Tuesday, 9 October 2018

October's Objects of Possession

I’d like, for once, to argue with people who’d gotten their preposterous opinions on their own, reflecting the genuine shapes of their own minds as buffeted by private experience… rather than arguing indirectly with The State’s proxies in the form of brainwashed consumers who inadvertently ingest opinions and pre-fab personality traits with the media products they absorb like addicts.




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'T's that shit you let fly that lays the ground on which you sound bitter or crazy for your all of a sudden one day saying something that implies your not thinking that shit should fly. Like, by the time of the meddlesome mother's objection to her kid's having to recite "under God" in school, you missed the boat on calling out in front of God & her PTA just how retarded the goddamn Pledge is in the first place.

How many y'all ever really thought 'Ye' was a musical genius? Name one track he's ever done that even ever accidentally rocked your brain stem. I mean, what's his actual legacy defining moment?

Can't one at least take pleasure in Maga cum Dickface's abrading his anus all over the oval rug, branding the presidential seal, or is it that his followers' certain justification of their hero's soiling of the inviolable accessory just grate on each last nerve that conveniently responds to trumped up triggers? As in, the only reason that shit's sacred is because of them. Fuckin' hypocrites. Imagine the gall it takes to profess to hold something dear that you don't hold dear.

The following image is from 1885, one century before the rhetoric of the Ray Gun Revolution's being cemented in history. For the Millennial, an adequate comparison for context would be when Bo Rama was re-elected, his nation's approving his legacy in all of its vainglorious disposition matrix, which is just another stone along the path of what will continue to pass for one of those many feel good American moments one's questioning is questionable.


Stralauer Plz, Berlin-Friedrichshain 1885 (Am Ostbahnhof 2018)

Wednesday, 3 October 2018

Parkbank Pinkler: zurück auf Platte

Verben wird gefärbt und Farben geverbt. Wie von allein entwickelt sich die Sprache im Verlauf der Benennung und ihrer Beschreibung. Manchmal wollen die drei, vier da, sie zurückhalten oder doch noch neu schreiben. Da wird einige wollen, dabei gewesen zu sein.
—aus Neu Schreiben von Hause Aus
F: Was für Spuren hinterlässt der Spionhund?
A: Geheimkot.

—Ditwar Icke

. . ..

»Die Berggünthers«, erwähnte er ohne ersichtlichen Grund. Infolgedessen kam einen Fragezeichen im Gewand einer Miene. »Also der Gunther Dompflaster, Gunther Leermangel...«, setzte er darauf als Erklärung fort, »...der Gunther Schweintraube... also nicht koscher wie angedeutet sowie überhaupt nicht politisch koscher auf Metaebene. Dann gibts die Günthers Gunther Blutkotzer und Gunther Sandalen aka Gunther Flipflops.«

Er sprach von Beurlaubt von der Realität, einer Platte von Blutkotzende Goten, einer Band, wovon keiner wisse, außer ihm. »Da haben sie Ramones Anerkennung gezollt, da natürlich hieß keine von „den Goten“ Gunther.« Ein Bisschen Residents-mäßig seien sie auch, indem sie der wahren Identität ferngeblieben seien. »Als Berggünthers tauchen sie aber einzig auf dieser 33er auf.«

Da fing er an, übereifrig einen angeblich dementsprechenden Songtext zu rezitieren. Man beachte den Gendativ, meinte er dabei:
Ick bin Doofa Leehra. Eenfack Doofa nennn. Un duzen.
Spandoh klinĵt als wärs Beruhĵa disch.  In Russiiisch!

Uhwah saĵt uff jeht ooch. Mann! »Aba wełcha is bessa?«
wiłłick Nunoch fraaa'ng denn ick bin Doofa Leeehra. Dutzäään!

Dinot DiNutten is definitif dein tot.
Dendelin Quenz dem Freeha droht.

»Hast du es?«  ... [Fragezeichengesicht]...  »Pass auf: Im Gegensatz dazu, wie es sich beiläufig anhört, heißt es nicht, dass eine Frau Quenz dem Freier droht. Durch den Gendativ wird es anders des Freiers Dendelin Quenz, also, die dem Hörer droht. Will man den Hintersinn der Lyrik knacken, ist das ein kritischer Punkt.«
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Tuesday, 4 September 2018

Belabor Day is Twenty-Twenty

So does this mean that the nominees for the next US Presidential Election are Nike, Inc. and the Fraternal Order of Police? If the shoe stitching operation comes marching back home again because it's cheaper to pay dirt poor Americans than it is Hondurans or Chinese will the company respond to Red, White & Blue cops beating & tasing workers with the wherewithal to strike for better wages or working conditions with promises to Just Do It Better?

Monday, 3 September 2018

Der Parkbank Pinkler: Teillos



„Geschäftsidee: sich präsentieren als ein großzügiger und alternativ-bewusster Betreuer mit peinlich schablonenhaften Werbebranche Begriffen wie „bezahlbarer Luxus“ und „echte Gesellschaft“ und agieren wie typisch ausbeuterische Eigentümer, dessen Mieter/innen mit Blick auf das größtmögliche Gewinnmotiv einsargen.“

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∅.


Saturday, 1 September 2018

On Aphorisms

"Art is the little cathedral in the big abattoir."

—Pastor Prime St Augustine
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Word. I hasten to point out I remind diary readers of mine own kōan cookie collection that regenerates another as if anew each time one clicks upon either the black & white dash just below the kōan cookie at the top of the page, or the image all the way down at the bottom. Wait a minute. Are they kōan cookies or skōans? Does it matter? Ask an Asian. I'm not qualified for any of this.
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Image. September's here again.

Grünbergerstr. 44-48a, Berlin-Friedrichshain - 1954/2018 (hover)

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Music. Photomotion.

Monday, 27 August 2018

By virtue of the ongoing coverage:
Of the Moving of Our Octogenarian

Had I known how prominently this topic'd sustain, I'd have included the following video, edited by me for brevity and so as not to give it all away. It is an excerpt from K8's The Line, the Cross & the Curve (sorry, I canno' bring myself to link to Amazon) that features Lindsay Kemp.

Sunday, 26 August 2018

Stranger Moving

A most noteworthy octogenarian has moved
(out or up is anyone's guess
in spite of what they might profess).
The bodies that he did possess are numerous

and moving on...

like we who've heard by way of name
it's something something Bowie Bush –
for those who'd thought they knew his game
it's Ziggy's Spiders he did push.

I will not deign to've seen him move
right up until the end, and still
going from day into evening, and now
peacefully still at night.

Friday, 17 August 2018

Hey Nineteen-Hundreds,

We'll miss you despite those of ours we tend to bury in you.

Respectfully,
davidly

Monday, 13 August 2018

If I had 717 billion dollars, I'd give it to the DoD!

There's never been a shortage of sincerely stunned song lamenting that a breach of threshold has not been enough to lead to the breacher's end or at least the beginning of the end by way of a massively stirred collective mindset that would force a change or storm the castle gates.

The concern moved by the current preoccupation is that very soon an electorate should be engaged. And how! - that is, precisely how the electorate should engage itself, as well as precisely how it should not. This might illuminate the image of masses who would seem perfectly able to rise up and sever the heads of several snakes but cannot otherwise agree on anything.

The question "if not now, when?" is often spun right round into "if not then, why now?" This employs relativism, but that cuts both ways. Nowadays it is often mocked as "whataboutery", which relates a fair observation in general but too oft misses the point that the latter question is as rhetorical as the original lament, and bringing up then compared to now — or someone else's misdeed compared to someone's — does not mean that someone should be spoken free of guilt; it is intended to bring an additional charge that would encompass a greater number of breaches and establish a stricter threshold, lest a precedent be set that continually allows the tendentious crossing of lines.

Given that that pernicious precedent has pretty well been set, long already indeed, wedged de facto & deeply woven into our political nervous system, we have a situation where well-meaning people would like to know where the threshold is, yet are always concerned about the timing of the drawing of a line at some point prior to wondering why a line is not being drawn. Meditate on that a moment and I think you'll find that it applies to either side of this particular style of discussion. Take it back far enough and you could replace the donkey and the elephant with a chicken and an egg, even if you think the egg is most demonstrably wrong.

Is someone right and someone else wrong here? Is there anything new under the Sun? Is it more a question of degree over style or the other way around? Have the frogs in the cauldron failed to acknowledge how blessed they are by those of the kingdom, if not of their class, who wield a superior sense memory that tells them when now is the time to jump?

Well, what an oversimplification that would be! However, rather than abandon the metaphor I'll extend it just a smidge to make it more material to my point of departure: The brilliant — or perhaps only organic — design of rule by division has employed a nice little procedure whereby the ostensible dialing back of the water temperature only allows for a deep breath of relief, not for a group effort to keep bringing down the heat enough to make it survivable for everyone, let alone to turn off the damn stove. And that's just among those of like mind who, twist as the mind might, can never be taken for chickens and are hardly ever only eggs.

Never forget that when the occasion presents itself, which is at a minimum annually, each plays the other on television. And never attribute to stupidity that which is adequately explained by malice of a more machiavellian nature — even if the mockery is more fun. And always follow the money. That's an imperative unfortunately conflated with a philosophy of resignation. Nevertheless, once you follow the money you pretty well know where they stand.

Sunday, 5 August 2018

Scars on 45

For those of you unacquainted with the parlance of