Sunday, 15 September 2019

Double Crossing

Crossener & Gabriel-Max-Str. 1928 (Hover: same with K in 2019)

End of notebook notes:
This thought experiment was brought to you by someone whose job it was to run people over with the train.
Stephen Hawkwind.
Nobody's career is worth more than somebody's career.
Selling England by the Scent
Vollkommen anders aber nicht vollkommen.
Hut ab, Vandalen!

Wednesday, 11 September 2019

Barely Legal 9/11

As of today Nine-Eleven is old enough to die for its country but still can't legally purchase alchohol, a conspiracy so that it never forgets.

Wednesday, 28 August 2019

Pop's 6D!

His patronage is personal; allusions to his name remain the same. Age is indeed in the eye of the beholder; belated preemptive apologies for that. He just wants to hike with the Girl of the Earth, for which most admirably there are no apostasies; afaik no irony abounds. Also too: Dunno which generation bought more shoes but know we get what we de-serve. He deserves a hike & happy day.

Below's a 3D rendering of his 6D poem.
Hover over for his original; click pic for the link.

Thursday, 22 August 2019

Great White Whale of Privilege to Define Human Trafficking

Golly Gee Willkür! Where in the New World would Chief Dummkopf get the idea that he could purchase territory from another country? Where would the Danish Prime Minister get the idea that Greenland belongs to Greenland? One could ask her to define the terms, or ask Greenland's head of state, the Queen of Denmark, what it means to be "an autonomous country of the Kingdom of Denmark". Interrogate them separately to note precisely where their answers either diverge or seem rehearsed. Or, better, ask either of the separatist Inuit parties, one of whom couldn't seem to hold its majority after a recent blitzkrieg of snap elections. I can tell you one thing: Being an autonomous country of a kingdom doesn't mean being autonomous of that kingdom.

So is Don XLV of Amerikkka living in the late fifties, when the Kingdom in Question allowed the would-be purchaser's Historical Precedent to station nukes all under the autonomous ice sheet in spite of its official status as nuclear-free? Oh, I get it, his gauche faux pas is speaking out loud. These things are to be conducted in secret so the scandals can break out long after the buffoon has left office.

Wait, though. Might he really be living in 1959, when his predecessor-in-Germanity, Ike, hewed it official with his iron pen that a set of islands would be the fiftieth star of the sacred banner? You know. The state that would waste no time in birthing Don's immediate forerunner-in-office. Just think. Even if he had been born in Kenya, his eventual infiltration of the oval toilet could still be considered done by the technicality that would have hinged on little more than a strategic choice to leave them coloreds what belong to Great Britain be — humanitarian non-intervention!

Or might Don Lardo be living even further in the past, at the end of the Spanish-American War, when the arbitrariness of One of the Many Treaties Named after the Capital of the Kingdom of the Second Most Famous Revolution that Wasn't One would recognize the right of Spain to transfer for a cool 20 mil ownership of Filipino & Filipina alike to the Americans — who'd promptly wage another war that would kill hundreds of thousands to a million of their newly legalized territorial subjects (but who's counting) — and conferred upon the people of Puerto Rico the right to one day, if the draft saw fit, be soldiers in future American conquests, or in a better case draft, exclusive property of Major League Baseball?

So, again, it's the unsophisticated nature of Native Don that's so worthy of note, given that it was, again, a covert agreement between the belligerents-in-colonialism, who had arranged that Spain would surrender only to the US (as opposed to, you know, the Philippines) and that they even staged a fake battle to make it look authentic. Fake news? How about fake history?

Or might Donnie Fiasco be less like the proverbial elephant, instead living in the more recent 1991, when "what you do about Kuwait's slant drilling into your territory is your business" became a live telecast of savagery for the ostensible liberation of Kuwait from one in a long line of American bastards, whose actions had been the result of the previous paraphrase? If you're thinking beyond surface irritations, you might ask yourself how it is that the Trumpenstein Monster's use of "fake news" serves to reinforce its pernicious fake authenticity.

Or might Don Ghazi be living in the yet more recent 2011, when she who would become The Most Qualified Presidential Candidate in American History had preemptively claimed the right of her nation to arm another set of bastards in spite of a UN resolution not to do so, after which she'd erupt with glee at the fresh memory of the brutal murder of someone who, when you consider his having held power from before she'd been a Goldwater advocate up until when she, as former Senator Carpet Bagger, began seeking the advice of Carpet Bomber Kissinger for Secretary of War tactics, it's like somebody'd been holding bullets bound for Tripoli in their bladder for over forty years?

So if Donald Fuck were anywhere near as clever as he claims to be, he'd use the agency at his service to foster an uprising of restless natives and push through a no-fly zone to restore order. The fake news could call it a catchy color code. Wherever an autonomous folk are displeased with those unceasingly bestowing their autonomy upon them, a new boss of beneficence should not be far behind, to redirect the traffic.

It's not human trafficking if those defining the terms call it human capital. Getting back to the Philippines as a model of many, I remind the reader that grooming tweens to have sex with scuzzy men is the unofficial occupation of a number of untold (as well as told too many times) men & women of that entrepreneurial bent, who make a killing on the impoverishing autonomy of literal human capital that flocks to military outposts to make a living. Even if, say, a base commander declares his intention to forbid those under his command from partaking of such wares, he'll be not long for his post. For troop morale trumps prudish concerns, even of the Conservative Christian kind.

If you hear about sex slavery, it's probably convenient. It can then be filtered through real rightwing theorists who think "Killary had Epstein offed so that she could continue to bathe in babies' blood with impunity!" If I had to guess, they come from the demographic home to most men who've made it with a twelve-year-old — but it would've been in service to their country.

I wonder how "Greenlanders" feel about "their" US air base.  

Sunday, 18 August 2019

It was 40 years ago in May.

Kate Bush's "Lionheart Tour" concluded on 12, 13 & 14 May in 1979 at the Hammersmith Odeon, the same venue at which I saw her in 2014.

You might think me a hypocrite for embedding this video if you know me as one of those people who gets called a jerk, or worse, merely for absolutely owning in response some other jerk who insists it is okay to profit from bootlegging. The thing is, the Manchester performance of this tour, which was clearly filmed along with the official version from a month later, has been available on Yootoob for quite some time now. The person who uploaded it put an email address over the image as a way to encourage those so inclined to purchase his high resolution dvd copy of the same bootleg.

Over't th' K8 fan forum, someone suggested purchasing a copy, duplicating it, and sharing it with others "at cost". Fair enough, I guess. Someone else suggested uploading the pristine purchased bootleg to the same Toob, thereby making it available to anyone who can click. I had already expressed my misgivings about enabling even one purchase from the original uploader, as still now I am prepared to purchase such a thing should it be offered directly by the artist's Fish People.

Until such time, this copy is exemplary of the greatest treble threat in my book. The whole concert, including the sound of backstage banter and vocal warmups, gives me goosebumps:

Sunday, 11 August 2019


The apparent final excuse note from Epstein's mother has resulted in the most well-rounded set of conspiracy theories. No, I am not talking about a simple theory vs. "that's what they want you to think"-theory balance, though this countervailing construction has been immediately underpinned with near perfect plausibility. However, this requires, relatively speaking, a more objective plausibility.

This is not how the Guardian sees it, or the priNtYn'T'fit media corps, for that matter. The former declares that the theories "[are running] riot". They add "with Trump's help" for good measure and stamp it an abundance of "conjecture and misinformation", which is tasty in that misinformation begat disinformation under the aegis of just such conspiring. Officially unofficially.

I haven't looked yet but I am sure that the Twat-in-Chief has stamped in turn "faKe news!"  I wonder where he falls as regards the authenticity of the photo of the corpse. Everybody has the fake news they rail against and the fake news they trust. One guy's Daily Mail is another's spam. Still, if you think your go-to source is reliable for what they print and choose not to, I'm sure I can point to hard evidence of that source's having been caught engaging in the most unethical of journalistic practice.

Come on. Who among you did not see this coming? Be honest. As an editorial aside, thinking at any point "I hope he doesn't die before trial; conspiracy theorists would have a field day!" counts as seeing it coming.

From the pure perspective of the aesthetics of shape, the beauty of the dueling conspiracies is that at their center, having what will no doubt be the longest legs, is the man whose name their respective proponents cannot not utter nauseated ad nauseum and mockingly nauseated ad nauseum. We have reached "Thanks Obama" to the power of nine-eleven.

In this corner, weighing in at a gazillion subscribers — lending plausibility that the world is inundated with them — "He was Hillary'd!" or the cleverer "Foster'd", either of which mean that Jepster's the latest addition to the "Clinton body count." Before you sigh too loudly, note that they were high from the previous day's unsealed documents revealing a statement that all but exonerated any sexual involvement of Don XLV and implicated a former Democratic governor and, though not the one they'd hoped it would be, this would seem to be exculpatory evidence in favor of the MAGA mind, in that it would give the Trump Cartel no reason to off his alleged former friend. Most important is that it steals their challengers' "I know you are but what am I" retort. Commence with the celebratory Hillary-huffing. It got 'em this far.

And in this corner weighing in to state the fact that the main focus since Jepster's arrest has been on no other relationship more than that of his and the president's. They're all, "WTF!" Especially with that in mind, it just "stinks to high heaven!"  "Justice must still be done!" For good measure there's plenty of innuendo involving a Kushner-Saudi nexus, the latter of which is allowed since November 2016. Interestingly, nevertheless, neither brand of news org sees fit to copy & paste that kind of conjecture. This just-spitballing speculation smells like an acceptable substitute for anything Israeli, which'd be akin to screaming "teh Jewz!"

Keep in mind that their version of the declared outrage of justice was being posted well before any of their corner bothered to look again to see what their opponent was up to. They could respond by pointing out that the circumstantial evidence against the president's alleged old friend President Bubba was way less massive, and besides involved philanthropic deed-doing instead of merely recreational activity; but that's a whisper in the still strongly echoing chorus from the "Hillary'd!" hive. Still, team MSNBDNC just knows that the Russians are involved, even if it doesn't represent their views.

I tend to think there's a conspiracy here that involves a different breed of polygonal stagecraft. One that has, for posterity's sake, suiciding as part of its job description. Officially unofficially. I have no doubt that Jepster's predilections were used as a honeypot to maintain mob rules, i.e. blackmail-able members.

Wh'all it implicates is anyone's guess — another thing that makes public-private honeypots so sweet. Enabling doubleplus highlights of a house divided buries cooperation in the halls that function better when lesser noted. That, and that it's the bitterest of sweet victories that would free a pedophile because they were entrapped. And anyway, it'd take a pretty skilled lawyer to uncover that sticky mess. Sounds like a job for Dershowitz. Oh. Too soon? Nope. Too late.