Writings: The Return of STAGGER LEE
Pardon the disruption of our regularly scheduled programming. We now bring you our afternoon special, The Return of STAGGER LEE. Dedicated to our good friend, ALICE FAIR (in love and war). Please enjoy these ‘DUBIOUS ENTENDRES’. With respect to the late great GORE VIDAL (and also to true music greats Jon Lord and Kitty Wells).
There comes a time in each of our lives where we stop worrying so much about what we don’t have and start taking greater stock of what we DO have and how fortunate we are to have it. Time teaches that, often, looking for more is shortsighted. Though, if SONY wants to pay me the vast sums they owe me, my bank is open and my philosophy flexible like a mofo.
I am a married man, and as most married men can attest, telling your wife that you are going on a short trip to the moon usually results in being told to fuck off and not come back. This is why Neil Armstrong was a hero to me. And I do not know what to find more incredible, that he walked on the Lunar Surface, or that he actually found a woman who believed him when he left the house and informed her that he would be back soon, he was just going to get some cigarettes and then to the moon real quick.
We inherit the worlds we create for others to suffer in.
INNUENDO always remains one step ahead of language. There are those who would have us exist only as a MARKET and not as a COMMUNITY.
FEW REBELS ARE NATIVE BORN, but most are produced by the state that rejects them and their rightful claim to raise their voices and be heard.
The Greater Root of our Anger is not that We Are Mistreated, but that We Allow It.
There is a deeper connection than first glance might suggest between PHYSICS and PHILOSOPHY, which is as close as the bond between MATHEMATICS and MUSIC. And to the wise of heart, there is No Separation between SCIENCE and FAITH. Just as worshipping (as opposed to practicing or adhering to) religion is not worshipping God but the state. The ‘church’ is the mirror of the relationship between government and the people. Who is not brainwashed by it is brow beaten to accept it or labeled and persecuted. And concerning ‘freedom’, most people would easily trade it in for more space and security. The more unstable the environment, the less attractive freedom is.
FEAR IS A BULLY AND BACKS DOWN WHEN YOU STAND UP TO IT.
The real war is on the inside (within), where one man’s battlefield is another man’s field of dreams.
In defense of defending itself, ‘terrorism’ commits its greatest crimes, and assumes more liberties than the people themselves are allowed.
You see VIRGINIA, if ‘truth’ (that specious and amorphous thing) be told, the majority of your favorite singers and actors HAVE ALWAYS BEEN GAY, they seem to be among those professions that gays excel at and have found a place for themselves within, without the same degree of stress that would greet them in the more masculine based professions where image projection is all important. This would include ATHLETICS where gays have also long excelled, though with fear of being outed, though ANY observer knows gays are often drawn to the extreme expressions of masculinity as a safe haven for their closeted humanity. Often, the MORE BUTCH the outer world, the more gay the inner world that informs it. At some point, the gays will have to move out of the suffocating spaces we bully them to remain in, or the essence of human rights and dignity are a lie and a lost cause, for the state and not the people to decide. I know for a fact, that in my profession and in the professions which support my own, that I am, as a hetero-sapiens, in the vocal minority. Likewise, many strippers and sex workers who find it easy to pose for men’s fantasies find it easier in so doing because they are not turned on by men, but by women, which makes them perfect for their jobs, an industry exploits them, that they might exploit us in kind. Then again, fantasy, IS fantasy. And let’s not even go into politics and how many closeted gays are there, PRETENDING TO BE AGAINST THEIR OWN CAUSES, until it is safe for them to expose themselves as who they experience themselves to be. I am not an advocate for homosexuality; they have voices to speak up for themselves. I am against ANYONE having to make themselves smaller simply to make others feel better about who they are, as black men have been expected to do for centuries, in the presence of white disregard.
With all due respect to the American National Anthem, an easy choice for an ALTERNATIVE ANTHEM is none other than PROUD MARY, which is also much easier to sing. For me, this song, written by a son of Robert Johnson and Hank Williams (John Fogerty) fits the bill.
With all due respect to KRAFTWERK, the father of ELECTRONICA is also German but a wee bit older; JS BACH. We forget that the cathedral pipe organs WERE THE SYNTHESIZERS OF THEIR TIME, a marvel of technological innovation, designed, like a modern computer keyboard, to replace the sounds and effects of the orchestra and the choir. And BACH worked with the best organ programmers of his era and influenced the sound we have come to know as the pipe organ. Put that in your pipe and smoke it! In fact, most of the history of popular music has Still Not Progressed beyond BACH’S left hand, his bass hand. Master Bach himself was a fervent admirer of African harmonics and polyrhythm, which he used to great effect. He also made sure that it influenced the programmers he used to simulate various ‘overtones’ for the bass pedal and keyboard levers, So That Each Individual Note had its own supporting harmonic structure that widened the reach and depth of each tone. If truth be risked, my life benefitted FAR MORE from having heard as a boy, the GOSPEL OF BACH, than in having had forced upon me, the gospel of Jesus. Pray tell, where would both Catholic and Protestant denominations be without master Bach? The message of Christ was hammered into me as a youth the way a nail is beaten into wood, it might have been a bit heavy and excessive for one so young, some of it might have waited until my psychology caught up to it. The message of Bach reached in and convinced where even St.Paul and his neuroses failed. What spirals gave me a heavenly glimpse, were created for me by Johann Sebastian Bach, who also wrote some of the scariest music ever.
The police knew they had the right man, because ERROL confessed it. YES, he killed HAROLD. And it was all the fault of the Factory Loudspeaker, which had the Fuzzy, Crackly sound of a thing Too Lazy To Work, but Too Expensive To Fix, so it was Left As It Was. Besides, no one really complained on the factory floor except for Harold and Errol, who were never sure which of them were being Called, Paged or Requested. It had become within the workplace, a running joke; Did They Ask For Errol Or Harold? (One duck would cluck). “I heard Harold”, one would say, while the other, laughing would rejoin, “No, I swear I heard Errol”. One day, Misguidedly Off Of His Meds, Errol Lost The Temper he could not contain nor Persuade to Desist, Pulled Out A Small Handgun, and in front of SHOCKED co-workers, blasted Harold Past The Pearly Gates, early, and into the Vast Payroll in the Sky. Harold was taken aback by all of the paperwork he were requested to fill out before taking his place in Heaven, though not as Surprised as he Was in being Shot by Errol. It were discovered by the Police Detectives that Errol, The Killer, had been Fitted for an Earpiece to aid his Hearing, but had out of Vanity, Refused to Wear it. Errol Broke Down in Tears of Shame after not only realizing what he had done, but that it Might Have Been Avoided, had he just trusted the facility of his hearing aid. Though, in all fairness, even with the hearing device, that blasted loudspeaker would have challenged anyone to make out the phonetic difference between ERROL and HAROLD. But that was, at this point, all water beneath the bridge. Errol’s LIFE SENTENCE (he had only killed Another Black Man, So Luckily, He Wouldn’t Have To Die), would provide all the time he needed to reflect upon his grave misdeed, which he would be serving, next to his new cell mate, DARRYL, Who Stuttered When He Spoke, so that when he said Errol, it would come out Sounding Like he was Saying; D-D-D-Errol. This had the effect of confusing, though amusing the other prisoners, so that after a while, Both Cell Mates wound up being called Darryl, so as not to complicate things more than they needed to be.
(This is foreshadowing, for STAGGER LEE was a distant cousin on the father side of Errol’s).
Everything I need to know about gay men, I already learned from the Village People. They understood the archetypes and expressed them with a grand wink.
CHILD MOLESTERS ARE EVERYONE’S CONCERN, and should diligently remain so. What they steal from a child’s human experience, CANNOT BE EASILY REPLACED, if at all. And once broken, it tends to remain broken. At the age of 9, an incident happened to me that shook my very faith in life, which was thereafter, never the same again. As a survival mechanism, the mind tends to begin splitting into a less traumatized persona (or 3 or 4). I’ve no doubt that the origins of Sananda began to unspool after that life threatening event. We wear the masks that get us through, we who are the LONE RANGERS.
Some fallout from my incident at age 9 was that it tore my faith in authority, particularly male authority and robbed from me whatever belief I might have had at the time regarding the church’s ability to protect or look out for me. Notwithstanding the fact that roughly around the same time (during my childhood Chicago years), I had to absorb the shock of being in church while a man came in and shot a church member to death. DAMN! Suffice it to say, my relationship with ‘churchy’ topics is sketchy to say the least. But it did wake my ass up and I have been awakened since, though not always very comfortably. I also inherited an ability to see through or beyond most things. I’ve precious little faith in institutions. In my experience, formed early, institutions just seem to hide lots of things and protect the sort of people that the rest of US need protection from.
STAGGER LEE. He staggered in. He would take some time to heal, before his story would begin. Before he would again be free to turn his life to sin. He might have to steal and run before he faced down the bullets when the badges came in. Said The Lightning He; ALL IS EMBRACE, and then his shackles turned to lace. While facing down the firestorm between him and his boat at sea. He left before the sirens wail, before they could haul his black ass off to jail, his only choice a pail, in case he had to pee.
“In any election, the choice is always clear: THE JACKPOT or the CRACKPOT? And which one is which, YOU DECIDE”. Stagger Lee was heard to mutter. Staring down a teapot dome that cratered in the mountainside. There are fields where lasses weep, woolen sleeves cradling their tears, while their lambs, endearing, stutter. And Stagger Lee, escapee, cannot afford to wait for butter lingering in a cooling jar, each step is haunted by the dogs, each day is never enough, and naturally, haunted dogs like it rough and like to take it a step too far. He will meet you in the morning fog and say goodbye in the bar. And whether or not the day was a bluff, will be known by the end of the evening star.
WHAT A THING EVOKES, A THING IS. How do we know that a FALCON has great pride? Because it looks like it does. Another thing I overheard from the pearls of STAGGER LEE, whose name is still a mystery, but whose world unfolds with histories, and gathers to it what it now holds; the roots of fatal centuries, the legends of dragons told. Held against the breast and held within the heart the way the robins would suggest.
The MAINSTREAM is the PROJECTION of all things STATUS QUO and filters out what does not serve the IDEAL IMAGE it wishes to project and profit by. Of course, as always, what is most interesting about any system, are those things it goes to great lengths to hide and obscure. Which is mainly just business as usual.
Naturally our concern should be with THE FARMER. Though I admit that of even greater concern to me is; What shall happen to THE FARMER’S DAUGHTER? Do you understand the urgency of the math? Fewer farmers, fewer farmers’ daughters, and that is NOT a good thing. They don’t just grow beets and corn on farms, they grow farm fed beauties unafraid of hard work. SUPPORT GREATER FARM SUBSIDIES NOW!!!
Someone HAS GOT to tell your mother that her WIG wouldn’t be so obvious without the chinstrap.
In the land of ZOOATHALON, the Chickens United and with the help of their legal counsel SQUID PRO QUO, helped to Ban Cock Fighting from all Zooathalon territories. In any event, argued the legal team of Squid Pro Quo, even a cursory knowledge of LINGUISTICS would seem to suggest that for most Chickens, their natural sport is POLO. The waterfowl favor water polo. Except for the Peking Ducks, who prefer MAH JONG, and the LITERALISTS among them who prefer MARCO POLO. While managing to get cock fighting abolished, nothing was done to eradicate or enforce Bitch Slapping, which Male Chickens regard as an invaluable tool of Communication, Social Bonding and Encouraging Hierarchal Discipline among the Rattled Rooster Ranks. Better to be a chicken being hazed, than a chicken being fried. The only place left for crazy hens is A POLLO LOCO, which coincidentally is also the name of the Zooathalon’s current bantamweight rooster boxing champion, APOLLO LOCO.
Our lives are never in as much jeopardy as our fears are. Losing our fears may be even more difficult than living with them. Though some fears are wise to maintain, those fears based on common sense. Like not petting rattlesnakes, or approaching a bull too quickly with a rectal thermometer.
Our minds do not belong to us, as much as they belong to the process itself. Mind collectively is an energy wave, a frequency to which we are all attached and from there maintained and programmed. We attach to a mind while developing and release it when we depart this life. But we are not mind itself, mind is its own program attaching itself to what it can use to manifest its objectives as a facet of our spirit penetrating into matter and the karma associated with it.
It would appear that the main purpose of YOUTH,
Is to help withstand beatings for telling the TRUTH,
Though who would say this is already blue in the face
From yelling at you. What to do? SCREAM, and blow
Up the balloon that stretches across the bow of your
Craziest dream attached to the roof in your mind;
Your attic. The place you go to air the tempos crushing
You like static.
A great vocalist does not have to be a great singer, though if not a great vocalist, it helps to be able to sing.
I believe in the SLOW FOOD movement, which to my understanding applies to all food that cannot outrun a bullet or a bow and arrow.
Essential to the cause of Free Will is the Freedom to Complicate Our Lives. And essential to the cause of True Liberty is the Right to Say All of the Wrong things, at the Wrong time. There is Never A Wrong Time to Begin Living Your Truth. What Time you Have Left is the Time You Give It. And all time invested, is time saved and future gained.
Patriotism without Community is a Gleaming False Idol. The root of all good social science is based on Community and its Cohesive Power to look out for its own Best Interest.
Face it: the KAZOO has never been given its proper due as a great jazz instrument. It is hard to beat for improvisation. But prejudice is what it is and it has a long hard road ahead of it to gain the respect it deserves. I also love little tiny finger cymbals, they’re cool and subversive, and you can sneak them onto airplanes, and then terrorize people with Hare Krishna songs. Isn’t religious freedom awesome?
Monsters need love too; they just don’t know how to handle it.
Said Stagger Lee while sharpening his knife and blade, both
In case a trigger-happy ‘pistolier’ cuts his bullets loose here.
I swear by solemn oath to not repeat a word I hear, nor remember quotes
Only if they wrote it would I let amnesia disappear and let the whispers
In my throat, return their thoughts to lemonade. But I saw 2 men trade blood
For bandages and I never should have stayed. My heart lies smoldering
In the ashes of it’s discontent, wondering where the soil of its roots went.
OR, whether I should sue for damages.
I once had a girlfriend; a yogi, who was so flexible, she could have been a MOBIUS STRIPPER. Thank you, and welcome to DUBIOUS ENTENDRES, we’ll be here for the rest of the week, and don’t forget to tip your waiters!
Imagine chasing a world that already revolves around you! Stay centered within your scene, and the world does revolve around you. Our world revolves around objectives that it can rally around and get behind.
The essential difference between the BEATLES and the ROLLING STONES is less the difference between London and Liverpool, than it is the difference between Kansas City and Chicago. The enteric root of the Beatles groove was KC. The Stones got theirs from Chicago. Whatever the difference in their pop dispositions, their R&B DNA runs through the Mississippi River and stops in these hallowed places fed by the mighty, majestic delta and the big wheel it keeps on turning.
The good doctors have finally gotten to the root of your Mothers Long-Term Depression. Turns out (after many expensive tests) that your mother is a HOCKEY MOM, but NONE of you Bitches Can Skate.
If you are interested in Vegetarianism, you needn’t take the whole step at once. You can begin by only Eating Animals that Eat Vegetables! Don’t dismiss baby steps if they are steps in the right direction.
Don’t make the mistake I once made where a woman told me that she was a THESPIAN, and I assumed that she was a Lesbian with a Lisp. And I was justthisclose to sex, what an idiot!
We announce that we are pulling out of our sponsorship of the 1st annual CLAUDIA COMPETITION, which was to be a Friendly Competition featuring German vs. Dutch Claudia’s in Various Events, measuring Brains against Brains, Brawn against Brawn, Boobs vs. Boobs. We Overestimated the Demand for Tickets. We Underestimated the Heat of the Rivalry between German Claudia’s and their Dutch namesakes. We apologize for any inconvenience. We might have also overestimated this piece as a joke.
THESE THINGS I HEARD IT SAID FROM THE LIPS OF STAGGER LEE:
The Problem Is The Answer.
What doesn’t kill you, they raise the taxes on.
TRY NOT TO LET OLD DEFINITIONS, DEFINE NEW THINGS.
Even a mean and insensitive butcher is beloved of the dogs that fight for scraps.
One man’s Irony, is another man’s Synchronicity In Motion.
Never Chase Anything, You’ll Scare It Away.
In the absence, is the fullness, waiting.
Take it from me, At Some Point We Grow Into The Myths We Tell and Believe.
Luck increases as trust in the moment does.
Take it from a ‘Bad Man’: THE MORE MYSTERY, The More Mileage.
Love is never more expensive than when you are looking for it.
Life Has What Meaning We Are Willing To Invest In it.
You have to run out of luck, Before You Can Learn how to Survive and Win.
A swollen guilty river is mainly composed of crocodile tears, and flows in the direction of its shame.
The Problem is not with DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR, but in not having enough money to finance them.
NEVER LET DETAILS STAND IN THE WAY OF HAPPINESS. If it is close to you, grab it now (and explain it to yourself later)!
IT IS ALWAYS MOST EXHAUSTING LOOKING FOR THE THING CLOSEST TO US. And most of it is right there, waiting for us to just reach out (or in) and claim it.
The Only Way To Transcend Anything Is To First Embrace It And Become One With It.
WE EXTEND THE LIVES OF THOSE WE INCLUDE.
You have a choice, THE LONELY PATH IS NOT THE ONLY PATH (but does produce more psychopaths).
GOD SHOWS HIS WAYS IN MANY FORMS.
PREACH ONLY THESE THINGS: Rocking Out As Hard As You Can, and Greater Safety and Protection For The Young Ones. Otherwise, mind your own business and leave other people alone.
The fewer the questions, the more answers to find.
Never forget that running with THE PACK is OK for as long as you keep up, Or You Risk Becoming The Pack’s Next Meal. Keep your own counsel and keep it close.
If You Cannot Be The Smartest Person in the Room, then go to Plan B and Be the Loudest. Volume convinces where logic may fail.
As Long As It Floats, It Belongs.
WE TRANSFORM WHAT WE EMBRACE, and are in turn transformed by it.
The Shapes Of Our Lives Are Composed Of The Shadows Cast By The Things We Love.
It seems at times like the ECONOMY is an act of war against its own people. And a fortress built to keep most people out.
Sometimes, we arrive at our own ‘Sound’ When We Accept that we Have Failed in Our Attempt to Successfully Mimic Others.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN’S GETTYSBURG Address, was not the first, only its most famous. The FIRST address was in fact, #1 Gettysburg Avenue, Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, USA.
Credit to your father for having invented the INFINITY POOL, but he should have stopped there. Instead he went on to invent an INFINITY BALCONY, and now, tons of lawsuits.
Shrink a cultures language and you shrink the mind and memory accordingly. ‘Dumbing’ a society down is cultural theft in the long run.
Few start out with a mind to change the world. Mainly simply to clear enough space to change conditions just enough, to find their place in it.
The problem is not in talking to yourself, but in forgetting whether you or the echo began the conversation.
Even as the day covers itself in a mask of clouds, the night brings its own parade. And All Things Are Just (even if they are just this)! Among the things he said before leaving his name as STAGGER LEE. He said he’d sailed the seven seas and earned the captain’s trust, but that it is always lucky to return before the anchor rusts. And before the blood of family trees withdraw and become cancerous. He said he earned his fees. He spoke in tongues of dialect that mesmerized the rest of us shaking off our fleas.
Put your Wig on Greta, Your Roots Are Showing and I am Bowing over the Prow, Heaven and You are With Me Now, with the 4 winds Blowing at our Backs. Relax; I’ve got to go now, I can hear the rumblings of: RENEGADE POLICE COW!
THAT’S RIGHT BITCHES, HEAR ME NOW:
(Now Listen, Whatever Your Hustle, I don’t care if you eat my fat, I Care If You Eat My Muscle);
From a parallel perspective, I speak, if I peak too early my clock is being tweaked, save your diapers, I never leak, (I carry my own windshield wipers) and up the creek without a paddle went the Greek looking for Turks (and other vipers) in the wrong saddle, his skills misplaced, his smile disgraced as he swipes (as might Wesley Snipes) at the pills that make him hyper, even as he yearns for fresh kills. WEEBLES WOBBLE but they don’t fall down, Snakes Rattle, though when I do battle I first get the shakes, I bring artillery and Coupons for Clowns because War Takes What It Takes. Should I fall ill, put some soup on. Hot and steaming; like when reaming your starfish in the squire’s house, floating like croutons and all the thread that’s required, to help you keep your suit on (Now keep your drawers on Lilliebet, I’ll see them on eBay yet, it may be as close to royal favor as I will ever get). We substituted battlefields we failed to keep our troops on. If the butter knew better, it would be in the batter, if the fit were fatter, more matter would flutter towards what staggers near, like eyelashes in the presence of mimes mutter things that they know better than we, sitting beneath an abstract tree begging for your mother (or for any one at the bank, spending money like your brother, his honey dipped hands shrinking from ennui). From off to the side, I sit, invisible to your view, come get with this before I am through, my leg tossed next to mutton in a stew, my tongue boiled to make paste for you, tasting every bit like I don’t stutter, clearing headspace of excess clutter and waste. Away from the Wi-Fi, so my mind can get more Hi-Fi, at least on the sly. I hide where I cannot be easily detected, I am never caught flat-footed, I am always on the fly. I wear at times a disguise to generate surprise, if I want to look more oxen, I just put some socks on, argyle, as even when hiding, I ride in style, since who knows, I might be here awhile before I am suspected, before I am interrogated and slurring out the lies that stand to be corrected. Still I lean, and like your friend Luther, I Can Be Mean, after all, I am a wanted criminal, though innocent of charges, and close to subliminal; Nothing Seminal Happened On My Watch, what orders I followed matched, what descriptions I gave to the dispatch, before she too defected (sticking out her middle digits before she genuflected). I was trained to use my mind as a weapon before age comes to collect it and the cobwebs that come with it. It is now too unstable to step on, its fault lines in iambic pentameter and daydreaming to the wails and sorrows of un-stroked and sullen milkmaids with contempt inside their barrels. I too give tickets to the wicked, I CUT MY TEETH ON WILSON PICKETT, I don’t need saliva to make it stick (the straits are already narrow), I Kiss It Or Let It Be. You and I Were Made To Be The Shellfish in the Foam-Frosted Sea, and the selfish are still fish to me, cradled in these limpid pools of golden brown eyeballs through which we can agree; my eyesight peers. I left her once high and wet, even if I never ‘dicked’ it (she looked like Britney Spears). Mainly we just kicked it, if she offered me her pearl, I was sweet enough to lick it, I am a steer; I am not (nor have I ever been) a queer. She danced on the edge of my tongues vocabulary. Destiny Is The Bone Thrown Into Space By The Monkey’s Hand, and rolling with the homegrown, his words are not sufficient to contradict it, nor would the words be his own. I Knew The Monkey When I Played In His Band before we had our collision. You see the monkey had dreams, But I Had Vision and I left before he Lost His Head and made the Fatal Decision; to cut me free and let me dangle in a fantangle of knotted seams, full of black holes, which I try to get next to when I’m smoking my bowls, they absorb the ashes, and the flashes that holes conceal from limber bodied souls whose spirit passes. And There Are More Of Them Than There Are Rappers in Calabasas. Silent is the shepherd as he bends another blade, of grass from whence the wool is made, his muteness is his master class (he plays it fast and loose), his likeness in the lightning and the goats nearby grazing, the simple GRACE, as a synonym in motion, could not be more amazing, nor closer to the truth. Chronicled in my frontal lobes, the globe is spinning wildly, the upstarts in their underwear ‘shorting out’ to put it mildly, while gaily my daily bread I go about. I dread the day that I was taken from a farm to be trained as a mind control agent for the local police, and then forsaken and placed in the way of harm. A fleece should now be my cover, from JASON’S hand, while his ARGONAUTS putter in the back gardens of their homes in Greece, chasing heaving breasts, and pushing their noses free of snot while living out their lease on life. Instead, here I am, (‘spamming’) breaking into your frequency to remind you that they killed your Jesus at Calvary; they killed me with just the lack of salary and accusations damning. While being starved to carry even fewer calories and tricking our brains to tease us. Each day, a new lease on life, high stepping between the soil and strife, the pinched earth and its picked-up pieces. Other cows give milk to appease; some go straight to the cheese. Me, I give dizzy headaches and Mad Cow Disease. If you see me, Take Your Swans To Twilight; or if it better suits; Abscond To The Hills. Otherwise I will bring you down to your knees like Indian Givers, as my friends the bees sneeze from breeze to breeze, thawing out their livers as is their trend, while baleful shivers my fever sends; the symptoms include the chills, so your breath had better ease. Or You Can Squint Your Eyes Really Tight And Pretend To Be Chinese. Stay alert, or RENEGADE POLICE COW Will Use Your Mind As A Personal Insert, and make you pay his bills. Taking you away from the clouds, planting you into the swollen dirt, and then rubbing my nose all over your shirt, while making you scream my name out loud standing very still. Trust me, once I make it through this, the rest of my days (like Picasso and Braque) will be CUBIST, I’ll be listening to BACH. I AM TIRED of RUNNING from AFTERSHOCK. You might find me with OTIS, Sitting by the Docks, amazed at My Own Hubris. I once burned a fool on a bridge, for pretending he was BUDDHIST, and for failing to practice prudence while staring at my cock. I Punched My Way Around the Ring while others were Punching Clocks. I’ve a degree from the College of Hard Knocks, (I was ahead of the other students). STAY OUT OF MY WAY, or next thing you see, I am Standing in the Fabled Stalls Beside The Flooded Loch. AND I will pluck the feathers from your plumage, and Rip The Gardens From Your Burning Hands, assuming you are not Standing In Wet Boots and Swerving like the Ugly Duckling. Your brains sizzling like a baked potato, Your House and Car On Cinderblocks, your Pigs in Need of Suckling. And once you think you’ve seen me well, metamorphosis frames me into the elusive FOX. I WILL NOT BE NAMED AN EPIDEMIC (as they blamed the Chickens for Chicken Pox. Which came in fact from the Weasels, still serving time for the Measles, which was taken by stealth from PANDORA’S BOX from her favorite painter’s easel. I placed my hand inside her toxins, but found them only wet; they flushed the land, Though I Formed A Band Before The Sun Had Set). HOW NOW RENEGADE POLICE COW!!! Now I vanish as but an afterthought, and leave no trace save the fish I’ve caught (though I say my prayers in Spanish), a lamb or two, or SOW, though what I reap God knows. I eat what bacon the wind blows, the ham will always do. And there are no skeletons in my closet, as I leave town before they return the deposit, or before the ghosts can boo. Then I sleep in the swaying boughs of Treehouses. And Restless Though This Mess Is, I Ask The Resonance To Bless It. Here’s a suggestion flowing from urgent causes:
If the Police Ask If You’ve Seen Me, Make Sure that the Police Haven’t Asked You Your Last Question! Or you’ll be counting losses. And now I go, out like STAGGER LEE. As we must all go out, eventually. Straddling the line betwixt what the hurricane brings and what it tosses. And Humming The Songs Its Sirens Sing.
….And furthermore says Police Cow to the Here And Now:
Directions swayed by Yesterday’s Elections are Selections
In the hand held view of time. From prominence rises
Waves (simulating correction). And my hand is too busy holding
My cock for genuflection, The erection of Dust that Molds Mountains
As hard as rock as be they must, While Defections Produce Fountains from
The Diamonds that were left (in heft)
To Rust in lieu of Armageddon. Salivate to sterilize your deepest trust,
Even if in tempest you must disguise your shame in the form
Of disgust, sweeping away its wandering tracks, (like Geronimo taught us) the way
Leopards in heat circle back, scattering lesser game (that my gun missed,
but the butcher kindly brought us),
Made skittish by the sauntering swell of the
Waters passing in the stream, Beneath Your Moaning Gush I smell, you rush
Amplifying the muted fever of lost days in the Sun Baked
Aura of Post-Coital Blush, flush from burning in solar rays
My love, I call her LAURA. My mind around her halo falls,
My heart it always stays.
Lead singer Chaim ‘Chainsaw’ Lipmann, of the indie reggae metal group BLACK EYE ON A BLACK GUY, was arrested yesterday afternoon at his apartment in Oceanside California for ‘pet-napping’. His ex-wife claims that he broke into her home while she was at work, and stole the prize winning Yorkshire Terrier that she had won in her divorce settlement. The dog, named ‘YT’, is a regular at dog shows around the world, and the ex Mrs. Lipmann, Sharonda, called it a deliberate act of revenge. The dog was found in a roadie of the band’s house, safe, in a travel case for guitars, but which was apparently being used to store drug paraphernalia and knitting utensils. The office of Lipmann had no comment, except to say that it was all just a little misunderstanding, and that the ‘Chainsaw’ is back hard at work on the upcoming Capitol records release, ‘CAVIAR EMPTOR’ (Let the Buyer Eat Fish Eggs). It will be the long awaited follow up to the success of the group’s last project, ‘VENI, VIDI, VICHYSSOISE’. It is reported that this will be the third in a food themed trilogy composed by the band. The band’s debut project was the influential ‘PISSING ASPARAGUS (And Feeling the Burn)’.
Often, Awards are Given Out to Those who Managed to Survive the Ones Giving out the Awards.
Sign of the apocalypse anyone? IS THERE A MORAL TO THIS STORY? Yes, Virginia, there is and it goes like this: I MAY NOT BE A DADAIST, But I Do Know That I Like THE MAMAS AND THE PAPAS. And neither do I like mixing Greek Salads with French Toast. Then again, if honest, had David not found Goliath, he would have had to invent him. I need something massive and much bigger than me to fight with, it keeps me strong, sharp and away from gassy foods. I traded in one form of oppression, the church of my youth, for an even worse form, THE MUSIC BUSINESS. Fortunately, I have SANANDA, as well as the fellowship of our long time friend, apostate and outlaw, STAGGER LEE. Such has been their scorched earth policy that even as I write this, I must levitate to stay above the flames……
What’s in a name? Or destiny? If you are a Baseball Shortstop, it’s fate that your name; JETER, in French means (literally), ‘TO THROW’. We haven’t the slightest inkling what Derek means, nor do we assume it to be our business. Then again, there I go, getting all misty and linguistic. Maybe it’s a mulatto thing, who knows?
In the circus, it is not the chair and the whip that holds off the Tiger. It is the 3 square meals a day, and not having to work for its food, that holds off the Tiger. None is so savage as to not appreciate, the easy life when presented with it as an option. I’ve said this before, but it didn’t look like this when I said it. Next time I say it, it will probably be in the wonderful language of ITALICS.
RAYMOND DOZA and his legal counsel suggest that while their client was experiencing amnesia, RAY MENDOZA was guilty of IDENTITY THEFT and stole money from their client’s savings account! Up to 230,000 Canadian Dollars before being caught. Lawyers for Mr. Mendoza claim that they will prove that it was all just a misunderstanding, and blames computers and not their upstanding, small business-owning client.
MEXICAN BANKS BUYING UP CANADIAN DOLLARS ON THE NEXT OPRAH!!!
We Truly Only Have Ourselves to Blame, Unless we are Fortunate Enough to have Others Close to Us that we Can Place the Blame On. Which is always a small blessing, in and of itself.
THE GOOD NEWS ABOUT LIFE is that at some great point in time, we stop looking for ‘the truth’, and just start looking for good entertainment. We all know that ‘THE TRUTH’, is largely an ambiguous pain in the ass with a political agenda behind it.
Just a reminder from a friend: Have you gotten your ORNETTE COLEMAN collection together? Isn’t it about time? It is also never too late to get acquainted with a great American Poet of Music, Harry Nilsson. There are worse ways to spend your time.
The poor are less likely to get cancer because the poor are less likely able to afford the treatments. Cancer is by and large, a disease of affluence. Some diseases it is probably better not to be able to afford.
THE CYCLE OF ETERNITY: The KNOWING craving the NOT KNOWING and the NOT KNOWING craving the KNOWING.
MURPHY’S LAWYER taught me that:
Given the choice between the TRUTH and a GOOD STORY, most of us would take the good story. We find what is true for us in the stories that hold our attention most. Facts are wonderful, unless they inhibit the story, in which case they are optional.
Perhaps what ghosts haunt us are but the grieving form of our neglected and forgotten dreams.
This message brought to you by the GINSENG FAIRIES;
Once you get your mind together on a thing, DON’T DISPUTE YOUR OWN LOGIC. It is OK if it only makes sense to you.
What excites me even more about the latest BOBBY WOMACK is that he is playing guitar again.
TRIBES CONQUER ONE ANOTHER more stealthily by interbreeding than they do by war.
When the REMEDY comes before the DISEASE, then it is only a matter of time and investment before there is finally a disease to match the pill! The wonders of modern science!
BEING A MEMBER OF THE LIBRERIA DYSLEXIA, our dear friend, GIL BATES, once suspected that he was the real true co-founder of MICROSOFT before lawyers managed to convince his estate otherwise. The medication also helped. The ever-expanding Libraria Dyslexia now includes the newly remixed and mastered version of the ROLLING STONES classic album, ‘Sex Files On Strained Meat’. We also have available William Shakespeare’s controversial treatise on illegal drug making and distribution, ‘BACK METH’, which is even more current now, than when written hundreds of years ago.
The echoes and fragments of broken hearts are spread across the sky like clouds.
At the roots lie rejection and at our feet, the seeds we’ve sown to forget.
And these were the final words strewn across the stern from the sailing ship
Of Stagger Lee. There was more we might have learned, had he not been watching TV,
His head removed from the bustling crowd before it was mistaken as his own.
The immortality of natal youth, faded, whistling and overgrown.
A CUBIST COW (on the next Oprah)! And CUBIST COW (who we suspect to be a mutated form of Renegade Police Cow) has this comment to make: “ Look on the bright side, The Royal Scandal of the Topless Photos could have been a lot worse. They Could Have Been Camilla’s Titties.” Later, bitches!
And finally, a new word from Sananda’s word file (I had to renew my poetic license): ‘Biaccesi’ (BEE-A-'CHAZE-E), emphasis on third syllable. An Italianization coined by Sananda of the global word, ‘bitches’, as in, “all the BIACCESI are driving me crazy”. This will count on your final oral exam. There might also be a rectal exam, so be prepared (and bring your own lube).
Having secured his Italian passport and citizenship, a happy STAGGER LEE is off to BOLIVIA where he will be engaged in celebratory animus until such a time as the next chapter requires his feral presence and mythological mien. Now be well and don’t let your feet smell (though better that, than to let them swell, as men of our age know all too well).
COPYRIGHT SANANDA FRANCESCO MAITREYA
MILANO 23th September 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
INTELLECTUAL COPYRIGHT PROTECTED