poem reading

mosquito valor 2

BASS, GUITAR, SNARE DRUM, BONGO, GONG, DIGITAL ENHANCEMENT

flash fiction with music

music with video

3 morehaiku 2

ANMR0074ooooorev

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10 22 2024 guitar, bass, harmonica, digital enhancement

ANMR0048

remix: bass, harmonica, snare drum 10 10 2024

Spoken word fiction: Here With Us

This doesn't happen very often...

 ...fuck me adventuresome, I have a guest with me.   The man has been through a lot.  We met at a peace rally.  There was some decent looking protesters there, both genders, nothing hostile or discriminatory, but we were talking, and some easy action would have done us both some good.  We were finding common ground.  I'd like to do more to introduce my guest,  but that would defeat the whole purpose of the man spilling his guts as he does.  You need to comprehend this person:

,,,

Hello.   My name is Morris Yuertzl-Bingle and I am a Hebrew American pothead.   Before I say anything for or against the use of marijuana, I am advising everyone to not get high before watching a circumcision.  I was at a briss last month, and oy vey the Maui Wowie had everyone hallucinating.  Good thing Rabbi Goldberg does the same good work, straight or stoned.    It all went like a Purim party, all good, we had a nice time.   Let's get into some folklore.

The yiddish word 'schlamaazel' translates to English, like a dream, as 'victim of bad luck' or of circumstance.  Schlamaazels, classically, are hard working, ethically conflicted, over-worked, under appreciated, and it's not because the person is a schmuck or a schmegeggy.    This individual is neither a putz nor a shiksa.  It may be married person whose spouse is the abominable snow person.  We all may find our self in an agonizing  relationship with a verbisina or sasquatch of either gender, or as many as one can name.    I feel at times like a schlamaazel when the weed I get is not it's festive finest.   Hebrew American potheads are a fussy people.   

We are a minority group.   And as was always true, we are open to conditions which make us  schlamaazel.   Consider the sappy differential between having a medical weed card, and having a Ph.d.   How fucking unfair.   I produce vivid fantasies when while high as a Georgia pine.  I publish a shitload of very important papers, such as this one.  Where does a doctorate get you?   If it's in political science, probably a sad future at the fried chicken shack.  

addenda:

Hello again, I’m  (more or less)  Bruce and my pal Morris is visiting again.  What a grand time we are having.   We’re talking about the particularities of being a Hebrew American pothead.

Morris tells me that Jews, or Hebrew Americans, some of them, really like the stuff.   He may be centered too much on his own most immediate community, but so Morris says, he is more intellectual than other ethnic weed mavens..   Soon as Morris smokes his first ganja stick and a gummy, he can’t shut up about the effect on  beat generation poets,  of weed, LSD, magic schrooms, and why not mention the hard drugs, but not by name because illegal and too dangerous for gentle, scholarly souls, such as my pal  Morris Yuertzl-Bingle, Hebrew American Pothead.  He is analyzing the minutiae of ethnic weed smokers.  Comparative analysis is just puff away.

Wimpy/Gimpy Little Essay

 

In the world of folks, there’s two kinds of initiative:  balls-out and wimpy/gimpy.   Che Guavera was a balls-out influencer.   So was Fidel Castro, Chairman Mao, Stalin, Hitler, Mussolini and, …did I leave anyone out?    Fuck me for being remiss.   Truman Capote was a wimpy/gimpy influencer.  The magnificent and brilliant Tennessee Williams was as well.  The vast majority of great playwrights were a pussy.   Does that make one binary grouping better than the other?  Damn it, I’m balls-out, and I’m telling you fuck no, there is room on chunky Earth for both masses of wonderful attractive people, all exponential shitloads of them.  Thanks for reading. 

bass, percussion, harmonic 9 27-2024

Shrink the Presidency

 

Pip, cherio, and all that Continental sounding stuff.  The British monarchy has taken a moral and material shellacking over that past century.  History can pound salt, but right now the importance of the  monarchy is diminished enough to say, "How's it going in your degenerating  sad condition?"  The kingdom/queendom/whateverdom is pretty much toast.   It's never been less important.

In the event the US adopts a statist format, it would reduce the importance of the US presidency.  Like the British monarchy, the president and entourage could play polo and knock each other up.  Get married.  Get divorced. Get laid, get fucked.   Most of the president's responsibilities would shift to state government.  And to city governments.   That puts voter dudes and dudettes physically closer to the decision making.  

In the same way the monarchy slid over to let more modern government take charge, that could be the way should there be a statist shift in power.   We'll still have a president.  A smaller one.

 

Philosopher Immanual Kant was in many ways just another common buttwipe.   Seems he did a lot of reading, books, no doubt, no one gives a shit about now.   Maybe he specialized in low circulation papyrus smut.  I hope he did.  It would make him more interesting.  

I was thinking about the concept of presuppositionless thinking, and it was on IK's long screechy chalk board.    I'm extending myself in recognizing the purpose in identifying cultural contexts, all fat shitloads of them,  and clearing one's mind of said same.   Jettison all cognitive and mnemonic  flotsam.  It's what loads people's heads like knotweed.  

 One clears ones mind of all that is already known.  Do that first or you're an asshole, then allow yourself to perceive and think like a very brainy weightless tiny mass of nada, diddly and crap, drifting aimlessly through space.  Feels good when you get there.  Did I mention that it never fucking worked.  Bigger heads than mine caught on a long time ago that Kant was jerking the gherkin.  It is impossible to achieve presuppositionless thinking, no matter how big he was where it counts.  Kant was an asshole.  Thanks for reading.

Why Pretend The US Presidency Is Still Necessary?

 The point of this post is to broach a subject no one I no of is talking about, or thinking.  Maybe the US presidency is outmoded.  Past it's day.   Maybe instead of election presidents, vice presidents, and what ever dross comes with that package, what if voters voted, instead, for a committee made up of individuals who might govern together more responsibly than can one  deeply beholden and harried individual.  

Think of it like this:  monarchies still may exist but are outmoded as a form of government.  No one takes the British monarchy seriously anymore.  They're adult teeny-boppers.   Now it's looking like American hope for democracy is sucking ass.   The voting public is poorly informed and is too distant from national leadership to call this country a representative democracy, with a president at the top of the pyamid.

Don't vote for a president, vote for a politburo.  A team of individuals all vetted, open and transparent.  Presidents of the United States are dinosaurs.  

Flash fiction: Remember to Shut Up

I was shopping for I don't know what, at Burlington, when someone crowded my space in the shoe aisle. He was talking to himself and maybe God about crepuscularity. I had to cut in on the conversation if it was one. In case it was one. There would be greater chance God would hear my side of ontolology. I'm entitled to an opinion, especially when a person with really bad skin is too close to me, reaching across me to pick at cut rate shoes in garish colors and patterns.

Crepuscularity, in deed. He had bags in his ear lobes from wearing unclean grommets. I don't care if his ears rot completely off. I'm not doling a cent towards his reconstructive surgery. I doubt he will either. These people don't live very long outside a modern institution. The man was like canned ravioli, pustules all over, and he was in my space, wiggling like a spirochete. A flourescent tube overhead was going out like Ethel Merman on Broadway, except it was the last while that tube would trade juice for artificial, unwholesome, unflattering light. The man was all crepuscularity, and no soul. I got nothing for having interloped. I said, "you are one tenebrating ass motherfucker."

Remember when people gave a shit about gurus?    They grew like  crown vetch.  It's like people are looking for extra-ordinary things, extra-normal intelligence, a kind of spirituality that doesn't suck like a case of the 'roids.   Respite from extreme stupidity and ugliness.   These days, you fucking near have to beg republicans for spare change, so you can spend a week on a cruise ship.   People some how were lead to believe there are people at large who can improve the lives of others.   

'Seekers' were a big deal, way back when.    Now that all cities world wide are shit holes, and few Americans know people 'on the Continent' well enough to beg a few free nights on their Danish Modern couches, it is as if there isn't anything to look for.   Nor a person with knowledge worth acquiring.  It's like, "please don't teach others how  to be a piece of shit, like you."

Seekers and gurus.   Playing Twister together in Hell.  Jeez, I'm in a rotten mood this morning.  Thanks for reading!

The Big Bong Theory...nothing to do with drugs. People inhale the gestalt, or the elements there of. then blow it out their shorts...

The Summer of Five Dollar Shoes:   

This is a riveting analysis of metaphor, me to a very old Black Woman who, I noticed last year in August, wore thin spandex beach shoes most certainly acquired at the Five Below store downtown.   I had on the exact same shoes, no socks for me, thank you, and Miss Liz wore thick purple synthetic knee socks and her black, with gray trim, spandex shoes.  Five bucks a pair.  We talked one afternoon, and the things people have in common can be in the making before the chat opens apprehension the way two ice cubes will open single malt scotch.  Miss Liz is a live wire, like a pricey bottle of Glennfuckit.     Some of the things Miss Liz and I have in common were, in my case, yet  to be realized, and maybe only for having seen it in a person other than myself.   

Not mentioning the shoes, we got to the subject of how it was downtown in the 1990s.  That's as far as I go back with the former steel sub-metropolis.    Miss Liz moved here not too long after the Great Depression.  Had many go rounds with our metamorphic multifarious city administrations and business districts, each an amoeba taking in goods and expelling services, an economy with stone and at the same time elastic walls.  Our shopping centers have been ever morphing.   Thin walls are removed and placed elsewhere otiose and never exciting.   The downtown business establishment was knocking itself out when I first got here, to seem vital, and I've come to adore, from a safe distance, the way expendable people work so hard to maintain appearances when a place lost it's soul decades earlier on the fat prick that is a time line.  

When I mentioned to Miss Liz that before the Smithfield Street McDonald's closed in 2019, back in the 1990s, people used to get lunch there dressed in cheap but fairly well fitted business suits, shirts and neck ties.  Miss Liz smiled warmly, alertly, triumphantly, and said, "they all dead."

That's one of the things I had, in transition, in common with her.   It took a few years for the lime gelatin and vodka to solidify.  Jello Shots, a party fave, goes down same as regular lime Jello, but it's fifty proof if you do it right.   The Jello, in this case, Lizzy and myself, is joy in knowing lesser mortals croaked, and we are still alive.  People aren't so fucking great in Pittsburgh.  It's a truly second class city.  Why should that be bothersome to anyone?   Lizzy had it already, and I gained it eventually.   It's an element of bliss.   Shitty people are kind enough to bite the dust, leaving more room for Miss Liz.   Me, too.  

Untitled poem with fretless electric bass and guitar

 

Sick, sick, sick, sick,sick...et infinitum.     What?   No front page pic with a homely mystery man claiming to be a patsy?   Like the whole Lee Harvey Oswald thing?    Star studded.  Right out of Andy Warhol's Factory.  The glitz and drama, the mystique of the century.   

Where the hell's the conspiracy, for goodness sake?   Why can't a crazed hayseed or taxi driver in cowboy boots, K-bar knife taped to his ankle, ankle holster on the other ankle, photogenic as the lead actor in the film Taxi Drive, trot into the lime light and have his day on meet the press, with his manifesto professionally typed, he gets a free American Tourister brief case, striped rayon neck tie,  white shirt, dark suit.  What happened to the United States?   We used to be a photogenic country.  I'm angry because the attempted shooting yesterday lacks an appropriate mass shitload of conspiracy theories.  Fuck it, I'll start:  Space cretins.  Stupid, dimwitted creatures from outer space tried to whack Trump and pin it on some poor dumb hick from East Buttfuck.  There.  That's all you know, all you need to know, and I'm stealing words from a poet.  Over and out.

Electric Music: bass, percussion, digital enhancement (audacity.com) ...

rodney has bongo experimental music 6 10 2024

Medicaide rant: I couldn't help overhearing....

Medicaide rant

 I feel as though we've all had our fun, and it's time to conduct a dreary evaluation of what took place.   Hunter Biden is being prosecuted right now, zowie, cowabunga.   Trump just got convicted of a quazi-heinous crime.  Groovy.   I'm still a voting, quazi-loyal Democrat, and,  pure tough shit, my centrist philosophy is not cutting any ice with fuck near anyone.  Sad.  I didn't vote for Trump, I merely hold opinions other than those typical of the DNC.   Though an atheist, I think everyone should forgive,forget, turn the other pink powdery cheek, and quit busting each others big hairy agates.   Let's be chivalrous, for fuck sake. On days like this, even an atheist will see the sense in coming to Jesus.   

I tried while Trump was president to encourage a more docile, social and chivalrous approach to grass roots politics.  I forgive everyone who called me weak lazy asshole.   Also, for refusing to consider alternatives to pervasive hostility and opposition.   At grass roots level, voters could have demanded the DNC produce better candidates.  And that may have been, under a shit pit of circumstance, impossible.  Going to the issues, voters focused hatred on Trump while ignoring the banking industries and the Federal Reserve, which has raised interest rates, supposedly to reverse inflation.  I think the theory is total BS, the tactic makes it  more profitable for the banks to lend money, while lending less money in total to sustain higher profits.  This places the financial burden of reversing inflation on consumers, all sweating nervous three hundred million of us.  

I could sling more 'what should we do' hash, but that would just further obfuscate deep socio-political quicksand.   Betcha' there will a years-long trend in frivolous and malicious prosecution among our political leaderships.  No worries.  I have my pith helmet and johdpurs, riding crop and a hobby horse to play on.  I'm playing nice, you should too.  Thanks for reading.

 

One Month of Writing On The Craigslist Literary and Writing Forum

 

 

Help, help.  It's as if all humankind is pregnant, having contractions a quarter second apart, it's hurting like hell, and no one wants to call the OB and get help.  We are, all of us, resisting the birth of what comes next in human misery.   Collectively, we are all pregnant with the next anti-christ, and it could be as basic as rolling black outs.   Maybe the demand for bottled electricity, electric cars and trucks,  the limitless supply of batteries, will strike us all dead by fabricated capitalist lightning.   After long periods of hardship and willful cruelty.   Like at a state college. 

Too many people go to college.    College educated people are unable to manage public education at district level.   Directly or indirectly, it's either incompetence with sheep skin, or at best a brain drain in which the best people work outside of public education,  resulting in poor literacy for people not yet entering college.  

People fail to realize that some areas of everything  is  elitist by nature, and by origin.  This will explain, in part, why progress sucks.   Secondary education originated among a very high achieving aristocracy, developed so to include a well socialized upper middle class, and as education became available, even mandatory to the working classes, education was dragged to trog level to meet the needs of  hoi polloi.  People turn out homogenously dim,  dependent upon drugs and external support.  While instilled with a sense of autonomy and entitlement.   We are people getting high on Constitutional Holy Smoke.  Also, we are drunk.  

Thanks for reading.

 

Wooly Bully, dear friends.   I derived some years back a spiritual way. Though origins trend spacey in nether worlds, it was Sam the Sham and the Pharoahs that opened a gaggle of third eyes.

Mine opens each time I watch the video on youtube, the novelty band performing their song Wooly Bully.   In the manner Hattie told Mattie about a thing she saw,  the element of being witness shines forward.   Spiritual paths require navigation, North Star substitutes, digital cuing and prompting.  What makes one divine celebrity's observations more profound than those of people in the peanut gallery? I shall reveal, post haste, it's the beat. Few create it, everyone needs it, thus a force of fate. Are we jack-offs?

These days, common mortals buy a GPS device and stick on God’s own Cadillac rocker panel.  It’s so rough out there, people have reached the ability to weasel God.   And there I go again, digressing.  This can really limit an individuals growth.   

Once people reach the apex of supernatural comprehension, they tend to slack off.   This can be observed in colleges and churches and don’t get me started on covens.  Many are thriving in small numbers, and I’d rather not piss them off.   Witchcraft is an institutional behavior, though. Same as math. No one crunches numbers without first getting a stream of them up the butt, in a math class.

   One can’t be a wizard without a community of poor suckers who believe shit.  Any shit.  A wizard’s importance to a community is relative to the need for the hash the wizard is slinging.  This is the true path to shit.   One  eats hash.  One shits in the morning.   No finer indication of wizardry is called for.  For stronger understanding, one is hungry, wants hash, a wizard is selling it, logically, one buys it and woofs it down.   I wish this was easier.   

Metaphorically, God slings hash.   On the morning menu, He/She/Whomever whacked out Heaven and Earth.  This is practically nonfiction.   Next, using a long stainless steel spatula, such as is used in commercial kitchens everywhere, such as on a common gas grill, the Lord slung off the animal kingdom, tossed it on a plate, and yelled through a narrow slot in the kitchen wall, “Order out, Mable.”

Years later the group, Sam the Sham and the Pharoahs assembled, like matter converging, there is a rumbling vortex, and a new star is born.  Their hit song Wooly Bully reached all my chakras.  It is why, and I feel compelled to explain, Religious Faith Pop.   Hence the name Iggy Pop.   We’ll have to repent to Iggy soon enough, but right now Sam the Sham is singular hope for redemption. Wooly Bully is The WORD.    Thanks for reading.

 

Never...ne-eh-eh-eh-eh-ver...NEV-AAAAAHHHH!...has there been greater need to mime the late, pompous Winston Churchill while discussing a tiny fragment of American mass culture, one made relevant on shitty college campuses everywhere right now.   Our great cigar smoking, brandy swilling collective society, the portly hypertensive  USA,  has never had greater need for its schlamaazels!

For local yokels in the US:  It is we small victims of common misfortune who are most threatened by violent protest against one or both of two warring factions.   One can be maimed, equally, by Israeli or Palestinian combatants here and abroad, unilaterally.  A schmutzig dilemma.   We are all instantly reminded of the Jewish Dilemma:  free ham.

I'm concerned about poor schmageggies here, who might be inconvenienced, harmed, dare I mention wrongfully Xed, merely from traipsing our villages, our loin cloths and muslin body wrappings held in place with floral bungee cords they sell at Dollar Tree in Westview,  our sandals of molded plastic from Five Below off Smithfield Street.  There's more suds in the beer glass.

Do people really have the right to free speech and free expression on college campuses?  Or, is this a collective figment of our jurisprudential imaginations?   If one is studying math at school, and intends to apply  expertise in a career going forward from schooling and ultimately certification, e.g. a diploma, one might say the poor schmuck is entitled to study math in peace.  He/she is not obliged to hold opinions for or against Hamas or Israel.  One plus one equals two in both camps.   There in no such thing as the right to disrupt business or to engage in any form of harassment against anyone.  The right to occupy space anywhere in public is a questionable thing.   Don't people need a permit from the city to conduct a protest downtown?  Why would the game be different on a campus?  Suppose the fact that students and faculty have everything of theirs invested in what they are doing, money, time and work.   This could negate the rights of others to interfere.  And protest activity is tertiary to day to day business at school.  Oy gevalt.  people are meshugana.

Rant: Politics...

 

We Don’t Need Trump To Make Friends With North Korea

Our presidential election is breezing up to the batter’s mound, no, make that the pitcher's mound, there ain't no batters mound, and no one has to be reminded we all need to keep Donald Trump out of public  office.  That’s understood.  I’m seeing, though, a loose thread.

We need Kim Jong Un, now.  Please don’t think for one lousy second I’m saying ‘vote for Trump.’  Don’t make me gag.   I’m sick at the thought of that person.  I hope Stormy Daniels rips his tiny aspirations off.  But we need Kim Jong Un, that adorable, iconically handsome and well groomed fascist in North Korea, to come on down and visit us.  The price is right!  

Soon-to-be-jailed ex-president Trump tried to open working relations with Kim.  He even spirited one of Kim Jong Un’s favorite capitalist pro-athlete play pals, basketball legend Dennis Rodman.   Naturally, the initiative resulted in nothing special.  Look who was president at the time.  But it would still be a good idea for Democrats, all of them/us/whomever, to support positive, open relations, anywhere at all, North Korea especially.  

Once Kim Jong Un feels comfortable here, I know he’ll become a spokesman for American corporations, galore, because it will be so fun and lucrative for him and his dearest colleagues. He’d be a riot on SNL.     The man even looks funny! He could do this routine where he sells his enemy's kidneys online  for $19.95.   If all goes well, we can all trade in nuclear weapons.    I know there’s a market over there for our pharmaceuticals.  Even the dourest oppressors can be fun when you get a few Zolofts in them.

I’d like to see Kim open a chain of restaurants.   One atrocity from column A, two from column B.   No homicides!  They only take out food.   I know everyone is gonna’ love Kim Jong Un,  the Democrats just have to get him to come out of his shell.  Thanks for reading.

Haiku series

 

Wind a bobbin right

Your widget might work lovely

How shit looks depends

People are clumsy

Get dandruff in the test tube

Offspring repulsive

Vindictive lobster

Out of season at Stork Club

Tortures portly chef

 Everyone has baggage and quotes.    For the latter:  How terrible is wisdom when it brings no profit to the wise. 

It's a way of saying, "I hate having to watch incompetent, desperate people fuck things up."  The Seven Deadly Sins are no bullshit.  People do them, with shitty outcomes to show for sin.   Secular sin.  Poor ethics.   Short sightedness, to the point of endangering humankind.  I don't name names of shit eating mortals.  The loss of debate on ethics, a result of singular pervasive insecurity, insures that no one benefits from anything for very long.    People act independent of logic and of any historic basis for action in the present.  

Short term economics is a recession waiting to be announced.   Then the Federal Reserve raises interest rates, to reverse inflation.  This makes it more profitable, per dollar thrown, for banks to lend scarce, scared money.  While placing the burden of reversing inflation on defenseless, pea brained, over-spending greedy consumers, who can't use very good judgment, if they wanted to, because they have to borrow money to keep living above their means.  That's why everyone is killing their spouse for insurance.  Thanks for reading.

Spoken word flash fiction 5 6 2024

 This is not about cults.   No one has come up with a decent new religion in ages.    I'm working on this spiritual lassitude problem.   I invented a religion based on the premise that people are to suck the spirit out of secular, ordinary, material BS.  I practice the Electrolux religion.    Comes with attachments.  A motorized vibrator.   Flexible shaft tool.    Praises.

 I have a new alter-ego.  It is non-gender bending, and is not a new drag queen name.  Mr. Reisner is a common heterosexual with a flair for style.   Straight men care about interior design.  Nice fabrics.  I comment on women's haute couture, when it is in any way helpful, complimentary.

My new name is Cardinal Bitchaloo.    Heterosexual bitch.   I'm a well adjusted, sentient, one.  I'm a mindful masculine bitch.   This is where it can be necessary to get on the that elastic sense of reality.  You have it, Sugar.   Cardinal Bitchaloo, over and out.

 

It is with a sad woolly bully that I remorse stupidity past.   The words 'woolly bully' are an affirmation.  It's is borrowed from one of my favorite novelty songs by a favorite novelty act, Sam the Sham and the Pharoahs.   Who is anyone to put a price tag on people?  Or to place anyone in greater esteem than others, for jeez why ever.  And one may be ambivalent about equality.  Who wants to be no better than a total useless, lying sack of shit?

The fine arts are elitist by nature, from the origin.   As soon as people had reason and technology to differentiate shit from begonias, they undertook eugenics in their own free and easy way.  Killing defective infants was no problemo in ancient Greece, where virile gladiators were slow to accept modern social services.    Only aristocrats served as senators.  Or as much of anything better than slave or grunt laborer.   Not that there weren't soft, fairly secure bureaucrats back then, back there, when toga's, both gender, were lewd.  People are still hating one another, these days over differing opinions on things they have no power over.  Opinions are provided for all sides of hostilities, by mainstream media, like a kindergarten teacher suggesting things bored, dim witted children can do so not to make their time on Earth a total waste.

Kindness is self-mitigating.  More so than jack shit else.  Thanks for reading.

 

 Hot shit, that book The Odyssey.    Hero hops home from the Trojan War, going forward like the rest of us, after a major life disruption.   I was in a hassle last week.  No book deal, yet.   Relevant now?  Sure.   I'll play sexless mythology teacher.  The Odyssey is  more important than The Tree Stooges.   It's a more important art object, the book, translated to English, for us, Americans, than the works of Iggy Pop.  A modern American.  

Something momentous has taken places in the humanities.  Dylan got the Prize for literature.  Martin Scorsese's film Taxi Driver, in which Travis Bickel returns from the Vietnam war, and goes forward with his happy, horrid canards, is as much a story as The Odyssey.    Maybe more.   Everything.   Trojan horse?  The horse our hero rode in on?   Or rode inside of, waiting for an enemy to be deceived and abused all to fuck.  It's like buying a high end smartphone, and it has malware.  It fucks you six ways till Sunday.  Then you hurl your shitty, expensive phone in an enchanted pond, a water goddess appears, and says, "Quit polluting my apartment with your misguided acquisitions."

The finest of people can be a twat when miffed, vexed, whatever.  Forgive people for being ass-wipes.  Secular equivalencies.  Moral elasticity.  Two things that keep the peace, with flair ups.   Thanks for reading.

 

 Hello, I'm a prick about protesting on college campuses.  Why don't the same people doing the Monster Mash everywhere at expensive schools do the Mash in the downtown business district,   where they similarly well be forcibly dispersed, and disliked? Assholes are doing it on campus under the false belief they have a right to express themselves there, more so than elsewhere.  Why?  Schools conduct school biz.  Biz districts conduct retail/corporate biz.  The protesters themselves wouldn't want people coming between them and their next bowl of humus.   Their woke-chow dates and figs could get squished in the riots that happen sooner or later.  People going to school for cake decorating should not be forced to use progressive-only frosting.    Nor should they face cake violations on their persons or confections.   People are rude, deluded pieces of shit.

 

Wild Bill Hickok was an abolitionist.  John Brown, also.   The latter may be the harder of the two to see as a model of humanity.  Very recently, people engaged in progressive politics have been outspoken about the advancement of African American People.   Much as I know, from the evening news, attitudes in the round differ from those of Brown and Hickok.   Also, from cold war era Democratic liberals that were engaged in civil rights.  Abraham Lincoln was an abolitionist, and his bag was disparate from modern Gucci and Louis Vuitton baggage.    

The unpleasantness on college campuses.   New ideas?   New methods?  Masses of people in identical mind sets, calling for harm to persons in  the Family of Man?   It's a repeat performance.  Maybe young people feel cheated out of the past.  They didn't get to hang with Che Guavera.  Or protest the Vietnam War, like their grandfolks did.   Those people were exiting.   No one under age seventy five used LSD made by Sandoz!  Our youth deserves a chance to make up for all those things they can't do or have now.  I understand.  When I was kid I used to watch the television show Room 222, and could totally relate to Pete Dixon.   Haven't I done enough to help?

Ideas.   Methods.   An ad hoc committee is formed, it works it's agenda, and disperses when results say, 'enough.'   Thanks for reading.

Tone Poem: Why Are We Dookie?

 Marginalized people fill the columns and talk shows like mosquitos on a humid dog day.

And no one drops a grande mal dookie.   The great divide:  A-list.........B-list.   Matters.  Doesn't matter.

And the B-list stays sick desperate

To get rich and liked

Poor and dowdy

poem reading with fretless electric bass

 

Indications the Westview Plaza  is in decline:  in 1998 you could still buy a shotgun at Kmart. It closed, and now the space is a self storage unit brokerage.   The 2nd amendment has been in a slip and fall case for a while now.   Residency changed from fixed to variable.  Belongings travel space and time to their newest sheet steel sugar shack.  

Coffee shops were removed from Kmart stores,  blue light specials wandered back to an origin, 

Then they stopped selling guns.  The Wild West sacheted backward as civilization changed for the worse.  Managerial science, practiced in Kmarts everywhere, gave its tie clips and cufflinks to the  Salvation Army.   

I shopped there with my heart.  Clearance sales eased my troubled mind.     I felt one self storage unit safer owning a shotgun.  Home invasions were getting to be a bore.  Still are.  More so.  The decline of the west is enervating.  Live well and prosper.

 Greetings.  I hope some day to be a close up in Cecil B DeMille's urn.   Chillax, bro'.  Kidding.  Did you ever want to be a member of an important person's entourage?  It's fessing up to being lower on the B list than Leon Trotsky, but it's better to  be seen with a famous person than to be seen with an unattractive pauper.  Being seen chatting with Leon, could, if happened,  be bad for a person's social standing.  

Okay.  I'm  a rut.    Warpage in the wagon wheels.  Goes with getting old.   The goal post widens across the field of vision.   The illusory peace pipe circles a game full of native spirits.    There remains infinite possibility of gratification.   Where success was formerly a word, pleasure hop-skipped-jumped into primacy.    Necessity:  secundo     Meaning:  tertiary.    I'm blithering.  Thanks for your patience.

 I'm a crank, but you already know that.  I've been forthcoming.  People who put their minds into description can be a pain in the ass.   Ask the Mob.  But that's not what I'm carping about.

There is a group that's been convening downtown for years running.  They have a PA system, a flip chart, and tables stacked with supporting paper non-valentines.   There is public address machine preaching, and the premise is:  Modern Jews are fake, some cheesy, crummy ethnic group from Asshole, Europe, and the real Jews are Black.  They use the flip chart to support their claim.

Handwritten in neat carpenter's pencil, left hand column in descending order, the names of the 12 tribes of Israel.  There was listed on the right column the names of native African tribes, with a horizontal line connecting the tribe of Israel to a tribe of Africa.  The real Jews descended from the right hand column.  To the left, folks were assholes.   Honest to fuck, I remorse the way I think and regret having become a cynic.

I'm a prick, and I think silly things.  It can be hurtful.   I began equating the tribes of Israel, for example, Cohen, with the Ike and Tina Turner Review.    The tribe Levi is the Isaly Brothers.  

I'm a silly goose and had a bar mitzvah, 1971.  It's been a cheesy stretch of manhood, all the more when you supposedly begin at age 13.  Soon as one has one's bar Mitzvah, one is a constipated, overworked, unpopular  adult.  By age 14 we own insurance distributorships, and have ulcers.   Male pattern baldness begins at conception.  

Not to freak out, not to go reactionary scumbag over what's happening, I have a gerbil's fear people may be trying to steal 6000 years of advanced civilization and productivity.  People may feel entitled to the net worth of that time frame.   Two shitty things happened before, and can do so again:  stolen property and stolen intangibles.  Feel free to chat over which of two matters more. In either case, it's swag.  Thanks for reading. 

snukarama

spoken word/music I was like Sandra Dennis in a famous movie

 Do you know why people are making chipped ham out of each other with big, lurid weapons?  It's because of digital sound.  Alarms.  Artificial warning signs.  Series' (plural) of annoying beeps to alert people a cement mixer truck is about to puke wet cement into a plywood form, and stupid pedestrians need to stay the fuck out of the cement and quit sticking their stubby moronic fingers in it.   Quit writing your names in other people's wet cement!  Then the cement people wouldn't have to annoy everyone with their beeping.

I've been using the same sixteen inch gong for thirty years.   Gongs are a great way to get people's attention. It sounds natural.   

Don't beep.  Gong.  Thanks for reading.

 

Honest to fuck, I truly wish not to be a blowhard or pompous, sanctimonious asshole.  I wish not to be a Bible thumping asshole, with equal conviction  "Why bring it up, then, asshole," I would forgive you for asking right now.    Why now?    Why that stuff?  There's  this quote from the Bible that has been doing what slogans and platitudes are hoped to do.   It's is a quotation from the Bible that shoved a hot pepper up my ass, forever.   "How terrible is wisdom when it brings no profit to the wise."

It's a teasing sentiment.   It could mean, "it sucks being you."   Or, there is no hope for the future because stupid, greedy, lazy, recalcitrant people pissed the future away.   Some assholes are aware that there may be a direct relationship, both directions, better or worse, between common ethics and the quality of life.  Theists are known to see a direct correlation between sin and poverty. or between morals and prosperity, especially in the long term.  This is one of many minnows swimming in aquatic conservative thought.   

I grew up among thinking, free market  intellectuals.  This beefaroonie right here has to do with the way grass roots politics doomed itself with  excess hostility and contention.   Submission to trending mass stupidity, also.   Failure to resolve.   Failure to keep the peace.  When Trump was president, Dems were determined to get his fat ass out of office  by any means possible, honest or no.  Groovy.   Now, at grassroots level, voters have nothing left to work with.   Easy to destroy, hard to rebuild.  It's another basis for conservative thought.  Dems should have sought common ground with GOP voters and should have kept the subject of basic rights alive.  As it all went down, Dems got Trump out of office, and lost reproductive freedoms to the asshole currently anti-abortion Supreme Court.  How terrible is wisdom, knowing the voting public is too short sighted and shitty, too dishonest, too, to sustain both ethics and and civil rights.    

In the 1960s liberal intellectuals were rigorous thinkers.  Not fucking lately.  Back then people applied free market economics to the task of advancing human rights.   The small business owner can form political action committees.  To help.  To give back.   To establish charity and education.   With money earned in business and industry.    "Back in the day,"  the United States was in a vicious cycle of success.  So advanced of the political left to put an end to it all.   Thanks, assholes.

 

 Come next election voters will choose between  two clear plastic bags of formaldehyde.

"Well preserved" is an enjoyable and out-moded way of saying a person is over the hill and not a total embarrassment, yet.   

It would have been the thing for Democrats and GOPs to coalesce against the Federal Reserve a few decades ago.   Too bad voters  were busy getting 45 out of office while the banking biz was puking all over the poor.  Raising interest rates to reverse inflation.  It's your fault people are homeless.  Returning to the DT...    Not saying he's a  prince.  I don't vote GOP, but my loyalty to the Democrat Party feels, right now, like a bulging inflamed carbuncle.  On the ass.   All politicians remind me of a festered ingrown hair.  That's not attractive.

I don't support Trump, never did.   It was a waste of time  explaining to people there were more important things  than getting Trump when he was first 'in' and then 'out' of The White Rabbit Hole.  The disposition of real estate, e.g. affordable housing should have been front burner, and wasn't on the  Big Hot Amana Stove Of Middle Class Goodness.  The voting public is a danger to its goddam self.   

 

I divorced myself from humankind decades ago.  I am not a person.  At the moment, I am a rabbit.  A big one.   135 pounds.  I wonder if rabbits are well hung?   I should have looked into that before performing Santeria this morning.   No matter.  Peace.  Joy. Health.   Love.  Try to get you some.  I gonna' try ta' get some too.   Far Fucking Out.

I'm a man and I'm going to have my baby. You don't have to shove Roe v Wade up my ass. I'm a man and I'm knocked up.

 I'm a man, and contractions are coming two minutes apart.    Male pregnancies.   I'm doing one right now, and am asking people I haven't seen in years, or never met at all off the internet, if they would kindly pool resources.   We all benefit in the long run from people who are having babies.    Males, especially.   Babies born out of men.   It is widely believed God is cool with this.    If you have a few spare million bucks, please cut me and my fetus a bountiful trust fund.

Let me clarify.  I'm a man, I'm knocked up and facing an anal breech birth.   the little one is still growing inside, up my ass, perfectly normal for a male pregnancy.  Except for the breech birth position.  That's going to hurt.

Women are invited over for play date.  Bring your brats.  I am in no way hostile or discriminatory towards women who had babies twat-wise, after banging the hubby.  That's fine.  But could people please stop lying?   Men can impregnate themselves.  Men, me included, are hermaphrodites, and few are ready to come out of the closet, shoot jizz up their ass, and contribute to over-population.   

Maybe it's time we all fess up: vaginal sex is a pain in the ass, and men achieve pregnancy all on their own by pumping sperm butt-wise.  

Gentlemen, all any of you need to do is jerk off into a turkey baster, shove the small end up you ass and give a jaunty squeeze on the rubber bulb at the end.

people are always searching for a reason to shove things up people's ass.  I've identified the Jungian origin of proctology.   The myth of the ruby studded sigmoidoscope.  You can find literature on that.  The ruby studded butt-scope.   Some shitty where under the rainbow.  

3 18 2024

College: Institutional Deception and Racketeering

Bass, snare drum, 16" gong

anti natalism rant with guitar riffs

spoken word rant with guitar work

Andy Warhol and the Concept, On Its Lonesome, of Fame

 Hello.  Relax.  I gonna' wing out a precept or two, if that's alright, and talk about some things people may disagree with.  No worries.  Any impact at all can be converted to fluff with few lazy words.  That is why this is happening in frivolous quiz game format.   Question:  Was Andy Warhol an (a.) white savior, or (b.) a hoary looking dildo?  The former thing, white savior, could be illustrated by Warhol's help in making artist Jean-Michel Basquiat famous.   The young artist gained fame, as intended, and his paintings sell for a load of money these days.  People have quazi-religious faith in the importance of the work and the individual.

For readers who feel that Andy Warhol was, in any or all ways, a dildo, Basquiat passed from a heroin overdose at age 28.  This old cow hand does not consider that to be Andy's fault, but one could cite an unwholesome environment attributed to Andy Warhol's Factory.  The house band, The Velvet Underground, was not famous for mental hygiene.  More the opposite.  Lou Reed was no beacon of safe, harmonious living.  He was a famous junkie.   This may all seem like a broad, abstruse heap of cereal treat material, those confections made from puffed rice and sweet  quazi-edible binding materials.  I may have to mitigate my position on fame and Warhol.

Fame.   He's gonna' live forever.  Fame.  It was a tool, an aegis and applied philosophy, a strategy, maybe a few other things.  Warhol was vocal about the power and wealth people are able to achieve  by making themselves, and others, e.g. persons associated with Warhol's Factory, famous.   Jean-Michel Basquiat.

Warhol deliberately and methodically made  Basquiat famous, and in short order increased the market value of Basquit's paintings.  Everyone living and breathing is welcome to agree or disagree that Warhol may have been in part responsible for Basquiat's untimely check out.  Are you not intrigued by this supposition?  Do you care that the word 'supposition' reminds me of 'suppository?'  Tangential, but perhaps we are all taking news and information up the ass.

No?  Sure.   Now I have to let the dogs out.  Your fault.  You are making me do this:  What if people are becoming school shooters out of a perverse, desperate need to achieve fame?  They get their dimpled little mugs on national news, their names are named thousands of times on the news and on true crime shows, all Crab Nebula of stars, one for each evil scum bag who does a mass shooting because some dildo wants to be famous, and can't do it by way of musical acumen.  They don't have it to paint pictures of Campbell's soup cans, or Brillo boxes.  Their only way to be famous is to kill, kill, kill.  Sick, sick, sick.  But Warhol did some cool art work.  We got a museum named after his white, white, white, white albino Campbell's soup eating ass.  He got famous.  He's gonna live forever...

Jizaraga parables and music

Euthenasia, Lobotomies on the cheap, more Thorazine, please

 

Folks of all stripes and feathers differ in their opinions on Vlad the Impaler.  Considered by some to have been a vicious sadist, or maybe a common megolomaniac in the imaginations of people, people like me, who have a  habit of ratiocinating.   I can't help it.  I am a ratiocinating fool.    And it may be important and necessary to compare differing interpretations of similar what-the-fuck-evers. There are I.Q. tests to see who the fuck can deal like a champ with analogies.   Me.  Huckleberry.  It's an initiative to achieve greater understanding of what the fuck ever.

 Divination is just such an initiative, by Jove.   It's a job for we metaphoric fuckers.   Fuck me for interloping, but it could be said that fucking Watson and fucking Crick discovered the ass-humping DNA molecule by process of divination.  Of a search.  Their search for what ever,  hot, like a pack of trained dogs, on finding the origin, the processes all trillion of them, that make plants, animals and us what they fuck it all fucking is.   The scientific methods, naturally, a fuck load of the goddam things.    I'm canine in a similar, comparative way, in coming to grips of Vlad the Impaler.  There is a golconda of things analogous to Vlad.

Let's not get off on the wrong sharpened pole.  We all know people have more in common than not.  This is a pop unifying principle whipped out virtually everywhere in feeble attempts at making life better than it is.   Here we have Watson, Crick and Vlad the Impaler, all compared to one another, and to the remaining billions of smiling, farting stupid Earthlings.    The limitless capacities held by great people are as prone to ruckus same as is life for dim, low, drooling morons.  I wish to extend reasonable thought to Vlad's way of dealing the chickenshit lousy people.   In some regards, in not all, he appears to have made a wise decision in becoming an impaler.  Thanks for reading.

Maybe all megolomaniacs, modern ones, too, are Vlad in sheep's clothing.   Gates.   Musk.   Bernie Madoff,   But let's limit chat to deterrent tactics.  Of interest here:  leaving dozens of poor dead souls run through and gruesomely suspended from long young saplings, cut and shaved for making a gruesome spectacle.  It scares the living shit out of trespassers, sabateurs, foreign meddlers, and most all all, any disrespectful classless piece of shit who annoys people.  Vlad had the right idea about people.  They are shitty.  Thanks for reading.

My Three Ketones flash fiction with music. all original 2 13 2024

Flemburgher: a poem and music

Psychological Trauma Results 2 9 2024

Beagle Puke a story in a zillion short bull sessions, with music

poem reading with music: Slumdweller 2 7 2024

 Society, with all its individuals and groups, can be rather primitive, in spite of a few centuries of social progress.  People care about justice, and violate it.  People resort to doing wrongful things out of a nervous, skittish need for justice.   I watched a news show about the woman who is going to jail because her physically unattractive son is a convicted school shooter.  She’s accused of not preventing the tragedy.

Too often people go nuts looking for a guilty party.    Hell.  Our court system is announcing, by mainstream media, that not only should school shooters go to hell, their mums and pops should also go to hell.    That lady who just got convicted of negligent homicide, she going.  She going to Hell.  Her stupid, ugly kid is going to hell for committing homicides, and his mother is going to Hell for spawning that ugly piece of shit.

School shootings are a copycat crime in all cases.  In all cases the shooter is imitating what shooters, past, did.   With innovation and a sense of culture, the culture of school shooters.

I believe that shooter’s mother was just convicted of murder in lieu of a conviction against the mainstream media.  The mom was at worst a shit head in the matter, and it’s not against the law to be stupid in the US.   No one went broke underestimating American taste.   There’s  a sucker born every minute. Losing gracefully is like getting kissed by your sister.   Show me a graceful loser and I’ll show you a loser.   All that said, steer clear of witch hunts where possible.  Don’t burn portly  women for having a lousy piece of shit for a kid.  Blame the mainstream media for the epidemic of violence.

Institutional Racism and Resulting Trauma 2 4 2024

I took a picture of some of the healing crystals I’ve been buying lately.   Differing types of quarts, agate, hematite, and whatever else cures everything from hangnail to decapitation.  Germs fuck off at the sight of green aventurine.   Healing crystals communicate with germs and pathogens.  They say to them, “You get your ass the fuck out of here, asshole.”

RSV germs, they listen, and fuck off.   All strains of N1H1 shit themselves with remorse and fear when you walk towards them wearing  amethyst.  

Antibiotics are  fine for common mortals who have no power over illness.  But how fucking stupid to subsume the supernatural.   Was the Spanish Inquisition some pussy’s idea of a prank?  Or… are people serious about their superstitions?   Ever watch a Tarzan movie?  Remember Jerry Falwell, Jim and Tammy Baker…    Healing crystals.   Only the inferior take pharmaceuticals.  

 

What Whacked Grass Roots Politics 2 2 2024

 

What's the deal with intellectuals?   Are they all jerks?   Am I a jerk?  Am I really an intellectual, or a jerk who thinks his theories are as valuable and important as other people's theories?   

Yours truly is not associated with a university or long standing non-government agency.  This means that no university will validate a word of anything that enters my little head, or that I self-publish.  I don't get paid to produce art objects or recorded music.   I am not recognized as an oppressed minority in spite of being one.  My brand of dysfunction isn't drawing charity.   What does a person have to do these days?   

Live like a mouse, on a string, in someone else's kitchen, scurrying among baited mouse traps.   Survival of the happiest.  There's always room to get smaller.

Why I Feel So Blue support marginalized writers. me for example

Philosophy Up My Sleeve

 

I like the new way of being.   Triple, quadruple thinking, but fewer errors dealing with people.   It's like baseball (ha ha,)  forced and unforced errors.    People get put off.  But more difficult these days to meet the need, one has to filter out anything stressful from conversation.  One always converses as if the medical establishment wasn't performing slow genocide collateral to the normal run of medical services.   Or that the government is containing nearly all aspects of pedestrian daily life.   Futures are being converted from limitless to singular.   Monotony is what comes out the back end of voracious government control over people.  So what.  Learn to love boredom.

High Rise 1 -29 2024

an arrant rant with improvisational music

 We will be talking pecking order.  Social class.   Let's traipse o'er the illusory mounds of guano.  In one regard, there are only two social classes, depending.   One strand of fringe is binary:  there are Brahmans, and Nobodies.  If you must perceive three social classes, fine, here:  Bahmans, middle class, and invisible ugly pieces of crap.    In this view, the middle class is desperate to curry favor with Brahmans, and have no respect, extending no honors, to Nobodies.  

Let's change the world, linguistically.   The new word for the local middle class is 'middlegets.'   Etymology:  middle class plus midget.  Tiny people who spend their lives sucking up to the A list.

 

Above freezing, scant snow in wet strands, otherwise, wholesome bright  winter sun.  Anticipation preceding my lead water line replacement, I had no idea till I hiked right up  to it.  The water company said they were going to replace the water line leading from my front sidewalk to my basement, where the water meter blinks and rats to the authorities whatever my use of water tells the thought police.   They neglected to say when they were going to do it, so it was a lovely Roald Dahl-like serendipity when I came upon over a dozen workers, myriad large trucks equipped for Himalayan  disaster relief, and several smiling warmly dressed people from the waterworks, there to deal with fucked up people, me too, whose poison heavy metal water conduits  are rotting everyone's weak little brains out.  They needed my permission to enter my house. 

How democratic.   They had already demolished one square yard of  sidewalk and were six feet down it, a fellow in the hole with steel appurtenances oscillating and plunging, and  there was an oblong hole in the street about six by eight feet, ten feet down,  showing wide shitty corroded pipes in several directions, like the Jolly Green Giant's heart after he smoked a carton of unfiltered Lucky Strikes a day for sixty years, like since birth, as is common around the North Side.  There was a person in that hole, working away.   I knew this was coming, but realities deserve a medal for their inventiveness.  It was so different from my mixed anticipations.  

Did you ever read William Faulkner's book As I Lay Dying?  At the end of it, a character, after a novel full of hardship and loss, gains a victrola, or, primitive record player.    I got a free water shut off valve in the basement, and I'm so happy about that I could pleasure the load of people who replaced my water lines, assuming everyone takes a bath, first. It's a good thing that won't happen.   It would not be near as serendipitous if everyone had to blow the water works.   In other news...

The electric company sends me emails reminding me that I am a  little puke for using more energy this week than last.  That don't give a flying fuck about my woodworking project, they know it's my table saw,  only pricks like me run that many amps in what normal customers  use as a spare bedroom for their relatives, and the thought police are aware no one visits my hovel.   Commissars are scratching their heads, wondering why a zero like me would use more watts than a common shit kicker.    I'm trying, trying damn it, to explain, to make their lives easier.  

Experimental music: Old Hyena 1 22 2024

rant 1 21 2024

 Here, like 'eurkea!,'  the Perry South district, was a wonderful place a long time ago.   There is a vacant, mostly disused marble institution for shitheads a few blocks from where my ass is planted, the eleventh floor of a subsidized highrise apartment building.  A great building, that school that taught thousands of stupid children how to be less useless to society.   It's been a long time since great people were anywhere fucking near it.  It's a fossil of an animal that went extinct...the collective talents and morals of people who lived and kicked the bucket in what is now more an occupied territory than a neighborhood.

Across an alley from the school there is a long puritanical brick building built in small, tiny, apartments suitable for housing dirt poor school teachers or nuns.  There are still big stone seminaries and friaries.  I contend the soul went out of here a long time ago.   People are alive and without souls.