Ladies and caterpillars of society, I present to you, possibly, AN EXCESS OF REASON!
Written from ITALY, a subsidiary of the U.S.A.
IT IS NOT CHEATING IF YOU THOUGHT OF IT FIRST !
It is the next guy who gets busted, for trying to do it again.
(and once they know you are coming, you can't come the same way twice).
I work for the long hand of time and not its short hand.
The separation of church and state is a massive lie. They are only separate when protecting themselves against the other. Though the young archer can tell you that his back is full of their mutual arrows.
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. UNLESS, you happen to be the bird in hand. And you have other plans.
Pulling a rabbit out of a hat is easy. It is matching the rabbit with the right product placement that is hard.
Take 2- Pulling a rabbit out of a hat is easier than getting it to go into the hat in the first place. The trick is in where you hide the carrot.
Take 3- It is easier to get a rabbit out of a hat, if it doesn't have a flat screen TV inside, and a wet bar.
Paying conscious attention shows value for the EVOLUTION we've gained.
…. and from this grows valor and other fruits of honor.
As you have spoken up for other men, so shall other men speak up for you.
Indolence disturbs analysis.
The word, BUT. Just one little word, though a massively divisive one in concept.
And trust me, pulling a rabbit out of a hat is a lot easier and less time consuming than pulling a rabbit out of a Porsche. The only thing harder is pulling one out of a paternity suit. Which comes complete with a hat.
As soon as you write it down, someone has already outgrown it.
We cower most towards other cowards. Cowards are drawn to one another.
In my experience, GUNS DO NOT KILL PEOPLE, middle management does!
It seems that, THE MORE YOU HAVE TO LOSE, the more forms to fill out.
Poor BLACK EXPRESSION, before it even gets out of bed to put its clothes on, there are already people peering into the window, through the blinds with binoculars, to see what it will be wearing and how it might possible stop or contain it. And if they cannot dress it, they may as well shoot at it. OR, they'll send the NEW UNCLE TOMS to guilt you up. The ones which now come in hip hop colors and spewing separatist black nationalism on behalf of the man's ancient policy holding us as far back in the race as is possible, while others advance at the expense of our uncertainty.
Dedicated, the portions of these writings are, to my erstwhile government monitors.
When tyranny wears the mask of compassion, it often takes the form that POLITICAL CORRECTNESS now assumes. Whereby we are taught, ANOTHER FORM OF polite LYING and willful blindness which leads to more blindness, as from itself it stems. Just tell the truth. Calling a spade a spade benefits both you and the spade, and if the spade sees himself as a club, that's their problem and not yours.
Show me CHARISMA, and I'll show you the other side of the coin that is MANIC DEPRESSION. Show us a visionary, and we'll show you someone blinded by the cost of their own dreams.
What greatly disappoints me about science and technology as I get older is that after all of the innovations and strides of the previous years, we still never got, the grand prize which were PROMISED to my generation of men, to wit, X-RAY SPEX !!! Yes, I'm impressed by eye retinal recognition security systems, night vision goggles, and the Ipad and all of that is cool Amazing advances in electronic heart implants and various inventions created from the sorcery of science. STILL, where are the glasses which I can put on and see through a woman's clothing, which helped to sell all of those comic books when we were a child? See through walls, see through negligees. To see through bank vaults and the like and such. When shall we breech the final frontier of visionary eyewear? Boldly taking us into the future, where time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping. We are always marketed what we think we might want instead of being given what we want. Keep the world. We want, X RAY SPEX. And we want them now. 3D? You gotta be joking!
And BEFORE we get caught up in 3D, how about making some eyewear to accompany the film whereby one might be able to see, the PLOT. That would be very helpful. When we can see that, then we'll talk about 3D.
I could give a damn about gay marriage as long as it doesn't produce more record company A&R men, who if ONE MORE, phones up and asks if we wish to make a DISCO record, we will join the Ku Klux Klan (as a part of their multicultural outreach program)!
The MEDIOCRITIZATION of the world is the real conspiracy. The 'blanding' out of everything, until the soul can only be aroused by pills. MEDIOCRITY RULES!
David had to figure a way to fight Goliath, once the challenge were on. In those days, it were difficult to study film of your opponents because film was very, very rare and therefore prohibitively expensive, even for young Kings. Young King David had research done and found out that the last and so far only man to whip Goliath was a brave young lad not too far away in a village neighboring his restive kingdom. He sent for the young lad, a mite smaller than even the diminutive king, and with the features of a peach faced boy, and were told that the secret of his victory against the giant, had been a giant white horse.
The lad rode up on the giant white horse, which had put him chin level with Goliath, and took advantage of the giant's reluctance to swing wildly at a small, tiny man on a massive whinnying white horse, lest he miss the small man and hit the gigantic beast he rode in on. Whereby, it were feared, all hell might break loose, as hell tends to do, upon the smacking of a horse seemingly as big as a half moon. And sensing the giant's confusion and hesitation, the small man punched Goliath right in the middle of his nose, which stung like the devil, then just as quickly, struck him in the middle of his forehead with his fists, twice. And finally, a 'Scottish Kiss', a rude, unexpected headbutt, again on the giant's immense forehead. So much forehead, that it were reclassified after the fact as a 'five-head'. Before Goliath could recover to retaliate, the humongous fable sized filly reared up and challenged the giant with her hooves. The giant backed down, bowed humbly and left the terrain as fast as he had come. And no more problems with giant intruders in that area since.
The young king thought this a great, bold strategy for his own defense. After thanking the brave young warrior for his time and story, he dismissed him to return back to his village, though not before asking the man if the king might make use himself, of the warrior's special giant white battle horse. A giant horse to help the king fight a giant man? The young village warrior said no. He were not really a royalist.
So out went David's plan A. Said the young man, “Your highness, I've given you my testimony and my winning strategy, what more should I give?” So on to plan B. Which began to occupy the yearling king when not distracted by the annoying thought that some milk breathed lad from a middling village far from the madding crowd had a giant white horse with special powers, while he, the king, didn't. Or that the smug little village bastard decamped from sharing the horse when it might have been of highest value to the kingdom. And only much later would it have occurred to him that he might have had his army seize the horse in the interests of national security under suspicion that it might have been a trojan horse and required further investigation. David simply took this anger and used it to focus his will to win. Plan B was to catch the giant unawares with the slingshot technique. He would first be invited into the palace to have drinks with the king, his advisors, protectors, apologists and lawyers, as paperwork first needed to be signed before any serious fighting could commence. Even for kings, the laws of bureaucracy's wheels never rest. The royal bartender cleverly mixed a 'slingshot' for the giant to drink, loaded with just enough poison to make it an even fight. Then Goliath downed in quick succession, another slingshot and a Long Island Iced tea. When offered a TOM COLLINS, he replied, 'Pleased to meet you Mr. Collins', shook his hand, asked about his family and then drank him down in one burping gulp. After a few more pleasantries, and a final 'slingshot' for Goliath, the two combatants took to the royal yards for their duel, to a large excited, eager, bloodthirsty crowd.
Crowds generally being more thirsty for blood, the more composed of tourists they are. Mostly cheering on the magnificent baby visaged king, though Goliath's fans were careful not to cheer too loud on the King's property, and with the King's catering still fresh in their mouths. Upon a few steps more, it were becoming impossible for the giant to remember his game plan, or the agreed upon rules of engagement. He even forgot his name, although the King's court had been gracious enough to outfit the giant with his own name tag; HELLO, MY NAME IS GOLIATH. And with an earth shivering thud, the great beast fell over, backwards, without having been touched. Seeing his opportunity, the young brave king walked over to the giant's prone body, smelling heavily of alcoholic by products, and with 'SWIFTIAN' panache, stood atop its chest, took his slingshot, with the stone in it at the ready, a pumice stone, and whacked the giant right in the middle of his forehead. Twice. Then twice again with the royal band playing Spartacus like music. Goliath were struck as perhaps the LILLIPUTIANS might have struck Gulliver. Stunned by stones stacked against the stable telling of his story. When the King saw blood, he gushed, felt mercy and left the stoning at that. The giants gashing wound would forever bear the mark of a day of infamy. David's administration were now forever transformed. Before the great crowd dispersed, the lawyers got to work getting people to sign waiver forms agreeing to discuss nothing of what they had seen.
The official story would be handled by the King's people. There were no need having it getting around that any other version were acceptable, and that was the end of that. And the beast were dragged away. By the hair, like in a wrestling match. Then his toupee came off, to the roaring delight of the beer soaked throng! All went away satisfied to have witnessed such good entertainment. Though a few, as might be expected, criticized it as political spectacle and claimed that the giant were paid to take a dive and legitimize the early rule of the young king, while beefing up his image and setting up the gate for a later pay per view rematch. Still, a legend were born, the story of DAVID AND GOLIATH, with the proud victorious David none the worse for wear for having taken advantage of the statecraft available to him, and those tricks at his disposal whereby he might tempt the pendulum of fate towards his lexicon of views. The fight added to his resume, and its retelling always impressed visiting dignitaries and kings. His harem were likewise moved to breathlessness and to consider him the most manly of men, with real blood on his small but royal hands, and with a NAPOLEAN complex before even Bonaparte. As well as a libido to match the size of his self belief and divine conviction. As for the young warrior in the small village with the white giant horse, politics took care of that.
What with the royal wheat embargo in place to counteract the tax rebellion spearheaded by the same young man who had once stood before the young king, the villages, though his in particular, could get no excess grains by which to feed their livestock, especially ones surplus to requirements, such as special white giant ones which needed far more than the usual amounts to survive. And who had a massive jones for oats. Which dried up for the fabulous fiery filly. While eating grass she would dream of giant carrots and see bales of hay as bonbons of rolling wheat. And sensing her own plausible end, she would oft times gaze into the burlap haze of the near distance and imagine herself resting beneath the light dappled canopy of moist banana trees, their big leaves swaying beyond the banks of the river which stand between this life and the next dream. A place where all horses are wild and 'de-facto', though at peace, and race nothing but the winds and the jockeys that beat the winds with wings the size of cloudbursts.
The family of the young brash warrior did what it had to do in order to survive, as the special giant white fabled horse, perhaps even a kin to PEGASUS, lost at first one leg to amputation, then a second, a third, before fatally, the last leg. In resignation and mercy, the family and the young warrior who had once felled Goliath before even the King himself had, had the horse put to death. A special white giant horse that never lived long enough to pass on her giant horse genes, now lost to time. The moral of the story perhaps being, in having the foresight (or even the foreskin) not to refuse a king's request in distress, as it may have consequences which may come back to leave boot steps on your grave.While costing YOU a few more coins in taxes for your bootstraps. The other side of the same coin being that, with a special white horse, you don't need to kill it all now in order to have it all now. You can start eating it, piece by piece, little by little, and then, kill it LATER, once the pain becomes too great (and the smell too contentious). That way, you get more out of it as you go. AND, you get to spend more time with the horse before it succumbs to the obvious.
We now turn you over to the FRED OF CONTINUITY. Take it away Fred!
The SKIPPING STONES COMPETITION has been CANCELLED this year after environmental groups managed to successfully block the event by arguing that the skipped stones posed a potential threat to surface feeding fish and algae life. A marine animal might get hit in the head by a stone, which as one tree hugger mentioned in earnest, was the equivalent of a “man getting hit in the head as our prophet David, slew Goliath, and smote him.” It were also noted that the sudden tense ripples caused by the stones might upset the emotional equilibrium of the pond's delicate natural eco-system.
So, careful in an election year that no fish be 'smote'', nor that anyone get too smitten with the idea of smote fish, or associated with the possible public panic regarding the unpopular notion of psychologically disturbed and displaced amphibian life, support was withdrawn by local sponsors for the SKIPPING STONES competition. One disgruntled stoner was overheard to have said in disgust, “it seems like maybe we'll have to learn to skip stones on dry land. But then again, they might start complaining about the groundhogs.” It appears that one man's ripple, is another man's trip wire. And that one man's joy, is another man's invitation to compromise and tax it.
Thieves exist. The question is: how much do we cheat ourselves?
I do not own a gun. I am not a gun guy. But how can any reasonable person, given the model of the world we now live in, look a man in the eye and ask him to give up his LAST SURE FIRE LINE OF DEFENSE, in protection of that which he covets most? To wit, his family, loved ones, property, home, assets and perhaps most importantly, his family honor? If you too are a man, you cannot. It runs counter to a man's sense of provision to be expected to stand down from his deepest nature and leave possible danger to pursue happenstance. Not to mention, small thing though it be, THE CONSTITUTION agrees.
The same constitution that the law is sworn to uphold. The world IS crazy, not our fault, though it is our karma. Responsible, sensible policy gun ownership is the way, not disarming lawful citizens and neutering the karma of justice and the balance thereof. It is not wise that a man leave ALL of his fate, to the state. AND, it is spiritually irresponsible.
This office suggests again, that when the LIONS ARE UNSURE, the whole jungle trembles with anxiety.
Recording artists almost never escape the whims of how the shareholders wish to contain them. One day your boss is an idiot who overvalues you, the next day replaced by the new boss who under values you with shrugs and dismissals, ill timed coughs and answers, and has absolutely no idea of who you are. And little balls to take responsibility for it.
TREEHOUSE PRODUCTIONS PRESENTS (the Director's Cut) of:
THE KING'S PEACH!
The King: I say there, St. Clair, I ssssimply mmmmmust have that damn ppppeach for bbbbreakfast this morning! Sssssee that it is done! You know how much I love Pppppppeaches!
Royal Butler: Yyyyyyes, your royal hhhhhHighness, I shall sssee that it is done!
The King: Young man are you Mmmmmmocking your Kkking?
Royal Butler: Nnnnnno Sir, remember, I Sssstutter too. It's why you hired me.
The King: Right you are, as yyyyyou were. Run along. I want my fresh Ppppppeach.
Royal Butler : And what would his royal mmmmmajesty prefer failing peaches? Some ppporridge perhaps? Ppppplums, sssssstewed Pppppears?
The King: Stop it St. Clair! This preponderance of popping p's is preposterous! Now fetch forthwith a pppppppPineapple!
It did at some point dawn on the SPEEDSTER, that he would never catch up to the other car ahead of him since he were already in the car which he were chasing. There WERE no other car, the speedster was chasing his shadow. There were two cars in his mind, but just one on the road. Though why should he get treatment for being possibly BI-POLAR, if he can get away with thinking he owns two great cars for the price of one?
TWITTER.com? Cool. No problem, but I'm looking for something more commensurate with my age, experience and where I am in life. Something more compatible with my reality. I am thinking about replacing my Twitter account with, BITTER.Com! 13 characters or less, and NO vowels, just consonants and symbols (ç@#à+ˆ¶ù$). If you cannot hang with it, it is not for you. Curmudgeons of the world, unite!
A smart COWBOY doesn't only look at the girl, no matter how fine. He also considers the horse she rode in on.
Look at the positive. You are not losing hair, you are rapidly growing scalp! Growth is good!
In a NUTSHELL, (though we may require a little more space than that): No middle ground exists, if you fall asleep to evil, you wake up to evil, and EVERY TIME.
Life is a funny girl. See her as she is, without makeup, and she and her people start calling you names. And they keep a library full of references for just that purpose.
MASTERAZOFF, please pick up the white courtesy phone, your karma is calling, and it's kind of pissed. But while you wait on hold, CONSIDER THIS: 2 GIANT CARROTS JUMP OUT OF A SPACESHIP, startling the LIVING DAYLIGHTS!!!!! out of a VEGETARIAN gathering MUSHROOMS from the FIELDS. Before the VEGGIE can even gather his wits (he were heard muttering to himself, 'lettuce pray'), THE 2 towering CARROTS say to him, “DON'T WORRY, WE COME IN PEAS”.
Asthma often courts a child that has to swallow too much pride, and too many thought bubbles. Asthma also courts the highly creative child for whom expression is a means to an end, but thwarted. It can also attend those who feel emotionally crowded out of their own lives. It can be dealt with, it ain't nothing but a thing.
It just may be that a misstep is a half step in the right direction.
Dedicated to all incoming and outgoing LETIZIA'S. They know who they are. And we thank them for looking out while they were there.
And remember, one man's meat is another man's abstract structural format analyzer and fertilizer mechanism. This aphorism also comes in FARSI and URDU translations. It is also available in Blu-Ray. All formats. …And in CHINA, one man's meat is another man's dog which was sent out to bring in the newspapers from the curb, poor thing, and never returned.
If you are willing to take NO for an answer, then it wasn't your question. If it is yours, it is never NO, it is about WHEN? PATIENCE is every hunter's first great catch. Bag patience first and the rest will follow.
A BIRD IN THE HAND IS WORTH 2 IN THE BUSH, unless that bird shits a lot.
Imagine the indignity and the embarrassment of being the pig with the same apple in its mouth that it took to lure him into the kitchen in the first place. Like eating horse, with the fresh carrots that led them to the slaughterhouse on the side with the mashed potatoes.
Where determination exceeds caution, nuggets of inspiration are.
Your imagination can only be kept well attended by the works of the great grand American maestra, EUDORA WELTY. This will count as 10% of your final literature score.
WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE A WOMAN?
Honey, it means what they tell us it means. They are on the front lines of it, they should know.
I once lived around the corner from one of the world's all time greatest surfers, LAIRD HAMILTON. And yes Virginia (this ain't West Virginia), I too idolized him like a bronzed Roman. He's a dude's dude, all dude and all the time. AND his taste in babes matches his legend, as it should be required of all heroes. And his wife GABBY, were a goddess, like she should have been, as well an athletic superstar. He is also a master's master. And as sharp as anyone from Harvard.
Point is, even one of time's best surfers will tell you that you can not make too many plans for the waves. There are the waves in our minds, there are the waves THAT ARE. And you surf the waves that are, while keeping the waves in your mind at bay. The music business got into the habit of trying to plan all of the waves, while regulating against the waves that are. And surrounded by waves of data. Eventually, you drown, go down with the ship, and your last will and testament are bubbles that pop the surface of the water. Should an instinctive surfer come, they are run into the shallows, onto the sharp and hidden rocks, lest the planned waves, the artificial ones, be disturbed in their clock like motion. Enforced waves, then, REINFORCED WAVES!
We are to be here and put time in, to recapture the beach heads for our children, that they may natural surfers realize themselves to be, and live as one with the shapeshifting waveforms that have to date, given testament to what dreams may come. And the shapes of authority those dreams come wrapped in, leaving in their trail, architectural remedies. And those castles we first made of sand, that now form the concrete pillars of our union of trust. We are none the worst for harvest. And thrown back onto the shores of ourselves, we swim on knowing that there is nothing else to look for, that we do not own too much of already and gravely ignore in the process.
I love surfers, a similar outlook and 'bent' to my own. Speaking of bent, just make sure that when you buy weed from surfers, you check first to make sure that it is dry. This has been a public service announcement.
We love music magazines. We don't read them, we use them for rolling them up and killing mosquitos. It really works!
ALSO IN OSLO! (though but for one night only).
Only thieves look for the EASY LIFE. The good life requires gardening and sweat, a little toil as one clears the soil. The easy life takes more than it gives in return. As we clear a path for ourselves, we become surer, our lives become clearer, to see, to feel, to know. The process looks after itself.
Always aim to remain most faithful to who you know you are. It pays off in time. It is OK if you are SCHIZOPHRENIC, as long as you can get the others to agree that YOU are the one in charge of the committee. Put those bitches to work, and now you've got a TEAM.
And as it comes to pass, the CANARY doesn't care if he gets on the miner's nerves. He only cares that he gets their attention, and gets to their nerves BEFORE the gas does.
Where TIME and attention are spent, seeds are sown.
And the final philosophy becomes this:
NO MIND, NO PHILOSOPHY!
….and in any event, even the most beautiful philosophies of our spring spent youths become a barrel of monkeys in time, and a pain in the barrel to keep up with. This is why, an exhausted mind is often it's own blessing to its self. An exhausted mind stays put and as a consequence might be more easily reached by the ghosts of inspiration chasing it. Just as it might be a little harder for us to receive our packages, if we are never home, when the mailman arrives.
The greatest time machine yet invented is the human mind. With it, we can place ourselves anywhere at anytime, the limits being but what we dare to imagine. And time itself bows in respect to the will and determination of a lucid mind. And nature herself bends over backwards to protect it. Determination and not chance controls the wheel of evolution. Although falling asleep for too long at the wheel grants chance too many rolls of the dice.
Either way, according to the law of the jungle, we pay.
We pay when our father's leave, it may be that we
pay even more when they stay.
Cosmic calculus presents:
…and by subtraction, THE FEWER LAWS,
THE FEWER CRIMES!
And THAT Virginia, is ONE
way to reduce prison populations
and increase effective community
policing, while greatly de-stressing
our officers in uniform.
….although when there is simply
SO MUCH MONEY
to be made building prisons,
why on earth would you want to REDUCE
anything? CLEARLY, CRIME DOES PAY!
Just not for the poor sap criminals. So the math
favors more laws, so that more butts fill
subsidized building projects which make
a few corporations rich, gambling and betting
on the lives of other men not lucky enough to
have been born rich themselves.
And on their behalf, politicians promote
tougher laws in order to sell more seats.
What do I say? Honestly?
I say fuck 'em all. They'll get theirs,
they always do.
Just like in SCOOBY-DOO.
RORY GALLAGHER. NOTES FROM SAN FRANCISCO. Thank me later.
If you laid out all the fools of earth end on end, it would stretch for as long as it took for one fool to see the irony in being so easy a fool to lay down and be counted in the first place. And end to end, like some idiot.
True outlaws never break laws that they do not feel are already broken. Broken promises between the people, and those that control and stifle the law.
The answers to the quiz are BOBBY WOMACK. The other answer is PAUL WELLER. You will be graded not on the answer, already given, but on the question, which is up to you. For extra credit, the final answer is a MOTOWN ANTHOLOGY. If your home does not have one, shame on you.
And to the fabulously underrated grand master of saxophone, JUNIOR WALKER, a shout out of respects!
EXTRA CREDIT HOMEWORK:
Albert KING, B.B. KING, Freddie KING.
We Three Kings and Why, on the next OPRAH.
(You may also exposition concerning the
2 ALBERTS, COLLINS, as well as King).
SANANDA.ORG and TREEHOUSE Productions presents:
'THE WRIGHT STUFF':
“OH MY GOOD LORD IN HEAVEN”, she cried out in fervid exasperation, almost daring to let go of a swear word, most unbecoming of the type of Christian lady she thought of herself as. But this were too much, and she had had enough. “WILBUR, you and ORVILLE get in here right now and explain to me why my girdles are on this here KITE? Haven't I told you both enough times that I expect my WRIGHT boys to behave right? And act like Wrights ought to act? You are the Wright brothers after all, and more is expected of you.” Wilbur, blurted out, 'It was REDENBACHER mama, he's the one trying to find the right materials for his kites and small model planes. You know it wasn't me mama, I'm into shipbuilding'. Orville, embarrassed, still whacked Wilbur over the side of his head with a well timed, THWACK.
Then he replied earnestly to his mother, 'Mother, earnestly, I cannot tell a lie. Yes, I did chop down Mrs. O'Leary's cherry blossoms for some wood parts, and I did tip over her cow and set her barn on fire, which spread all of the way to Chicago, they say. And yes, mother, I did think that your girdles would make a fine material after I cut them up some more.' Mother listened, then imagined that shipbuilding was a better idea, it didn't seem to require her items of clothing, although even she had to acknowledge that building ships in KITTY HAWK, NORTH CAROLINA might not have been the most suitable of locations, as not too many people underwent pilgrimage to buy ships or boats from North Carolinians, generally. She could also never fathom why Wilbur sometimes teased his brother by calling him REDENBACHER.
From where did he get that? Did it just 'pop' into his active mind? She put it down to his introspective, stream of consciousness way of internalizing, and left it at that. Or, maybe, as many had suggested, her boys were some kind of visionaries after all. The absence of a father can often push young men into becoming more aggressive dreamers. “ORVILLE, you are going to have to stop using your mother's clothes for making things, I need them myself, you know. And we are not ROCKEFELLERS”. And then it dawned on her, accompanied by a sudden gasp, WHAT IF THE KITE BUILDING WERE A COVER FOR possible (O my God, say it isn't so), CROSS DRESSING tendencies?!
What if Orville dresses up in mommy's clothes when mommy is out at local functions, bake sales, church activities? And why her girdles and lingerie exactly? Does he miss his father THAT much? She were sure about WILBUR, as they'd already had to move to Kitty Hawk from Petticoat Junction after virile cock sure Wilbur, had gotten a local, pretty young black girl pregnant, as well as another young white farmer's daughter with a 'rack' the size of a young comely milk fed, corn bred farmers daughter busting bountifully out of her bonnet bouncing. And urgently they had to flee, since both young ladies belonged to the same farm and master, who were most unpleased about his babes having been unbundled and known to be buck shot happy after having declared 'Good Wilbur Hunting Season' open. And it certainly didn't extenuate matters that the man were also the county sheriff and his brother the county judge. Were her sons escapist fantasies, one to build ships, another kites, hot air balloons and most ridiculous of all, an airplane for human flight (???), a reflection on their desire to leave home and get away from her? Was she too strict? Too pedantic? Were her mash potatoes too thick, as they kept telling her?
Then she reminded herself that Orville had never really liked his given name and DID like things and activities which involved STITCHING. And he always seemed to compliment her on her lace things and always offered to hang her frilly garments on the clothesline. “Son, are you interested in girls? You're 16 years old and running around with scissors, which is dangerous, you could put your eye out.” 'Mother, answered Orville, I just fail to see how at this particular time, girls will do anything but distract me from furthering the science of my aerial ambitions. Besides mother, after I am famous for having invented flight for human beings, the girls will, I'm almost sure, if you'll pardon the expression, be hanging off my dick like cotton.' And with that, MOTHER OUTRIGHT FAINTED, although happily so, if such were possible, because although surprisingly crude, HE SPOKE THE TRUTH, and while passed out, a small crooked, contented smile crept across her face. Awakened by the fanning of smelling salts held to her nose by WILBUR, she were helped to her bedroom to take a rest, when she noticed that, as well, some of her stockings had gone missing. She assumed a scientific cause for their disappearance.
Instead, the evening were quite close to Halloween. Wilbur planned to go trick or treating dressed as one of the founding fathers (and a man who 'fathered a few 'founders' himself), THOMAS JEFFERSON. ORVILLE, always thinking ahead, decided to go as FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT, a future ancestor. So why the missing tights? No real reason at all, ORVILLE just happened to like the feel of the fabric next to his skin while he watched the other young budding boys, flying their kites in the enveloping North Carolina wind. And hadn't his hero, BENJAMIN FRANKLIN worn tights? 'Nuff said. Though we cannot know if the master Franklin were also partial to his mother's girdles, as were the young ORVILLE. Besides being useful building material, he thought the clothing helped to elevate his sensitive scientific mind towards greater flights of fantasy. 'Hello ladies, I'm Orville, FLY ME!'
We are more likely to screw up when we give up. Don't give up, just take a break!
DIRECT MANIFESTED FORMATS presents, our latest, the JUJITSU POODLES!
The economy has forced a need to rethink professional canine security, and a good trainer will tell you that eating full amounts is essential for the attention span of the canine in question, so stinting on food is not of benefit in the long run, thereby mitigating your investment in security. A good trainer will also tell you that there is a word for budgeting a big dog. It's called a small dog. So we at DIRECT MANIFESTED FORMATS have developed the formidable, highly efficient JUJITSU POODLES. Who are trained in various ways of combat and subterfuge, including maneuvers directly taken from the Israeli Defense Force field manuals, including how to detonate land mines. We have also been thoughtful enough to include what science we've perfected in GUANTANAMO for the all purpose programming versatility of our product. As well as helpful measures like controlling the home security system and setting the alarm, our poodles are also taught table etiquette as well as bathroom manners, and many master the microwave and other kitchen appliances in no time at all. They understand mouth to mouth resuscitation techniques and all variations of the HEIMLICH MANUEVER.
These adorable soldiers are capable of repelling an attack by groups of up to 11 men, and can disarm a violator in less time than it takes to draw a weapon. And they come with special feeding pellets full of the vital special nutrients our JUJITSU POODLES need to stay active and competitive. The instruction book comes with a forward written by former head of international security for Mossad and the KGB, ULI GITTAN. These fine dogs also come with their own all weather outdoor gear, their own yoga meditation mat, and titanium barbecue grill. You may inquire about the additional costs of your JUJITSU POODLE, traveling with their own highly attuned psychologists.
According to McCAMBRIDGE, THE MOLE,
at the end of the day, there was
TOO MUCH LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL!
He was a mole, thank you very much, so seeing all
of that light, WASN'T necessarily his idea of heaven.
Just the slightest sliver of moonlight, and he were alright.
ROSES ARE RED
VIOLETS ARE BLUE
abstract poems, #[@‘¥÷œ¨º,
The best way to change the rules of the game is to ignore them.
Shortcuts don't usually add up to much and often lead to a hole. The only short cuts that matter, we call INSPIRATION. Having said that, the right hole is often a good place to rest, if you get there before the mole.
We are not very good at taking NO for an answer if the answer comes from someone else and not us.
Cut to a nature scene in closeup. 2 Osprey's are in a tree flapping their wings in a nature ritual and getting busy.
The narrator: (in soft documentary voice, more than likely plummy Oxbridge English) 'If you look closely, you may see something somewhat blush worthy, a pair of Osprey's preparing for their family's future by mating. And by mating, as they have for thousands of years here in this valley, they ensure that their species continues to mate for hopefully thousands of more years'. Interruption by voice of exasperated male Osprey: “Listen pal, would you knock it off? Can't you see I'm busy here? And btw, we're not MATING, we're having sex asshole, mating season ended a month ago”.
This next question will comprise 10% of your final score, AND
is brought to you by the proud people at CLUCK & DUCK
INSURANCE. Come let us explain to you why you as a CHICKEN,
need never fear CROSSING any road again!
WHY DID THE CHICKEN CROSS THE ROAD?
° His entourage was waiting for him on the other side.
° Cross dressing chickens were more comfortable there.
° Eggs were less taxed on the other side.
° Yorkshire pudding
° Lady Gaga was performing at the farm across the road.
° Free Wi-Fi access.
° Joke number 6!
° To get to rehab on the other side.
° Simon Cowell was auditioning talent.
° An inter access galactic wave portal which could
take them to Pluto and back within a day. Chickens
are from Pluto originally.
° Because the Chicken fairies informed him that,
on the other side, there were no existential queries
concerning the nature of the inner life of chickens, their proclivities or other
intrusive personal probing questions patronizing their process
of logic, or undermining their level of engagement with regards to
the elemental nature forces around them and their abilities
to navigate and communicate with such.
° To get away from the media. And while it is not everyday that
a chicken comes in first place in an Open Invitational Hot Dog
eating contest, is that still any reason to camp outside his house
with news crews? “I DIDN'T ASK TO BE A STAR, I just wanted
to eat more hot dogs than anyone else and show that I can eat like a pig”.
TO BEAR ARMS, is also a term which carries a military implication. It suggests not only having the right to own arms, but the right to BEAR them, in a PARADE context. When you bear arms, next you present arms. This implies that the framers of the Constitution understood that a community has the right to protect its culture and way of life against the tyranny of government and government's paymasters. One thief comes to steal your silverware, another to reduce your rights. What do they potentially have in common? Buckshot in both their buns.
To lie about their size and get away with it, men invented PANTS.
Oh to return to those glorious days when EVE had no other woman to compare herself with and no media to challenge her self regard. She also thought of the bruising challenge inherent in raising and training two boys who both hate the other, to be BLACKSMITHS. At least there was the consolation that after ADAM came out of the closet and declared his love for STEVE, Eve never worried about being embarrassed by another young model with skinnier hips and a cellulite resistant butt. Though in equal fairness to ADAM, he did approach EVE earlier about his fetish, though she refused to dress up like a caveman wearing studded sandals merely to arouse her sexually ambitious husband, and play third wheel. Besides, since Cain had killed Abel, then left home to become a tax collector, STEVE, she had to admit, WAS very useful around the house and in helping ADAM fish and track and capture other wild meats and fine game.
Mermaids gather beneath waterfalls. It can be said that they are born of waterfalls, except for the deep sea variety, who are born from giant clams. If you are looking for mermaids, wait beneath a waterfall. Otherwise, be patient, they also incarnate and take human lives. Many of our leading actresses and models are mermaids, spending some dry time on land, and helping to move us through our processes. And clearly MICHAEL PHELPS and his ilk are MERMEN. Then again, so was ETHEL.
The closest science to music is ASTROPHYSICS. It's closest parallel otherwise is Joke number 6.
When talent gets crucified (and dyed, dried and laid over to the side), the reason isn't because it is being subversive, but because it is ahead of the money. Which to the corporate world is subversive so we guess we contradict ourselves. If you are ahead of the money structure, it makes all the same difference that you call yourself JESSE JAMES. 2 guys are sitting next to each other in a prison cell, connected by the same crime, though separated by time. One, a robber was too far BEHIND the money and got 'nabbed' like Donovan. The other is there because he was too far AHEAD of the coin, and likewise had to be put away. Timing as they say, is everything.
And while the original are taunted and kept under wraps, the thieves are actually rewarded, the degree to which they can successfully steal from one another. Welcome to the end of days.
Study your interests, expand them. Be more curious and never settle for knowledge. ALL KNOWLEDGE IS TEMPORARY. One man's knowledge, is another man's idea of a joke.
If you believe in SAINTS, then trust that they worry MORALITY a lot less than they worry EFFECTIVENESS. There is no moral law more important than the law of getting it done.
If few people are saying it, then, YOU GET TO SAY IT LOUDER!
Likewise, sometimes the more music you hear, the more you duplicate. The LESS you hear, the more you can invent.
Life, like HOMEOPATHY, is a matter of measures and doses. The theory being that TOO MUCH POISON KILLS, though JUST ENOUGH, might spur you on, and move other poisons out.
To be grounded in a love rooted in discipline is the greatest love of all.
Looking behind you can lead to walking in circles.
Vision comes with hindsight, though not when you are looking for it. You cannot come to hindsight, it must come to you.
One dreamer's horizon is another dreamer's footstool. Don't be the second dreamer, but the first.
Clowns are happy because they get to make a joke of sadness. Clowns are sad because the pay is shit.
A clear head is worth all the money that you can pay for it. A clear conscience is priceless.
Myth and legend are milk from the breast of truth. Our history are in its ferments. Suck.
There is no contradiction, EVOLUTION IS heaven's business.
A Cowboy has a more pragmatic view. When a fine lady rides up on a horse, he sizes up the horse as well. Why just the one when you might have the both to appreciate? A good deal is a good deal.
I know that some of these have been written before. It's the fault of my evil twin, who demands equal time, sometimes, half the time it seems, most of the time. I would have dismissed him through exorcism and medications years ago, but the problem is, his penis is much larger than mine. And gains are gains. We were taught in the HALLS OF AMENTI (we went to night school there), NEVER GIVE UP GAINS. All gains are evolutionary. As well as propriatary.
(As it pertains to our 'vices')- WHAT GETS IN GODS WAY HE REMOVES, the rest we can keep. Mainly we do not struggle with habits and addictions. We struggle with our vanity. And all of the feeble judgments attached to it which can suck it dry like a vampire.
And though we may be a puzzle to ourselves, the good news is that the pieces are still there! And piece by piece, we give ourselves back to ourselves and in so doing, the picture becomes complete.
Very important documents will be available online describing new controversial techniques concerning male impotence and premature ejaculation. The report will be made public on DIKI LEAKS!!
We can disclose with our high security level clearance an important fact that all citizens should be aware of, as it IS of concern to national security. We can say with absolute certainty that Secretary of State HILLARY CLINTON'S pantsuits are made and designed by NASA! Especially the ones she wears out in public. The material was first tried out on the first astronauts during the initial space shuttle operations. The model was finally successfully fitted after finding a suitable black woman astronaut with a comparable figure who didn't mind wearing the outfit while it were being perfected. It actually comes with a remote control handled only by the secret service that even the former President Bubba is denied access to. Among other features it is said to repel winds, gravy and render incoming or outgoing gaseous leakage, neutral. It also successfully deters wine stains, which is of great importance to diplomats. Naturally it repels bullets and contains recordings of subliminal messages regarding avoiding the overeating of chocolate chip cookies. In an emergency, it can operate like something akin to MARY POPPINS, a propeller comes out from the back neckline and she lifts off in her shrapnel proof extremely high tech NASA made pantsuit, cackling like the imperturbable icon that she is, while the now mirrored reflective surface of her clothing blinds those trying to follow her ascent as it blends into the clouds. Don't even ask about the shoes. I don't have that level of clearance. I am told that the sole and heel contains a rolling foot massager which can also print out emails and guess your weight within a half ounce.
The Golden Goose retired to another farm after he escaped. The stress got to him. It were not enough that he lay golden eggs, that were the easy part. The difficult part were that the eggs were expected to conform to the exact size and shape of the company paradigm, had to be exactly 13 ounces, and had to be able to fit through the machines and the shrink wrap. Not to mention, had to be strong enough to stand up to truck transport. For the goose, this were all a bit too much. He were never warned about this in geese school, nor were there manuals available to help acclimate a goose to the pressures and shifting trends of the larger goose world, the 'GOOSOPOLIS' and its business tendencies. You simply got signed on to a farm and you laid your golden eggs. THEN they start complaining about the shape, instead of praising the shine, and next thing you know, constipation steps in. Never seeming to contemplate, do they, that there might be those come to market, who like the idea of square shaped golden eggs, or ones in the form of small pyramids. NO, that just won't do.
We must produce AND ALWAYS, exactly the exact shape and size our format exactly decrees, exactly the correct amount of ounces and specifically NONE that stand out and glow TOO MUCH, lest it lower the value of our other golden shares. We look for a dull old gold EXACTLY. Nothing that excites too much, but just enough to grease the lucre from their pursestrings, that we might continue to reform life by enriching only ourselves, other farm owners. They were less than impressed that the golden goose upon whom they shat, was also a very good knitter. He, in his spare time liked to knit woolens for his friends. Especially mittens, and there is a long oral history relating to geese and their curious love of mittens.
They could have cared less. His eggs HAD to meet the EXACT requirements, or they feared, the acceptance of his eggs would encourage a mutiny among the other golden geese, or worse, it might inspire greater creativity among them and worse still, inspire those come to market with a wider array of choice! And that couldn't be had! It must be disavowed, so GOOSE BOY, GOLDEN OR NOT, MUST DO AS HE IS TOLD! Or there will be consequences! The consequence, sequentially of which, was that goose boy disappeared. Got out of Dodge. Got the hell off of Maggie's farm, ditched her mind splitting format, and found the shady rest of a secluded farm, where it sits beyond the crested butte of a far horizon, and lays his eggs there in the manner of whichever shape they manage to appear. And he lays more now that they are not being counted and examined before they even cool off. He has even laid star shaped ones, as well as ones which look like sparkling silver dollars. He even found a lady goose who covered for him, since in reality, MALE GEESE DO NOT LAY EGGS, so she were his beard. Although, in another reality, golden geese males can, if so inspired, lay eggs and even frozen waffles.
And the golden goose wonders why other geese would choose to lay eggs for farms which are not only unmerciful and gauche, but who even continue to devalue the price of the very golden eggs the geese lay for them. There is never enough, and they are never satisfied. And OUR golden goose, now with what time he needs to live a full and productive goose style existence, earns extra money as a reliable and dependable security guard for an ANT FARM.
Place a light on a flat surface, the light follows the flat line.Punch a hole in the surface and the light pours into the hole. Light follows a hole, and that hole is our pain. Light heals what it flows through as a feature and courtesy of light. Our light is crystalized by our wounds and glows in the colors it traps, our pain being but one of the primary colors light uses to paint the backdrop of life.
Light pours into a hole.
One man's thought bubble is another man's rain cloud.
We see it in our minds and know that it is true. There ARE clouds of despair. Certainly there are clouds of doom, which can seem to hover above us like seasonal rains. And more than a few can attest to the presence of jinx clouds, heavy and dripping with the swelling moisture of menace. And the black cloaked cloud of depression, which can swoop down all suddenly and like a falcon snatch a mouse from your hand. Yet, if all of these be real, we mustn't forget those other clouds.
The Clouds of Joy, which too exist. The clouds of fertility, the clouds of inspirational thought.
But mainly, the clouds of joy. Imagine seeing those clouds more in your mind. Joy is not an indulgence, but an evolutionary imperative. Get yours.
In order to turn atrocity into ASTRO CITY, you have to stick your S in there. And it's all or nothing.
I cannot write for too much longer or I risk to inflame my TENNYSON ELBOW.
We can sober up more quickly when we are in love with our life. And ANYTHING at all, is much harder to kick while you are still kicking yourself.
LOVE IS THE AMOEBA!
Love recognizes no rules, that is a fantasy.
Love is WHATEVER IT TAKES.
Karen Carpenter is a goddess to me (I need them to keep my pillows fluffed with dreams), and we were there before it got cool, or before she became 'shorthand' for a subculture, so don't get me started. But check out the dude that wrote some of the Carpenter's great songs, ROGER WILLIAMS.
Now THAT dude was a songwriter, AND, I can recall no other recent songwriter in history who regularly appeared on LOVE BOAT and FANTASY ISLAND. He were a little short blond dude who wore big framed glasses. He must have had a hell of an agent. GREAT SONGWRITER. And may God bless his enormous heart, wherever he may yet be.
The key to raising anyone's intelligence is raising their LEVEL OF INTEREST. And that's a no brainer.
Wankers travel in packs.
No more intelligence is required by life than for us to know who we are and what we want. More intelligence than we need otherwise confuses, stalls and acts as blocks to attainment. And more games are based on what you THINK you know than what we do know in fact.
Jealousy is human, but is often a consequence of paying too much attention to someone else's life instead of your own. Keep your eyes on your own ball, or you lose the dribble.
ROCK AND ROLL IS NOT THE DEVIL'S MUSIC. Disco is.
The future can be no different from the past if you are always looking back.
These last sentiments brought to you by our proud new sponsors, the KYM MICHAEL IMBALANCE GROUP. As well as our new partners, LENNY R. REALITY REALTY.
Death by natural cause doesn't come cheap.
We always have enough warriors to fight, not always enough to waste.
Transformation is harvest.
Order need not always be maintained by denying. Sometimes ORDER is better maintained and encouraged by allowance and trust. An over regulated people are an over agitated one, and more reflexive. More and not less air is how we all breathe a little easier, and economy, when allowed, follows flow.
Developing a conscience too late,
will give a man the shakes.
For the truth, fiction, is another form of diction.
Contradiction is often the place where truth reinvents itself.
I am known for taking RISKS. But chances I never take unless I must. Experience is the rooster that teaches the difference between the two. COCK-A DODDLE-DOO!
Take heed; The mind can only be distracted by what it DOESN'T have. It is what it DOES have, that haunts it.
A child is often less haunted by who leaves, than who stays.
Try not to define your camel too early. Sometimes it winds up with a few more humps than you expected.
MR. FREEZE turns to the young Mr. Freeze, about to leave their cozy icy home for the very first time, to begin his own life as a man, and reminds him, 'Now son, don't forget to show some HUMIDITY from time to time. A little humidity goes a long way.'
The artist greeted his friend in the park. Who couldn't help but notice that, attached to the artist like a kite, was a large, threatening and sulphuric THICK NEON BLACK CLOUD (registered trademark), courtesy of the artist's time spent with a certain electric company. From the point of his departure from said electric company which shall not be named, but might be assumed, the cloud followed him as a silent menacing escort wherever he appeared, it were even attached to its own rain machine, courtesy of assumed electric company's connection to one of the satellite grids which orbits the earth. AND, better yet, it were NEON!
When the sign were switched off, it simply faded back into the cloud, thick and forebodingly black as it were. But when switched ON, it gave orders such as; STEP AWAY FROM HIM! Or, DON'T TOUCH HIM, HE BELONGS TO US! The artist came to know the thick neon black cloud as a chaperone. Better still that the neon part of the cloud were rigged, the manner in which, the artist could never for himself see or read the neon messages, as when he turned his head to read what others were being told, the sign immediately went off. Only trusting what friends told him and his superb peripheral vision gave the neon cloud's game away and its gravely controlling nature. And sometimes, THUNDERBOLTS AND LIGHTNING! Usually accompanied by 3 exclamation points!!!
For this reason, the artist began investing in wet weather clothing, and has profited by an investment in a small company which makes survival gear. And this THICK NEON BLACK CLOUD, courtesy of a certain electric industry, a world player in events, and sponsor of much uncertainty, and attached like a kite to the artist, occasionally loses a bit of steam, so that, sometimes, when the artist is asleep, the cloud falls on top of him and smothers him, as if he, the artist, had swallowed a marshmallow the size of a tiny man in his sleep. And sometimes for kicks, the artist swallows the thick neon black cloud, and burps it out again after a few days of insomnia and indigestion, those close bosom friends. The artist informed his friend in the park that, if he swallowed the cloud and the neon sign started messaging, it gave him ideas he could use for screen plays, when the mood struck. The artist and the cloud now collaborate as performance artists, setting attendance records at galleries worldwide.
Truth to word, we are even more blinded by what WE DO SEE, than by what we can't see.
FREEDOM can be its own form of pain. Freedom's closest ally is not LIBERTY, but confusion. And in order to arrive at liberty, there are many fields of confusion to cross.
LIMITATIONS are guidelines, and not the final law. And we break past old limitations only to arrive at new ones.
Pulling a rabbit from a hat is the easy part. It is getting it to sign the release forms that's hard.
I graduated from a school of DOLPHINS, and they told me this; JONI MITCHELL,'THE HISSING OF SUMMER LAWNS', bitches! You will be quizzed on this later!
Really, Hillary Clinton's pantsuits are mandated by NASA. And if you look close enough, it is not a hump in her back, it is her emergency JETPACK.
The same school of dolphins told me about the LOTROMIN LOBSTERS. Story goes that two lobsters are first meditating, before one turns to the other and says, 'Is it me, or has this fish tank really shrunk and gotten really suffocating?' Replies the second lobster, “Dude, we are not in a fish tank anymore, we are in the toilet bowl. You said, 'let's go lobster zen and see if we can transport ourselves into that creamy white bowl, and expand it'. So now here we are, in this lavatory bowl, and with, you can see, VERY LITTLE SPACE, to move about in”. 'WOW! You mean that meditation worked?' Asked lobster, the first. “Clearly it did”, replied lobster the second. The first lobster confided to lobster the second, that in reality, it were not the toilet bowl that he'd been aiming for but instead, the creamy white sugar bowl on the far counter by the window near the sink, where the chef keeps it. Next to a bowl of lemons.
Lobster the first, confessed that he thought the medications that the lobsters were now required to take, were throwing his psychic aim off. 'I mean, think about it, why would I, a lobster, want to wind up in a toilet bowl, no matter how spotless and clean? I like a little elbow space, though getting trapped in a sugar bowl, IS a favorite lobster fantasy, the world over'. All of that being as it may, the problem still remained of two lobsters stuck in a toilet bowl