To all of my Nathan’s and all of my eternal and dear Natasha’s:
Flowers are placed here, and a spirit being welcomed to a fresh grove, where also waterfalls are.
Author Lawrence Zimmerman Dale, flush from his series of internet connected murder mysteries, were finally ready to begin the anticipated 2cd part of his ‘Leopard Trilogy’, poised to ship as ‘Leopard at Large’. But it would have to wait, it is being pre-empted by this: John Fitzgerald Kennedy sat back in his chair on the plane from his flight from India, where he had gone as a young man to get his ‘spirit head’ together. After having spent 4 months travelling with a friend throughout the length of the country, he was certain that he had a clear idea of the book that he was now possessed enough to write, the book that he was sure would stake for him a claim of fame and the right notoriety. As soon as he returned to his Massachusetts home, he would call a literary agent and begin pitching his book idea, to be called ‘PROFILES IN CURRY’. He would include recipes which he found irresistible while touring the rich visceral, vibrant land of INDIA.
Gentlemen, it is NOT the size of your penis, it is the size of your erection (and the attitude accompanying it)!
For whom it may concern, the unconscious root of suicide is the deep seated fear of losing connection with the spirit, the higher ‘guiding’, compass self. For these, the body is experienced as an impediment to the spirit, a deadweight and by spiritual instinct will choose to drop the body rather than risk a greater disconnection, or possible severance with the spirit. No doubt suicide is tragic, though not as tragic to the higher spirit as losing its soul. While ‘spirits’ are ‘eternal’, souls are harvested and for a spirit to lose its soul is like unto you or I witnessing our home being destroyed with all of our close possessions along with it. We can of course move on, but we will never have more than a memory of that place again. By comparison, losing a body is like losing a friend. Another will come along. We are not obliged to this life, simply encouraged to see the value in what it has to offer, while discovering fresh food for the soul.
Some souls can be damaged beyond repair by too much heavy ‘karma’ so in essence say, ‘Screw this, I’m out of here’. From the higher free choice perspective, this self policing is respected by heaven, though all attempts are made to dissuade , but if the soul’s ‘ouch’ is too great, the Angels always, but always understand. Some souls discover on their own time that they are butterflies simply to light to chart every course of flight in the midst of storms. Life on earth is not for everybody, and some conclude that for themselves perhaps a little sooner than we, the left behind would like. And sometimes, suicide is the grand middle finger, commentary on all of our vast and gargantuan, wildly inconsistent and hypocritical bullshit.
…and sometimes, babies withdraw themselves after taking an innocent look around and going, “No, I don’t think that this is for me”. We are not to blame ourselves, but to understand. Life exists everywhere, but especially in the nooks and crannies beneath our senses. Anyway, babies are simply reclaimed by the Cherubs, adopted and reassigned when they are willing to whatever places suits their divine, welcoming spirits. There are planets all over the length and stretch of God’s imagination.
It is silly arguing over whether we are the ‘only ones’. We live inside our God’s imagination, and not he within our own. If we ourselves can imagine it, HE must have already billions and trillions of years ago, for all memory and imagination is but the ECHO of the dreams of the Creator. Even our thoughts are not our own, but leftovers that finally reached us. More to the point, we are most concerned with the question of life on other planets expressly because we are in much doubt and confusion about life on our own home planet, earth. We sense that there is less ‘life’ than there used to be, and far more programs and games. To that extent, we have become ALIENS to ourselves. We seek confirmation of other aliens because we are alone, within ourselves, and within systems which take advantage of that same fear.
No rights are more important than our evolutionary ones. It is a man’s honour bound duty to bypass what insults and seeks to detain the questions of the spirit, counter-evolutionary, and ultimately damning. I would rather die, and even gruesomely, AS A MAN FULFILLING HIS DREAM RIGHTS, than to live as half a man, half an apology. Rather to die an exclamation point than to live as a cane walker posed as a question mark. I contend sweet friends that life is very important, BUT NOT MORE IMPORTANT THAN ME.
“SCREW YOU, I’M NOT A SCHIZOPHRENIC, BUT A COMMUNITY!”
The master Pitt, Brad, has never been more affecting than he was in his masterful film, Benny Button. Well done!
Post Mill Rock is a full extension of my evolutionary consensus, a call to forward motion, and ‘right action’. There are souls naturally attuned towards servicing the past, keeping its memory polished. I am he, who is not among those. There are still far too many rivers to cross, not to mention, stay in one river long enough and it begins to attract alligators.
Love means a million different things to just as many people. As for the me myself (as the master Whitman, Walt would phrase it) love has come to be seen as one of the most dangerous 4 letter words known to us, none easier to manipulate and contain, arrest and silence. More important to me than love is COMMITTMENT to the cause which most drives, and MY WORD.
Let’s be a little honest. A little vulgarity is spice for the soul. I write a little vulgar because I am a little vulgar. Life, it seems is a little vulgar too, so I am at least in good company. Elegance does not preclude the vulgar, but dabs a little behind its ears for the extra seasoning.
They suffer life most, who suffer fools.
The great novelists help us anticipate the future.
Spiritual vision is parallel vision. To see into the future, one only needs to see into the present. From this standpoint, the future is the receipt that attention has been paid to the present. The present decides the future, not fate.
The best use of the past is to store our memories there. Living from there proves in time to be counter-evolutionary.
Lawrence Zimmerman Dale had begun his next novel, he were excited at the advance anticipation it were already receiving and the book started with a bang. Sample from Chapter 1. “Detective Samuels says to call it ‘Death by misadventure”, though Sgt Earl was sceptical, “yeah, he died from inhaling too much of his own stupidity”. And now the pages were beginning to invent themselves and develop that momentum whereby one has to draw back one’s hand in order to stop the words form claiming what piece of the page it could not be bullied away from. In a one such flowing instance, the phone buzzes and it is his agent, Skip Nestler. “LARRY, stop what you are doing now. ‘Portman’s’ are about to publish Shay Rembrandts novel where he trashes his ex wife mercilessly, and so far the advance buzz is that it is going to ship well beyond the initial investment. We know that you and your last girlfriend split up 2 months ago, what was her name again? Anyway, we need you to begin writing a book, and trashing her”. ‘Dude, are you out of your frickin’ mind? I’m now deep into this book and here you come again with your paranoid reactionary crap. First of all, we’ve done this dance of distraction already, 2, we broke up because she couldn’t have children and I’m an only child, and it’s important to me and I am not about to follow some other asshole, nor you, and interrupt my inspiration for a tell all ‘trasher’ treatment. How dare you, go and screw yourself.’ “Then how would you feel about writing a book on Tiger Woods, something a little risqué, daring and insightful”. The line being put down on the other end could not have surprised Skip too much, after all, he wasn’t himself a very big fan of writers. He loved money, and the success that brought it. Writers he thought were anyway too precious, too full of their own ‘ideas’ and other quirks. For Nestler, the subject were the important thing. Find a good, interesting enough subject, and a monkey could write it. He would manage to secure a writer to chase the vision of Shay Rembrandt, though reviewers savaged such a chauvinistic tome, as well as the one commissioned by Skip Nestler. As for Lawrence Zimmerman Dale, he got a new cell number and thought that the best time to present it to Nestler, was when he were presenting the finished manuscript as well.
When you fall for what YOU know, you rise.
When the law steps outside of its jurisdiction, it steps into mine.
Wow! 50 sold out shows in London for a farewell tour. That is astonishing! Napoleon didn’t take as long to say goodbye!
And when you tire of your pity, open to your pride.
Beware of those who traffic in and sell tragedy. They will trade it for your soul.
There were also a ‘black magic’ use of GUANTANAMO. Energies were being milked to use in future ‘BLACK MASSES’. Energies harnessed and directed towards bending the will of others. Shiva is not fooled by what goes on in his lands. His mighty hand is about to rise and send the atmospheric air, quivering. A word to the wise, an even more urgent one to the foolish.
The THIRD REICH did not disappear, it just disappeared from VIEW.
And it comes to pass that our warriors, Heaven sent, must be sado-masochists as well. So that they are compelled to wade even deeper into battle.
Caught between turmoil and greed, choose turmoil, as eventually, turmoil settles, leaving in the sediment a new garden path for footprints.
When caught between hostile and greed, take hostile, it fades.
When caught between greed and apathy, then CHOOSE GREED!
Death I do not fear, the dead I do.
Guantanamo is not only evil, but has caused us to forfeit some of our spiritual gravy. Karma is such for individuals, families, organizations and governments, as well as nations. Little regimes commit themselves to this kind of petty bullshit, major governments do not. This is some Third Reich sponsored nonsense that is getting more and more costly to our national spirit, and we behaved much like the citizens of Germany behaved under Hitler, who also contend that they were unaware, the extent to which the Jews were being slaughtered. And they might have been, though the laws of Karma said that they had to pay, either way. Ignorance might be convenient, but no less cheap.
The first thing that struck me about Brad Pitt’s ‘Benjamin Button’, was ‘How the hell did they get DICK CHENEY to play this part, and so well!?’ For these green eyes, witnessing the young master Pitt transform himself from Dick Cheney to himself was one of the best performances that we have seen. As for the real maestro Cheney, he may wish to consider Hollywood, as few have earned the Oscar like he has for BEST ADAPTED VICE-PRESIDENTIAL performance.
OK, enough about the master Cheney, but really.
..he may also be nominated for BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY FROM ANOTHER MEDIUM, nominated along with another fine actor, and writer of fiction, D. Rumsfeld.
Though in the final analysis, ALL THAT MATTERS IS THE WORK.
For some, jail is the only safe and consistent option made available to them, the only way they will know community, camaraderie and an un-shifting sense of place. For some, a place to live is a place to live and jail is no worse a hell than the lives outside of it which they would still otherwise be confined to.
The fear of not having another person is not the same as love. Love cares less that you have the person of your desire than that you have the desire. We love for its sake and not for its solution.
People with ‘game’ usually reserve it for themselves, it fuels their ambition. It is those without ‘game’ who are usually trying to run a game on others.
We live in a sea of myths, most of them unfriendly to our spirits. Take and develop the myths which are companionable to your spirit, and when in doubt, just grab your balls and make up your own.
They pay dearly in their old age, those who used their youth as a weapon.
…and arrive there more quickly.
Who uses their youth as a grace, receive royalties of grace forevermore, and retains always some vibrant measure of the same youth.
Exist ! And let life form around YOU and not just your opinion.
Beat nothing down that you are not willing to raise back up. Or it WILL come looking for you at some point, with revenge in its heart and a receipt for the bill in the other.
The triumph of our imperfections are worth more than our perfections.
The man who fights from his ‘image’ is the easier man to beat. Who fights from the truth of their heart brings it like Tyson, the master Mike, and EVERY TIME.
Knowing that you have it already increases it!
I believe to my heart that I were born to live the AMERICAN WAY, and to inhabit it deeply, and make it as well my own. We can testify that the taxes on the American Way are not cheap, but then again, neither are we.
We take our American Way wherever we are bidden to go. On my passport, where occupation is listed (and yes, I have been occupied very much), it reads, ‘EXPORTER OF THE AMERICAN WAY’.
The Tiger ready to advance his prowl is not the Tiger willing to listen. One cannot prowl and listen, though one can listen and stumble.
TIGER NEVER LISTENS. TIGER ONLY HEARS.
The Tiger that listens loses his stripes and trades them for scars instead.
Society creates its own criminal class, by damning them far before they commit their first crime. Shut out of making a creative contribution to our society, they use their creative energies towards its destruction instead. AS ANY REAL MAN WITH PRIDE WOULD BE EXPECTED TO. What we dishonour, dishonours us.
In any event ‘SOCIETY’ is mainly a mask. ‘COMMUNITY’ is real. Society is the mask that community uses to disguise its true face.
Get well master STEVEN JOBS. You are and shall remain a hero to me. There is always more ass to kick, new mountains to climb.
A Tiger reprise:
TIGERS DON’T GROWL MUCH
EXCEPT WHEN BORED
OR, EXCEPT WHEN
ATTEMPTING TO TACKLE
THE JUNGLE LORD
TIGERS NEVER SEE,
BUT WHO STILL
HANDS OUT THEIR STRIPES,
Peace is a law of acceptance. Peace is not a deal.
What peace can be bought, is only peace on loan. The peace that can be bought will always demand further payment.
It is no contradiction that as warriors, we must sometimes TAKE OUR PEACE BY FORCE. The peace that is not bartered, is the peace that is respected.
Peace is a law of ACCEPTANCE. Peace is not a deal.
What is most important is not the system of governance, whether democratic, atavistic, or fascist. What is important is the respect it has for the people it governs. Disdain for whom they rule, ruins the fabric of all systems and invites corruption and incompetence.
What distinguishes good government is the spirit of participation it arouses in its population. When it instead encourages boundaries and artificial lines, profiles and practices the language of exclusion, It is in fact but drawing lines against its own effectiveness and trapping itself within them.
Corruptions first casualty is levity.
It may look as if the master Barack was left with a White House to inhabit. Instead from a much closer view, he and lady Michelle were left with a pile of painted bricks. And it will have to take the force of God to whip the termites from within these bricks.
It is my humble view that space agencies belong to the military. Giving it over to the government is folly and will otherwise through events prove to be. We believe NASA to now be too commercial for the best interests of our nation, it has been of greater benefit to wall Street (I refuse to write wall Street with a capital W, they don’t deserve the respect after the heist they participated in) and her financiers, which by extension, and knowing our greed, has been largely sold off to the telecommunications industry, making us the most surveillance based world, ever.
Now too Orwellian, too Machiavellian.
Beware of wolves come wrapped in patriots stripes. We end up seeing stars.
And after a monumental day, full of the requited bombast and fanfare, the new historic President and his proud first lady finally manage to retreat to the Presidential bedroom to retire to a well deserved night’s sleep. Nestled like beaten bugs in the bed, and saying their warm goodnights, out from behind the curtains, armed with guns, stand Bush and Cheney. “Aha,” said the former President, “You thought we left didn’t you? You thought we just up and left you with this big old White House all to yourself, and your pretty little wife here. That’s funny, ain’t it Dick?” Said the former Vice, “yeah, that’s kind of funny George”. The new President, shaking the disbelief from his head but emboldened, shouted out, “Hey, I was democratically elected!”. The former President replied, “Democratically elected? I was just tired!”. The first lady goes to pick up the phone to call security only to hear a gun click and the former Vice say, “Now, I wouldn’t do that little lady, they still work for us. In fact, they ALL work for us, and so it goes like this”, only to be interrupted by the former leader of the free world with an impatient, “Hey Dick, I want to do the telling, I’m the teller, OK?, You’re the ‘explainer’”. The ex-President says to Barack, “Now, listen, don’t go getting any fancy ideas about freedom and democracy and all that, we own those ideas, you understand? I’ll be checking in from time to time and ‘suggesting’ some things, OK? Now don’t worry, I’m not going to do this again, I don’t suspect I’m going to have to, and I left you some real good Cuban cigars in that table there by the window. By the way ‘mam, that is a sure enough pretty night dress you are wearing, tell me where I can get me one for my wife Laura, I think she’d look good in it too.” GET OUT NOW! Screamed the fresh first lady. Said the President, “Uh, gentleman, I think you’d better listen to her”. With that, and with their guns meekly withdrawn, went through the door, though perhaps not for the last time, that most entertaining of duos, Cheney and Bush. Not since the days of Abbot and Costello have Broadway wetted its appetite for such sweet and fertile adventure. Meanwhile, Michelle had the locks changed again at the White House.
And over eggs and grits the next morning, hearing of the previous night’s wild adventure, the President’s mother in law, said, “See, I told you I should have been in that bedroom, I told you! You could have put my bed in the corner of that big old room, and you KNOW that when those fools jumped out from behind those curtains, I would have been ready. You KNOW I sleep with my ‘piece’, and you absolutely know that I would have bust a serious cap in Dick Cheney’s cowboy ass, you know I would have”. “Now mama, said the first lady, you told me you got rid of that gun!” “Honey, I told you that for the campaign, ‘cause that’s what you needed to hear. Mama is from Chicago, and mama don’t give up her gun”. Ushered in the President, “Uh, mama, we’ll be fine, you just stay in Lincoln’s bedroom, and keep an eye on him”. The Presidential mother in law, digging back into her grapefruit, let the subject rest. Though not before volunteering, “Barry, you need to spend more time at the shooting range”.
“Here, Michelle, take this razor!” ‘Mama, stop it, I’m not going to sleep with no razor!’
“Girl, with these former Presidents creeping around here and showing up in bedrooms, you need to sleep with something.” Meanwhile, in the Oval office, from inside his desk, the President unfolds an envelope left for him by the recently vacated President. It were written with cut up newsprint, like an abduction notice, but began, ‘Barry, this is George’, and then began to detail all of the programs and things from the former administration that were absolutely not to be touched. One line informed the new commander in chief, ‘not to even look at them’. Another line read that were he to find any of his dog Barney’s old toys, to forward them to the ranch in Texas. Touchingly, though written in newsprint, it were signed in longhand, George, the President. The new President were told to expect further communications, and to not take the job too seriously.
…and when told that in order to be given the grant, he would have to provide a suitable ‘business model’, he called up his dear friend Helena Christensen and asked if she would put on a business suit and go down to the office to represent him. She agreed, she always loved the challenge of being a BUSINESS MODEL.
A man comes home earlier than expected to find his wife and best friend in the afterglow, naked and on the bed playing Nintendo. Flabbergasted, the man confronts his wife. “How could you, you betraying bitch!” The best friend offers an apology, and the wife says, ‘I’m sorry we had sex’. Said the irate husband, “Screw the sex, how could you let him use my remote?”
This is the time of the YOUNG BLADES to snatch the pebbles from the open twitching hand, and take these same pebbles and slay once again.
Only a person with a bad attitude allows themselves to be stopped by others with bad attitude. Bad attitude doesn’t have to be negative per se or aggressive, it just has to fall into self negating belief patterns, and to allow another bad attitude to influence it. Jealousy is as common as water. When they are not jealous of us, we haven’t said anything yet.
Sometimes when your life is stuck, CIRCULATE YOURSELVES MORE! Circulation increases circulation and even just taking ‘prayer walks’ is quite useful. A prayer walk is a walk, or any exercise which is used as a source of meditative energy. I may for example be going to the studio next week and may begin a series of walks/exercises designed to place energy in the tank, energy that later I will call upon to use for inspiration. I can use this energy to send to a sick person, to store for a later necessity, and/or just to keep my mind and body concurrent with its desires, which more easily tempts fulfilment. Many of you walk anyway, just dedicate the walk for SPECIFIC ENERGY USE. Used to thwart the will of another, is not so easy, and the price to pay usually discourages all but the sociopathic. Walk and pledge yourselves to a new life! We go to church and light candles for much the same spiritual effect.
Untangling the cords of my neurosis provides me with the great bulk of my creative work and I would rather my mind suffer from being a little too crazy than a little too dull.
This space reserved for some more SPYWARE!
The red phone rang. The emergency red phone. The red phone that could symbolize the destruction of the world. Imminent chaos. The mobilization of all that we have to preserve us. President Obama breathed deeply, blew out his air, and picked up the phone. “Hey Barry, it’s me George. You sleeping?” Again, shaking from his slightly soggy head, a wondrous disbelief, the President answered, “Uh, well Mr. Bush sir, I was in fact asleep, I’ve got a big day tomorrow meeting with the treasury department”. “Tell ‘em not to worry Barry, they’ll never find the money”. “Sir, how did you get this number? Access to this phone is always limited to the current occupant.” “Well you see Barry, that’s what we tell the electorate, the truth is something different altogether. Stop obsessing, this is just between us. And Dick”. The accepting new leader of the free world cleared his throat and asked the apparently former leader of said free world, “Well, was there a reason you called? I am pretty busy”. The former President Bush just sighed, and admitted that, “Nah, I just wanted to see if the phone number still worked”.
Once you have seen it, it cannot remain the same.
A break, at last. The new President, Mr. History had a chance to stretch out on the sofa in his new office, and open a magazine, a Sports Illustrated, and grab as well, a nice sandwich and a soft drink, a cool ginger ale. As he bit into his ‘eats’, suddenly, again, the red phone. The problem was, it might have been the former President, as suspected, but then again, if he ignored it and it was Premier Putin telling him to go and screw himself, the country was at stake, which left him no choice but to drop the squeeze on his sandwich, and briskly answer the phone. “This is the President.” ‘Yeah Barry, this is George, How ‘Ya doing? Now listen, I think I left my enemies list there in my desk. It should be there right next to Nixon’s. I need you to go and cross reference a name on it for me, You busy?’ “Listen Mr. Bush sir, this is becoming a problem, and you can’t keep interrupting me like this, it’s un-presidential, and I demand that you stop!”. Said the former President, ‘Now, you sound like Laura! Did you know that Laura was a liberal like you before she met me? Now see, that’s ‘conservative persuasion’, can you say conservative persuasion? Come on Barry, let me hear you say…’, “Uh, now Mr. Bush, cut that out! I’m not your wife and I wouldn’t be able to see those particular charms, so I’ll stay liberal thank you!” The former decider in chief, of these here United States, a good reader of people, and confident with his confidence in it, told the new President, ‘Oh, I see, you’re like a black Jimmy Stewart, you’re Mr. Smith, except that your daddy’s from Kenya, I get it!’ Exhaling yet another sigh of surreal disbelief, Mr. Obama tells Mr. Bush, “It looks as if we are going to have to develop some ground rules, I have a job to do.” ‘Hey, new boy, don’t get stroppy with me, just give me those names I ask for from that list, and remember, my enemies are your enemies too!’ With that, somewhat slumped and resigned, the new President, the hope candidate, history’s boy, walked over to the desk, pulled open a drawer, and dictated to Mr. Bush by phone, those dangerous enemies to his enterprises which occupied so deviously, his time, while the commander in chief’s ginger ale, swallowed up its drowning ice.
The President’s Oval office phone rings. It’s the State Department. “Mr. President, this is Hillary. Just to let you know that I just received a disturbing call from former Vice President Cheney informing me to stay out of Afghanistan, that it belonged to him.” ‘Say what?’ “Yes, Mr. President, and then he said that if I wanted, I could resign as Secretary, and come and work for him at Halliburton.” ‘What? The nerve of that scoundrel! Have you gotten any of these calls before now?’ “Well, I didn’t want to say anything, I didn’t even tell Bill, but there have been some ‘heavy breather’ calls, and seemingly always before important meetings, isn’t that odd? Once, Chelsea almost picked up the phone and heard it. You think it might be him?”. The President confided that someone keeps calling Michelle in a drunken southern voice and asking for the florist’s number on 4thstreet. They briefly swapped other notions of strange phenomena, before agreeing to first get in contact with Condoleeza, and seeing if she could be of any help in unravelling the dark, brilliant and twisted mind of the mythic legend that is and shall forevermore remain, the ‘shrouded grandee’, Dick Cheney.
“Now, I’m going to be sending you a new man for your security detail, just get him a secret service uniform, a simple dark suit and it should be alright.” Said the startled young President, ‘Uh, Mr.Bush, sir, I don’t think that will be necessary, or appropriate.’ “Boy, you sue tickle me with all of that there idealism. It is kind of cute, but listen here, he will also have for you my new ‘policy of containment’, now that’s a list of people you can’t honour or touch ‘cause they offended my sensibility, and so they got to feel the cold shoulder of government, you hear me? They gotta feel it!” In his mind, the new President, mindful of offending the former President, laughed to himself as if finally arriving at a private realization. He could see that the way to handle Bush was to accept that he was lonely. Harmless and lonely. If you could just imagine the former free world leader as a cross between Andy Griffith as voiced by Mr. Rogers, then a more poignant picture began to emerge. And it dawned on him that Dick Cheney, the great beast of Satan, was none other than a forlorn Mr. Greenjeans, Captain Kangaroo’s old sidekick. Now he understood why his mother would sit him in front of the television when those shows would come on. SHE WAS HELPING TO PREPARE HIM FOR WORLD GOVERNMENT! He could now see, with his visionary inner lens, that all world leaders resemble children’s TV characters! Wasn’t Simon Bar Sinister Vladimir Putin of Russia? Doesn’t Bush deuce, even minus the letterman’s sweater still look like Archie, when he’s not coming at you all belligerent Dagwood Bumstead, looking for a sandwich? And wasn’t it also the Dick Cheney archetype who was always being unmasked by Scooby-Doo and his gang? The one who swore that he could have ruled the whole world, were it not for those ‘damn kids’? And isn’t it just possible, thinking of Scooby-Doo, that the brilliant young President Clinton bore more than a striking resemblance to Shaggy, with Hillary as the smaller and more rounded of the two girls, the smart one with the glasses? And although he couldn’t quite put his finger on it exactly, he was sure that he had seen Angela Merckel on something HANNA-BARBERA years ago. Maybe that lady who drove with the umbrella on the ‘DASTARDLY RACERS’ cartoon. Then a thought braised past the mind of history’s President, ‘That must make ME one of FAT ALBERT’S BOYS! Am I Russell or Rudy? Or maybe one of the Jackson 5!’ Reality and its grip beckoned, “Hey boy, is you still there?” Broke in the 43 rd Prez. “Now this new ‘security’ man will be giving you my containment list you hear? Now, don’t act like you ain’t Skull and Bones, like I said, ‘My enemies is your enemies’. And by the way, his name is Bob. That way, you can still tell who he is if he’s coming or going. (43 chuckled to himself, briefly) Ok, I’ll be yelling at you a little later, see how you and Bob are getting along. Bye!”. ‘Uh, Mr. Bush, will you say hello to your father for me?’
“ Nah, hell nah, You say hello to him if you want, just leave me out of it, bye”.
“Uh, Hillary, did my mother in law call you and offer to move in with you until the calls stopped?”
‘Yes, Mr. President, she did. I thought it was sweet’. “She heard me telling Michelle, I had no idea that she would call and interrupt your mealtime like that. I accept full responsibility and I apologize.” ‘Oh, Barry, don’t be silly, Bill was watching American Idol’. “He likes that show?”
Said Madame Secretary, ‘He loves it! Do you know what he said about your mother in law?’
“What’s that“, inquired the President. ‘He said, ‘yeah, she can come stay with us, I could use the company’, I think she reminds him of a lady that used to look after him when he was a boy in Arkansas, you should have seen his face, it lit up!” The President could almost be heard nervously shuffling his feet while holding the phone, clearing his throat gently, he spoke, “Well, sorry again for the misunderstanding, and please pass on my regards to President 42”. With that a piercing bell of a voice can be heard loudly announcing, ‘42, 44 just sent his regards.’ President Clinton, scratching his belly in his favourite TV armchair, a red leather one, called back, “40-who?”
The great thing about VIRTUES are that they are a wonderful passive aggressive way of getting on other people’s nerves.
When we carry for too long negative opinions of our bodies, it manifests (this discomfort), as injury and disease. No one has a perfect body , who needs it? The true nature is in the game, not the frame.
Our personal trinity is the spirit consciousness, the emotional/intellectual consciousness, and the one that is closest and dearest to us, our body consciousness. Those who listen to it least, suffer it most. The body is the best, best friend of the life, always there, even when the spirit is off in a dream, even when the mind is elsewhere, always and with a sentry like duty to us are these flesh castles we call our own, even as many religions teach us to push it away and keep our distance from it. RESPECT WHAT YOU LEARN OF OUR BODY AND ITS APPETITES. It is not so easy to get another one in time for your next dream.
The real truth of war can only be seen through the eyes of a businessman, though always explained through the eyes of an idealist, which just confuses it all the more.
The real proof of the master BERRY GORDY’S genius lie in the evidence of how many other geniuses he attracted to him, bona fide musical monsters, legacy builders, mavericks, daredevils and outright thieves. Martha Reeves, Smokey, HDH, the still brilliantly unsung David Ruffin, the barrelhouse piano that was the voice and immaculate sensibility of Levi Stubbs. The protean grace of Stevie, the mercurial, Promethean giant leap forward which announced itself boldly through the vision of the Master Gaye, Norman Whitfield’s encompassing sonic expansionism, and at least 2 pivotal all time pantheon great ‘gigantors’ of music arrangement, master drummer Benny Benjamin, and uber-meister bassist/general vibe master, James Jamerson. There is also the simple question of Diana. Just how great was she? Great enough to have one way or another influenced every name so far on this list, and each passing year reveals how that much more relevant she is to the entire cause of music and not just the company’s catalogue. Though what is unsaid in the MOTOWN saga is just how heavy, hard and high the spectre of JACKIE WILSON is unto the whole of the enterprise and not just those very early records. As well, the Motown model, while timely, visionary and unique, yet owed a large debt to the popular model already put in place by the groundbreaking career and sensibility of the immense overlord of music (and still not as yet heralded as one of the all time songwriters, maestro SAM COOKE. And everybody, white, black, grey or indifferent to pigmentation were trying to grab a piece of that ‘indefinable thing that the great master F. SINATRA had. As for this erstwhile reporter, I am STILL desperately searching for the whatever the hell it was he had, and possess still.
The plug was pulled on the 60’s not by the calendar but by the establishment. Why? Because it was working. We are now supposed to accept the ‘conventional wisdom’ (which always seems to suit convention much more than wisdom) that it petered out in a drug fuelled naïve haze, when in fact it took a lot of manpower and man hours to topple what it, that era, were working diligently towards, ergo, a little more consideration for one’s self, one’s environment, and one’s neighbour, much like the simpler lessons taught by Jesus, who we are bade by religion to emulate, and are beaten silly depending on how successful the imitation is. It behoves those who stole the clock to disparage the clock they stole, and to rewrite history and give to us what our opinion shall be, lest we become those fools who actually get caught up in believing what is true, and waste our earthly time, searching for it. I am a fan of that era because that era tried. We have become soft hearted, limp wrested, Viagra needing pussies ever since. We are not anywhere near free, though we are certainly given more than enough freedom to shop, and all of the freedom in the world to go into debt.
For the liberals, the 60’s were their dream decade, the template. For the conservatives, their panties get wet about the 50’s, that most goldenly whitewashed and hypocritical of era’s. I prefer the 60’s as during the 50’s, I was still caught up in someone else’s condom…..
Smacking a man, bitch hard across his face, and loosening teeth and bowels in the process is still not anywhere as violent as telling a man a lie. A LIE to conceal a valuable truth, IS A GREAT AND VICIOUS ACT OF VIOLENCE. Just go ahead and knock my yellow ass out, but tell me truth, or say absolutely nothing to me at all, save hello and goodbye. The liars are the great sociopaths of our time, NOT THE MURDERERS.
We are here on earth for more than just silly ‘lessons’. We do have a few lessons as it happens though we are mainly here to exalt our creator with the pursuit of our living. I have met many a man or woman who thought they were teaching me a lesson, only to wake up and find that, it were instead THEM who were receiving the lesson. I have run all out of time for lessons, the alarm clock went off on the subject years ago, thought it took a spell to shake other ‘lessons’ from my brain. Here is the new lesson, LET GO OF LESSONS AND SCHOOL, and now just live! We can ‘crystallize’ in the learning of things and never lose the ‘student’s posture, the lesson shape. We are not really idiots, we just play them to get out of military service…..
The new record, available for download next Tuesday week, by the HEATHEN CLERICS, ‘Clerical Errors and Heroes’, is being postponed while the bass player and co- main songwriter, ‘Pux Deluxe’ undergoes treatment for complications arising from his/her recent sex conversion operation. The musician, whose real name is Abel (now Mabel) Goins, said through the record company press agent that; “In the past few days, it has been hard to tell whether I have been coming or Goins.” We will announce further, further announcements.
It will be replaced in our release schedule by a new song by our most popular group, THE GROAN-UPS. The release is entitled, ‘Groundswell (What’s that Smell?)’. The band are also entitled.
A bartender, though eager, was fired after too many drunken patrons failed to find their keys, much less cars after imbibing drinks from this bartender. Problem was, he were a former record company marketing man, so naturally after preparing a patron’s beverage, and even before they could finish enjoying it, he would quickly be upon them again, with, “HEY, IF YOU LIKED THAT DRINK, YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE THIS ONE TOO!” He were fired after being caught forcing more drink ideas down an already passed out patron’s throat.
THE LATEST SUSPECT LOOKS A LOT LIKE YOU!
The Bush administration just announced that they were going to form an alternative government and govern it from Broadway. Scooter Libby and the ‘genius’ Karl ‘The intimidator’ Rove will be writing the production, and it is rumoured that FOX news entertainment will be producing the show, to be directed by Roger Ailes. The show is to be called the BUSH LEAGUES, and the heavy money rumour is that DICK CHENEY will be playing himself. A spokesman for the production has said that the theatre has been booked for the full length of the current President Obama’s first term.
The gifted WILL FERREL is said to be the first choice to play the President. A close friend of the former President told a reporter that 43 were saddened by not being considered to play the role of himself. Said the friend, ‘George kind of looked at me dog eyed and said, “Hell, I can play myself, I been playing myself most of my whole life!”. The production is said to be negotiating with the former first lady Laura to play herself. She is said to be delighted to have been asked.
I do not know how Italian I will ever become but by grace I notice that inch by slowly, we are becoming a Milanese. It’s a subtle thing, she doesn’t grab you right away from the groin like Paris or by the throat like New York, nor does she seduce the senses like Rome, but little by little, like a venerable silky matron with a true woman’s air, she ‘allows You to fall in love with Her’. As if she is doing you a favour by slowly letting you see the value of her worth to time. It is big enough to disappear in, though not big enough to get lost in.
The real hidden magic of Milan is her spiritual secret. Which is this, ‘As you get to know me better, you get to know yourself better as well’. She promises this, and she contains one of the grandest, most majestic cathedrals in the world, The DUOMO, as well as so many tucked away treasures, your tongue will fall out, if your eyes do not first.
She has conservatories, cathedrals, café’s, museums, many wonderful parks, and fine shopping, and she sits right at the mouth of the Alps, the gateway to the rest of Europe. And the Alps are matched only by mountains in Africa and Nepal for their spiritual wisdom and intensity. A breed of man was born in the Alps whose bloodlines still influence our lives to this day, and to whom we owe a lot. What cannot be dismissed is how many beautiful people live and work here, how proudly stylish the Milanese are, and how much they encourage and inspire it in others. And they are a well read, smart tribe who place tremendous value on their culture, it’s age and maturity, as well as its flexibility. They don’t mind, as Italians generally, thinking on their feet, throwing out the old plan and working with a new plan. You can treat Paris like a mistress, and even be rewarded for it. The key to Milan, is that she must be loved like a wife. A mistress she will never consent to being.
It is important for songwriters, to live around inspiring architecture. The grand master Goethe said that architecture was ‘petrified music’, and we suggest that he is well worth listening to. Great buildings are music, and so in time, reveal fresh songs.
Many models retire here. You can walk down my street from any time of day and see the ladies from gawking swans of 17 to immaculate ladies of 77, and all drop dead gorgeous and from all over the world. It keeps the blood and juices inspired and going up instead of down. And to learn how to dress, to cultivate an élan of grace, one only has to watch the men of this city. They teach how to ‘own your statement’. What else do you need to know? Dressing well spreads your higher sense of esteem to others, and that is one of the ways you create ‘momentum’.
Many criminals retire here as well. To insure that the city never gets too rich beyond its own blood.
The greatest crime is wasting time. And when many have seen their life savings stolen, that is a whole lot of time, creative time, time stored, harvested and placed away that is wasted like spilt milk on a greasy kitchen floor. Time we steal from others, must be accounted for from our own credit account. The spirit has a credit account, some call it ‘karma’, some call it ‘grace’, but in order that the balance of the wheel be preserved, what we take from others is deducted from our own spiritual credit account. If you have enough credit, you can bear it, if you do not, then you are fucked. Not just grand things, but everyday simple things build back up our account of graces, including the simple loving things we do to provide for ourselves and comforts. And not stealing from others is another good way to keep one’s credit rating high. And not bearing false witness unto your brother is another way.
The new shining fresh President was miffed beyond repair, Oh Boy was he steaming mad! He picks up the red phone, disaster’s consort, and yells into the receiver, “ George!” ‘Yeah boy, now what you want? What’s got your turnips all green?’ quickly answered the former President. The new Prez, the historic golden one, says, “Did you have to drain the damn pool? Michelle went for a swim last night and almost broke her hip! Are you crazy?” Said George, ‘Now, you see, that water in that pool was ‘thermo-hydro-dynamic’. Some of my corporate sponsors put it in for me. It was put there for me to use, you understand? For MY Presidency, for me and Dick to use at our comfort and for whichever other Republicans we liked. So, I had ‘Raoul’, drain the pool’. “Mr. Bush, who the hell is Raoul?” Asked impatiently the newly polished and installed President of these whole United States. ‘Well, you see, Raoul, said the former President, is my man on the inside’. The young master Barack replied, with full governmental authority, “Uh, Sir, there is no Raoul here and all of our personnel are accounted for.” Said Mr Bush, ‘Well, that’s the whole point you see, you ain’t supposed to see Raoul, ‘cause Raoul reports to me and Dick’. Continued the former leader, ‘Now the regular White House water for the pool can be found on the side of the cabana, where I used to keep Barnie’s doghouse. You’ll see the taps there if you look real good.’ The new President was, as would be expected of any golden boy with a lot on his pivotal shoulders, furious. His beautiful and stylish wife almost broke her neck going for a well deserved and relaxing swim, and here was the intrusive and recalcitrant former President, number 43, treating it as were it a callous, partisan matter. ‘And another thing implored the former leader of the whole galaxy of stars, ‘If you find the remote for ‘Marine One’ (the presidential helicopter), don’t touch it, that was another gift to me from my corporate sponsors, just send it off to the ranch. That way, I can still control it from here’.
“Honey, you alright?” ‘Barry, I’m fine, it just scared me, no water in the White House pool! But I did get a real sweet, nice call from Laura today’. Inquired the fresh mint Prez, “Oh yeah, what did she say?” ‘She called to apologize for George being a nuisance. She says it’s been tough on him, the transition, and that sometimes she finds him asleep in his den with his bible in one hand and a revolver in the other’. “Say what?” incredulously asked the President. ‘Yeah, I was kind of taken off guard too’ suggested the first lady, ‘and she said that the former Vice President keeps calling him late at night and harassing him over Scooter Libby, and threatening to blow the whistle in a tell all book’. The President blew out a long held sigh, a gasp of air barking at the gates to be relieved.
“Michelle, where’s mother?” Replied the first ebony first lady of the union, her milk tone blushing, ‘She‘s with the 2 girls, on the range, teaching them how to shoot’.
“Sir, we have a bill for over 4 thousand dollars worth of property damage by the adjacent property to the White House we need to clear up right away”, said the Secret Service man, as he handed the bill to the newly installed President. As any President, recently installed or not would ask, ‘The hell for what?’ The Secret Serviceman went on to explain that the Presidential mother in law had tore up the garden on the other side of the White House fence, while using the Rose garden archery range to teach the young Presidential girls how to use, in an emergency, an M-60 machine gun. ‘Say what?’, as any President, mulatto, mixed race, Chicagoan, Democratic, Republican, historic, Ralph Nader affiliated or otherwise would naturally ask. “Yes sir, she used the Rose garden archery range to teach the girls how to, as she actually put it, ‘Get it on Chicago style’, and the FBI says that she also gave them hairpins, made in China, that double as switchblades”. A slow, almost expectant smile grew across the wide grin of the President. ‘Never mind all of this, I’ll speak to her later, at dinner’. And with that, a President, a proud son of Illinois and the world, an Aaron of Egypt, and a man who sounds like Lawrence Fishburne, turned and walked towards the White House dining room, chuckling to himself, and more than ready and eager to sample the evenings roasting culinary fare.
We will announce soon, our next move. Stay tuned to this Bat Channel…….
COPYRIGHT SANANDA FRANCESCO MAITREYA
MILANO 4th APRIL 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
INTELLECTUAL COPYRIGHT PROTECTED