. How much money they stand to make doesn’t make the principle we say we belong to any more viable. It in fact ensures that money can always be used as the wedge between us and our notions of democracy. Everything is for sale. The draft is something that the communists might have come up with. Teams should be able to recruit just as the colleges are allowed to, IT IS THE ONLY REAL FAIR WAY, if we are a capitalist system. Otherwise, what else could it be but socialism disguised as brain trust? It is plantation level bartering. Imagine being drafted by a record company? Scary!


And many weak poorly managed teams, franchises, are artificially kept alive by the socialism of revenue sharing, whereas in a perfect world, we would never see their sorry logo’s and teams again. The ‘market’ would ensure that the better teams and markets survived, and that ‘intelligent design’ as it were, always profited from itself and its evolution as that. We are a firm bunch of hypocrites like that, a man attends a rally and decries health reform as creeping socialism, then sits down with a beer in front of his flat screen, blissfully ignorant of how, through subsidised corporate socialism, he can afford to sit in front of the TV and watch the same game that is stealing revenue from his hometown as well as flattening, and quite, its concessions. It is only socialist when we do it, not when the old boy network does it, they who make their own laws as they go, as it suits them.


In fact, most business’s belonging to THE ALLIANCE are PYRAMID SCHEMES. Time will illustrate more details on this, as the façade which usually protects them, is crumbling and fast.


Can we see AL FRANKEN host a future SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE? Please?


There needs to be a website cataloguing all of the old cereals, details and all. We mustn’t ever forget the breakfast treat that was FRANKENBERRY’S.


The PSORIASISTERS have announced their comeback ‘game’, ROCK BITCHES 2! More details upcoming. For more information (as well as travel arrangements) go to WhereTheBritsAren’t.com. Then type in, Sister Saroya, formerly of the seminal band, LAMB POON.


Our foreign policy seems almost always curiously attached to other nations’ crops. Our so called WAR ON DRUGS often seems more like the backdrop from which we can project good will, while controlling more the flow of these crops towards which markets, legal or black, will gain us the most leverage. And the big pharma companies are hungry for product. We’ll raise a better people when we can tell a straighter truth. We needn’t be kept so dumb and preoccupied. More aroused, we ear and invent more.


If you do not know the ‘facts’, even better, MAKE IT UP AS YOU GO ALONG. After all, it is YOUR story you are living, and no one else’s.


Conformity is the death of imagination which is likewise the death of will.
When consciousness gets bored, time shivers.


It wasn’t a typo. Harold really was born in ADROIT MICHIGAN.


I do not believe in war for business’ sake, but in war for righteousness and its causes. Men who die for right causes live on in the principles they bled for and in the air that patriots breathe.


In time, our stripes BECOME our uniform.


Blood in our most precious commodity and we do not trade down for it, nor do we barter with it. What blood we shed, we ADD, we do not subtract.


Our desires are our spiritual fingertips. With your power in your own hands, YOU CAN HAVE what matters to you.


Look for where you are, and life will be there!


Where you are right now is the perfect place to begin.


If your mind holds too much memory of defeat, GET RID OF IT. Download mind spam. The mind will go along with wherever you are. It will role play, it was designed to. Choose to remember yourself as a winner. It is easy to hypnotize yourself into the shape of victory you see. It is a viable part of our meditation. If your horse has fallen in the battles we must fight, bless it, and get a new fresher one and ride it like the wind, until it too falls, parallel to the ghosts of exhaustion.


The main difference between the good and the bad is that the good are usually taxed more.


To have love for your oppressors is the greatest joke of all.


Work pays and is the fulfilment of a man’s pride.


While myself and the Mrs. Maitreya were traipsing through the famed of antiquity, LABRYRINTH OF CRETE, in Knossos, the one famed for its MINOTAUR, I felt as though I had been through there before. As beautiful and breathtaking as it was, getting lost in a vast puzzle of designed confusion which fooled even the ancient gods, I grew suspicious, supine. I stopped suddenly, braced by the endless landscaped hedges, and as if in thrall to memory recall, grabbed the Mrs.’ arm and said, “Wait, this is déjà vu, I’ve already been through this with SONY”.


Besides, what kind of labyrinth takes itself seriously and doesn’t have some kind of cheese waiting for you at the end? After all of that walking and figuring out exits and what not, a simple cheese platter would be just about right. Wait, is it labyrinths and cheese or mousetraps and cheese? I am always ‘a-maze-d’ that I can’t remember, though I believe that the right cheese goes with just about anything.


Concerning the JONAS BROTHERS, can you purchase them separately or do you have to buy all three?


I’ve become a music cynic. I don’t trust bands now until they have a video game out.


I do not judge bands on their music anymore. I judge them based on WHO HANDLES THEIR MERCHANDISE. You can’t always trust the music anymore, but you can always trust a good reliable t-shirt.


It had been some time and things were going well. Not as great as the new Egyptian eared President of these here United would like, but certainly well enough to stay a little goosy, loose and throw back the head for a good laugh from time to time. Raoul was turning out to be a helpful, steady resource, even though he had still not been laid eyes on by the young President. Michelle was happy and still sleeveless and the first mother in law was being kept busy with her ‘black’ projects she ran with Raoul, to keep the old school from messing with the new fools, and you needed a fire wall for that, Washington being the genteel graveyard where many a dreamer lies stunned. Even the red phone had come to normalcy and resumed its dignified behaviour as the all important red phone.
Relaxing in kick back mode in his west wing oval office chair, now fitted with rollers, the President decided, being the modern man of communications that he is, to check his TWITTER’S. He was but slightly startled to read on his device what translated as this: THANK YOU MR. VICE PRESIDENT, YOU ROCK! MAVERY JENKINS, MARYLAND. And another. MR.VICE, YOU RULE! ARTHUR STONE- DALLAS. Not knowing whether it were a joke, who had his account?
A very small few. He picks up the phone and dials Vice Biden, the man who wishes us to accept that before Barack, he never bumped into a brother who could string two sentences together well enough to impress him, though now of course he’s seen the light. “Joe, what’s going on, I’m getting some messages for you on my account”. Retorted the Vice-President, the man who never got out much (apparently), ‘You Too? I’m also getting TWITTERBOMBED’. And thus entered into the administration’s lexicon, the new notion of being terrorised by twitter. Suddenly, on both of their devices, streams and streams of letters began pouring through, out of control, leaving both temporarily mute as their twitter devices ran on spewing as if possessed by an unknown, fetid dark hand. In an instant, as if twins separated at birth, Vice and Prez both uttered, “CHENEY!” And then, as if by magic, both of their devices stopped and regained composure. “Wow, said the neon Messiah, That’s amazing! Is this guy nuts or what?” The Vice decided to have his car bring him to the oval office, so that the both of the two top dogs could sit in top digs and discuss top drags. As the Vice arrives, President Obama shows him several other messages that arrived, a couple even from Senators and one from a mental hospital. Biden showed Obama his twitter’s, which were all full of text addressed to the former Vice. The thing was, DICK CHENEY didn’t become the master trickster that he came to be by being anyone’s fool. He came about his by the push and shove, the kick and squeeze and lest we forget, he were mentored by one of our most lovable rogues, the late President NIXON. You don’t get handed the Darth helmet until you are ready to call the plays. Master dark Lord Dick now had a federally funded and newly completed underground bunker from which to command things. Evil dark side, ‘you don’t really want to know’ things. Powerful world affecting things. Maybe sometimes for kicks, a few jokey kind of things, just to keep it light. How difficult could it be for the dark master to break into twitter? For what toys he had access to, those matters were child’s play. Or he could, with shadow government funding, just buy them and be done with it. ‘Hey’, called out Vice Biden, ‘Where’d you just go, you looked out of it for a while, you just blanked’. “Yeah, I just had a vision of Cheney in a bunker, ain’t that something?” Followed by the President’s laugh. It seemed that since this evening was the night of the Twitterbomber, a nice meal may as well be ordered for the two of them to share, while riding out this strange, though oddly spectacular episode. They took turns showing each other, as the night progressed, the different notes being posted on their accounts, all directed to the former Vice President. After appropriate bouts of bourbon, and even a little quiet Presidential snooze, the 44th President of these here united woke up to a new message. It read: HI, THIS IS DICK CHENEY. ANY MESSAGES FOR ME?


Running down the east wing hallway, the President, breathless, arrives upon First Lady Michelle, sleeveless. “Honey, don’t send me any Twitters for a while, there’s been a breach!” Asked the first lady, ‘A what, a breach?’ (and while looking like Regina King). “Yeah, we think former Vice Cheney has infiltrated our security system, so your messages may be rerouted to him” Said Mr. President. ‘Barry, I don’t really use mine anyway, it was you who kept insisting that I use it. I don’t have time for all of that anyway. Where does it look like I have the time?’ Quickly side stepped the 44th, “Uh, OK, just thought I’d be thoughtful and let you know that it might not be safe. OK? We got Raoul looking into some scenarios as we speak”. Sighed the First Lady, already a couple minutes late for her reception for THE SLEEVE WEARERS CHRISTIAN TEMPERANCE WOMEN’S SOCIETY, and was in no real mood to banter lightly or trepidatiously about breaches of TWITTER accounts. She had enough to deal with, and dammit, she had a right to be sleeveless if she felt sleeveless. Many are not called to go sleeveless, which does place a further spiritual pressure on those few who do feel called to the sleeveless life. She knew that she would leave, if nothing else, a small legacy to women the world over, who felt mummified, invalidated in a world full of those who would rush to cover their arms. Their beautiful, God given, precise and sculpted arms. Those awaiting its liberation can only gaze on in envy at those chosen few, who could go sleeveless and bear the cross hairs of the world. So Madame Michelle had more than enough on her plate this day to be as sympathetic to her husband as she might have been earlier or later in the day. But not now. ‘Sorry Barry, we can discuss this later, alright? I know Cheney’s a pain in your cheeks, but you’re the President, and he isn’t, OK?’ Said a lightened 44, “You’re right. I’ll take care of it. Do good, I’ll see you later.” And with that a small quick peck on the first ladies face, as even the President is neither allowed to smear her lipstick once applied or touch her hair once set. She says while going in the direction of the reception, ‘Thanks for that, see you later, if I survive’.
At just that moment, as happens in lazy stories, an assistant to the White House came running down the hall, panting, and even while wearing pants. Spilling like a fountain from her mouth, the young lady informed the first lady, ‘Mam, They’ve cancelled the reception!’ The first lady was like ‘What?’ ‘Yes Mam, I was told by security that the members all got Twittered telling them that the reception was off, that you changed your mind and wouldn’t meet with them’. Asked the first lady, ‘Are you serious? They were told I wanted to cancel the meeting?’ ‘Yes Mam, though the Press Secretary is preparing something to reroute the message’. The first lady blinked. Then just to make sure, she blinked again. Then she composed her nerves and went looking for Mr. President. Cheney wants to play games? Now he had the first lady incensed with his gamesmanship, if indeed it were the master trickster getting a few laughs at the new administrations expense. Now he had messed with her schedule, with her mind, her reputation, IT WAS LIKE TOUCHING HER HAIR and lest we forget, she’s a lawyer. Bursting uninterrupted through the door, the first lady informs 44, ‘Barry, get my mother and Raoul, we got work to do’. Some scenes play out like this, at that moment, awaiting his interest as is by magnetic design, Mr. President’s Twitter carried this: HI, THIS IS DICK. HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW, BITCHES?


They only beat you when you are right, otherwise they ignore you.


What contributes to a healthy outlook, contributes to a healthy body.


A healthy mind determines its own fate. A broken mind sees ‘odds’ and ‘chances’.


Don’t forget: The mightiest tree starts out as a seed that you can fit into your hand.


Cynicism is fury.


All that glitters is not mine.


What is wonderful about CRETE, is the fulfilling presence of their author, the master NIKOS KAZANTZAKIS, even the airport is named after him. I were able to pick up a few extra novels less available in the rest of Europa. This pleased me. He is known by many of the ‘Lit-geeks’ for ZORBA THE GREEK, as well as THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST. It is overall healthy to provoke the Christians from time to time or they become complacent.


Attention is nuclear.


IF THE TRUTH IS DEAD, its ghosts are still around.


If attending to indifference, at least experience it in your own time and no one else’s.


We become the beasts we wrestle over time.


Life is a collaboration between the music of nature, the rhythms of time and our own lyrics. When in doubt, CHANGE THE LYRICS.


Each of God’s children descend from one of the fingers on his hand, as were they from one tree, different branches. And so it is. I am he that descends, and proudly, from God’s middle finger.


You are not required to KNOW anything in order to be CERTAIN. The spear of certainty is all you need to navigate the jungle with.


None of us are more pretentious than those who claim to have none.


I have earned all of my pretensions (and have learned which ones to rely on).


Equal is a lie and the death of ambition. IF EQUALITY IS YOUR AIM, YOU ARE AIMING TOO LOW.


Race control is why ‘black’ music is as homogeneous as donut holes. Diversity WITHIN form is now a political threat. Neither were I born for some one else’s daddy to tell me what ‘black music’ is. Time alone determines what it was and wasn’t. That is why we were always being given speeding tickets, for moving too fast with the tunes through the times.


Rock has been whipped into a flaccid penile state with a low sperm count. Rock now drools and is on ‘meds’. It still photographs well, though telegraphs too much. Condom rock now rules what purrs and mildly hisses from the airwaves. And the condom is not even ribbed.


Neuter the music and as recent history shows, you neuter the profits.


I do not fear being told to ‘watch my back’. I have wings that watch my back.


…and we were also equipped with retractable horns.


Evolution means thus: What time has seen enough of, time changes.


Time loves a fork in the road. Time itself were born at the crossroads.


And so what did your father say to the lady with the big tits in the bowling alley? ‘NICE SPARE!’


THE SIZE OF THE AIRPLANE DICTATES HOW HIGH YOU CAN FLY, the same is true of the size of your desires, your imagination.


Stupid and senseless isn’t always wrong.


Dancers are athletes as art.


HAPPINESS AND JOY, which pain precedes.


The FORCE CORPORATION’S newly signed group, LEOPARDS IN LEOTARDS have received an injunction from putting out their completed album, ‘NEANDERTHUGS’, from lawyers representing the group, THE NEANDERTHUGS, who we are told were about to release THEIR new project, ‘LEAPING LEOPARDS IN LEOTARDS’. The judge agreed with the Neanderthugs’ representatives that ‘there might be cause for confusion’. Neither side would acknowledge whether it were a coincidence or rival bands trying to psyche the other out. The Neanderthugs are coming off of their most recent best seller, the Platinum, ‘DEATHWISH AND A HAMMERCLAW’.


Perhaps the worst attack is indifference.


Luck follows the brave. If not always with interest, then with instruction.


I am not saying that your mother is big. I am just saying that they took an aerial photograph of your town and she was the one on the left.


All great jockeys are horse whisperers.


To fear what we desire makes a pathology of our fulfilment.


Golf is life. My game is better from the rough, since I spend most of my time there.


Those who understand it best are those that are.


2 lions fighting, tearing away at each other until they become confused, and ask, ‘which one am I?’


EPHEMERAL RECORDS have announced that they will not be putting out their controversial group UNCLE TOM’S CONDO’s latest release, ‘TAP WATER DANCING’. Lead singer for the group, DORSAL FINN, said that the dispute arose over the group’s refusal to allow either their name or title of the project on the CD release. ‘That would be a sell out’, said the singer for the popular band. Ephemeral Records spokesman SILUS KNIGHT, vowed in future to stockholders to concentrate, ‘on bands who don’t mind their fans knowing that they are the band on the cover, with their name, logo and whatever we may require in selling our talents to the world’.


LIONS NEITHER LIE NOR WHISPER.


Bad taste is like a bad fart, you remember it much longer than you want to.


In the long run, short cuts take away more than they give.


Nothing seems to move our governors to produce more regulations than when a new sense of freedom and possibility. Time has seen what it needs to see, and now time shall remove what it has grown tired of seeing. The great grand master, a poet of immensity, OMAR KHAYYAM has written in the ancient days, thus:

THE MOVING FINGER WRITES
AND HAVING WRIT
MOVES ON
NOR SHALL ALL OF YOUR
PIETY AND WIT
LURE IT BACK
TO CANCEL EVEN HALF A LINE
NOR ALL OF YOUR TEARS
WASH OUT A WORD OF IT.


…you may find these words in the master Khayyam’s RUBIAYAT.


ANIMISTIC ANIMAL:

YES,
I KNOW YOU SEE THE PANTHER.
BUT YOU SEE THE PANTHER
MAINLY SO THAT YOU DO
NOT HAVE TO SEE THE
LION.
IF YOUR BITTERNESS
BECOMES TOO GREAT
YOU’LL BE ASSIGNED
A LIFE AS SNAKES,
THOUGH THERE IS ALWAYS
A CHANCE THAT MALAISE
WILL GRANT, A SAINTED
SHOULDER TO
CRY ON.
AND SO REPELLED,
I WINK IN
EDNA’S PROPINQUITY,
WHAT WILL THEY EVER
THINK OF ME?
SHOULD THEY EVER FIND
OUT, THE BANK OF ME
AND LIKE FROSTBITE,
UNDERMINE THE RANK OF ME
DESPITE THE SWELL.
SO WE’LL SEE (OTHERWISE
I’M SURE YOU’LL SUE).
AND LIKEWISE IDENTIFY
THAT I DID IN FACT QUALIFY
AND PERHAPS TOO WELL,
TO CASH IN ALL MY FUTURES,
FOR SUTURES IN A GOLDEN EYE
INSIDE A BLOODLESS COUP.


The little bully poem:

OF COURSE,
I HEAR YOUR CHANTING.
FOR WHILE YOU ARE BUSY
UNDERMINING,
I LAY BENEATH YOU PANTING,
AND FERVENTLY REDESIGNING.
WHILE PICKING OUT THE SPLINTERS,
THAT COIL LIKE RATTLERS WITH
SPLATTERED BEADS, AFTER THE DEAD
WEIGHT OF MANY WINTERS.
SOME THERE ARE HIDING,
SICK WITH DISGUST,
LANCED BY RESIGNATION,
THOSE IN WHOM WE PLACE OUR TRUST,
TO SPOIL, THOUGH NOT TO WITHER US,
WITH ALL OF THEIR RIGOROUS
EXAMINATION,
AND BARELY MUTED PINING.
WE WERE MEANT TO BE PLACED NEXT
TO FIGURINES, THEIR FIGURES
ROBUST, VIGOROUS,
WHO STARCH THEIR
KNICKERS, STITCHED IN BASKETBALL
SEAMS, WHOSE PEPPER TEARDROPS
KNOW US
AND
DRAPES THE PORCELIN
WITH RESTRAINT,
SMEARED PROTOCOL
WITH A DAB
OF PAINT,
A DOLLOP OF
PANIC THAT
HAD TO BE SEEN.
IN THIS WE ARE IN SYNC.
I HAVE HAD MY SHINING
AND A FEW BETWEEN
AND PUNCH ABOVE
MY RANK.
WE CAME AS GREEN
AS THAT!
THAT EVEN GERBILS HATCHED
THEIR SCHEMES,
THEN LEFT THEIR FOLIAGE
AND VERBALS,
ENTRENCHED
AND
MATTED TO THE SCREEN.
NATURALLY,
DRENCHED,
I SET A PICK .
AND WHILE ROLLING MY ANKLE
THE REF ROLLED HIS EYES,
(THAT PRICK,
NO REAL SURPRISE .
‘GEE THANKS!’)
THEN IT COMES TO THE
END OF THE DREAM.
I AWAKEN LIKE A MOP
INDUCED TO ITS LENGTH,
THEN GRAB MY COCK
TO REDUCE ITS ANGST.


(and some ‘Juvenalia’- written when very young)

The cracks are peeling on your wall
The slippery elm outside does bend
Towards your sleek stiletto heel
Which, upon my cartilage bumps and grinds
I bid your service and do as told
Because I am not being watched
And because you are the type
I’ve died to bed in still of night
I break in sweat but to appease
And open wide my eager mouth
To drive my tongue around your breasts
Then rest my digits inside your nest
Scarce morality does not pertain
To creatures fondled by Adam’s lust
I hardly need your scolding words
I do what you daren’t, I seethe, you must
Tear away your gingham dress
If not but for a little while
Give yourself to yourself impress
And to labour bid goodbye
Your shadow is your blanket best
So let the angles of the light
Creep onto your beading skin
But save some dance for central night,
For one whose lover’s face is bold and bright
And then score tail, to tongue, to teeth, to crotch
Because you are not being watched.


Excuse me for my bad habit of chewing my words with my mouth open.


As leaders of the free world, we have done the rest of the world no favours since the second BUSH team stole those elections under such dubious and heavy handed circumstances. Since, a lot of other ‘elections’ have taken place under similar clouds of suspicion, leaving us with little leverage since they are only following our example anyway. What can we say to the Afghans, to the Iranians? Not to mention, we ourselves ROUTINELY overturn other elections should we be not in agreement with the outcome. This is why we support so many military dictatorships, they do our dirty work for us, while we safely pretend to be working with them only to the extent that they are ‘transitioning’ power back to the people. Time itself has grown bored with our ways. And I do not make this up, I simply report it, whosoever say yea or nay.


Only time can relieve me of my post. Death is not big enough.


Respects for CLAUDIA’S 40th. She still rocks, all up and down the boulevard.


And speaking of SUPERMODELS, we ask that our Lord and Shepard watch over the soul of the late master SENATOR EDWARD KENNEDY. Models for the varying widths and lengths of consciousness are placed all over the world to be witnessed by all men. That men might know their own depths and measures and be inspired by them in kind. Beautiful babes inspire, lovely speeches and rhetoric inspires, men and women winning games and championships inspire, people doing good and charitable works inspire, a mother’s simple kindness to her child inspires, comedians or anyone making us see the levity within the gravity inspires. A simple man going about his simple military or civic duties inspire. All are MODELS. We salute our models. We salute the master Kennedy. What manly karma these brothers have endured.


Your brother was so small, he had to put on weight just to ANNOUNCE football games.


The book: ‘APPETITE FOR SELF-DESTRUCTION - The Spectacular Crash of the Record Industry in the Digital Age’, by Steve Knopper was so riveting, it was like reviewing the last 20 years of my life on rewind.


……like I said before, please excuse the passion of my language, I am an UNORTHODOX GREEK.


Most of master Brad Pitt’s films to date have required nothing much more than that he APPEAR in them. Benjamin Button required of him to BE in the film and he did in fact show up. This is why his performance moved many, including me. The bigger you become, the less they require of you to act.


Have you hugged a drummer today?


I am not obliged to say this, nor were we asked, but for the record, my wife is absolutely amazing and the best thing by far that will ever happen to me. Naturally there are always those willing to make you pay for what you love, and even some has ceased hiring her for the usual ‘profile’ reasons. Neither of us minded, though I warned her that at least from a portion of industry, she would probably be ostracized. Some of it is profile politics, some just old fashioned envy. Yet, she were also tired of running around the country and world doing jobs. She wished to focus more on our marriage and her architecture. Mainly her architectural contribution was helping me to straighten out my head after all of the withering attacks that followed my life change and while putting up the initial numbers for PMR. I’d always wanted a woman who could play piano and cook, as I was raised by very conservative, old school Christians and wanted to find a good ‘home based’ woman, to help finish raising me and sorting out the rash aspects of my rage. I have had a lot of experience to know when I met her, that I was getting a once in a lifetime deal. I felt as soon as we met that she just ‘got’ me. Perhaps me being a Pisces with a rising Capricorn and her being a Capricorn with a rising Pisces helps us to understand the other. Or maybe, my own God got tired of seeing me constantly jerked around and wished for me to know friendship and stability in a way which would prove as a salve to my ailing spirit. I just know that with all of my gargantuan bullshit and the hounds of hell which pursued me even more after getting married (now I know why I waited until my 40’s), her steadfast and incomparable support convinced me that the world did not necessarily have to be totally destroyed. Otherwise I would have voted with the beings who believe it best to consider human beings a washout, and to begin again elsewhere. Even my faith in my God has been restored due to her simple and uncomplicated acceptance of my spirit and what its needs are. And I love how she plays Debussy, one of my great grand masters. My fidelity to our marriage is fuelled less by morality and more or less because I am in awe of her and her sacrifice. I have seen it all and without a good woman, LIFE IS HELL. One can know a lot of money, but without a good love in your world, THERE CAN BE NO WEALTH.


And as we have said before true wealth begins as a ‘feeling’. And the feeling draws more to itself of what it feels. These are among the basic magnetic laws of creation. Believe yourself to be a real asshole and assaholic tendencies will draw nigh to you. Know yourself to be a God and watch what happens! Superheroes are animated by a wealth of spirit and trust, not only by ink and brushstrokes. And if you really do wish to be ‘normal’, then keep believing that you are and normalizing things will occur for you. CLAIM WHO YOU ARE! It does work.


And speaking of small regrets (I’m grateful that in fact, most of what regrets we have are more or less minor, though no less felt). While visiting a jeweller friend on mine in Bel-Air, a good Italian American lady whose father was a wonderful man from the old country who had raised almost single handedly, 4 lovely daughters, who should be sitting across from us in the nice bistro we were eating and negotiating business in but one of my heroes as both singer/songwriter and musician but the great PETER CETERA. Normally musicians greet one another warmly and as old friends, especially if their music speaks to one another. My dynamic were different, there were always a few types who seemed to wish me away and were not comfortable at all with my brand of mojo. Anyway, tigers accept early on that they cannot rush anything that they don’t plan to eat, so as often as not, the ‘game’ must come to tiger. In this case, he appeared to be waiting for someone and I didn’t wish to be an annoyance. We did sneak peeks at the other and I simply should have dropped my reticence and gone over to the table of the writer and voice behind CHICAGO’S brilliant best. The voice of ‘25 or 6 to 4’, the man who wrote the juicy and delicious ‘If You Leave Me Now’, which has the clinical effect of melting woman’s underwear from beneath them (not that I would know myself, though I have heard this from friends). The man who even then looked like a Norse beach God. He even looked heroic in that laid back LA way. He wore his success as if he deserved it. This, a man whose music has actually produced children, has increased viable portions of the tribe, the race. No, I sat on my ass and paid attention to the world I were in at that present moment. I minded my own business as I were taught. I should have kissed his hand and asked for a blessing. But I ordered gazpacho instead and got a good deal on a ring. One I still own and wear. People give of their graces to us, then we ignore them when we forget how far they have helped us come. I recall being with a woman once who upon hearing one of his songs, started crying and calling him an angel. All men respect other men who can makes chicks cry. Its bigger than us, it’s a guy thing.
A great music teacher for me, and when given the chance to thank him, I chose to choke as a weak kneed poseur. Shame on me. AND THANK YOU MR. CETERA for the experiences. Although I did go to school with his younger brother, ET. He could go on for a while, once he started talking….


I am asked often what we are reading. Mainly we avoid it unless something really good comes along because if anything, I worship the written word too much to be willing to be a witness to bad writing. And to be a witness is to be an accomplice, so we more than not, refrain. However 2 books which have been of interest and pleasure is master TRUMAN CAPOTE’S, ‘MUSIC FOR CHAMELEONS’. And most surprisingly a book written with Anthony Bozza about ‘SLASH’ (of Velvet Revolver and Guns and Roses infamy). I share a lot of those ‘strange’ coincidences with the great Slash and we came out at the same time in different lives so I were drawn to the book, though normally avoiding rock books like the plague they usually are. Instead this book is crisp, warm, honest, direct, funny and well written. It is also full of the kind of rock and roll anecdotes you buy such books for, to confirm that someone is still living and chasing the dream. It also happens that master Slash is a more historical, pivotal figure than we have so far allowed in current debate. We are a fan and can highly recommend the book, published by HARPERCOLLINS. The master CAPOTE’S work is simply stunning, and chilled like a light rose awaiting a summer thirst to quench, a parched tongue to quell. PENGUIN, if not mistaken have the rights to the master’s latest.


Be content with your own life and stretch it from there. Who covets another man’s life, covets his cross also (and covets most what he cannot see).


From where you are NOW, is the landing strip of miracles, the bull’s eye of all progress and its vapour trail, healing.


Miracles find us easiest, where we most find ourselves. Others call these same miracles, ‘good luck’, and who are we to argue with good luck?


Never measure yourself against another’s weight, it’s vainglorious in the wrong direction and unfair to your spirit. We are snowflakes, no two alike except for those insisting that they are, who never really see themselves except as others see them. Anyway, THE RACE ISN’T HORIZONTAL, IT’S VERTICAL. You do not have to ‘catch up first’, simply begin rising from where you are NOW.


Gershwin was another life of Schubert’s.


..and I’m not saying that your sister is fat. I just said that the last time she went to the rodeo, the cowboys all lined up to ride her.


…and she was offered all the hay she could eat.


Maybe finally now that we Americans no longer control Japan to the degree that we once did, we can get invited there again.


The point isn’t whether one is a ‘white’ or a ‘black’ magician. It is simply to know what the laws are. Who abuses the energy must pay for it and there are no exceptions.


…and one pays also for the waste.


And this also very well pertains to all figures in authority. There is ‘magic’ in authority and to abuse this magic is to incur the costs when the toll is taken. There are, once again, no exceptions. We are told by the ancients, that ‘To whom much is given, much is required’, and this we ought to heed.


There is only a semantical difference between wisdom and logic. What is wise is always what is concurrently most simple, most logical and complete.


..though what is ‘logical’ might not always make sense.


Piracy begets piracy. And we all came of age in the time of corporate piracy as law. Now they are out to sea being circled by their own creations. There is some irony, and more than a few wrinkles.


Everybody, even the priest looks forward to seeing the big bully who smacks all the other kids around come upon his comeuppance. Everyone roots for the bully to be beaten back. It is a sign of basic goodness and trust in the divine laws.


For as long as you have your desire, you will have a way.


Come, let us begin our quest. Time follows who is willing to command it. All others she runs over, runs through and dominates.


Ok, so forget the quest. Quests take time. Just WAKE UP. And there you are!


What we were born to be is not always what we were raised to be.


O Resonance,
Like the stillness
Trapped beneath
The silhouette of the lake.
(and when I get to it,
I get to it late)
Like a swan song sung
By swooning swollen sands
Lend to me now the width
Of your hands, and what I’ll
Make of it will tax few demands,
Should I break more bread
Than I bake. And should I
Bleed more blood than I feed,
Then I’ll fatten the calves as
I succeed while watering
The hills on their lands,
Keeping it green
Keeping it lean
As so to seed more
Than to rake.


O Providence,
In whose murmurs contain
Quantum leaps of surprise
In whose whispers remain
The birthplace of resignation
Without reservation, detain
What is left of ravaged Mercury’s
Rainbow, splintered by defection.
What crippled grip
Holds now my erection?
What kind of shit is this,
Who regulates this action?
I was raised by leaping
Lizards in the lounges of satisfaction.
Whose tongues swallow forks
In the road, that slither
With reduction, whose landmines
Step like sharp destroyers,
Where Pericles sent his warriors:
Baptised ‘Cassius’,
Peeling me cautious
Corroding my caduceus,
Slamming me ferocious.
Why such annotated, trivial
Playing fields, why no traction?
Why was the woman in the muted mirror
Whose terror lay beyond her grasp, quite vicious,
Whose mind turns arrows into quills, suspicious?
Whose war paint smudged the bellowing faction
Which crackled beneath her feet like ash,
Allowed to wrestle the action, wet my brakes
while salting my sea foam before it crashed?
In fact, Life is dearer to snakes.
And not every Earl can court Confucius
Even with solutions intact,
And praised by illusion.
And now what couldn’t be clearer
As fate’s foul breath draws nearer
Is that millstones break
On millstones wearer.
I’d ask her to blow me
Though (by Jove’s arrest),
She’d just spoil it by pretending to know me.
An alliance that is no longer feeding anyone is not really an alliance.


Conversation with the Monster:

The alliance monster stopped by yesterday. He’d been trying to track me down for some time. I try to avoid him, he can be a head fuck and a game player to say the least and his appetite is huge. It is also impossible for him to communicate with you without undermining. His undermining helmet is always shining. He never met a confidence he were not ready at all times to shake. This was its nature, plain and pure. The question he asked went something like this. ‘Yes, I know that I beat you silly and aimed to keep you outright confused as often as possible and hell yeah I stole your income, you didn’t need ALL of it. So, when are you coming back?’ Huh? Asked the dunderheaded, bewildered one. Let me see if I can get this straight. Unless I sing Sam Cooke (as you once suggested I focus on), you won’t promote me. If I DO, then you’ll slam me by saying that I’m but a Sam Impersonator. If I sing Sinatra, at least as big if not a bigger influence, then I’m pretentious. Make new music and you call it ‘experimental’. To wit, whatever I do that isn’t controlled strictly by your prejudices gets ME slandered, because as we all know, you, the MONSTER are never ever wrong. It isn’t good for your business for you to admit to it. It never occurred to you that not all niggers are interested in reminding you of the last ones you killed. I adore the master Cooke, but I came with plans of my own. That’s if it’s all the same to you and your data and analysis. Also brain dead one, who didn’t sing like Sam or Ray, white or black, didn’t get signed. Name a decent singer in the last 50 years who doesn’t have either of their DNA and I’ll show you a charlatan, so don’t give me that, it’s just another of your ‘confusionist’ obfuscations. Anyway, you did the same thing to master Sam, you set up his death because his ambition was beyond your conception of where he came from. Others were allowed to be Dylan, if it fit your plans and your profiles, but he were not. His creative frustration was immense, while you tried to get him to accept that his greatness was only for singing, though he wrote classic, enduring songs and elevated production values during his time. I guess that was a bit too rich for your stingy alien blood. The monster was demonstrably pale and drawn. A heaving breath escaped noisily from his chest, as it leaked from the corners of his mouth. ‘How do you know all of this?’, asked the Alliance Monster. Replied I, “Master Cooke made sure I knew this and he has used me, with my permission, to continue on with his mission statement. He had a lot to do, which your murder of him deprived his body of, though not his spirit. His spirit lives on and still goes about his father’s business”. ‘Wow’, aid the monster, ‘ain’t you cute, with your ‘knowledge’ and this and that’. “It isn’t about cute, it’s about survival. You are not content until you are in my mind, owning, and bleeding it and I cannot afford that”. ‘Look, I’m a monster, I was designed to keep myself attached to you, in case you start something. Maybe a fire that takes too long to put out. Maybe some people will wake up as a result and begin paying more attention. And uh, as you know, we function best in ambiguous circumstances’. “Be that as it may my good and steady nemesis, you are more than a major pain in the ass of our progress. We wish to move on and you are dead set against anything but the ‘appearance’ of our growth. You mock us for our dependency, though conspire in every way to keep us attenuated to it. Just as you mocked my songs when I were obliged to share them with you, though now that I am not, you claim to not have enough of them”. The Alliance Monster had heard enough to fill his nostrils with the burning stench of rebuttal. He simply hated it when a man was willing to look past the fearsomeness of his temperament and speak directly to his heart. The monster hated heart, it got in the way and spoiled the corruption of things and after all, corruption is the path of the monster. Intoned the beady eyed, staggered breath alien, “Yeah, but why do you have to take this all so seriously? So what, when it was convenient to my plans to deny your just fruits to you, I did, that’s what I do, I interrupt the flow of things, particularly if it is moving you demonstrably ahead in the mind game. And since I need your input now, I come to you now and ask you to reconsider. Yes, I was an asshole to you. I didn’t think I needed you, now I do and I will be as sweet to you as a fig is to the branch holding it before it falls”. Even with the monsters directness and pitch of persuasion, the artist was not swayed. He had been there and heard it all before. ‘You don’t want my songs, then as now. You want the power over them that you once enjoyed. The power to cut through my projections and reinstall your political view. Which has never been much to speak of, which has always been too stingy and small minded for my blood. You want to get first crack at what people my songs draw in, so that YOU can be the force which tells them what everything that touches them is, in case they in the interim, make up their minds for themselves. You fear a large crowd which can monitor and filter its own consciousness. It has little to do with my songs. You just resent that there are people involved with me, who do not belong necessarily to you. You have always been jealous like that’.
Huffed the Alliance Monster, that dark and ravenous beast which eyes up all things joyful and available, then rushes to forswear you from it, that beast which sells a freedom it always negotiates afresh with each framed fool, “You are such a pain in our ass, the Alliance is calling you dear boy, and you fiddle in this strange key, while your numbers are on fire. Name your cost, and stop being a dick”. ‘No thank you. It is your nature to abuse and if the scorpion moves the sting from his tail, he just relocates it elsewhere, and I am NOT going to be that same asshole going, ‘Hey, why’d you do that?’, when you resort to your nature in the future and sting me once again. Besides, why would I need you? What type of fool wishes to serve something so morose and fickle? So driven by the wrong things. Our marriage, while it lasted was terrible. I am clear and have always been clear about what I wish to offer of my spirit and imagination to the world, and it bears little resemblance to your plans. All you offer is faulty accounting and slander. Even your praise, when it suits your purposes, is weak and unconvincing, and who in their right mind wants a monster looking over their shoulder when they are getting their ‘work head’ together? No thank you, good kind Sir’. With that the Alliance Monster, who as it amuses him speaks with either an English or a Belgian accent, depending on his mood, kick started his scooter, A shiny red and chrome Vespa, made especially for him, and muttered something to the effect that he would return. I called out to him before his vapours led him ahead to disappear into the horizon, ‘All that you offer me now, all those enticing possibilities, where were they when for a good 20 years, you had my attention, and my willingness to help you?’ Though he needn’t have bothered to listen for an answer, even were an answer forthcoming. He knew the answer. They were too busy looking for other artists to present their ideas to. Artists who didn’t have their own. As the Alliance Monster pulled away, parallel to a setting, elastic sun, I turned and walked back in the direction of home, where most of my favourite stuff is. Where my wife is and now, by the grace of a kind and nurturing spirit, where now my life is. Why haggle with monsters? My will is the beast I most fitfully serve.


A Lunar is a Martial’s favourite toy.


The moment a game company buys out its competition, innovation almost immediately fades, the game stagnates and all that is introduced year to year are little tweaks that amount to not much. As good as MADDEN is as a franchise, it were better when it had actual rivals who forced them to keep up by maintaining their edge and innovating. My main problem with corporate capitalist methods is how they use democracy and the free market as a way to stifle the collective growth of soul groups. And where once there was a BLOCKBUSTER and a few Mom and Pop competitors, now there is no free, democratic choice, there is just Blockbuster, take it or leave it. There is something decidedly anti-democratic about that. I was a fan of theirs until such a time as I had no free choice, when every Italian video store was shut down in the supposed name of free enterprise, which is ANYTHING but. Same few fascists who hide behind whatever flag of convenience keeps them in control of us, and it simply doesn’t feel right. Big business chokes local economies and sends the money all to the same few alliance’s, the same few greedy families and their minions, and makes slaves of those who would otherwise fend for themselves by the extension of their native wits. I am not against business. I am FOR business. I am against political suppression passing itself off as corporate business, which seems to be, to find an idea circulating amongst a people, then take it over completely before it threatens to become a pervasive idea, and pull off the usual trick whereby a thing is milked off all possibility, while taming and controlling it and the people attached to it. To take liberating ideas, and use the same ideas to oppress, and counting the receipts all the while. It has come to too much evil. It shall be eviscerated, we are simply tired of bearing witness to all of this. Worse, when BLOCKBUSTER and its moralists, with their agenda to control what the world sees of the world it wishes to hide behind, owned the MIAMI DOLPHINS football franchise, WE STILL COMPLETELY SUCKED. To paraphrase the bible, “For whatever does it profiteth a man to own the whole world, yet his ballclub sucketh?”


Mob rule is the law of business as never before. Once, you go onto a street and there are 3 game stores, you just know that by the end of the year, but one shall remain, and all alternative choice gone to seed with it. There is no store which seems allowed to exist for the purpose of ‘counter-programming’, unless it is owned by the same owners of the ‘regulated’ stuff, stocked by the usual alliance affiliates, adhering to the same alliance ‘profile’. There is such great fear of actually educating us. Smart monkeys need smarter toys and we are being very ill served, to say the least by gangsters who fear most that we see through who they claim to be and lose the fear of them that they spend most of their budget promoting. I have grown lengthwise and weary from seeing these games, these ‘hide the pea under the shell’ scenes, where as we the people shift, so do the movable fences placed around us. Watching the ridicule of those who feel better than to be the tender squash in a steaming bowl of fresh bullshit, stewing.


The real addiction is not to the substance, but to the pain. Get to the pain, the substance follows.


And there IS no substance greater than the pain.


Short Poem 31b- I see a fine woman in heels and think that women walk on the pedestals that they deserve.


Anger is aggressive sadness and disappointment. Sadness is passive aggressive anger.


And finally, in the dumb questions put to rest category:

In all my years of doing backing vocals, we were never asked why we had to do all of the voices ourselves. Because I was there and it was easy to do. One isn’t asked, ‘But don’t you think you can find someone better?’ Perhaps, though ‘better’ wasn’t the point. We can all, even the most technically advanced and trained musicians go paranoid over who might be better, but that is for the insecure. And while a musician is still in the ‘competitive’ phase of their expression, they will suffer comparison. Once however you awaken to your ‘call’, all of the trivial aspects fall away. It is silly to concern myself with who might be better, it would prove how little I have grown. My music is my own and while there may be a million better players, we are certain that it doesn’t matter, it is MY music and no one quite plays it like me, which gives my music now a personality that it could not otherwise have in the same way. And at this juncture, we are certainly not going to adjust ourselves for someone else’s opinion. I am asked, ‘But why do you play all of the instruments?’
Darling interrogators, simple. BECAUSE I CAN. Because spirit has blessed me to be able minded and able bodied enough to do so and because I work my butt off and deserve what I have procured for my life at this time. And as importantly, I LOVE IT. I love the speed with which I get to complete a song, an idea, in the time it would take to teach it to others, we would have already recorded it ourselves. Saves time, saves income and saves me the headache of a pain in the ass musician. And I like the way I play, the way I play evolved fully to fit my needs and sensibility. And as an arranger, when I play, I am aware of what the other instruments are required to provide, which allows me to leave all of the spaces needed for the other instruments. How we play flows from how we write and how much we have absorbed of our various masters love, and what through that love, they may have passed on to us. I like me as a band because I understand me as a band, and to wit, I WASN’T BORN TO SERVE MUSIC, MUSIC WAS CREATED TO SERVE ME. I am 47 years old and have been making music for a full 45 of those years, so it is safe to say that I would have earned my degree in music at this point and have put that degree to work. I am supposed for modesty’s sake, say that it is a lot of hard work. It is and it isn’t, though the execution is by far the easiest and most enjoyable aspect. The establishment always paints YOUR history to cover ITS tracks, but at least we get to supply the soundtrack. How come master Stevie, or master Rundgren never get asked those questions? How come master McCartney is not the same megalomaniac as we are accused of being for doing the same thing, following the same desire. And how many notes you can play does not in and of itself a musician make. I were born to make music and despite industry and its need to crush and condense all things, nothing was ever going to stop us from realizing the joy of what gifts heaven loaned to us for the purpose of fulfilling our mission- TO INSPIRE. Like a good, hardworking ballplayer, I wanted COMPLETE GAME. As much as I could hold, as much as my conception of the Lord was willing to grant. It is OK that for some, I AM JUST A SINGER, the industry spent years brainwashing me to accept myself as nothing more. But that is not my problem, it is perception’s, for those who lack a broader one. For me, since the age of 2, MUSIC HAS ALWAYS BEEN MUSIC, not singing more than humming, not humming more than drumming, not drumming more than drooling. The music comes out the way it has to come out, like blood rushing to find an open vein. Others there are who neurotically label and compartmentalize everything. I am an artist first, and singer and all of that other jazz, AFTER THAT. Everything which spirit has blessed me to do is at the service of what spirit has inspired me to do. I do not elevate myself as one thing more than another, each part is in thrall to the tunes, the songs, the songs are everything. I am no different than a painter, I go into my garrotte and paint my brushstrokes until the picture I see is completed. I do not ask myself if it is Picasso, I ask myself if it is ME. We will one day berate painters for doing their paintings alone, we will one day taunt authors of books for writing their stories alone. Just as we’ve taken the family doctor, who once treated the whole of the human body, and break him down, weaken his knowledge, assign him just one part of the anatomy and flatter him by calling him a ‘specialist’. Most of my masters did more than a few things. I as I can according to the truth of my design, follow in their noble footsteps. I have also been asked by those with microphones closer to their heads than brain cells, why I wouldn’t take live concert, and do post-production. As if post production became immutable law. Answer, ‘Then it wouldn’t be LIVE, would it?’ In the age of digital, midi-synchronisation, where everything is on playback or rigged to a time machine, it comes as refreshing to the modern Mp3 ear, that there are really real musicians playing real instruments. The late grand master GLENN GOULD actually retired from performing. Grand virtuoso that he was, he resented the public who came with scores of the music, looking to catch him out on an error, a mistake, they left no room in their rigid conception of music that he may wish to improvise or follow a ‘mistake’, into a new place where mistakes often invite us. He grew bored with the concert as ‘athletic event’, and not as a soul’s offering to other souls in attendance who loved the gift of music. And as for me, at this point, my music and its muses do not wish to be totally strait jacketed like that, we just want to play our tunes and go. I have been to the concerts of great technicians and virtuosos and they make mistakes too, their faces wince a little too. Post production has spoiled many. Just as modern producers with their layered perfections, their total blemish free, airbrushed values, completely suck the wind out of the process and promotes false assumption. Now, if I am not trying to make an identikit production, SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH ME. And modern production has by and large totally destroyed bands. The corn is like this, take what you will of it, or simply leave it alone. It won’t bite you unless you bite it first. Yes, music is a collaborative experience, though the origins in truth, of all music, can never NOT be a collaboration between the soul and the mysteries of God as it works its way through the space time it created to hold and absorb, its inspirations. And whether it organizes itself through 100 or 1, one notices less the size, than one does the strength of the organization, its commitment, its focus. I have peers fully capable of working alone, but enjoy being around and amongst other people, it’s the truth of their natures and as a result, they do well. Just as those same peers can understand just why I choose to not be around anyone, and do my work, as a meditation, the manner in which suits my ‘loner’s’ persona, and at least until further notice, we are more than happy to have realized our highest dream. To be absorbed in the creation of music from top to bottom, its spirit all over me, my fingerprints all over it.


OK, so I am the 384th ranked musician in the world (by my latest estimation). But most by far of the ones ranked above me are bored out of their minds. I will take my place, as I accept always whatever posting I am assigned.


(And had I adjusted those figures to account for penis size, I would have cracked the top 100, for sure).


Check the website for the upcoming live concerts and come enjoy some Post Millennium Rock!


We place too much emphasis on our habits and not enough on our pain. LIFE WAS MEANT TO BE HABIT FORMING, Hello!


And meditations to conquer habits are as habit forming as what they have come to replace. Choose your habits with care.


Got to go now, there is a parade outside, and it doesn’t seem to have a Drum Major…….


Respects to the living and to those they grieve.


© COPYRIGHT SANANDA FRANCESCO MAITREYA
MILANO 11th SEPTEMBER 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

INTELLECTUAL COPYRIGHT PROTECTED

www.SanandaMaitreya.com