Another Frigging Credo

Don't mean to be a Dogmatic Dick, and I have broached this matter before, but the house philosophy bumps loudly on the nature of entertainment.  It is highly influential.  More so, sadly, than a really good critical study in a low circulation lit mag.  People are more responsive to sitcoms than to sermons.

The new emphasis is because of the relatively new police state.  And because of the less than limber condition of American free speech.  The scarcity of mass media sources is goofy compared to the billions of people with almost no where with all to be heard.  Or aided.   The masses have never been more prime for mass enslavement.   But the drama aside, it is hard for ordinary people to effect change in government.    The best hope is in producing entertainment, such as The Not-Too-Social Hour.

New Episode of Captain Fire-Groin

Being a Happy Horace...

The great thing about a lobotomy is that once you've had one, it's impossible to regret it.  The same, pretty much can be said about a lot of the psyche meds people take.  No matter how horrid your life, there's a pill that either makes you happy or oblivious to being sad.  A third thought is the meds could make people unable to complain about what is happening to them.   There are other ways to defeat cognition.

People have been trained, since birth, to cooperate with the government, which is only people.  Fucked up, fallible people.  People with more money, tools, weapons and co-conspirators than you could possibly scare up, mail order.  Some big, powerful fucks.   Some say, sociopathic.  It's what I think.  Unless they are just oblivious to morals and the best interest of a fat shitload of people.

Secular humanism rewarded people for being dim.   Seems everyone with even a passing relationship with the CIA has had a hand in the process of infantilization, that cooing, babbling cajoling process of turning responsible, moral adults into mindless baby conformists, kept too fucking innocent to abhor being homogenized, like a cosmos of chocolate milk and Oreo cookies.  Infantiliazation robs people of their identity, common sense,  and free will.  And all seems okay.

Well don't worry.  Not a bit.  It's hard to regret having a lobotomy, and totally impossible to regret having croaked.   Sooner or later, all hard feelings will rot in the ground or toast in a crematory.  Cheers!

A New Evolution Proposal, or...I don't like Mondays, either.

Not that I won't try anything once, but I'm assuming it is impossible for a person to impregnate a baboon, except by way of some tubing, a lord and lady baboon,  and an ape Viagra.  A person can't have kids by way of apes, dogs or ferrets.  People are defined as people for the their ability to have kids together, no matter what race the two partners are.  A Brit can knock up an Asian.   Asians can knock up all the Scandanavians they can coax into their conversion vans.   An African person can impregnate an Eskimo.   It is through reproduction that the evolutionary process plays Double Yahtzee with Fate, and a species, such as us, can be identified for it's ability to take the Wild Thing to full term, with babies to prove conception took place, and not a mere act of illegal sex.  This is great because it proves that all races are equally human!  We have only differing cultures to blame for the heat and commotion.

Then, of all goddam things, there's the origin of the species debates, all infinity of them, always going on, though not too prominently in mainstream media.  Seems the birds and bees have never been more hush hush, more a matter  of propaganda and mind control.    That's why I want to share my latest thoughts on evolution.   I thought of this shit all by myself, discussed it with a few pals, and even did marginal research on the internet.  My theory, which, it seems, other people also hatched, is that the human races evolved separately, and that conditions on Earth are prime for evolution of precisely the people, animals, plants and germs that are or have been here among us.  White people evolved in Central Europe.  Asians evolved in Asia.  Africans evolved in Africa.   Once a race becomes advanced enough to impregnate a person of a differing race, it's fair game to say someone evolved to the point of being a potential Ward or June, Barack or Michelle, John or Yoko.   It is evolution that coughed up the human condition that everyone has to wheeze through together.  Mankind must resolve it's many hassles.  If only everyone, all at once, could just get drunk and screw.  I think it can all work itself out.

Learning to twing

I was wandering around a nameless small town in Northwestern Pennsylvania, when I happened to come upon a corner bar beside a tiny branch bank office and a used car lot, with it's block long run of cyclone fence enclosure,  and the bar looked mighty cute, so I went on in.  I just happened to be carrying my new violin, and I had hardly just found a bar stool and a beer when a man turned to me and said, "You gotta' twing that type of fiddle.  You bow that fiddle, it sounds like shit."

The place was packed with gnarled, burly, and even some lascivious Appalachians, and it appeared that most of them had purchased the exact same violin I had with me.   They all immediately recognized the injection molded plastic case, with synthetic fabric cover.  "We all got our fiddles off ebay.   On the computer."  a buxom red head told me. Go figure, that is how I came upon mine.


It seemed that some continued to play their pressed plywood veneer fiddles, while others took their fiddle outside and smashed it to kindling with an ax, leaving the splinters to blend with the acres of volunteering compost.   But they all agreed that if they were to play the violin with the bow that came with the violin, there was no hope of sounding anything but hideous.  These are dreadful, cheap-ass violins.  Thirty five dollars, post paid.  Generic fiddles.  It is possible to make pleasing music pitsicato, as the snob-ass motherfuckers at the Symphony say.  But in the ghettos, so diverse, so colorful and bohemian and rusticated, there appears to be a culture that found it's own way in musical development.  Twinging is lovely, while using the bow to play it is like drinking Drano.  I've been twinging mine, they are, to some degree or other, twinging theirs.  It's like finger picking, but more whispering.  With a light ring to the sound.  Obviously, it's why they found the term 'twing.'

 They twing their violins, plucking the strings like a harp.  The bow that comes with the violin is garbage, and the low grade fiddle can't produce sound as well as a good fiddle.  There is no chance of bowing these fiddles to good results.   But it is possible to pluck it graciously.   The Appalachian folk that meets in that corner bar call it 'twinging.'  As do I.  Now that I twing my violin every day, I am closer to the people who most stridently drawled and boasted truth about twinging.   They named it. I assimilated it.  I learned from those musical ridge runners a hundred miles north of here.  I will resume my  twinging as soon this shit is all uploaded to the blog.

Poison Ivy Meadows

I changed the name of the vacant lot behind the house, here, to Poison Ivy Meadows.  The dirt and rocks the poison weeds grow on belongs to the City, and I'll be fucked if I'm about to buy land off the sleazy, tax hiking bastards downtown, but damn if I'm not pleased to be using Poison Ivy Meadows for my private knife throwing haven.    It's all the shit is good for.  There is a huge dead oak tree, died of natural causes (I think) and is leaving it's lumbering earthly remains to great causes, like the Guit Smash and the Fiddle Smash, which is upcoming.  I did the Guit Smash earlier this  year, and the year previous to that I conducted the Mirror Smasher.  Poison Ivy Meadows is way more productive than any number of local nonprofit cultural agencies that I'm too fucking nice to mention by name.

The new name is in honor of the acres and acres of poison ivy growing there.  I get it once a year, and don't care for it, but it never gets too  bad.  I presume it's helping to repel intruders and assholes in general, who have as much right to be there as I do, but of course my work is more important than anything some jerk needs to do.  That's nature.

Mother Nature manufactures the poison ivy, and I provide knife and ax throwing demonstrations.  Other performance work is done, regularly, in Poison Ivy Meadows.  I feel as though I have married Mother Nature, when  I'm throwing hatchets in The Meadow.   She is an asshole some of the times, case in point, the poison ivy.  Also, mosquitos, arm pit hair, under arm odor, lice, bed bugs, Stalin, Hitler and Dick Cheney.   Mother Nature and I get drunk together and screw once a week, and are pretty much at odds the rest of the time.  Marriage.   What a fucking stupid institution.

Short Comedy