Writings: Yearlings (and beleaguered Hedge-funds managers)

Yearlings (and beleaguered Hedge-funds managers);

 

Or, one could look upon the BP oil disaster as political sabotage. Perhaps again, it is merely coincidence that our dear friend Halliburton is also peripherally involved in this regard. Who controls the well has the upper hand in the game. For concessions, no doubt.

 


Miracles do not always frame themselves in technicolor blazes. All we ever need is the knowledge to continue. The nudge to go on. One day, a woodpecker is chained to a concrete pole in distress. Absorbing in his small but proud breast, the night swells that ill winds sweep through on like carpets of whispers, stinging in their bracing tones. One moment, a good, decent, worthy heart is being sweated like a pig, being roasted like a pheasant for being too pleasant. Yet, in the next instant, spewing forth like a rush of gold coins from the throat of Vesuvius, her phlegm exultant, her new girdle born, THE WOODPECKER WAS FREE! One corporation's forest prison, was another corporation's 'ORGANIC FARM'. And so it came to pass, just like that, that the state decided to accept the bid to sell the forest to 'developers', who wanted to use the forest land where WOODY lived, for the past few long unforgettable years imprisoned, and turn it into an organic farm for forest exotic produce, and a small guided tourist attraction, which would help it further qualify for federal funds. The animals of the forest were to be left exactly as they were. Most still dazed and defused at best, all overjoyed to have regained their natural independence and rhythms. No more shock treatments, no more overmedication. No more thought control, the degree to which you forgot which type of species you were, and started looking to humans for your answers. A woodpecker, a mountain goat, a lychee on a tree, was free to be what the nature spirits designed them to be. An observant beast would have noticed the changes which presaged the selling off of the forest. The downsizing measures, supply reductions. Celebrities and royal family members allowed into the forest under the cloak of nightfall and given BB guns to shoot a few 'culled' furry creatures. The forest marshals mandate had gone from SUBSERVIENCE, AT ALL COSTS, to a more manageable, SUBSERVIENCE, AT COSTS! WOODY would never forget what good he saw in his old, now deceased friend, DOCTOR DEEMUS. His former 'minder', his programmer, his psychiatrist assigned to him by the 'corporation', that company of those behind the machine pulling levers and pranks. The good and able doctor had caught a bad wind, some errant mojo, and died of a heart attack in his sleep. This meant that the woodpecker would inherit his mind back. No echoes of dispute stalking his every word. And no longer mired in the sludge of a constant headache, WOODY now rooms with LATE NIGHT NATE, his Owl friend. Whooooo, You ask? But of course you would. They both enjoy the company of the other. Since the forest was sold to the organic farm, they are only required to be who they are, plus, should they wish to earn a little extra bird seed, appear as a double act every two weeks, for just 2 days, as a tourist attraction. For Woody, it was a 'Hell yeah', we'll do one of our favorite WHO songs, or as Woody was as likely to boast, some WAYLON JENNINGS, or 'ONE OF OUR OWN ORIGINALS'. Furthermore, Nate was the sort of friend who said not a word when Woody hung his only kept item from his time on the concrete pole he were formerly chained to, his Whoopi Goldberg poster, the one with her in the milk bath. Some entertainment for the tourists and locals, a little song and dance, why not ? To Nate, it was all the same, he had been down this road before, though it had ended bittersweetly when he had managed to come between the great sister act, The CROW Trio. He'd little idea in his starstruck youth that coming between Beryl, Meryl, and Sheryl would lead to a sister war that would for a while split up the group of singing starlets, though they would later all meet up in rehab and rebuild their professional relationship, now stronger than ever, and with their own reality TV show. Though it took a while for Nate to recover from his callousness, it had only served to make him a better owl at the end of the day. The owl was now sure that no one learns from an example not given and that NOTHING WILL QUITE BEAT YOU LIKE A THING YOU WERE MEANT TO DOMINATE. If YOU are not in the whale's mouth, then HE must be sitting inside yours. So praise the Lord and pass the tartar sauce, thought he as he puffed on his late night cigar. No contented dragon ever had such a puff. As for Woody, THE SPHINX had appealed to him in a dream, to REBRAND his enterprise. So, Woody decided to sell the concept of himself as not one who drilled holes in trees, but who instead, DRILLED FOR SAP. He also now did wood carvings. This were an age where science, had rediscovered the power inherent in tree sap. Used correctly, it could be used as fuel, as cough drops to cure lung disorders and liver ailments, as salve to speed the healing of wounds. And as a friend of the libido no less. Now WOODY, our long suffering woodpecker compadre, was A SCIENTIST! Which means he had to have new cards printed up. Late Night Nate became his other board member, his 'consigliere'. They would prosper. As Woody were now free to do with what he put his mind to. DRILLING was his world, it was what he knew, and he could do it in his sleep. Not every animal survived the transition from captive to free bird. For some, the programming had been so tough, so diminishing, that there was for example, a rare Neanderthal, frozen in time. Caught between forethought and hindsight, which arrested him so much, he could no longer move. This would not be the case with our boy WOODY. He had seen and survived too much. He wanted to live now. Those chains were degrading. Good riddance to them. He would rather take his chances dancing with Lightning's exacting coil than being dampened by Thunder's cast-offs, and being contained by iron is to be trapped in slow, rusting thunder. As fresh breezes mount, his feathers are groomed by the warm air, which caresses it like laurels. THIS IS THE LIFE. The life of free bird. Life on the wing. Close again to the beak. A head shaken loose of trap doors. Mixing metaphors like cocktails and drinking them down to gargle out the obscenities tied to the tongue. And forgiveness of the captors is easy when the cotton of our dreams lies beneath us swaddling our toil and myths like pillows, as opposed to laid out before us like staggered jigsaw puzzles on endless rolling, sun baked, grasshopper killing fields. But hey, the woodpecker was writing songs now, to fill up the cup of his next favorite dream brew. He would perhaps never be WOODY GUTHRIE, nor as famous and prolific as WOODY ALLEN. He would pray to even be as lucky as WOODY HARRELSON. He could not ever be as powerful and stately as WOODY STRODE (though he did toy with the idea of naming himself WOODY STROBELIGHT). And showbiz being exactly that, he will in time be sued by the living estate of the world famous WOODY WOODPECKER, though he would retain the right to advertise himself as WOODY (the) WOODPECKER (not WOODY WOODPECKER). And he would never have his portrait painted by the great RON WOOD (of the Rolling Stones). Neither would any of those erstwhile gentlemen have a song that began as WOODY'S latest 'scratch' piece : “BABYLON PAINTS ITS NAME IN NEON WHAT OTHER PLANET AM I SUPPOSED TO BE ON?” Woody was pleased at his new beginnings. He were no longer simply a Woodpecker. He were now a sap drilling, entrepreneurial wood carving 'WORDPECKER'.

 


Statistics will bear out (especially once the check clears), that there are in fact very few BLACK PEOPLE, whatever it is that is politically correct to address them as this week. There are a lot of really DARK people who are imposters and pass themselves off as black. Black IS NOT A COLOR, but a soul position, a transit point, a spiritual nexus, which can then IF IT CHOOSES, take the form of a color, a person. Seen with true eyes and understanding, there are only about 3 million real black people on earth at this time. The rest are simply too dark for us to see who they really are, and they wish to keep it that way. This pertains not to skin color but COMPLEXION. And our true complexion comes from the inside out, not the other way around, as it is taught. It be the dark ones who gather in groups and throw temper tantrums when they are not able to spook you into a lesser mind-set. Many political opportunists and intelligence operatives call themselves black and are nowhere near it. They are the worst racists and work diligently for them.

 


Lawyers for THE HEDGEHOGS held an emergency meeting with LUTHER MEANS to ensure that the 'Hedgers' would be suitably safe on the vessel. Both the rats and the squirrels had vowed to make those squinty eyed sons of moles 'fess up and tell them where all of their investment monies went. Indeed, despite Luther's assurances, these were not heady times for hedgehogs. Sensing an opening, THE PIGS were holding seminars on the relative safety of investing the animals hard earned graft into, (wait for it) PIGGY BANKS. For the 'hedgers', surviving the ZOOATHALON would mean keeping a low profile and one's head down. Any tips you have, you just keep to yourself.

 


….the preceding message was brought to you by JEWS FOR JESUS AND JAZZ.

 


When THE GOOD DIE YOUNG, they die brainwashed that they are not worthy of their ANGER, their complexity and the right and need to constructively express it. They are too busy PROVING their goodness to let go and shake the tree as the tree needs to be shaken, to loosen the disease of living from its branches. We get tired and the GOOD are taught that they've no right to complain. They are those who, like CHRIST repeatedly turn the other cheek, all the while building a powerful case for self loathing. So they hold a lot of real anger and frustration within themselves, mainly other people's, perhaps to prove that it will kill you, nobly, gracefully or otherwise. THERE IS A REASON MOST ASSHOLES SURVIVE THOSE AROUND THEM. They don't pretend to act noble when they would rather scream. They are willing to be assholes when being that releases what would otherwise suffocate and steal, while we use our vast intellect to justify philosophies which condone the right of mere CONCEPTS to decide and determine, nay, destroy our fervent lives. Even when death itself is blowing it's oft foul breath into their faces, THE GOOD are too busy martyring themselves to an IMAGE OF WHAT GOODNESS IS, when true real goodness would have nothing at all to do with death, until it was bigger than death, and could then die. Sometimes, passive aggressive weakness, passes itself off as Goodness. If death came early to real goodness, REAL GOODNESS would size death up, and punch it in its nefarious face, and make it its bitch. I WILL DIE WHEN I AM READY ASSHOLE, AND NOT WHEN YOU DECIDE. When the good stop putting on ACTS OF GOODNESS, then they can get down to the real business of living, and not merely surviving the barking dogs meant to hold us back and bring us down. Often, the good are raised by DR. NO. or other purveyors of NO, YOU CANNOT.

 


LIFE NEGATING PHILOSOPHIES NEVER CHANGE, they just change uniforms. Those taught the underlying principle that they do not deserve the full fruits of life, that LIFE is in and of itself inherently evil, as for example many very religious people are, will, IF THEY MOVE ON from that, simply replace it with another perhaps lesser, but likeminded viewpoint. If the philosophy they replace was strict, it is replaced by something also strict, though of one's choice. Perhaps we will not wear certain colors, will not eat certain foods, will be allergic to our fave drink, will go out with ball busting women, all to replace the first model of living which says that we are not worthy of LIFE'S FULL PALETTE, HER FULL PAGEANTRY. That life MUST BE hard. That we are deserving of only SOME. And that we are to stand aside from it, looking at it sideways and judging it like a girl you really want to ask to dance, but have been told that you do not fit her profile. Certain things are maybe OK (and even then only if you pray), but definitely not others. One leaves a religion for being too strict, but will become a VEGAN and spend just as much energy justifying it, and with the same degree of dogma as that dogma being replaced. What it often is is this, if you believe that you do not deserve the fullness of life, naturally you wind up nibbling on a lot more twigs and berries. Sticking to those foods which give ONLY the required amount to creep languidly throughout the day. Clinging to the least, cursing the feast. And from this develops LACK CONSCIOUSNESS, which pushes away gain and apologizes profusely for itself. Fair enough, though life herself has taught me that the healthiest way to live is to grab her by her massive billowing titties and lock my lips around it as were it a life-raft saving me from the jaws of oblivion. I am not he who would die upon this earth, my footstool, of malnourishment. I am exactly THAT fool which, if he dies, it shall be because I squeezed her milk into my mouth with all of my mortal strength, and immortal will and choked on it. That fool who died of OVERCOMSUMPTION, drunken out of his skull with satisfaction and with mammaries succulent juices dribbling down the upturned corner of his mouth, where a permanent half smile of contentment drapes his upturned face like a flag drapes a triumphant wind and dances to its bugle call.

 


….and know when OTHERWISE, SACRIFICE IS FOR LOSERS !!!!!!!

 


WE ARE TAUGHT TO BE AFRAID OF CALORIES. Calories are good. Our really fucked up attitude to our food, and our deserving issues are the main cause of digestive disorders. If you cannot swallow the 'concept' of it, you will be hard pressed to be able to digest it otherwise. Nature verifies that food itself is a lot easier to digest than IDEAS AND CONCEPTS about food. Milk comes from cows. Cows are sacred. Ergo, if we feel not ourselves sacred, we will take exception with whatever cow gives. People LACTOSE INTOLERANT are largely INTOLERANT OF THEMSELVES. Men should by natural birthright be able to eat anything that catches their fancy, within reason. I were for 13 years a vegetarian until the day we realized it just didn't work for us anymore. Of course, after a while the initial reason for going 'veggie' was replaced by a dogma supporting it, and we stayed too long at the fair. It was good for me for about 7 years, the other time was spent IGNORING THE OBVIOUS (for me at least). Not all are called to it, many are bullied into it. How we keep our food and the humanity we show it is important, as we do eat and digest our attitude as an appetizer, first and foremost. YOU DESERVE THE LIFE YOU DREAM, and are willing to fight to achieve. AND ALWAYS. Being Veggie I am sure works well for many of you, though some of you are kidding yourselves and need to wake up now. As for me, I AM MARS, and it is writ that MARS shall not live on vegetables alone. Otherwise he is weakened and his enemies will find it easier to take him out........ And once you see a veggie in an abortion clinic, it does kind of weaken their moral argument somewhat....

 


When people are jealous of you, they love to see you dance around in situations that they create. STOP TAP DANCING FOR ASSHOLES, just take longevity lessons from them instead...(and when no one is looking, and there are no cameras around, punch them really hard in the face). It is like that crowd that ONLY SEEMS TO SHOW UP, right as or before disaster strikes. They are there to see if YOU are alert enough to see the connection between disaster and them always showing up. To wit, THOSE WITH THE FRONT ROW SEATS TO YOUR CRUCIFIXION are usually the SAME ONES WHO ARRANGED IT in the first place.

 


Nothing kills your interest in your own business, than having bunches of other people all up in it.

 


Taking the long way home gives life a lot more to show and tell. Besides, only an idiot really believes in a shortcut. And yes, Virginia, there IS a difference between an idiot and a fool. Though only the fool and his banker knows what that difference is......

 


In life, if you do not spoil yourself, others will spoil it for you.

 


Be well, and don't take any wooden nickels (unless you are Dutch and looking for wooden shoes).

 

 

 


 

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MILANO 1st JULY 2010
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