Saturday, July 30, 2016

Why, I'd still love to become a wealthy knife ad ax throwing magnate

I feel dreadful about a sick joke that came to mind.  I thought of it myself, only with help from entertainment news on television, and it has to do with disgraced comedian Bill Cosby.  The joke is:  If he is prosecuted for rape, his lawyer will use the Fat Albert Defence.  Hey, hey, hey, love to play tackle.  There you go, another tasteless, insensitive joke.   And I helped.

It would help more if one of my small business concepts worked out.    On another light note, I'm still interested in teaching demonstrating and selling products relevant to knife and ax throwing.  It's a real and fun sport.  The Northside is a perfect place to do it, with it's golconda of vacant lots.  It's like a forty square mile golf course, damn near free of charge for the use of the land.  I've been chucking  blades and axes in the lot behind the house here for the last eighteen years, always happy as a clam at high tide.

So here's my pitch:  Feel free to contact me by e-mail at if you would like start collecting throwing knives.  Think of me as your go-to guy, sales and service with a smile.  My collection rules.  

Sunday, July 10, 2016

fiction: Music Horrors

Some ape shit stalker has been fucking with me since the Reagan era, he's a didactic gas-lighting SOB, and his BS crops up, not regularly, but with his trade mark each time. This is where I remember, and get agitated, over the precept of 'signifiers,' which came up in this shit heel phenomenology class I took. It was where I first met the stalker. Stalkers often identify a signal, like a red ant might, and are drawn to it. That was a long time ago. Here's some recent shit. 

I had switched from electric to acoustic guitars, and it brought out the stalker. Some asshole had to have told the guy about it, because I didn't see the Ape at the clubs I been squatting at. Which means the Ape has 'friends,' or at least, contacts, since 'friends' has become such a hideous word. Some of the worst pigs I dealt with in the last century all would sit together in the living room and watch the tv show 'Friends.' Something about that show always made me think a process of deliberate contamination was nearing scientific maturity. 

My first mistake was mail ordering an Egbert Schliazis all wood classical guitar. It's all real natural wood. None of that mostly filler plywood some axes are made out of. Stuff makes me earl. Don't like people who play those pieces of shit. There's a lot of 'em. Egbert Schliazis a very good low end acoustic guitar, and there is no need to labor all the goddam traditions and values and every fucking spiritualized horse shit point in history that may by signified, or symbolized, or brought up like like a bowl of bad clams and too much wine. Or so I thought. 

I was very tuneful one evening, thank you, on my oak stool in the back of Chief's Bar. I was playing some Simon and Garfunkel shit, some shit everyone at the time more or less remembered, and there were some people who were into it. I was being gracious as shit, and making a special point not to have an attitude, because that's fine if you're doing Sex Pistols. But it's asshole if you're playing "Like a Goddam  Bridge Over Fucking Troubled Water." So I wasn't doing attitude that night. 

I wasn't, but some ugly bitches were, I can tell you that. Soon as I put down my brand new Egbert Schliazis, one of the bitches gets in my face. "You can shove that guitar you're playing up your ass, you fucking pig," she says to me, her sour swarthy puss contorting with rage and mockery. "Yea, asshole, big end first," a member in her entourage added, for additional caution and indelible staining. 

"Egbert Shliazis' great grandfather designed Joseph Mengele's ukele. Joseph Fucking Mengele would strum his ukele while torturing holocaust victims, you lousy fuck," she continued. "Now Schliazis'   great grandson, Egbert, is helping to kill off women in the Yucatan peninula." 

Fuck me. I was helping Egbert Schliazis lll kill women in the Yucatan pininsula. Fuck me again. I feel really, really bad about all this.   Not even music can help.

Tuesday, July 5, 2016

America's changing physique

No one talks about anorexia nervosa anymore, and though lots of people walking around downtown are very thin, it is mostly men, and is not the result of a morbid aversion to eating.  More likely it's a relatively new physique resulting from one hundred years of veganism.    Not that I miss hearing of it, but I suspect a change has taken place on the global level.  Perhaps the social rewards people used to obtain by merely being thinner than average were unearned, and are no longer granted.  After all, no one remembers the myth of the starving artist.

This is not to say artists, or anyone, aren't/isn't  starving in the U.S. or anywhere else.  So the media reports, world hunger is still out there, nearly everywhere.  I'm not so callous.  In the US people valued a fashionable appearance over and above the importance of health, longevity or even human equality.  The fashion industry, and the entertainment biz, convinced everyone  large built people are less valued than those of  the Rolling Stones Skinny.  One is as thin as a fashion model, or else is common and ugly,  Times have changed.   Everyone is beautiful, as long as they have money.

And how have things changed?  Fucking near silently, the middle class took over a complex of non-profit social and cultural organizations, and over time, phased out the poor.  Years ago, the story was that those same organizations were for the benefit of the poor, but now they simply pay the middle class to pose as humanitarians, because they are entitled to elevated social status.  Most upsetting to me, the money, either tax exempt contributions or infusions of tax dough through the government, now subsidizes a fat, privileged sector of the upper middle class.  There are no starving artists.  Only fat, subsidized ones.  No one gets brownie points for  being exceptionally thin, and why should they?  Fat people are  just as creative, and they aren't starving, they are staying fat on the public nickel.  They are entitled to this arrangement, so to prevent them from becoming gaunt, starving artists.  They are well fed and entitled to be well regarded, no matter what the assholes do.

Now, who would have thought that the cure for anorexia nervosa would have been as simple as subsidizing the rich and already fat?  It's a sad case of unintended behaviorism.  Reward people for starving themselves, and you'll fill the graves with creative and troubled souls.  Feed the already fat and rich, compliment them on their art work (no matter how shitty and vacant)  and you get a culture of happy bovines with a normal life expectancy.  It's a bourgoise world out there.  The poor are dying to climb on board.