Writings: Dedicated to those who favour...

Dedicated to those who favour the future, those who favour the present, and most of all to those who favour pastries!

 


The MOST sadistic part is not that the cat toys with the mouse because they are enemies, but because he loves him, and the power he may have in deciding his fate.


I will miss the grand maestro CLINT EASTWOOD when he retires from film. He is a genius of film language, he distils a uniquely visionary blend of post Truffaut European film, Post Kurosawa Asian cinema and his more Post-Cowboy American sensibility. He also makes a man’s film, movies for men to relish in the meditational absorption of the isolation of manhood. His most recent offering, ‘GRAN TORINO’ was a most watchable effort. You’ll have to go a long way before finding his equal in American or world film. I don’t really want to watch films ordinarily anchored by most men over 70 (the other exception being the great Michael Caine). I could watch master Eastwood act while on life support. I am a fan and have been since my nose was runny and I were wearing short pants.


The same assholes who kill abortion doctors are the same ones who vehemently deny the existence of the welfare state. These are the ones who are twisted and sick. Yes, do have your child, we INSIST, just don’t come asking us for assistance later. We INSIST.


The blood is the law. Everything else can only configure around it and ask questions.


The laws should be amended for the attendance of hate crimes. ALL HATE CRIMES ARE POLITICAL, and who is willing to kill for politics may as well be willing to die for the same. To kill someone over a disagreement is counter–evolutionary and should be eradicated as such.


All art forms are but the process by which we reconstruct what we can of what we have received of the shattered pieces of the rainbow, which fell.


FORZA JUVE!


TRUE SALVATION, is you waking up to yourself. And if it is not you that you are looking for, the only other option is rejection.


STONE TEMPLE PILOTS!


If we cannot receive the affection we desire as children, the next best instinctive option is to create the mischief that will win the attention which comes second in our hearts desire to the affection we crave as the medicine of our physical reassurance. BAD BOYS are simply charismatic boys resented by someone close to their raising, who denied them the notices they needed to grow comfortable within the world their karma was set in, and who determine early to destroy what they can of the world which opposes so strenuously their psychic and spiritual needs, and who are made to feel ashamed for their need for adoration and for the length and girth of their suspicions. To wit, they will be called to storm the BASTILLE, who are not invited to build it. AS WELL THEY SHOULD, this being the real solar truth of any man and the righteous causes of manhood. Which once were honoured, but now largely criminalized.


THE TRUE MIND can only be preserved by losing it..


Who wishes to write the truth in a free society must write fiction. What is ‘true’, if written is already full of compromises.


HISTORY DON’T COME CHEAP.


The dead have stories to tell. Listen.


If youth were all it were cracked up to be, it would be the main course in our lives and not the appetizer.


…and explains largely why so many are not satisfied and fed by our culture. They are waiting to eat, while youth is still being served endless snacks to keep its appetite away from maturity.


Cautious though he was, BOB was also anxious to proceed with his new life. Advised that changing his name would give him a fresh look at life, a new lease, he plunged into the process with both feet hoping to safely land. Nevertheless, a man could never be too sure about such advice so he hit on a plan which he thought were brilliant. It would allow him to have his cake and stab at it at the same time still. With cunning and deft he would simply change his name from BOB to BOB, and only he would have to know that the original BOB was meant to be read front to back as we normally tend to, though the new BOB that he became would be BOB back to front. What difference did it make to him that no one else would be able to spot the difference? Most importantly, HE would know, just as Marlene Dietrich told her director that it didn’t matter whether or not the audience could see her silk stockings beneath her skirt, SHE knew and the projection of that knowing was what kept our eyes close to her. BOB felt liberated already, and as a kind of ironic talisman, his dyslexic friend Lol wouldn’t be too threatened by the name change, so would likely be supportive of it. And his girlfriend NAN already signalled her excitement and willingness to do what was required in making the transition comfortable for her beloved Bob. For her, in their conversations, she already distinguished the past from the present by referring to him when apropos, as Bob coming and going and Bob going and coming. The name change wouldn’t change his numbers much, that’s for sure, though it would have the desired effect of granting him an entirely new perspective, this wonderful chance to be THE NEW BOB, a wholly altogether nuclear post-glacial proposition.


Overheard in a Milanese deli. 2 gentlemen, mid 50-ish, dandies. 
“How is she?” 
“The sex with her is absolutely amazing!”
“You lucky dog!” 
“But that’s not even the best part, you want to know what the best part is?” 
“Please tell me.” 
“The Sandwich she makes for me afterwards.”

Translated from the original Milanese dialect as best we could.


Since our establishment has determined that the master Jimi Hendrix can only EVER be mentioned, but always in conjunction with the controversial way he died, it is important to see that apparently someone has most recently come forward to acknowledge that his death was by poisoning and not drug overdose as is incessantly reported, as had he no other plausible worth except as a cautionary tale. Someone came forward most recently to announce that the grand master Jimi was put to death on orders of his management, who were afraid of losing him. I buy the being poisoned, I do not accept that ONLY his management were involved even if they were the mob, there was establishment collusion. We cannot help but notice the discrepancy between what is written of Hendrix and the manner in which he allegedly perished and other artists who are given more leeway when their lives are being described, though allegedly they ‘overdosed’ also. The way we tend to look at it, the greater crime was not the supposed copious amount of drugs he took (a charge that allows for easier acceptance of the inevitable theft which accompanies these great and green talents, if we accept ,as we are told that he was a big druggie, then we accept that he was going to be ripped off, and it was all his own fault, that’s the way that game is played), but that he was silly enough to die from them. In any event, we know absolutely nothing about the natural elements that Beethoven or Mozart took, as if MAGIC MUSHROOMS, ONLY STARTED CROPPING UP OUT OF COW DUNG when ‘modern’ musicians found drugs. As if the sweet herb never grew in autonomous Germanic regions. These giants too knew a pharmacopoeia and where in nature to harvest whatever it took to get to the 4 th symphony before that other geezer did. Even the coffee was more mind altering in the days of Bach, before he got busy with his flower remedies. Artists on a bender is nothing at all new and we were kinder in the days of the old masters, we would not think to cast aspersions on the manner in which they met their end. Nor are libidinous appetites more vibrant in the days of Hendrix than in the days of master Schubert, who lest we forget, died of ‘syphilis’, which is another way of describing a die hard party animal with a rock and roll heart!


We run around in concentric circles, chasing hard what we want, and being equally chased by what we need.


One mans Halo is another mans Noose.


MANHOOD DOES NOT NEED INSTRUCTION. Just guidance, encouragement and leadership, give him more and he risks losing himself to ideals and not to his own primal instinctive nature.


Wii Fit, Wii Active, and all manner of Wii material to assist us in reclaiming some space for ourselves, some time altered as it were by the business of our lives. They are great programmers and marketers. At some point, the only place left for them to go will be, Wii REHAB (complete with stethoscope, urine cups and blow up doll nurse) and Wii’s Pregnant!


A shout out of respects to master musician/composer/drummer extra funky extraordinaire LEVON HELM, who I learned as much from as I could get away with. For those of you not in the soup, he was the drummer of the seminal and legendary groundbreakers, THE BAND.


Your sister has so many braces on her teeth that when she opens her mouth, it looks like a gated community.


Your sisters teeth are so crooked that when she whistles, she blows her nose at the same time.


Your sisters mouth is so raggedy that when her first tooth fell out, the tooth fairy left her a breath mint instead of coins.


We serve most fully through our ‘handicaps’.


A secret father whose DNA can be heard and felt in Country music is the still vastly under appreciated master of American classical dance music, master SCOTT JOPLIN. It were the master JOPLIN who succeeded the grandmaster RICHARD STRAUSS as the dance master of the classical form and who as well brought a tremendous amount to the nature of what evolved as country music. A direct line can be traced all the way from master FLOYD CRAMER back to Scott Joplin. Joplin also has Opera’s still to be celebrated as amazing American original works. We owe a great and abiding debt to master Joplin, and we can do more than to just name a city in Missouri in his honour.


Extra credit Question for R&R Virtual University. WHY IS GEORGE JONES GREATER than your ignorance of him?


Master RICK JAMES might need to be revisited. He never got enough credit for the fantastic creative force he was during his time.


We do not have to take drugs in order to hallucinate. We hallucinate every time we see something which fascinates us. Pay attention and you will see to what it is that we refer to.


We must always remain light on our feet. As soon as we get into a zone, they re-zone.


We must always remain on alert. As soon as we finally find our key to it all, they change the locks.


The most important documentation of American history is not the Constitution, nor the Declaration of Independence, but the documentation squirreled away at ELLIS ISLAND. It would be good to see all of this documentation available for perusal on the internet at some fair point.


FLEETWOOD MAC’s ‘TUSK’ is worthy of what attention and study you can give it. It for me is their uber- werk. Lindsey Buckingham is a hero to me. And we absorbed what we could from the master Mick Fleetwood as a drummer, he is an expert ‘musical’ drummer. I prefer musical drummers, they think not just like timekeepers but as arrangers, they play more as ‘percussionists’ adding colour and tone to the track and not just beats.


To spirit, who sees only with their eyes qualifies as blind.


Motherhood is not the same as a mother’s opinion.


As soon as you find the key, it turns into a monkey and he starts banging you on the head with the lock.


The best philosophies are personal. To share it may be to lose it at the same time.


And now the spouting Oracle takes a rest…


I am a fan of THE KINGS OF LEON. Generally Southern groups have more soul. Which is hardly a consequence of colour and is simply a matter of heart and commitment.


Remember, it is not the size of the bottle, but the size of THE GENIE POPPING OUT OF IT!


Unfortunately, my genie prefers hiding in whiskey bottles, so every time I summon him, the both of us are too drunk to create anything useful……


I’ve got the kind of luck where my genie pops out of the bottle, drunk and throws up all over me. I say, ‘boy, I sure wish you hadn’t done that’, and my genie goes, “well that’s 2 wishes left”…….


We want what we are.


Congrats to Roger Federer! He is total class in action. Were that me, during the French Open, that got charged by a flag wielding fan, while I’m on court and with a racket in my hand, that person would have been forehand volleyed across the net (because, after all, I once lived in Chicago). The Swiss can roll like that. Composure was what the great Roger showed. An all timer on all levels.


Someone recently told me that they talk to God. I told him that at this point, I’m not really comfortable talking to God without my lawyer.


Never underestimate the power of revenge. It alone can keep a man alive and present to himself and convictions.


Too much self consciousness ruins the equilibrium of the mental body and is a precursor to re-programming. Too much self awareness invades the self’s right to intimacy and privacy, can be invasive to the point of harassment. What needs to be seen is always seen, whether we are looking or not.


Detachment as flavour is more merciful than detachment as meat.


A beggar can only lead you to another beggar, or group of them.


Hesitance robs the heart.


Life supplies the sentences, we supply and place the commas.


The law is clear. When you get caught speeding you pay. And when you get caught growing, you pay even more.


Due to fiscal restraints and other budgetary considerations, the roles of the TOOTH FAIRY and the EASTER BUNNY are being consolidated. Spokesman for the newly established ‘Office of Mouth Hygenics and Mascots’ have stated for certain that the role will NOT be referenced as either the ‘Easter Fairy’ or the ‘Tooth Bunny’. The correct name will be announced closer to the official Easter launch date. Promotion sponsored by CADBURY’S.


But really, your mother’s ankles are so thick, she really did go to a dermatologist to get a rash looked at and the doctor told her “Mam you have to go to a PACHYDERMATOLOGIST for these ankles.”


Often the search to ‘understand’ evil is the search to justify it. If you do not understand it, trying to understand undermines what you understand already. If a thing is not for you, no matter how compelling the pitch, MOVE ON, or even if just slightly, it will destabilize what you know of your most precious commodity, PEACE OF MIND.


And so Lynne Cheney, a much finer woman than in fact the Vice Lord Darth deserved, but lucked into anyway, packed a lunch box for her husband, complete with his favourite Thermos, the one that looked just like a big tube of Sarin gas, and hugged him as he got into his car, driven by his loyal secret service man, Darryl. “Now don’t forget to breathe between sentences, and try not to turn so red when someone mentions President Obama”, said the real writer of the family, Mrs. Cheney. Nodding his assent, off went the first Vice president in history to go from being the world’s most silent while in office, to being its most effusive once released back into the recognizance of his private world as a citizen of these here United. It were as if he had served during the silent film era, while the world discovered the ‘talkies’ after he left the V.P. chair. Now he had 3 speeches to deliver today. 3! And while a cynic might suggest that the master Cheney were clever enough to listen to the advice of his publishing editors and, in their words, “Go out and create some new controversy, make some waves, we could use a few more provocative chapters to finish the story with a bang”, while a more jaundiced eye might see his attempt to earn a much bigger advance on another book, a friend of democracy would instead see a man possessed of the need to serve his country in perhaps a more forthcoming way than he offered while avoiding all possible responsibility to the electorate in postulating exactly why everything was so very screwed up, mean-spirited, vindictive, and embarrassing. While taking hold of the 18 wheeler that is America (even if it is an 18 wheeler carrying a fuel tank), and driving it over a sharp faced ravine, nose clinging to the rocks, ass all up and open to the elements and its pigs and wolves. Anyway, even to the master Cheney, those dark days were not as much fun as dark days might have been, so the better to let those days sink into book deals while using these days to their best possible advantage, spearing the new President every time he got a chance. So addicted had he become to the task and the glee attached to it, that it was whispered by a friend close of the family that he even sleepwalks at night, goes to the refrigerator, opens the door, and starts addressing the light as were he speaking to FOX news. This was indeed a boys life. Having a talented wife to write stuff for you, getting to spend more and more time in his secret underground command bunker, and going off to staid establishment powwows and having a chance to utilise his democracy in a far broader way than his administration would ever have themselves allowed of dissension, and never missing a chance to stick the needle into a young man whose single biggest flaw seems to be that he is not as crazy as the man attacking him, nor as guilty and bitter, at least not yet. While the wooden figurine of Mortimer rests, Howdy Doody goes on the warpath, on the offensive, as if secretly, threatening between the lines that ‘If You bastards Think that you are going To Send This Boy to jail, or Try me On War Crimes, then you Better Think Again, ‘Cause I have Got What we call, A Network Of Evil Friends, In fact I am President and Commissar of ‘EVIL ASSOCIATES INTERNATIONAL’, and I Could Yet Make It More Difficult for You College Boy President!’ Or something more or less like that, anyway. His 3 speeches were all prepared, and all colour coded by his gifted wife so that he could speak in code as he chose to any particular audience, since in effect he is a little too sophisticated to simply announce in plain language, I AM A FASCIST, FROM THE OLD SCHOOL AND I HAVE A HUGE PROBLEM WITH THE FACT THAT WE HAVE A LEFTIST PRESIDENT, (subtitle), and who is more charming and sensible than me, and doesn’t have to carry all OF THESE DAMN GHOSTS! It is my task, my new calling, TO DISTURB HIM, as I am myself disturbed. LETS KEEP THREATENING HIM TO KEEP HIM OFF BALANCE! That shall be our new Republican strategy! Meanwhile, sitting in the back of his car, he read the first speech he was to give, titled, “HAVE THE AMERICAN PEOPLE LOST THEIR STINKING MINDS?” He then moved onto the next, “ HUH, YOU GUYS GOTTA BE KIDDING ME RIGHT?”, before flipping dutifully through his last of the day, which he would proudly present at the famed HOWARD UNIVERSITY, “THIS WAS A SCHEDULING ERROR, BUT WE’LL MAKE THE BEST OF IT”. That infamous, almost sexy, half loped grin, inched slowly across his face, he chuckled somewhat that the last speech would be a lot of fun, context being all. What a wonderful world was inhabited by the newly liberated D. Cheney, and after all, it were only fair, if thought about really, he sacrificed himself constantly in protecting the last President, he took quite a few arrows. Damn if now, he wasn’t going to take a few of those same arrows out of his own back, and swiftly past the feathers, stick them in as deep into the new Presidents back as his schedule would allow. And at some point during a break in his ‘speechifying’, Darryl would drive him to a small but leafy park, where he could have his home made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and his fresh well roasted coffee blend and if he had the energy, he would maybe look over the speech he were scheduled to give to the Veteran’s Administration Prayer breakfast, he were proud of it, he had written it himself. It were called, “THE FUTURE IS COLOUR CODED”.


And in his best Barry White gruff voice, the President implored his mother in law, “Now I am President and I demand to know about Raoul!” ‘Listen boy, don’t be getting all Melvin Franklin on me, I done told you that, for now, he must remain between me and him, trust!” The newly installed President sat back in his west wing office chair dejected. “Listen, Dick Cheney is killing me, he’s obsessed with pulling my approval ratings down, and he’s messing with my traction.” Said big mamma, the mother in law in chief, ‘Now see, I have already talked to Raoul about his help on that, and we know Cheney’s doctor. All we have to do is to get him to switch his prescriptions, and we’ll be clear soon enough.’ The President leaned forward, animated, interested. “This Raoul can get to his doctor, what does he want?” ‘He just wants a Presidential golf membership and immunity’. “Immunity for what?” Sighed the mother in law in chief, ‘for whatever’. The earnest President shook his head wearily, he may look 35, he felt 65 and replied how sadly a state of commentary on security it was that one could get so easily to the former Vice Presidents doctor, and all for an upgraded golf membership at that. Uttered the President, “Our security sucks, we are going to have to address it”. Agreed his mother in law, his Presidential big mama, ‘I’ll say, just to take my own measures, I walked into the Rose Garden for tea with the Senators wives a few days ago with a grenade strapped to my ankles, a dummy grenade mind you, but only I knew that. Do you know what the guy at the security gate said? He said, I KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE, I HAD TO WEAR ONE OF THOSE THINGS FOR 2 MONTHS MYSELF. Like it was an ankle bracelet for alcoholics! Can you believe that?’ President Obama didn’t know whether to blanch or chuckle, so chuckled, as the thought of his mother in law, Michelle’s mama, wearing an ankle grenade was a bit too much to deny humours gain, he knew of no other woman in the western world who would even think about doing something like that. Then replied the President, “So then what?” ‘So then, the doctor just gives the man some happy pills, he may even then begin going around town giving speeches for your administration. Or he may suddenly decide that he wants to go and raise cattle in Nicaragua, just let Raoul take care of it, it’ll be alright.’ The young handsome President blew out what chunk of steam he were still holding beneath his coat and tie and thought that the value of listening to his mother in law in chief was well served and he’d better let it go, let it simmer down, while the dark forces were put to the good uses of a fertile and extrapolous democracy by the simple and disingenuous task of altering the master Cheney’s medication from the red pill to the blue pill, or kind of like taking his chemical formulations, from defcom 4, to defcom 3. The man is on constant ORANGE ALERT. The project, a secret, would be code named, PROJECT APPLE ALERT.


Awakening to a fresh and early Washington morning, the President stretched his long body and was surprised to see a nice mint chocolate left on the corner of his pillow. As his wife woke up earlier to be with the children before school, he thought she might have thoughtfully had it placed there by White House staff. Just then, a knock on the door. “Come in” he said as Presidentially as the first blush of dawn would allow. In walked the mother in law in chief of these here United States Of America. ‘Did you get the mint’? 
Mr. President nodded in the affirmative. ‘Then Raoul did his job. That’s his signal that Project Apple Alert went ahead as planned’. “WOW”, said the young Egyptian eared President, “He put it there himself? He must be black ops or something, that’s incredible!” ‘Well, he works for me now, so we took care of what needed to be taken care of, and while you slept, no less’. The President, used to the political landscape of mothers in law, certainly detected if but a small amount of chiding derision in her subtlety of tone, in her caress of the words, ‘while you slept’. But, as all gifted politicians must, he knew what to let slide, what to leave beneath the radar. He switched tack, “You know, I was thinking, what would make a doctor want to betray his client’s confidence like that? That’s odd”. Said his mother in law, ‘Well Raoul told me that when Cheney shot his lawyer in the face that time, it was the doctor he was aiming for’. “Oh, I see”, opined the President, “Then that makes more sense. How do we know we can trust that Raoul doesn’t do back door work for Cheney?” ‘Honey, he DOES DO BACK DOOR WORK FOR CHENEY, that’s the whole point, and that is how we control Cheney, don’t you get it? So listen, ‘cause mama is only going to say this but one time, and only one time. THE WAY TO CONTROL HIM IS FOR HIM TO THINK THAT HE CONTROLS YOU, or you miss it. Get it? CONTROL IS AN INVERTED BOWL’. And startled by this sudden flow of medusa like wisdom, he realized that he were standing in the presence of his true political guru, his Obi-Wan, his Morpheus, and she was a woman who still favoured pill box hats and was as least as tough on security as any right winger could ever be. ‘Now, just be happy being the President, keep my daughter happy, and big mama is going to keep the octopus from strangling you, KNOW THIS’. The President, still in his pajamas, though for this time not his White House sleepwear, but his favourite White Sox, Chicago pj’s, smiled his famous broad smile, what a good feeling to have the dragons on your side for a change. As the mother in law in chief were exiting the room, she turned and reminded Barry that Hillary MIGHT be late for the next mornings State Dept. briefing, seeing as they were both going to be at the former House Speakers ‘Farewell to Washington’ party, and he was known to be quite a big back room gambler, with a loose liver and a heavy hand. Asked the President, “Then while you and her are out gambling, who’s going to be writing her State report?” Michelle’s mama’s face gave quick glance to a smirk, as if the very question itself was strange. ‘Hello, Bill, Number 42!’ And hearing that, the President, number 44, figured he may as well kill two birds with one stone and invite 42 over for some ribs, a little whisky, maybe a hand or two of poker, so that he could also discuss with him the contents of what would be the next days State Dept. agenda.


In the recent ‘Confederations Cup’, the pre-World Cup tournament, Italy, lost by one goal to Egypt, always a good team, now entering their world levels. Their one goal was scored by a player named HOMOS. At least we didn’t get beaten by a bunch of HOMOS!


….You can look this up for yourself if in doubt.


I went for a year to a school so conservative that the theology professor was the most liberal man in the school, who smoked pot before he taught his class. I was too young at the time to appreciate how cool that was.


Good wine is karma, drink up!


While waiting for beggars to return their loans, YOU BELONG TO THE BEGGAR.


Opinion is most dangerous when it belongs to someone else.


What we can see with our own eyes is still programmed, though what we see in our own definition of reality are but the ROOTS of another reality which we cannot see,
though many can feel. It doesn’t stop with your eyes, but with the permission your mind and imagination give you to see and feel and know the more in life there is to awaken to. You may see as much as you may imagine, as imagination is but another word for INNERVISION. The world offers far more than can be squeezed between the frames of our eyes, and offers PANORAMIC VISION (to infinity and beyond).


Trials and tribulations are just that, and no more, they are not the final judgement.


..and so it can be said that death is our final giving.


WELCOME TO THE LAUGHINGSTOCK FESTIVAL! 
Introducing, with a brand new act: FROM FRANKENSTEIN TO FRANK INSTEAD!
In a most humorous and moving way, the former monster discusses his long term abuse of prescriptive medications and the at times funny situations they got him in. He speaks quite ‘frankly’ about his bouts with Prozac and Ritalin and how through them he found his more stoic nature and rekindled his relationship to his first love, comedy. He even manages to find the humour in the most recent incident in which he were held in jail overnight for having assaulted his accountant. His claim is that he wasn’t trying to choke him to death, but merely to retrieve monies he believes were swallowed to hide it from the books. Lest we forget, those charges were dropped, though the laughs continue!


Conspiracy hides best in plain sight.


Musicians are athletes too and the best athletes hear the music in their games.


And at a rather raucous Press conference, Frankenstein answered the question posed to him as such: FILET MIGNOTTA! Those in the know laughed at his response, while others looked on to gain some insight into his reply. Explained one reporter to another, sottovoce, ‘Mignotta is Italian slang for ‘whore’. Which then produced a second wave of nervous politically incorrect titters and guffaws. There were certainly those present for whom the monsters’ intellect were a contemplation a little too scary to think about, the crucial test of monsters not being how frightening their masks are but more to the point their intelligence, and the legendary Frankenstein, a bastard of science as was Rimbaud a bastard of the written word, was altogether frightening due to both his physical stature to go along with a curious and probing mind. Perhaps the first question took him off guard a little, being asked right off the bat what his favourite food was. For a sniffling stifling few his answer were too showy, it were vulgar even that a beast display such love of illumination. So he was capable of punning in various languages, so he had developed a taste for caviar and escargot, and so what if he made sure to always request a Humvee when booking a car from his transportation company? What mattered more was that he would confirm that his show, FROM FRANKENSTEIN TO FRANK INSTEAD, would be worth the 150 dollar ticket price being asked. Still, there were those present who wished to further explore the monster’s more controversial side. Posed one journalist, ‘So, Mr. Frankenstein, how do you like your women, assuming you do like women’. “What are you implying, quizzed the monster, Frankenstein is all man, 100%. Though too many ladies ask me to rough them up a little, I am more tender in my presentation, if you know what I mean. Frankie treats the ladies tender, let them know that. It’s just kids I slap up sometimes, you know, like when they need it, and face it, kids today sometimes could use a little slapping up. You have to understand that I was never a child, so I don’t really get them too good’. Never before had the monster been so Frank, though, in thinking about it, being Frankenstein does of necessity require that one bear being a little frank, and if one cannot quite be a big Frank, then a little frankness is a good start. He were then asked by an eager young writer if it were true that he had had his name changed, from Schwartz to the more familiar name he carried today. ‘Yes, it is true’. And so continued asking, ‘And when did you decide upon this change?’ Answered Frankenstein, ‘Right after I killed the doctor’. An audible, bell like gasp shivered from the assembled press throng. A reporter eagerly shot up her hand and after being acknowledged, queried, ‘But why did you murder your creator, and do you miss him now?’ After a long , wearied breath, the monster said, ‘It was an inheritance issue, he was cutting me out of the will and putting in my place a children’s orphanage, and I deserved that money, I put up with a lot of crap getting close to it. And he was trying to teach me to lie. Monsters, we maim, we destroy, we frighten, we kill, but we do not lie. Monsters do not know how to lie. Besides, the doctor, for all of his genius was also a fool. He should have known that you don’t create a monster only to deny a monster, that’s dangerous and unwise. If you create a monster, you must be willing to observe his appetites, OR YOU BECOME HIS APPETITE.’ Some in the gathered swell recoiled at the brutal honesty of this inglorious beast, though still moved by the eloquence with which he expressed his simple brutality, he who could take a poetic swipe at danger and leave violence trembling in awe. He who could place time itself in a bandage and wipe at its pus with his sleeves. ‘So then, asked another reporter, did you ever straighten out the inheritance matter?’ Charmed, the monster replied in earnest, ‘Quite frankly my dear, were that the case, I wouldn’t be here pitching tickets to my show.’ Frankenstein, formerly Rubenstein Schwarzkopf, then, Ruben Schwartz, thereafter, simply Frankenstein, let out what could be scientifically classified as a chuckle, and right then, out of nowhere, a schoolboy style loud balloon sized fart. Naturally, among mature, well educated professionals, representing some of the finest journals and publications in the land, representing some of the best schools, as well as the full gamut of opinion from left to right, did as you might expect such a profile to do, they broke out into rolling belly laughter. So, as a quick encore, the monster farted again, but even louder the second time, at the very least, in compensation that since the room was bound by laughter, he would need to project himself a little more. And with that, the monster got up and excused himself, leaving a crowd, as always, hungry for more.


Nothing changes us more than trying to change others. Leave others alone. They’ve just as much right to be confused as you.


The ORIGINAL SIN is questioning who we are and why.


You are now here. That is sufficient, now go and get on with it.


Nature gets bored with questions, never with fresh answers. And those who ask permission are simply waiting for an excuse to be denied. As it has been written quite before me, IT IS BETTER TO ASK FORGIVENESS THAN PERMISSION. If it is in you, DO NOT ASK, simply take notice of what efforts and accords there need be, and move as much of heaven and earth as is necessary to achieve the shape of the world you wish to inhabit. Michelangelo this bitch until the chisel drops from your fatigued hands, it is your marble, sculpt it how you want, letting those chips that fall, fall exactly where they may, and using its dust to clear what doubts remain in your throat and chest. If the system refuses to acknowledge space for your vision of the world, then fight them until the death until they do, and if they kill you first, then there is really nothing more to complain about or do. It is better to be killed fighting your own battles than to ostensibly live running away from them, which is not really living at all, but waiting for authority to live and the life force to bless you, by whichever name or even numerals you happen to call it (if bothered to call it anything at all). We inherit later what we are willing to build now.


We can no longer cry tears that we’ll never shed.


Sincere congrats to Kobe and the Lakers and Coach Phil. We have suffered the Lakers for the same time we have our Miami Dolphins, I fell for both as a 10 year old in 1972, the year of the Dolphins perfect season as well as the year Kareem Abdul Jabbar got traded from the Milwaukee franchise to the city of sleeping Angels and ever watchful thieves, Los Angeles. Congrats must also go to the tremendously inspiring Williams sisters, and the great Roger Federer, another timeless talent.


The more reality you imagine into existence, the more the definitions between imagination and reality blur. This is why we were given the gift of WILL, to blur for ourselves the line of distinction between what is and what is not. We are born dreamers, who dreams with will dreams the dream of life.


Musicians are athletes too and the great athletes can feel and hear the music that drives their game.


Artists are a cultures purest, truest voices. Which is why we are so heavily monitored and tampered with and why overall enterprises which take advantage of artists seem wilfully, deliberately so. Beating us is one of our national sports.


Mindfulness is important to mental health. Without it, anything can inhabit and influence the mind and usually does. It is very easy for ghosts and not always benevolent spirits to possess a mind that is never found at home but is always somewhere else. Being present to yourself in your precious life is the key. Self discovery involves learning to distinguish which voices are yours and which are echoes of others fears and denial.


Edna St. Vincent Millay, bitches, Edna St. Vincent Millay!


Ann Minnie Moore! (to come, right after this break and a word from our sponsor)..


Just think about how much money and time a schizophrenic saves when planning a dinner party (I’ll invite all 12 of myselves)!


Having seen ‘history’ even struggle with me for the right to tell my story (lest history be embarrassed by the truth of its own venality), we agree with the master JAMES JOYCE that, ‘History is the nightmare from which I am trying to awake’. The more time passes, the less I believe in history, which is almost entirely political, and the more I believe in the eternal stories, the myths, legends, which whether always literally true are always at least figuratively so and close to the heart of the real life we shall be asked to meditate upon. Myths and legends have no timeline. They are always being acted out by those whose eyes we follow in what we are allowed to see of our world by its smoke and mirror operators, its apologists. The system which writes its own epitaphs as ad copy has even gone out of alignment with itself, and is like unto a rabid dog angrily chasing after a tail to short to ever give his hunt satisfaction, its own.


….besides which, as a mixed race mongrel, we have always been suspicious of that which is called HISTORY, because after all, it is ‘His Story’ and not My Story, since according to the man and his timeline, My Story can never be more than a MYSTERY.


… but like the great maestra Dionne Warwick said, “Honey, we’s all mixed, OK?”


If you think composing is tough, then wait until you try decomposing.


Truth and myth are not always incompatible.


..and history is like a woman, though a woman that you don’t start chasing until AFTER you’ve already been together and she knows a few of your secrets…..


I overheard a married woman friend of mine give this advice to a young woman at a dinner party. (For real). “Never say No to a hard penis and never over commit to a soft one”. Sounded like pretty good advice from where I sat.


I have always liked Al Franken and we wish him the best. Despite the seriousness of his commitment to democracy, the Senate could use a few new comedy routines and a lot more comic relief. In courts of old, the jester, the fool, was often the one most trusted to tell what truths to the king, more feckless members were afraid to touch. Laughter is the best medicine, and perhaps the wisest.


Thank you kindly for downloading my music. I am trying to save up to buy my own weather machine. I feel ready to assume control over my own weather patterns. I am bored with corporate weather. And programming my own weather machine /satellite can give me something to do during those unpredictable rainy days. I have already owned a humidifier. I figure that a weather machine is just the next logical step.


We have inherited a system so out of alignment with itself that it is like unto Aesop’s dog barking madly at its own reflection in the pond, and drowning while trying to bite it.


Once we spiralled towards the blurred edges of the outpost stars, now just running around in circles, looking for the fire escape.


LIFE IS WHAT WE FIND EXISTS BETWEEN OUR EXPECTATIONS AND OUR DISAPPIONTMENTS.


There is a difference between SPEECH and TALK. Speech is of the moment and is vital and always economical to its own purpose. Speech is ecumenical in all facets of its reach.


Talk is all of that other shit. Speech leaves reflection. Talk leaves only echoes at best.


I enjoyed master Mickey Rourke’s ‘comeback’ film, THE WRESTLER. It is excellent, he is excellent.


These writings dedicated to you and ANN MINNIE MOORE!


Time repeats itself, though never more than when we waste it.


Pain teaches best what we’d otherwise avoid.


A man was walking through the desert and had to pee real bad, though, in thinking about it, he wondered whether he should persevere and hold on to it, as who knew when he’d next see water? Anyway, he couldn’t wait so the point was moot, if no longer as dry. Absentmindedly, in pursuing his objective, he forgot himself and leaned with one hand against a cactus while holding his ‘membership’, in great relief with the other. ‘OW, OW, OUCH’ cried out the leaking man, OUCH! And quickly adjusting himself to soothe his hand, he is startled, monkey-blasted, to see a small puff of smoke and from seemingly within the cactus, a genie pop out, though obviously annoyed. “What, even in the desert, I can’t get away from you wish-makers? I came here to meditate and rest, not to be summoned, now what do you want?” Flabbergasted, even if he didn’t really, technically know what flabbergasted even meant, he shook his head in disbelief before venturing to clear his phlegm throttled throat and ask, ‘Are you real, or a mirage?’ The genie quickly wondered whether to acknowledge himself as a mirage just to be done with it and climb back into his cactus. But, curmudgeon or not, he were still bound by genie code to answer truthfully, as truth was the law of genies. “No, sweat encumbered one, I am not a mirage. See those two playboy bunnies making out naked near that oasis in the near distance at your 5’ clock? Do you see, with the blond on top?” The man nodded excitedly in the affirmative. “Well, THAT’S a mirage, I’m very real, so state your business so that I can get back to my meditation”. The man was beside himself. ‘Wow, a real bona fide genie! As it happens I’m a reporter for a local news weekly, may I ask you a few questions first?’ “Well that counts as your first wish. OK, just kidding, but only as it may benefit the progress of humanity and all that other fine print and blah, blah, blah, so go ahead, but don’t take all day, I want to go and hang out with those two playboy bunnies later.” The man couldn’t believe his luck, a genie from a cactus and with a droll sense of humour no less! ‘Are you always funny?’ asked the reporter by trade. “It helps in this profession honey, so yes I am, though it has gotten me into bits of trouble before in times past. Once for example, while still in genie school, I had to give a bible quote as part of an exam, and my troublemaking friend Ernie, slipped me a quote to read, which he dared me to read out aloud, and it caused quite a stir and had me placed on probation for a spell”. Inquisitively, the man inquired, ‘What was the quote?’. Heavy sighed the genie, “THERE’S A BALM IN GILEAD! Of course, you’d have to appreciate that we were in the school’s ‘Gilead Auditorium’ when I yelled it out, and as you can imagine, said real fast, it does kind of sound like, ‘there’s a bomb in this auditorium’. Needless to say, the faculty were not too amused, and quite a few fellow genies were grumbling about it for a long time before it became funny to them too.” The reporter still couldn’t quite fathom the incongruity of accidentally leaning up against a cactus and rubbing out a genie. ‘But excuse me, asked the baffled man, why are you in a cactus and not a bottle ?’ “Me and the bottle have negative connotations, I was in a genie twelve step program called ‘3 Wishes’, as for us it is only a 3 step program we get, we lose too much service time otherwise. For me, a bottle was not a positive association so I let it go, I especially used to love Jack Daniels bottles, and sometimes those cool blue Bombay Sapphire bottles, but it does get a little suffocating after a while. There are not as many of those old Persian ‘I Dream of Jeannie’ bottles left any more. And the few good ones are mainly in museums in Europe. We take what we can get. For that reason hermit shell crabs don’t trust us too much anymore. People don’t like rubbing cactus’ normally, so I get a good rest in a cactus, that’s if it is all the same to you”. ‘Man, said the man, Imagine, I could have had my recorder and had the world’s greatest interview, but no, I’m the asshole stuck out here lost in the desert, looking for God’. “But why are you looking for God in the desert? Even the desert waits for spring. Why not seek God, if you must, at Disneyland instead? You’d have as much luck finding him there than here, and a lot more fun.” Puzzled the reporter, ‘But don’t you ever look for God?’ “No. By looking for it, you lose it. By looking for yourself, you scatter yourself to the wind. And by nature, we genies are not seekers of things, but finders of them. Look, we’ve not got all day, so what are your wishes?” The man was sure with his answer, he wasn’t really after wish fulfilment, he just wanted to understand himself better, to get a firmer grasp on the meaning of his existence. The cactus fairy was surprised, most all men asked for material things, most women , some sort of revenge, here was a man who wished to know the value of his life. Fair enough thought the genie, still he was stolid and stable in his measured tones. And for him, the sooner he answered the man’s wish, the quicker he could go back into his cactus and finish listening to his newly re-mastered Mp3 of THE COLLECTED WORKS OF MEL BROOKS, which for genies, is akin to studying the works of Chaucer. “Let me share this with you dear friend, and listen, that I not repeat myself. No man really looks for God, who is present within all aspects of its creation, always within it, never not looking at it and observing it at the same time. To look for God is like looking for air. Why? When you can just breathe it. Seen correctly, you cannot possibly miss God, even if you tried. All things are God being God as that. You are looking really for YOURSELF, and your acceptance of yourself, so leave God alone. 
AND TAKE HEED, LOOKING FOR YOURSELF IS SPIRITUAL HARRASMENT. And a form of emotional abandonment, for ask yourself this, Who is home looking after your home while you are out looking for your home? The reporter, also the man, was knocked a little sideways. He said, somewhat pleadingly to the cactus genie, ‘Yes, but you hear people say so many things, one gets confused!’ Replied with some patience the genie, “Dear one, confusion is the law for as long as you are looking for it. For as long as you are looking for what you already have, you will naturally court confusion. It is also true that people will say whatever works in getting your attention, though whether it is true or not is up to you. Don’t forget that insanity does not usually bill itself as such. The good news is this, a lot of you comes back to you when you stop looking for you and the missing link stops being missed, when you stop declaring it missing. And perhaps the most important thing that this genie can tell you is, THE QUALITY OF YOUR LIFE MIRRORS THE QUALITY OF YOUR QUESTIONS, keep your questions simple, you get simple answers. Complicate your questions, and you inherit a more distracted, complicated life. Though, while complication suits you, wear it”. The man hastily from excitement pondered, ‘Do you have a philosophy?’ The cactus genie replied swiftly, “We genies do not study philosophy, we study ourselves”. The man was humbled by his stroke of easy fortune. He had started the day, well before the sun had shaken the moon glow from its slumber, well before even the storm rushed birds had gargled the notes loose from their warbling chests, and felt himself inexplicably drawn to this swath of arid turf, stumbled into just the right cactus, at just the right time, and was made to regain his childhood belief in magic and wonders. ‘I don’t know what to say Cactus Genie, thanks for this, this has been totally amazing! I know this sounds silly, continued the man, but do you have girlfriends, wives?’ The cactus fairy chuckled, the manner in which can only be known to those precious few souls who have heard the laugh of those very few cactus fairies known to us. “Listen, it takes a VERY experienced genie who can handle a woman’s wish list, AFTER she’s gotten inside your head. It’s tough enough work before. I’m not yet at that level so I keep it light. Later , I’ll hang out with those two playboy bunnies you thought you saw earlier.” The man said ‘But hey, you told me that it was a mirage!’ Said Cactus Genie, with a smirk, “I said it was a mirage to YOU, to me it’s all the same. For me, if I can see it, I can have it. When it also becomes true for you, you won’t need genies anymore”. The reporter, mindful that he had already intruded perhaps on the genie’s prickly patience, asked a simple, if timid final question. ‘Have you ever made any big mistakes?’ And answered the desert oracle, “ Yes, a few. Though, if not the biggest, the one that sticks out in my mind most is the time I misheard JELLO, and the poor woman wound up to her neck stuck inside a big wooden stringed instrument inside a bathtub. It was hot that day and I thought she said Cello. I had to give her an extra wish just to get free of it, or the poor dear might’ve gotten ‘bowed’ to death. Of course, those were what I like to call my glass container days.” And having heard that from the genie, a bristling, quirky, if bottle averse one, the reporter who was also the man turned towards the crisping sun, leaned towards the far advance preceded by his wilting shadow, and made his way step by strengthening step towards the horizon of his boxy Ford truck, the one which would take him back to his flat paved suburban ranks. A few short steps towards his journey back, he heard a final word from the cactus, though this time without the genie, who had by now receded back into the cool of its hustle and thistles. “If you want to increase your wishes, pray more to increase your confidence, which increases your luck.”


What we do not understand doesn’t matter. Let it, and it haunts us.


And even if they had no idea at all what it meant to go ‘GARKING’, still they went ‘GARKING’ and committed themselves to it as were they the earth’s most passionate. It were correctly figured that later, in one’s middle or even later years, one could meditate on the meaning of ‘GARKING’, and why it were so essential at that given time, to have given up one’s self, body and soul to an activity which may or may not even be real.


We believe that ‘GARKING’, even if not even close to being described, vetted, or even remotely understood, is THE next really cool and trendy, ‘must have’ therapy of the season. For those on the ever sharpening cutting edge of opinion, we know that this activity holds a new source of adventure. We salute those brave souls who have already ventured into the bold new world of ‘GARKING’, even as what it is exactly is still being defined and debated.


‘GARKING’, even if done alone, is still a rich source of fibre and calcium!


The bold innovation of the DON KING KINDERGARTEN AND ELEMENTARY SCHOOL, was that to uniform the children, instead of making them buy clothing they couldn’t afford, they were all given uniform Don King haircuts. Which they all wore with the pride equal to those who would wear gingham edged caps and suits. In his largesse as benefactor, the mistake that master King made was in not foreseeing the rift that would inevitably over time build between the ‘processed’ Don King’s, and their simmering rivals, the ‘naturals’, who favoured the easier, less chemical reliant ‘Buckwheat’ look. From purely a strategical standpoint however, it were noticed that in fights that broke out, the ‘processed’ Kings out hairpulled the ‘Buckwheat’ Kings due to the advantage that processed hair has on slipping out of your hands over the more natural, nappy style, which tends to grip. The boxing promoter is said to be distressed and looking into ‘all possible outlets in order to bring unity back to Don King Kindergarten and Elementary School and it’s credibility as a beacon of learning for underprivileged children’. Other reliable sources say that the matter could escalate if not swiftly resolved. It is said that while publicly neutral, the Rev. Al Sharpton is partial to the ‘processed’ Kings while the Rev. Jesse Jackson is said to be more empathetic to the plight of the ‘Buckwheat’ children.


It were a grave disappointment 
To have wound up so dead, 
Those were the last words I heard 
The vessel say who wrestled 
With the thundering herd 
With the fickle, easier than my fists will 
And while crawling through the thistles 
(and if that don’t say it, this will) 
Scarred, tarred, feathered, (like Farrah), 
And choked by the dragons of huff and puff. 
Scratched and clawed in a rough dry patch 
And made to seize what I could not snatch. 
A bachelor is so called while he holds his batch 
And wallows in their folds like scruff. 
We have both been there and done that 
And downloaded what advertised and 
advised the same. We’ve been ‘cara’ 
To some, though never to any who 
Knew our name (or aura), as for the wise 
They kept their distance if not the blame, 
And billed the rest to ‘merchandise’ 
As even the holy withdraw from that 
Which genuflects to circumcise 
and ate its way out of the womb of ‘Mara’, 
and licks its balls before its shame. 
(Actually it tickles!) 
And refuses to surmise why he curses 
At rules he’ll rage at and never rehearses, 
Rambles, bristles, at suggestions 
Bleeding from the wounded game. 
For this boy, 
The striped man always whistles, 
At his barracuda pride, always aims, 
To pry him from his searches. 
My full innovations, off-sides, I 
Touch the ball, the field reverses, 
The ambulance stalks angrily, 
Full of nurses, who stand against my gains, 
who slither at my strides. 
And I run all the way, not to spoil the ride, 
Otherwise I’m beat. 
They tackle me on earth too bitter 
To hold its own roots, and littered with 
Bare purses. But I run 
Like a missile in this sharp edged heat, 
especially in my football boots, 
which the sponsor reimburses.


I am known to be a relatively tolerant man. But it is better to avoid me than to fuck with my name. Sometimes people play games and try to ‘see’ what happens if they pretend not to know, and I am always a clear reader of intent, since I listen to the heart, almost never what someone says, even ‘how’ they say it I am attuned to, for better or worse (and this is the price of being a ‘sensitive’). I don’t like games, games kill the spirit, if they be not games in alignment with the nature of the spirit being gamed. And just like in computer games, who plays gets charged, this is the law of equilibrium. Much as my master Muhammed Ali, I take it as a taunt to my emotional security when I am called a name we have not been for 14 years, despite what media games have been played in support of pretence. We admit fully that we are not much for nostalgia and were not a fan of the 80’s, even while walking through another life during that time and we are more than grateful to have had our life given a new prescription for its health and well being and for the joy to return to its concept of living. We also at moments encounter the ‘mutes’, or rather those who out of spiritual stubbornness, act as if they are unaware, though we notice that they can never say my name, as if it is some sort of personal betrayal, how another man survived his execution at the hands of the state. How can one explain to another that a change of name is not so simple as all of that, just refilling out address cards. It is a profound reawakening to another spiral of life. It is a new vision overlain over the old one, which produces a more stereo-optic way of seeing things. Not just AT things, but through them, and at some point, past, present and future become but a long panoramic graphic, through which self can be related to and effected, the way one pearl on a string of them is a part of all the rest, the different brain cells of one mind. Knowing who I am and why I am here has always been my guiding force in this landfill of travails. Accepting that we shall have to put up with a lot, and have always been overloaded with ‘a lot’, has more than provided strength to the mission, and we promise, at one point, all they did was send people at me to disengage me from my faith in my spirit, and my diligence in protecting its needs and the space it requires in being that. We are certainly not here to fuck with anyone else or their chances for promoting their vision in the world. 
We are also clear that to avoid most jokers is an intuitive gift from nature, one for which we are most grateful. I am not looking for ANYTHING from the past life which we but very narrowly survived, that slippery, ruthless, evil, jealous life with all of its abject greed and trap doors. All of its mockings, its nefarious accounting (which robs the spirit, not just the coin box, the root of all money is the wealth of the spirit), and its incessant need to dominate, though completely, the will of the children of God recognizing their will to service through what gifts they have to share. I were given, over 14 years ago, after stacked hours of meditation, dreams, long and vital walks, and what good smoke I could find, to go ahead and pull the plug, to commit in effect spiritual suicide, and trust the long slow necessary process of using the same vessel, used and cracked though it were, to build and grow a new psyche, to replace the old one which had become damaged to the point of being unrecognizable to the mind it were meant to collaborate with. The outside of the thing is what it LOOKS like, the INSIDE of the thing is what it is. I were given to know by my ‘divina’ in meditation that naturally, people being people, once I changed the name/spirit, THEN the previous one would start to gain more cachet after having been deliberately ditched by the state and held by them in a state of wicked isolated animation, perhaps to be thawed out by them at some later date, to coincide perhaps with a museum exhibition, or after other vehicles prove less useful to them and the smoke and mirrors they sell their souls to. I am not asking you to agree with me, a man would never ask another to agree with what he must do as a condition of what he must do, he simply grabs what tools lie fallow beneath his crust, and gets on with the acts of creation he is driven to accord to his soul. Far too much time is wasted otherwise. I come now as this, after having been summarily rejected as THAT. We are actually now finally making the music that I have been incubating, in one way or another, since my early childhood, when the dew on my imagination had a soft chirping morning glow, and our head not yet too full of the holes and wounds that would come looking for it later. We respect your right to breathe your own space. And it is OK for you to keep your personal opinions and doubts to yourself, I do not feel obliged to them, only to the music and to what of a voice I may sometimes glean to be approaching my inner ear with mercy. WE ARE SANANDA, OR WE ARE NOTHING. And we cannot printably express, the amazing grace it took to help me from the wreckage of a wretched storm paralyzed ship, swimming through shark infested waters, through pirates and their high rates, through whatever hurts and causes you to cough up blood, and somehow got me straggled and haggled, puffing out what I thought were my last breathes while hugging the tongue of the seashore. I did not come to REPLACE anyone, nor do we have a replacement type psyche (except in my own case of course). We came to JOIN, to lend our shoulder to the turning of the wheel. We are stolen from still and from divers places, but as of yet, no beast has stolen my will to serve AS I AM. Neither are we a bendy toy, nor can we serve successfully two minds. We are here now and that is all. Let those who will to travel on with me, let them come. Let those who wish to refrain do so with this soul’s complete and mature blessing. Image can serve, it can also kill. Image anyway is shit for the most part, a cover which conceals how great is the fear we have for ourselves. I were a witness and without games or fanfare I say this, TTD lived through a most wicked and tragic life, without a doubt and once his petition for clemency was accepted by the Angels, a plan was hatched and the me that we are now, was an essential part of that plan. He is gone to his well deserved rest. And we know not even of other Angels with the heart to try to convince him to abort his convalescen