Yes, we're back! So hide the women and children. We don't take prisoners, though we do accept travelers checks. Brought to you by the GENESIS/ITALIA project. For more info contact www. GENITALIA. ORG.



Our limitations lie mainly in our doubts.



And try as he might, that it be otherwise, some days the chef accepts that there will be more bowl than soup.



The main difference between PREJUDICE and DISCRIMINATION is that the former is seen with eyes closed, the latter with eyes open. To be discriminate, discerning, is the price of refinement, the costs of evolution's onward rise. Or you are a sitting duck for much of life's gallery of bullshit artists. And it is better to be SITTING BULL, than a sitting duck, most of whom are quacks. 
The rest of whom are mostly hacks. Immortalized in stacks of wax that sit in factories in Hackensack.



The last message was co sponsored by the HACKENSACK NEW JERSEY CHAMBER OF COMMERCE. Google us for more info about our fabulous city!



The question is not in whether we have bitterness or anger, but what we do with them.



GREED is never more problematic than when unaccompanied by AMBITION.



I have known times so lean and mean, that the only way I could eat was by swallowing my pride.



The more we understand of INTELLIGENCE (a most political and loaded word), the less a point we make of it. Intelligence sees intelligence everywhere it sees life.



Our language evolves as we do. The truest history of humanity is the history of our languages.



All true conspiracy, like charity, begins at home.



Our happiness can never be based on what we have, it can only be based on what we are. We are many sparks from the one flame and the more we see, the more we are.



Some Tigers accept being caged.
Within secure boundaries, our dreams take deeper root.



Just because you know what is going on, doesn't mean you have to spoil it. Only sentiment hides the difference between beggars and thieves.



The problem is not in looking back with regret that you sold your soul. It is in looking back and realizing that you may have sold it for too little.



Sometimes, it is important to know in life that often, when you slow down, you really speed up.



How do you create a Socialist in America? Make them rich and give them a sports franchise!
Democracy was meant for the poor, the rich cannot afford it. And therefore fear it.



Getting older does not have to mean getting old. Though it does produce stronger farts.



Religion is a political mandate, unless it be a personal article of faith.



One can support the troops and still question the manner in which they are being used. True patriots insist on accountability. One who blindly follows a flag, is beholden to every ill wind that flaps it.



DNA testing is a business, with shareholders like any other. And the myth of its infallibility is a lie.



The mules were pretty annoyed that their little village were referred to as a ONE HORSE TOWN. Sure there were but one horse in town, but it were owned by the farm collective of MULESVILLE, and remained stuffed as it stood in the local museum as part of the town's history exhibit.
And why was their hamlet not referred to as a 77 mule town, with 7 donkeys, a burro, and about the same number of asses as most small villages contain? There was even a zebra who found refuge among them. Why the slight to their pride, why the prejudice? They were hard workers and didn't like being taken for granted. They too were EQUINES and demanded more respect. 
Once, early in the village's life, there were TWO horses. One left upon hearing of an opening in another one horse town, whose previous horse had run away with a visiting circus, with a very persuasive bearded lady, and whose absence had left a vacancy and promises of fresher hay, more room to run and less competition.



A NATION acts out its worst impulses through those whose spirit it has broken.



It is one matter for a nation to eat its young. Quite another when they are spat out without having been digested.



Fitzgerald couldn't help himself, the sad old despondent figure he saw with brooding shoulders hunched, on the lawn before him, was simply too RIPE FOR A MAKEOVER TO IGNORE! And just perfect for Fitzgerald's fussy talents in pulling the right elements together to launch a person he dressed, into a cloud of perfumed self regard. He loved regaling himself with memories of his involvement in the self improvement sweepstakes of others blessed by fortune to have come across his fixer's eye. And he didn't mind one bit that the man he beheld before him were none other than, THE GRIM REAPER! Mr. Death himself. What mattered more to Fitzgerald was, that old dark grey hood and sack ensemble of the Grim Reaper's just had to go. 
It were far too grim. And why, thought Fitzgerald, did he have to wear such drab clothes to do his job? Were he that insecure? Of course, it came to pass that the Grim Reaper too, had begun to feel that his long gown and scythe, made him look too serious and dated. Which naturally took some of the pleasure out of his occupation. He felt he scared people unnecessarily. Why should he frighten people he simply came to collect? And his mother would remind him that the old Gothic pestilence and smoke look would make it more difficult for him to find the right woman. 
Plus, he were also upset to see his image so bastardized, since HE had started the whole sweatshirt and hood thing, and now, everybody and their uncles were pimping that look. It was time for death to move on and update. So on a similar wavelength of empathy, upgrade bound, off went the bubbly Grim Reaper and the bouncing Fitzgerald to the shops. It goes without saying that the Reaper's credit is good in any shop he barters in, a perk of being the franchise he controls. And he were in good spirits seeing himself in the store's 3 way mirror, wearing lively golf attire. A little dazzling, yet sane. Yellow and black checked pants with cuffs, a mustard yellow sleeveless sweater, and a pale lavender polo shirt, long sleeves. And his hat, also a lavender tweed check, with a pom pom on the top of it, white. And his shoes of choice were, blue suede shoes, naturally. 
The Reaper agreed with Fitzgerald that a more athletic style, could reap wonders for The Grim's self esteem. Athletic, yet relaxing. Dashing, yet comforting. How easy it would be for him to re-imagine himself with a golf club, a putting iron perhaps, instead of that wheat thresher, 'sling blade' thing he now walks around with. Or a hockey stick. He also decided to get a few track suits, some high top canvas sneakers, and spend more time in the gym. He would devote more energy to 'locating' himself, staying in touch with his roots.
Fitzgerald beamed with pride that once again, he had saved the day and helped a soul in need. Because as far as Fitzgerald were concerned, he really NEEDED to help this man, who now knows that reaping needn't be that grim, and that one can grip and grin and still stay trim. The death business is hard and must keep its fringes light. Content were the Reaper. He and Fitzgerald agreed to stay in touch. But only AFTER Fitzgerald made sure that HE would be the one to call the Reaper, and not the other way around. Moral of the story you ask? The only difference between fear and fascination, is that the first we run FROM, the other we run TO. Otherwise the energy is the same. And that, the only difference between the SURREAL and the ABSTRACT, is whether or not your teacher has big tits.



The GRIM REAPER would also put some new thought into upgrading his FACEBOOK home page.



RACISM is a business, and as long as money and divisions can be created, as long as there is an audience for it, it will remain. It is also an agenda of conquest, and not only regarding those it is aimed at, but for all who doubt the power of the law to make men cower beneath their own contempt.



LEARNING IS A LIFELONG FRIEND ! Learning is the friend we walk to school with. 
Education is the bully we encounter along the way.



The more media we have, the fewer heroes that can survive them.
And it is easier to receive a hero's welcome if you are leaving.



Theft is much easier than paying back the debt. It is an illusion that crime pays. 
It does not. And the interest rates are haunting.



Ignorance is not always a liability. It can also be a filter when so much confusion is being spread.



Even the most optimistic smile, dips a little before it comes back up again.



Forgiveness arrives as quickly as we can move on and forgive ourselves.



Protecting our children from predators is the first reflex of civilization, which can only ever be as strong as our trust in it. In our children we produce citizens, and not just sacrificial lambs.
Wolves exist and we must remain vigilant to them. A nations future is only as secure as its children feel.



or at least that's how it looks.
And prosperity is the price of peace.
And on those whose face it lives, it also gives,
and then deducts from the parchment of the archives
which ceases the lies that saliva cries into tears and forms 
the spine of books. It weaves its way into a paradox of veils, 
driven by what it grieves, then forgets through the years, 
as it winds down the clock, standing in the ruins of a door unlocked.
It torches the solid aims in stained glass dimensions, flushed 
by its condescension, folded at the crease, harassed by its own hooks.
Your eyes through a black hole fall, shrouded by the angst which surrounds it. 
Some squinting grounds it, though too frail to mention. 
And by extension, the void is the hood of constancy that 
your opals turned to feather dusters by those scruples not 
abandoned by your truancy. While the fool in 
me as witness dies. I lie in clusters. Renegade love is like this, 
the rainbow gives water to its many colors sleeping.
Nor will erasing it, get you there in time.
The more powerful the seed, the stronger the greed and the more it 
needs to feed it. Untreated, its tender stalk lies weeping,
And unabated, it fails in keeping up with what forms it created.



Your girlfriend is so old, her first iPad was an Etch-A- Sketch.



The question isn't in whether you are a fool. Who isn't? The question is in whether you are an inspired one.



Higher expectations are not the greater burden of our lives as much as the crushing weight of lower ones. 
Lower expectations are a greater cross to bear.



Prosperity is the price of peace.



We first pay our dues before collecting on our debts.



So the outfielder says to the waiter at the ballpark:
"Hey, there's a sacrifice fly in my soup".
Says the waiter, "Yeah, it just came off the injured reserved list".



BUT I AIN'T one of them, I would rather sketch than paint.
Reason arrives. Chasing it leads to madness.
And I can only arouse my sins in the presence of saints,
where my guilt can thrive, as the sadness in your heart turns to rain.
Purses full of treason and treasure spew out guts stuffed with 
prescriptions, measured in curses to make use of the pain you wear. 
I search for you there, and while lurching,
Diadems corral their corpses and stumble into view,
as I stagger around these fabled streets, to catch a 
glimpse of you. 



And it is unfair that AL JAZEERA has multiple networks
while AL JARREAU has none. The world has gone mad.



The word, 'BUT', has killed more dreams than bullets. 'BUT' is a wall and not a window.
Unless it is necessary. 



"Hi and welcome, I'm 'ELEPHANTS GERALD', a singer and storyteller, and as I were saying; A BULL, tense and in the city for the first time, waited, waited and waited, in a Chinese shop stocked with gift store trinkets mainly, feeling uneasy, doubtful and sensing that something wasn't quite right, that something was off a little. Finally, a good enough bloke in on the joke, had the goodwill to inform the large bull that it were not a CHINESE shop it were looking for, but a 'CHINA' shop. As in, 'A BULL IN A CHINA SHOP.' 
The Bull were so relieved! It had wondered why it could find no Wedgwood, no Staffordshire, nor Lalique crystal figurines. And gratefully, the Bull left quickly after noticing that it had only maybe half an hour at best, before all the good shops closed for the evening".



The 'LIBRERIA DYSLEXIA' series presents its second volume, master CHARLES DICKENS'
'A SALE OF TWO TITTIES'. Only available at 'LibreriaDyslexia.Org'.



Don't forget that 'tis the season for ADULT BURPING! Extra holiday drinking and eating is a perfect time for this rapidly expanding activity, so be a good friend or host and don't neglect someone in need of a good burping. A well burped friend is a friend for life!



The challenge is in being promoted as an ARTIST, and not as a PROFILE. 
Good luck, you deserve a bigger canvas to paint on.



The bigger shame is not women who sleep their way to the top. It's the women who get sidetracked, and sleep their way to the middle.



Dysfunctional families are by and large the result of dysfunctional belief systems. The same goes for nations.



The main difference between a policeman and a priest is that the former cannot hear enough confessions, while the latter hears too many.



Arguing against human nature is an argument you can never win. Progress blows a strong wind. This particular trip across the rooftops and frozen fields were not an easy one for SANTA. 
As twilight swooped and wrapped itself around the shapes of night as if being absorbed by blue velvet,
it bode that this Christmas work season would more than likely be the last for Saint Nick and his trusted lieutenant and long time friend, RUDOLF, the famous Red Nosed reindeer. And as they hurtled themselves into the starry fade, three issues were at work in the mind of Santa, two related. One, Mrs. Santa had coyly asked Nick for a 'rabbit' for the holidays, to keep her warm and tingly while the venerated Saint were away on deliveries, and Old Nick had actually gone out and gotten her just that, a RABBIT, though without the quotation marks and innuendo. 
Santa really didn't understand why the Mrs. stopped speaking to him after he poured a bouncing white, pink eyed rabbit, into her lap. She thought about serving it to him for his pre-delivery lunch, the big one he liked to have on the afternoon of his big evening, but decided to just keep it and give it to one of the elves, for their children. The other two issues related to the more than generous offer that the Chinese, his new manufacturers, had made for Rudolf, enough to reinvest a great deal of money back into Santa's various enterprises and charities, clear his outstanding debts, and possibly gird his financial loins in such an event that he is left for any reason by the voluble Mrs. Santa, who had been acting distant as of late. It would also provide a pension for the elves. The final matter were his GPS system, and how expendable it now made a vulnerably redundant Rudolf.
Santa were told that Rudolf's red nose alone could fetch a tidy fortune, and that scientist's were also eager to dissect his fabled body before turning it over to the butchers for the meat, no ordinary venison this. And in Asia, the antlers would earn a third world bounty, sold as nature's viagra, its horn of plenty. 
Of course, after so many valued years, Santa had no heart for such a transaction. But he were no fool, he DID at least have a business mind which knew few rivals. And in the event that he had to defend himself once more in court, against a rebuffed housewife, some war chest money set aside for which days may rain and reign again, was a good and practical idea. In a pensive mode, his brow furrowed by quiz, Santa thought philosophically to himself, 'in time all things must come to an end, even flying reindeer who are pretty much extinct. Even one who is a hero to children all over this wonderful world.' What Rudolf alone could earn for Santa were more than enough to upgrade his state of the art GPS system to highest possible military grade. The reindeer were now more of a sentimental abstraction for St. Nicholas. He knew that he were dancing slowly with his final golden days and held the reins none too lightly during. While he could see the light ahead, he knew the way forward. But there were things to consider, though not with a sentimental mind, which might get in the way of new rationale. A jaundiced mind is no asset to growth. As Rudolf guided his team of antler bearing compadres through the blasting furry snow, he had no idea that old Saint Nick were counting, not sheep in his mind at night, but bonds and shares. And promotional possibilities. Neither could Rudolf know of the theme park that Santa had been considering building to honor his dear friend, while expanding Santa's brands in the vast Chinese and Asian markets. The moral of the story? Writers cannot afford morals in a commercial world and hope to survive it. Besides, the cost of cynicism is best paid in one lump sum. As, once one makes a down payment, one is hooked for life.



He freaked when he pulled his car over on the freeway overpass and shrieked, 'O My God, I Left My Pockets in my Pants!' Upon reflecting on the twisted sensibility of being correct, Wally promised himself to slow down on the pills and to stop drinking so much tequila.



Being yourself consumes less time and energy than trying to understand it. As you embrace yourself, you grow in that embrace.



By taking away the freedoms of childhood, we are sure to miss them later on.



A little SELF AGGRANDIZEMENT (some self promotion)? Sure, but I do it at a lower cost than most of my rivals would charge me for. And then, I pass the savings on to you!



If TWITTER has a psychic godfather, it is EE Cummings. Its godmother is Emily Dickinson.



We glamorize nothing as much as our burdens. And as long as we are willing to bear them, we have the right.



In any system or way of life, there is a cost for developing your own mind. Pay the costs. Stupidity is even more expensive.



We are often governed by too much science, and not enough reason.



We are often asked, 'But why did you leave the system ?' YOU CAN'T LEAVE THE SYSTEM!
You can only be swallowed by it, and then ignored. There is NO ESCAPE FROM THE SYSTEM, 
there can only be escape deeper into the heart of what it is. And as you transform within it,
it transforms around you. But the MATRIX already explained this.



The town dogs called a secret meeting, in the pub nearest the old boneyards, THE BARKING PUMPKIN. Quite a few of them came with canes, their longevity having served rapaciously, stretched with the matching years. Many came huffing, quite a few more came puffing. And yes, a couple of the more discerning caught the linguistic connection between canines and canes, though this were no time to wax intellectual about such trivia.
The meeting commenced. Said the dog leading the meeting; "I call to order this gathering of the DIGGERS SOCIETY LOCAL 406. I ask this question. Are they serious? They can't be! Making us pay a BURIAL TAX for our bones? What a boneheaded idea! Who's ever heard of such a folly? AND, after we've already buried our bones beneath the heather and the holly! ENOUGH! Am I the only one ruffled by this rebuff? This is pretty rough stuff." In almost perfect unison, the other dogs barked out, ROUGH, ROUGH ROUGH! Said the speaker; "So you mean to tell me that, after we've buried our well earned treats, the town council, those bums, can just impose a tax on buried assets and make us pay for reclaiming those assets? We can dig into the earth, but get penalized for digging back out.
What skullduggery!I've not been this mad since my youth, this has me going through the roof!" The other dogs, a few even waiving their noses in the air, as if they just didn't care, replied, in a loud roar of assent; ROOF, ROOF ROOF!!! Although one already drunken Chihuahua had to be restrained from chanting, THE ROOF, THE ROOF, THE ROOF IS ON FIRE, WE DON'T NEED NO WATER LET THE BROKEN SUCKER BURN…… Continued the speaker, a Beagle and Irish setter mix, his irate tone increasing, "AND, they are charging us a 'per bone' surcharge. 
This in insane and we must DO something, or our lives and customs as we know them will begin to disappear! This is why we are here tonight. Or, we'll be no better than house parrots or hamsters. Is THAT any way to treat man's BEST FRIEND? This makes me HOWLING MAD! " And so the other dogs HOWLED, then howled some more. A golden retriever lamented that at the cost of retrieving, he wouldn't be able to afford being himself anymore and might have to become a Basset hound instead. But he couldn't afford the rehabilitation costs, nor the surgery. The dogs soundly agreed, after some name calling, the result of a few ciders more, some old grudges, and some really hot dogs, to impose an immediate strike against all collars and leashes. This would include flea collars, but would not include Alicia Keys, other than that, a leash was a leash and just another form of bondage.
Exempt from this ban would also be FLEA, of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, a band popular among the various breeds. The seeing eye dogs agreed to continue serving with their leashes, though only until sundown, and then the blind were on their own. Guard dogs would stop guarding and merely observe. And those cafe's that advertised that they only accepted patrons with shoes, shirt and no dogs, would be picketed, by an alliance of dogs and the patrons who felt discriminated against because they preferred to dine without shoes or shirts. And the pooches would begin pooping on fire hydrants as a more pungent form of protest. 
And they would chase frisbees where they WANTED and not just in the parks. It simply seemed brazen to canine culture that someone would impose upon them a penalty for doing what they and their ancestors had been doing since dogs they became, and even as wolves before, (outrunning fools trying to run with them). To entrust to earth a portion of bounty and to return to it as a victor to one's spoils. 
The dogs decided to man up and to OCCUPY MAIN STREET! They would fight for their right to party, and to bury the evidence until it's time to party again. It were also decided that it were time for the mutts to get wise and finally try to elect one of their own for dogcatcher, as it would be good to have one of their's on the inside. In case the heat got heavy. And the wive's were likewise inflamed when they realized what the burial tax would mean to their compost club! And to help mount their defense, they decided to form a theater company, a COMPANY OF BARKERS, and stage a production of Shakespeare's HAMLET. 
After all, they understood, like Shakespeare, that it is not altogether wise, to pick bones with others when you may have so many skeletons in your own closet. And there were discussions about forming their own government, imposing their own form of taxation, and fining people in their hamlet for doing it 'doggy style' without a license, or without their expressed written permission.



A part time actor, AL CAPUCCINO, was quite pleased with himself, what with his perverse, boyish sense of humor. He got a great kick out of having purchased two parrots, and training them both to say, "No, I said it first!"
Then while relaxing with buddies and beers, hearing the two alpha male birds get locked into heated debate concerning 'who said it first'. And they would, in the spirit of competition, their avian momentum increasing, not stop until the curtain were draped over their respective cages, quieting their discussion until morning, when AL, while making his coffee, would stir them both up again, as surely as he stirred sugar into his swirling cup of java. He would soon expand their language facility by teaching them next to say, "No, YOU'RE an idiot." Oh blessed are we men that our minds are so simple and our pleasures so ample in their redundancy.



In time, we come to regret far more the choices we didn't make, than the ones we did. Don't be afraid of making mistakes. Our harvests are born from our experiences. And big mistakes can lead to even bigger leaps. And sometimes, the best way to get the most out of something is by releasing it.



My wife Francesca and I were fortunate enough to have taken in a performance of the great grandmaster MOZART's DON GIOVANNI at the mecca of opera, LA SCALA, here in Milano, where the ghosts of some of the greatest names in opera history still dwell amongst the rafters and those seated. And it had the distinction of being conducted by none other than the genius of DANIEL BARENBOIM, one of our favorites, who did a masterly job holding it all together and otherwise making the yeast rise where and when necessary. It were a more post modern affair, few decorations, stripped down and mobile. It centered around a large flexing mirror.
Then, in the second act, it happened, THERE'S A NUDE LADY ON STAGE, WOW! In her sweet assed bare naked body, traipsing across the boards; we swore that a Lady Gaga concert was about to break out, and settled in for more. Once I said in the early 90's, that in the future, women would not be signed to recording contracts based on how well they sang, but on how much they were willing to pull their tits out. Now even upon the hallowed stage of Italy's famed theater of the fantastic, honeys are throwing their nipple weight around. And more than a few men readjusted their seated positions. Sign me up to a subscription for the first nude opera company, THAT might sell a few tickets. And don't forget your opera glasses.



Of course, speaking of 'merch', the one Mozart t-shirt that I'm looking for, but am finding it difficult to locate, is the one where he has the spliff in his mouth.



The worst fate that can befall us is to lose interest in our life. For as long as there is interest, there is gain. And even the darkest roads will meet up with the light, just continue. If all roads lead to Rome, just as surely, all roads lead to the light. And you can count on this.



Our greater fear is not what our roads lead us to, but what they lead us through. We know where we are going, we just don't know how we will get there. Or what shape we'll be in when we arrive.



'HO, HO, HO, I'm your Santa!



ARTHUR was smarter than his cousin CARTER!
(though Carter was smarter than he seemed).
MARTYRS, who at the crust of earth stand,
planted, doing handstands, their pockets 
and verses full of twists, are summarized
like this: Who needs bliss ? The sunsets
provide them, and the waves that scratch
the sands are the only thing I'd miss, 
were I to betray my bloodlust and
mishandle your kiss. Thus, the demands are
never without a whistle, and never more
than a brain cramp when it comes with
plans, bolted like a wooden beam,
as were they branches beneath the stream,
that ride the tides and take their chances.
And like ripples to a swan, 
are the rings of my heart as it moves me on. Give me your hand.
Yet, so ample are you in redundancy's wake
that your paragraphs of pantomime have become
harder to take than this. But what else can I do
but lick your cream? You, to whom all must bow,
and all gravity must bend. 
Even as it solves the rest of my dream,
until its echoes end.



"Listen, I never really got over the fact that they wouldn't let me play in any reindeer games!
I really believe that I could have broken the record for gold medals, though that hasn't stopped XBOX from stamping my face and nose all over their new REINDEER GAMES video game. The gallstones! It still hurts when I think about it, so this red nose snorted a lot of blow to help me forget. And being replaced by a GPS system was the final straw, through which I snorted even more cocaine. 
And I STILL get the shakes when I hear Chinese. It's not like I have anything against them, I just hate them. It all fell through the floor. One day a legend, next day just another leg of meat running for his life through Shanghai. My narrow escape drove me deeper into the bottle, and THEN, the sex tape transvestite thing. What was I thinking? Even THAT I could not capitalize on since SANTA, and not I, own the rights to my image. He's got his theme park to think about. 
I OUGHT TO SUE HIS FAT JOLLY ASS! But I've been sober now for 45 days. Thank you". The moral of this story? JUST BECAUSE YOU FALL FROM GRACE doesn't mean you have to fall behind. You can always fall ahead, and not just any head, but a shrunken head. And the bigger your head is now, the bigger it will remain after they shrink it and beat you down to their size.



Emotions are debts as well as our daily bread.
And intelligence comes from confidence in who we are
You breathe in silence, you breathe out star;
you swallow the reckless waves yet, sculpted from the
marble that fell when they crucified Christ,
then set him beneath the stone, before the sun had set.
Austerity sleeps with one eye alight, with a fist
aloft tightening its grip. The price is paid by the 
blood that drips as it lifts its way past the bones.
Before it makes its escape to the birds, that pray,
not prey upon, the poets who humbly accept, that 
gestures will always have more power than words.
Which affects tomorrow, if not today.
You can bet that my eye is on the sparrow,
and as long as it takes to get him to stop eyeing 
my bone marrow.



DEDICATED TO THE BEASTS IN ALL OF US and to all of our golden hearts.

Also dedicated to my wonderful wife and friend Francesca Francone Maitreya on this, her second 18th birthday! 🙂



As always, please accept some of the writings in the good humour from which it came. Enjoy!