diary von davidly

Rue Bicon

2012-01-27T23:59:00.000+01:00

Long crossed, there is nothing else to say. Yet I can't resist commenting on the Stade of the You&Yinz. Just a few days ago I was unable to beckon the belly to bother barfing about it. Now that I've given it more serious retching over, I can imagine nothing better than to toast the triumph of the will.

To obliviousness! This is the purest virtue, reserved for believers of all stripes.

To indifference! Though I'm not quite there yet.

To the willful whitewash of the masters' bloodstained bravado! Imagining a better world in which everyone just follows the example of marching boots.

On the above: To either "...then we'd be hurray-O-kay!" or "He's just saying that cuz he has to." What better way to explain to impressionable children what we're drinkin' to?

To pretending they're not our masters at all! That we are not soaking in it, after all. Loyalty given freely does not belong to Caesar.

Back to that question of impending citizenship
Seriously: it costs four hundred fifty fucking bucks to leave Club Old Glory. And I never joined (notwithstanding having recited The Pledge over a hundred times in kindergarten and dedicating some of the best years of my life to the club's moral and monetary bankruptcy project).

Relinquishing membership at COG is required if I wanna join Club Schwarz-Rot-Senf. Unfortunately, short of having transoceanic begetters, the only way to qualify for card-carrying membership in both clubs simultaneously involves being a tennis pro or marrying - are you ready for this? - a Grrr-man.

Since I won't be in both clubs, I either give up the 450 Washing Tonnes, and pay 255 Eurobucks to switch royalties...
... or I could live club-less, which entails forgoing "the protection of any government".

Decisions, decisions.

There's always the status quo: To government protection! Double-crossed with smoke, mirrors, blood and propaganda.

States of Water

2012-01-25T01:25:00.002+01:00

The best music and poetry [and bleggalgazingest] site hipped me to this:

Kate knows water. And ice. And snow. Even if the Eskimos don't really have 50 Words for it.

Oh. And Payne got a hold of a video of the SotU speech before it was even given. Proof that it's all a ruse.

Wozu Hokku Hari-San?

2012-01-22T13:18:00.002+01:00

Most infernal one
Clouded and conditional
Here it comes...

dank an Vasilia für die Spieldose

die Zwangsräumung

2012-01-20T16:42:00.008+01:00

Just before the end of the squat, at a bittersweet celebration of great times soon to be over, in they come: an olive-drab group of about a dozen of what is known as a Hundertschaft. Their physical build is deceptive, with flack jackets broadening their shoulders, and their combat boots and helmets giving each easily another ten centimeters. The riot police.

Though one of the functions of a Hundertschaft is to cause the riots to justify their existence, this time round they don't do more than a strut-march through, eye-balling the squatters and guests. They'll garner no reaction; everybody knows what's sitting out front.

Not that there isn't plenty of evidence indicating an already ripeness for pickin'. But if they were gonna start clearing us out now, they'd've picked an obvious troublemaker from amongst the mass and started giving him or her shit.

This is a reconnaissance mission, establishing how many, how drunk and/or high, and how physically imposing they think the crowd might be.

And how we react.

It doesn't always run this smoothly: Somebody spits, they crack a skull, the crowd breaks loose, followed by all hell. They do what they want as long as they have the power and determination.

Depending upon their assessment, the crackdown will come somewhere between two to five hours from now. Considering the size of the party, they'll probably wait 'til sunup.

The law doesn't apply. They are not the law. They are the power. Tonight's sequence of events is all about a disciplined execution of that power.

Lark Ascending

2012-01-17T18:35:00.003+01:00

According to the scribe at the New York Guitar Festival:

"2012 marks the 30th anniversary of Brian Eno's landmark tribute to the NASA moon landings, Apollo: Atmospheres and Soundtracks."

I could've sworn (and still would) that it was recorded and released in '83.

No matter. The album was "re-imagined" a couple of weeks ago live by a group of musicians obviously inspired by the work created nearly thirty years ago by Eno, his brother Roger, and guitarist Daniel Lanois.

The following video is me doing a cover of 'An Ending (Ascent)' from that album. It is the first song I ever taught myself on the Roland Handsonic. I've probably played better versions [thumping it like a drum the last few years has had an effect on the touch sensitivity and dynamic range of the instrument], but thought I should document it before Apollo turned forty.

Anarchy in the Image Nation - living at the end of a rope

2012-01-15T15:17:00.025+01:00

"You've built this grand structure all by yourself, my son."

Ein-Gebildet Genug, BCE

Let's went:
The solution to having homeless sleeping in the vestibule of the bank is to completely bar access to the ATMs from the end of banking hours on Friday until they open again Monday morning. The problem that required this solution was not the homeless sleeping in the cash-station vestibule; this was, rather, a solution for the homeless who'd found a place to sleep.

If you are a part of our überkultur, you can guess what the problem from the bank's perspective might've been and, indeed, describe it in detail, perhaps based on personal experience. Interpretations will vary. Of course.

Then what's my friggin' problem?
The machines and one's need to access them, as well as our inextricable ties to banking in the modern era, are both a micro- and macro-view of what it means to have technologies for our convenience dictate our relationships to one another. Like the ring-tone through Mahler's Ninth, so are the days of our lives.

Is this situational irony?
A guy banned from the Volksbank turns his life around and finds a job. He soon discovers that the only way he can get paid is to get an account with that very same bank.

Would it have been possible for the bank to show solidarity with the schmoes who gotta schlep the late-sleepers away when they open up in the morning (most of them are gone by 10am anyway) without prohibiting passage to the cash altars? Where are we to go to worship on Sunday?

You might be thinking, "Why don't they use the common era key card access approach?" Technology has the solutions to all of our problems. Or you might've been thinking, "Why don't you, if you're so concerned about the homeless, let them sleep on your floor and leave your community bank out of it?"

Touché away!

Nothing tippy-tapped here will mean much to my comrades who spend their days in the library and their nights cubbyhole (s)hopping. And, yes, I could give them a fish. But I'm here to tell ya from personal experience that if anyone can teach anyone else how to catch one, it's they me.

I have met the solution. Pity it's me.
Still, the extent to which I narrate the unspeakable horrors of life is surely a classic example of leftist moral behavior.

I know me, you see. I know how I live my life. I know the trade-offs that I have made and and I know the trade-offs that I have not made. If I want to contrast the worthlessness of on-line ranting versus the utility of helpful suggested action towards an alternate way forward in meat-space, then I need not pick on any sociopath other than myself, given that I have thousands of words of my own to choose from.

Not that I don't sympathize, mind you.

Now that's irony. So pathetic on my part, perhaps.

Apropos SOPA
Is Bo ~~Rama's~~ *the Intellectual Property Enforcement Coordination at the Office of Management and Budget, the U.S. Technology Office, and the Cybersecurity Coordination for National Security Staff's recent response to petitions a heroic declaration of opposition to the "risk of online censorship of lawful activity" or more akin to veto promises to be broken at a not-to-distant future date?

Is it campaign rhetoric, or the appeasement of a consTWITuency too large to ignore? Do LOLcats matter more than writs of Latin distinction? Depends on who you ask, dudn't it?

I can tell you this.... no, wait. I can't tell you anything.

Worst Sunday Paper ever.

* For me, anarchy's best arguments are the arguments against it, the megalithic governmental orgs listed herein being an exception.

Die Kopfweh Meldung

2012-01-14T13:57:00.009+01:00

Tote Rosa,
ich zieh heut' nicht mit
zur Hoffnung deines Friedens,
sonst andersdenk' an dich.
Keinen roten Schal von mir getragen
wenn auch mit schwarzem Strich.

Ich bestaun deinen Scharfsinn
zu sagen, was ist.
Ich bewundre deine Stärke
zu hinken so fit.
Ich beneide dich um deinen Geist,
doch heute zieh nicht mit.

Hearts & Minds of the Invader

2012-01-13T12:54:00.002+01:00

Rue the day when your countrymen all vote for vets:

"There are no words to express my disgust at the video making the rounds today, of U.S. Marines apparently urinating on the dead bodies of the Taliban."

That's VoteVeteran Jon Soltz via AriannaOnLine®, speechless at the apparentness of it all. He does find words though:

"That's why I'm just as disgusted by right wingers like Pamela Gellar, who said, 'I love these Marines' and joked, 'Perhaps this is the infidel interpretation of the Islamic ritual of washing and preparing the body for burial.'"

You see, it's those right-wingers undermining the effort again.

"No matter what one thinks about the Iraq and Afghanistan wars (and I have been plenty critical of them and how they've been waged), one indisputable fact is that most troops on the ground have tried their best to build the trust of the population. Believe me, it isn't easy."

Especially when you gotta go! Get it? It's a pun. If only everyone were indisputably critical. 'Cuz no good warrior...

"Understandably, Afghans and Iraqis looked at us pretty skeptically, if not outright as invaders."

Outright invaders? You don't say!

"Think this video isn't circulating in Afghanistan already? You think some young Afghan male who was on the fence about the insurgency won't be knocked off it?"

I can think of a few things that might disturb someone's balance in a war zone. Videos don't come immediately to mind.

"Trying these Marines, and laying down harsh punishment will be the next step in trying to prove to the people of Afghanistan that America, as a nation, is not represented by these Marines. There is no other choice."

Choice? No choice? Who the fuck is he talking to here?

"Those who would cheer on the disgusting actions of these Marines, only serve to compound the damage already done by them."

Oh. The right-wingers again.

No one will ever be able to get it into the thick skull of the do-good-war liberals (I never met a liberal who couldn't be eased into a few good wars) that without the killing fields, you got no pissing match. Circular justification aside, at least the "right-wingers" get that.

Secretary of State Fair Picks Pissing Pigs for Distinction

2012-01-12T20:19:00.012+01:00

Rob Payne points out how easily metaphor goes over the American talking head. There will be no teachable moment aboard the MS Embassy.

Marines behaving badly? You don't say! I'm shocked. Why, these guys are giving modern warfare and YooToob a bad name!

From the AP via the Atlanta Constipation Urinal:

"'First they killed the Afghans with mortars, and they then urinated on their bodies,' Taliban spokesman Zabiullah Mujahid said of what is shown in the video."

Notice how he first pointed out the killing, then the pissing. Some might say that the killing is a given. Maybe both are a given? From the same article:

"Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton expressed 'total dismay' at the video and said it was 'absolutely inconsistent with the standards of behavior that the vast majority of Marines hold themselves to.'"

I assume "total dismay" were her words and not the AP's Robert Burns lampooning her reaction. Anyway, I wonder how Hills knows what is consistent with Marine standards of behavior. She got more video we're not privy to?

I'd say there is enough evidence to show that this behavior is pretty fuckin' consistent. At least consistent enough to end the goddamn field trip and bring all of the darling standard bearers back to their mothers' basements where they can piss all over themselves after beating up their girlfriends and passing out.

But that's not what war is about, is it? We're not gonna let a few rotten apples stop the pie eating event.

The priNtin’t’fYT® media corporation manages to illustrate that that same spokesperson has no illusions about what this means:

"But the Taliban spokesperson told Reuters that despite the shocking nature of the acts depicted, the video was unlikely to affect negotiations between the United States and the Taliban on ending the war in Afghanistan. 'This is not the first time we see such brutality,' said the spokesman, Zabihullah Mujahid. 'We know that our country is occupied.'"

Someone needs to tell the occupiers who "express dismay" at the killing machine's engaging in extracurricular pissing contests. I'm sure they'll be relieved.

That Dark Place

2012-01-11T10:47:00.011+01:00

The dark place is not a reference to having my head up my ass. Though the sentiment is comforting. Blissful even.

The darkness has nothing to do with loneliness. They just happen to concur. The perfect relationship. Whenever I am amongst the many - almost invariably, at least - I long to steal away to our secret spot. The darkness. The loneliness. As cruel as they can be, I know they understand me. They always know what I'm thinking. They sometimes complete my sentences before I'm aware of whatever it is I wanna say. They're always there for me and will never leave.

Sad loneliness really is identical to being in love. Without the intoxication. When you really focus in on the melancholy, the ennui, the only thing that's missing is the giddy haze. Okay - and the "sharing". But you don't need romance for that. If you'll pardon me: That's what friends are for.

Of course, there is the sex. But that's not sharing. Sharing masturbation maybe. If you find yourself thinking, "I really like pleasuring her/him," don't forget to add, "because it gets me off."

If I have a biggest aversion to the romantic relationship, it's that it takes the selfishness of a normal friendship and ratchets it beyond repair. If I have a biggest fear as it relates to being in a relationship, it's that I'll finally lose my mind. But with somebody else in the room.

top photo: Bridge of Sighs - Scheringringbrücke, Wedding-Berlin

(title suggested by Alice Lee)

bottom gif: origin unknown
(kontakt davidly for credit/removal)

MeMockLazy

2012-01-08T11:06:00.005+01:00

My last entry has garnered quite a response: sympathy, confusion, delight. I'll take the former, unless you're hiring (I don't wanna play any more parking lots); the confusion is understandable; and I aimed at a touch of the amusingly insightful, but hadn't imagined it a yuck-fest.

I hold no pretensions about being correct or having the right perspective about anything. I tell the truth. I don't lie here. I fictionalize occasionally. I stumble from sarcasm to seriousness way too inelegantly. And though I'm not just making shit up, I am wholly aware that I reveal a faulty way of going about things.

I'm bitter. Apparently. And that's part of the point. If there is one. There probably isn't. My bitterness is not news to me. And I know it gets me nowhere. Bitter bitter bitterbitter bitter b-bibbittererer. B-but it's my diary. My catharsis. I got nothin' else. Well, I got stuff. But it doesn't get any better than this. Bitterness is my life.

But not only do I not harbor any something-or-another about something-or-another else; I am not delusional: I was never really any good. Sure, there are worse getting an awful lot out of their worseness, but everywhere I looked, I was able to bear witness to actual talent. That's a hard witness to bear when you're striving for better than not being picked for the game.

And here's the kicker: Yes, the recollection of my experience in the theater was the truth. It happened as I told it. But (and at least one person got this): it's a metaphor. Aptly analogous down to the dreadful detail. Yes. I am. Just that. Pathetic.

Speakin' o' which: Why oh why are you people throwing my vote away!? Freedom isn't free! If you don't pony up the pesos and pay me to compound your influence in the most successful democratic experiment in the history of history, then you have no right to complain!

Mask to Mask: water under the bridge chokes me up

2012-01-06T14:02:00.014+01:00

My shortcomings as an actor were that which prevented my becoming a better one: Too thin-skinned to suffer repeated rejection, I regularly left auditions with my intestinal fortitude exposed, swinging to and fro to the rhythm of my simulated stride. Even when I'd felt I'd nailed the test phase, no manner of excuse could lessen the extent to which an ultimate rejection felt personal, me being the person rejected, after all.

Granted, the reasons for not being picked were as often as not something I wouldn't've been able to change, yet, still, you cannot get good at doing the play if you never get chosen to do it.

Worse: Justifiable and understandable reasons for not being chosen have a way of feeding upon themselves, magnifying the undesirable.

I realize that there is little sympathy in life for the weak. Showing weakness is NEVER endearing. And since, as an actor, pretending is your business - you go in pretending to be strong. You simply have to present strength or you're dead in the water. Master the art of feigning confidence and you at least have a chance at a callback.

After some effort, I managed to get good at making the cut. The unfortunate result was never rising above being the second choice. As a matter of fact, for a brief period I kept pounding the pavement after leaving Chicago and I even got the following call from my agent here:

Agent: I wanna make sure you're available for all the shoot dates.

davidly: Um... sure. That's what I indicated on the form.

Agent: I know. It's just that I haven't been able to get a hold of their first choice. You're their second choice, so be ready; I might be calling you over the weekend, if I'm still not able to reach [the other guy].

I never heard from her again. Nor she me.

My sour grapes are pre-emptive
This is obviously learned behavior. Conditioning is hard to undo; if you don't want to undo it, impossible.

I think I need to clarify that last paragraph vis-à-vis retrospective sour grapes: Looking back on a negative result in a positive light is healthier than simply lamenting one's failures; thinking "It wasn't meant to be" or "I will learn from this experience", for example, is much better than convincing yourself that you didn't want that thing anyway.

But what if the thing that you learn, over and over again, is no matter how positive the selection process might have been, the ultimate rejection renders it lamentable at the very core of your being? Is it really sour grapes to have conditioned yourself to believe - that is, to actually believe - that it simply wasn't and, hence, will never be worth the effort? I mean, honestly, I just couldn't swim in that pool anymore.

Regarding the aforementioned audition: I'd long since forgotten it, and subsequently given up on not just that particular part, but the whole shebang. Then, they go ringing me up, getting my belly all aflutter. I even vaguely hoped for someone else's misfortune when I'd reckoned that that's what it came down to.

Every inch of the Earth's surface is a performance plank. But this play is just an audition. Ain'no legs I wanna break, so don't be calling me as your backup.

The Right to Remain

2012-01-02T16:11:00.006+01:00

Bo Rama has expressed having "serious reservations" about signing the bill which establishes Serious Reservations. And being the greatest wordsmith in the history of material existence, he's able to cut the ribbon to an indefinite detention complex, while promising not to have any Yanks thrown in it.

His signing statement gives his loyalists plenty of points to argue, for sure, even if they are only on behalf of the president AND NO ONE ELSE. What they won't admit is that they used to be opposed to the application of the very policies in this law irrespective of one's status of citizenship.

This shouldn't surprise anyone with critical thinking skills. We live in a world where one country's testing of a projectile is bigger & scarier news than another country's using explosive missiles as a matter of routine to actually kill barely countable, if not countless living human beings.

Put simply: The Rama's supporters are the scariest of the scary, because they are more dishonest and further gone than all the other bogeymen combined.

Pared

2011-12-31T14:02:00.000+01:00

The capacity t'give th'goods
Backup and Support
To nurture and feed love so
Tempered by the ease
With which one can destroy
Lay ruin at
The root of the soul
Of a human
Being

It's hard t'tread s'lightly
Careful and with thought
But to have to forge on so
Assuredly. I'd like
To say I am doing
My best. I can!
But isn't everyone
Maybe?

Everything Old is New Again

2011-12-30T01:03:00.012+01:00

Snowflake in Lake Tahoe Loop by Kate Bush

As soon as the critics started melting their glowing ooze upon Kate Bush's 50 Words for Snow, particularly priNtin’t’fYT® - attributilizizin' with "utterly self-contained" and "supple pianism" - I recalled that fine line between this and that, and that one should be careful with the crayons: They may seem harmless, but they could still poke somebody's eye out. Yet prose and poetry, like the reviews themselves, always remain a matter of taste.

If you look hard enough, you'll find meta-critic criticism confounded at the aggregate praise. "Why this? Why now?" I gotta say that I understand where this is coming from, my being suspicious of everything nearly always.

On that note, these words resonate with me:

But all is not perfect. Elton John's sudden appearance on "Snowed in on Wheeler Street" feels like an unwelcome intrusion...

I've got every album Sir Reg did from his beginning, right up to the year of the Amerigone Bicentennial (that's two LPs per annum). I don't take them for a spin very often, but they're not exactly guilty pleasures either.

The best music can take a while to sink in. Not like we become acclimated to pain, but the way we learn to like broccoli. It takes a few tries not to be shocked at its taste and if presented properly, even complements the rest of what's on the platter. All due respect to the brown dirt cowboy, Captain Fantastic was not one of those albums. It was immediately accessible and rendered its follow-up, Rock of the Westies, superfluous.

Likewise, when I'd heard the Madman across the Water I didn't need to visit a poor man's version at the Honky Château. One begins to realize that every third album was just a collection of that which didn't make the previous cut with a couple of singles thrown in (both Kate and Cap'n Kirk made better rocket men despite Nigel Olsson's archetyp-percussionary balm).

I can't make these claims about Kate's catalog. Firstly, Lionheart is not an inferior version of her debut. Clearly she'd collected a lot of material which had ripened by the time she was declared legally marketable and was notoriously successful in getting her way, at least when it came to running order and presentation. Similarly, Never for Ever and The Dreaming represent a time when she was able to wrest even more control of her own arrangements, the latter album being for some her lost masterpiece.

Each and every album a gem, though clearly not everyone feels that way. Still, I believe the reason that Hounds of Love is everybody's desert island disc has more to do with timing than its being superior to any of her other work. Of course, for those who love extended remixes of Running up that Hill, all bets are off: hit lovers don't have time for much else.

Back to the value of repeated listening: I suppose I'd have to say that, on average, the music I like the best, I didn't like upon first listen. Some of it even disappointed me before delivering the payoff. That doesn't mean that everything I liked at first go hasn't stood the test of time: Superficial is superficial, but if the surface pleases again & again, there must be something more there.

On the third hand, Kate has long been one of those artists who rewards sinking into the tracks without forgoing their immediacy.

But I'm not one of those who thinks she can do no wrong. I was enthusing like a fanboy-schoolgirl at her premier of The Line, the Cross, The Curve at the Film Center in Chicago and - in spite of my desperately wanting every next moment to make it better, in spite of already loving all of the music therein - I found it embarrassingly bad. Perhaps one video's worth of genius (And So is Love).

It's just that so much of what she has produced has moved me so deeply, that I am forgiving and patient. To take Aerial as an example, what is a few seconds of her kid's - no doubt to her - "adorable" voice and a minute of cringe-inducing finger-painting from Rolf Harris versus over an hour of the sublime?

I wonder how many people find bro John Carder's narration on Jig of Life (from Hounds) an unnecessary distraction from their Dafoe with an iPod fantasy.

Pumping out masterpieces the way she has, Kate certainly has every right to work with whomever she likes. I find it soothing to conclude that her choice to put the Elton duet (Snowed in) alone on Side 3 of the vinyl release was, if not prescient, a brilliant move. Everybody else can program that track out.

Alone the thirteen minute track Misty makes this album worthy of listening to again and again.

No snow hovers here in Berlin, but the image does...
Hover!

"Every old sock meets an old shoe."

Schlacht-zeilen

2011-12-24T14:01:00.006+01:00

Aus der heutigen Berliner Zeitung:

Unbekannte greifen Taxifahrerin an

Unknown Persons Attack Taxi-driver

Unbekannte zünden Feuer im Hausflur

Unknown Persons Set Fire in Hallway

Unbekannter verletzt zwei Männer mit Messer

Unknown Person with Knife Injures two Men

Dann schlachtete der Onkel ein Schwein

Then My Uncle Slaughtered a Pig

At least we can rest easy knowing who killed the pig.

Stupéfiant Chrétiens

2011-12-23T12:59:00.001+01:00

I suspect that a good portion of drinkers who are convinced that THC is more dangerous than alcohol have at some point earlier in their lives been reduced to a debilitating state of discomfort after partaking of the weed; they have become paranoid enough for everyone.

I would like to prohibit precisely and exclusively these folks from drinking alcohol, not being comfortable with the comfort zone they achieve getting liquored up.

And there's nothing more democritic than proscribing someone else's behavior.

Happy, holy daze, users and abusers!-D

Little John Meets the Blob

2011-12-18T13:44:00.008+01:00

If, as suggested, a financial transaction tax were levied in bips (hundredths of a percentage point) and generated tens of billions of monetary units in annual revenue, imagine how many bombs a 1% surcharge could build.

Last time I checked out the story, the archer from Sherwood Forest wasn't begging for pence. Though he did have his loyalties.

Pop Quiz
Who was Samuel T. Cohen?
Hint: not a studio head.

And, anyway, if the Jews control Hollywood, why is the time-stamp at the end of the credits in Roman numerals?

Donkey or a Jellyfish?

Of course we recycle our myths in fairy-tale'd horror flicks. But are we really ready to take up kings? As long as they are our kings and not their kings, how bad could they be?

If you call a politician spineless and then vote for him, what does that make you?

You might say that you have to vote for them, even if they do lack backbone, because the alternative is unthinkable; in which case you'd probably understand the perspective that the pols themselves have no choice but to lack backbone.

JFK had back problems. FDR's malady is legendary.

2012 or bust! Down with Prince John! Long live King Richard! Who the fuck is King Richard? He had a lionheart. Frank Baum's lion was a chicken. If Richard I was a chicken, he had an iron claw for women and Jews. And Muslims.

O, but is was the times!

Pop Poetry
All of our fictions feign roots in reality,
Every true story, a figment of fantasy.

I guess that everything that happens within any given time is understandable or laudable, depending on whether you're aim is to chop down the cherry tree or harvest its fruit.

Those who forget history won't know how to repeat it.

Advance Fantasy Football Scores/Humor/Crime
Who can forget Rudy, the heroic kicker with down-syndrome who made the field goal that won Notre Dame their first-ever national title?

So what if Flubber was involved.

Turns out the ex-Penn State defensive coach might have been demonstrating survival techniques. Like, just theoretically, mind you: How to live through being raped by a father figure.

Occupy a Wheelchair!
The Office of the German President is largely ceremonial, though it is tasked with the function of undersigning laws. Kind of like the Office of the US President. Except the POTUS has greater freedom to break the law, being Chief Executive, an' all.

The difference between a ceremonial head of state and an officially-ritualistic one is akin to the way two children might alternatively approach a revolving door: One walks through to the other side and eventually back out again; the other whirls about with a "Wheee!" to the cheers of his proud parents, and the dismay of others who cannot understand how adults allow their children to lord over them.

Once finally through the door, however, both kids enjoy advisory board posts, still largely ceremonial, but with large ritualistic remuneration.

So, surprise, sur-motherfucking-prise: The revolving door German Fed Pres got a huge loan from a buddy. Come on. Are we not all buds? Can't he go around just one more time?

What is so hard to understand about the unavoidable verity that a person in a position of authority is a walking conflict of interest, up to & including the time he cannot walk anymore? Just ask any baby-BOOM era "Jap" about the legacy of legendary father figures.

Answer to the quiz
"Why should I feel funny? The two hemispheres are fundamentally at odds."

Fox Harris as J. Frank Parnell
(based on the father of the neutron bomb)

Spacial, unplaned bonus
UPDATE to my last entry, I refer you to a couple of prominent pro-troopers.

The first is [way more than*] a coupla weeks old and from Ms. MS Embassy for the DLC herself, Rae Chill Maaa Dow, who actually concluded her segment with:

"This is a beautiful speech from [Bo Rama] today, with patriotic, moving, even poetic language about the rule of law and the Constitution, and one of the most radical proposals for defying the Constitution that we have ever heard made to the American people."

I admit being a tad surprised and commend her for the criticism, in spite of its eerily fawning duplicity. Still, with her bemusement centered on His Royal Eloquence' espousal of two fundamentally opposing convictions in concert (as in, in the same speech), I hafta ask: Where were you for His Ramaness' conscientiousness-cleaving Nobel demogoguery? Where the frick have you been for every other speech he has ever given?

Of course, I am aware that she's all but helming the MS News Brand Counterweight, which will no doubt go down in American medial maritime history. I still wonder if her conscience creeps up on her now and then. Like, are Liberals able to smell the stink of their pan-culturalist furor blowing back in through their window to the world long enough to be cognizant that the only difference between this law and that one is that "it hits home"?

Is the stench of First On Xenophobia & her phony players really so overwhelming that one cannot get a whiff of the very real and undeniable fact that the US failed to get immunity for its serial-dismembering men & women in uniform, so they're redeploying to the neighbor's house, leaving privately operated serial-rapists behind to take care of business, and call it - if not the stench of Donkey Poo - at least anything other than having brought a war to an end?

Sincere apologies to her fans if I am missing something here. But I have seen enough of her praise of the killing machine that it is hard to stomach listening to what she might have to say on any particular issue. And her criticism of the president's hypocrisy is pretty lightweight when - instead of using the word hypocrisy or an equivalent - she refuses to forgo marveling at his beautiful and patriotic poetry. That's fuckin' creepy. Creepier than the prospect of "indefinite detention" itself. Creepier than the the creepiness that I have been pointing out about His Royal Creepiness since before he ascended to the throne.

For the sake of currency, pro-trooper number two is a former funnyman turned USO entertainer to the killing machine and present Senator from Minnesota, who weighs in after the Senate voted this past week 86 to 13 in favor of the bill in question (he voted for it before he voted against it):

"The bill that passed on Thursday included several problematic provisions, the worst of which could allow the military to detain Americans indefinitely, without charge or trial, even if they're captured in the U.S."

Given their pro-troop nature, I say they're both Jellyfish come convention time.

Ah Fee'll We're'd

* ie. the president's stance on this issue predates this bill

Joseph [6pac]K

2011-12-15T12:49:00.013+01:00

Still believe votes are what they clamor for? Then you might imagine that Rama House was floating this turd to gage the reaction of those still inclined to cast one for the incumbent next November. Not me. I tend to think that by now his handlers must be aware nothing he says or does will push them away.

To the extent they're paying attention at all, their focus remains steadfastly upon Bo Rama's heroic Mesopotamian shell game and the outrage that, under a Republican president, homosexuals might be denied the right to patriotic murder. Then of course there's the talk of the Rama leading [the] US to some kind of tax-utopian promised land...
Damn! Foiled again!

He could still veto the defense bill. Within the democracy paradigm, this would seem like a no-brainer: It'd score him ballot-loads of points with those desperate to be able to proudly declare their reasons for voting for him when doing the legwork to get him reelected. But as has been adequately demonstrated, there is nothing he can do that would keep them from trying anyway.

As regards Talking Points Memo and the concept behind its name, their readers' Irony-Radar Disconnect is hilarious, what with the handwringlibbing of progapologists desperately trying to figure out what their line is supposed to be.

Check it out (emphases all mine):

TalkingPointsPeanutGalleryCommentsRange

"They just won't stand-up for what they say their beliefs are."

This is remarkable in that the "what they say" part of that comment at least implies the possibility of dishonesty in lieu of spinelessness (as if anybody reading TPM had enough spine not to vote D).

"My big problem here is you think the GOP doesn't mean it with the language that may or may not still be in the bill. If it passed they'd love it. Imperial America here we come."

Shouldn't that be: Here we may or may not be coming? I wonder if he sees the "littler problem" that Democrats coauthored and voted for the bill.

"You are a friggin liar!"

This, from the angry Dem who's tired of losing because of those too weak in their resolve to snort the Party line.

And here, somebody's got "YOU LIE" Lady's back:

"What many Democrats don't always realize is that the GOP plays with them by pandering to their fears just like they do to their base. So they will spread misinformation they know will upset Democrats in order to weaken support for the POTUS.

I think people should take that into account and ask themselves if some upsetting news that makes them angry at a Dem leader was specifically targeted that way or not."

Oh noes! Does this mean the Rama is now losing that game of Chess^nth?

Finally, in chimes the voice of reason with the we're ignorant until Bo Rama explains otherwise bit:

"We're being presumptuous about this. We don't know how it's been changed, so to say he should veto or not is impossible."

Impossible, I tell ya!!

_______________

But serially folks: It doesn't matter whether or not this bill gets passed. The uniforms - with their guns & hoses, tasers & sprays, deafeners & blinders, and drones & known-unknowns - can do whatever they want as things stand now. They don't need no stinkin' statutes!

If the nevertheless godhead-worshiped Executive issues not a peep about the locally sprayed & blasted but lauds the occasional international impalement - while the Whore of State barnstorms her sanctioned-disapproval of human rights abuses everywhere abroad (whether they still have relations with our whores or not), extolling her compatriots' record at home by way of example -, a law that would intern dangerous Yank Yoo-Toobers from sea to shining sea - while not going quite far enough - would be a step in the egalitarian direction. I mean, fair is fair.

What's M'Mo?

2011-12-11T13:49:00.013+01:00

It's a tacit, albeit occasionally documented rule in the theater that the director never give a line reading to an actor. That means, do not tell him or her, "Say it this way." As tempting as it might be not to deal with divas' dilemmas, a good director assembles circumstances which facilitate the actor's imagination. Still some cannot be bothered with the rigors...
of the fostering...
of the motivation...
of the character.
_______

To imagine a world to make it so. Applied, this runs the gamut from one (seeing & being) to the preemptively litigant neocorportheocracy (stealing & dealing).

Get thine ass to a farmers market
Their grubby wares just might not be fake

An Italian orange distributor (or something) has been busted breaking the rules regarding what is legally classifiable as organic. This reminds me of the Chicago recycling firm who was caught not meeting the 30 percent quota: Some were surprised to find out that the city's contract sent most of the blue bags straight to the landfill in the first place. It was as if the city'd negotiated, "What percent of the bags could you reasonably sort out without even trying - like, accidentally."

Those upset over the orange story might want to read up on the evolution of the EU regs.

Could it be immoral (insofar as immorality is that which flames the feign of outrage) to rely on someone else to be your watchdog? At some point, shouldn't you stop lying to yourself, admit that the tiny sticker bought off your conscience and accept that these pristinely packaged goods are not gonna be what the label says they are? Allowing someone who's innately corrupt and notoriously malfeasant to do your homework is not a fools game - unless you believe it so. And if you believe it so, you are a new category of fool.

Or, maybe not all that new.

_______

If it's negative thinking that stimulates the chemical process that drives one to the state of depression, then my dreams are devoid of negative thoughts; I am never depressed in my dreams that I can recall. However, since I never awake with even the tiniest semblance of desire to depart the state of slumber, it might be that my dream-state is not accomplishing its job. I can't find my character. Of course, I could just try acting.

The sky's not what you dream
Nor the bees, or their sting
They're all disappearing

Perspektivenwechsel

2011-12-07T12:55:00.000+01:00

If I hadn't read it at priNtin’t’fYT® reMedial Interpreters of All Things Most Important to You, Those Who Think of Yourselves as Middle Class, I wouldn't have believed it.

Its seems that candidate Bo Rama is getting his groove on. At a stop in Isawahomie, Heartland, USA^TM, he actually interrupted the speech he was giving and, pointing out a gang-rape occurring right beside the campaign stage, decried it as, "just too much!"

This seemed to get a rise out of the crowd in the traditionally conservative town, none more-so than those in his own entourage who could be seen pleasuring themselves beneath their suit slacks. It is still being hotly contested whether they were masturbating to the speech or the rape, but one of the rapists was observed entering the presidential limo before it departed.
"All aboard!"

One Lazy Ass Conspiracy Theory

2011-12-04T14:38:00.009+01:00

It has been said that politicians will say anything to get elected. This is only partially true. Always an intellectual leap ahead, we Democratic voters know this and have the uncanny, almost innate, but certainly ingrained ability to know why our favored candidate or representative triangulates the straight and narrow, as we process-hip individuals are acutely aware of the strategy behind the language on an issue by issue basis.

Our self-confidence observes bittersweetly the naiveté of our disillusioned Democratic brothers & sisters who seem to forget the same hard-earned lessons - every single election cycle. And in spite of its being the most important we are likely to experience in our lifetimes, 2012 is no different in that sense.

Some of you feel betrayed by Bo Rama, while others of you blame an uncooperative Democratic congress for his inability to use what frustratingly little power he has to enact the change that we all believe in. Don't let your faith be shaken. And don't fall prey to the Republican dirty tricks which lead to this political infighting.

To take a recent example, the Senate seems hellbent on granting the American military the right to arrest and detain indefinitely and without due-process American citizens within the US whom they have reason to suspect might be members of a terrorist organization. I understand the unease this stirs within our ranks: It appears so extreme as to be some kind of Orwellian fever fantasy.

But one should not forget that the reasonable concerns about domestic tyranny during the last administration changed with the last election insofar as holding fast to those concerns post-2008 would seem to make you a paranoid extremist. And none of us wants to be one of those. So I urge calm. See this for what it really is: A process.

As 2012 approaches and the GOP primaries commence in earnest (as if that were even possible), it is paramount that we outflank them on issues of foreign policy and national security. So the Democratic sponsors of this bill are forced to appear all for its most draconian elements, while those working hard to amend it are able to do so because of their more consistently liberal constituencies. I know: it's so logical that you forget these things sometimes.

And just look a what an ingenious tactician Bo Rama is on this issue: His forceful veto threat conveys strength, but he bases it not on our shared progressive values perennially vulnerable to right-wing attacks; he doesn't root his opposition in his function as protector of the Bill of Rights or some other wing-nutter boilerplate, but instead in the reasoning that it would undermine his fight against terrorism, another neo-con talking point. This is his tongue-in-cheek wink to you who understand the context. How brilliant is that!?

That he's been able to maintain inherited policies, going so far as to couch his moves in their language, should serve as a signal that he is ensuring his victory by securing the votes of those too stupid to know the difference. Don't relent in your unfettered support, or his sagacious efforts on your behalf will have been in vain. And it'll be your fault.

Dem Serenity Pledge
Grant me serenity to bend to the things I cannot change, the courage to fine-tune the change that I used to believe in, and the wisdom to leave it up to those who know better than I do to get us to wherever the hell it is we're going.

OccuPOWaKrishna

2011-12-03T15:40:00.011+01:00

In what is being billed a major coup for the 99%, composer Philip Glass joined the Occupy Pro-testers in front of the Lincoln Center yesterday evening for a stirring rendition of the In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida. Just a few moments before, in the complex's Metropolitan Opera House, the somnolent septuagenarian had just finished his performance of an extended satire of the same.

The enthusiastic crowd employed their "human mic" technique to near perfection, eerily simulating that insistent staccato present in all of Glass' work.

But most significantly, they struck a blow, blow, blow, blow, blow, blow, blow, blow to those who think this movement is blowing away, clearly to the dismay of the wealthy patrons who chose not descend the steps past the police blockade, maintaining a safe distance from their less well-dressed brethren.

Millionaire Lou Reed, who was present for the moving assembly and even helped a pick-pocket escape over a barricade after stealing his wife, musician and performance artist Laurie Anderson's iPhone, summarized the new "no-lose approach" so:
"By the principal of anti-violent not-possessing, we say to the 1%, 'Hey, you know, like, keep your stuff, we don't want it!' And if the Congress and Bo Rama decide to implement a more progressive tax system, we're okay with that too."

Angebot und Nachfrage: and everything in return

2011-11-29T17:46:00.023+01:00

wt(wn) + S^trnb^rg = Bx + rd(wn)

I find that hard to believe. Maybe consumers of Beck's and red wine make better behaved citizens?

But who's less dispensable?

__________

ON EDIT: An apparent diminishing amusement value when one is not aware that all beer bottles here are return for deposit has been brought to my attention. I still think it should work either way, but I didn't exactly belly chuckle when I wrote it either. And still haven't.

15. Januar 2008 Tschüss! Schluß ohne Ende

2011-11-25T23:18:00.007+01:00

Now F begins crying, as does B. Both sit silently as tears brush their cheeks. F composes herself and continues, matter-of-factly: "As always he made sure his coat was neatly fastened before he picked up his bag and slid it over his shoulder. This is where he normally smiled, thanked me, told me to take care of myself or have a good rest of my day. This time he approached the counter smiling, looking resolutely into my eyes and began to speak."

F shifts in her seat to change her posture, sitting up straight, but leaning against the back of her chair and says, "He said:

'I can't begin to explain the joy it's... At the end of last year I happened upon unexpected luck. But it is nothing compared to the pleasure you have given me every time I think about you, which is often. I want you to have my luck.'

"And with this he pulled a medium-sized manila envelope out of his pocket and put it on the counter without breaking our eye contact. I took it but didn't really know what I'd accepted because of the eye contact thing. With that he thanked me again, turned on his heels and wished me well.

"I watched him go.

"After a few minutes I locked up and went to the back. I sat and stared at the walls for a while. I went home and did the same for several days.

"I completely forgot about the envelope until I went back the following Tuesday. It was still there next to the cash register. I decided at that moment never to open it. I stashed it under the counter, deciding I'd give it back to him when he came back. I didn't want whatever was inside, and I was angry at him, suspecting I'd never see him again. But I waited - that day anyway.

"When spring ended I decided that I'd wait the summer out before closing shop and doing who knows what. When summer ended I decided to wait until January 6th; then the following Tuesday; then twenty more months.

"In the end I made it to our fifth anniversary before I'd apparently had enough. I just locked the doors for the last time and mailed the keys to the regional rep with a note saying I was done.

"I came here, checked-in across the street with the plan to kill myself. That led to procrastination, which led to an intermittent curiosity regarding the more detailed specifics of my - situation. So I finally opened the envelope. Had I done it sooner, I could've at least spared myself the additional five years in that silly café. Or maybe not.

"After reading the letter, I was no longer curious. I have no idea how much was in there originally, just that it was a pile of large notes that would probably last me forever. And that was before the changeover.

"Every bill I grab is like another day waiting in the café. And though I decided to move on, I'll never get past it."

ganz andere Verhältnisse

2011-11-23T23:59:00.020+01:00

Hier, aus'm Jahr meiner Wiege
Auf der Bühne Wiens singt sie, na!
Endgültig hat sie heut' - nee gestern
Ohne jeglich' große Gesten
Die Großundganztribün' verlassen

Tarmac Twaddle [too long for the Twat]

2011-11-22T21:06:00.006+01:00

"Biology?"

"Genetics."

"Wow. Just research, or..?"

"You know those construction tarps that simulate the finished facade behind them?"

"You kidding me? I thought those were thermoplastic."

"I wouldn't know. We design the people who come up with those kinds of ideas."

A Metonym Signifies Something but Stands for Nothing

2011-11-18T20:00:00.023+01:00

As I'm sure some of you're already aware, I am from Jupiter (like, in the same way people who grew up in Oak Park are from Chicago, and folks residing in Ahrensfelde live in Berlin).

You see, I was born on Europa (or in Europa*), which is technically a suburb of Jupiter. Now that NASA has confirmed the existence of one of our "great lakes", it is only a matter of time before you'll begin to read headlines like Jupiter three moments away from some scary shit!

More to the point: When you read or see or hear that (name of government or acting union) is frustrated with (name of government or acting union), what you should take away from that is that some combination of shadowy and not-so shadowy interests want you to believe in the aforementioned parties' frustrations (though the demands placed upon them can sometimes lead to actual frustration; the difference is nominal).

You'd in vain try & figure out who all of those interests are, some being obvious to some of you, more to a few. The rest of you vote. Which is cute, I grant you.

Correspondingly, when your media frame Occupy Wall Street (as quaint a mix of metaphoric metonymy as one is likely to find) and what "they" might stand for, the hunt is also for snipe. OWS signifies some sort of would-be inversion of financial hegemony. Perhaps a takeover. Or an overthrow. Or usurpation of the hegemony. But that's just the name.

The interests of the people and parties giving their energy to it are as da-verse as Christopher Marlowe & KRS-One (note that the former is no more) and far-fangled as an anarchist and an Ark-ist (note that "nobody" takes either one seriously). The remaining actors "lending support" are just status quo. So no: the occupiers don't stand for anything. Neither does anyone else.

What is in a game?
Whenever you hear that some kind of financial pact is in the offing, be aware that money is being shuffled about in a manner which might seem complex to anyone who'd bother to read about it, but is actually no more or less byzantine than you going to the cash machine round the corner. Except in this case, you'd be a rich serpent-god's offspring going to an ATM that dispenses more cash in one go than turds flushed in Holland biannually.

I know about serpent-gods. They hail from Jupiter proper, float in its gaseousness. Their presence here on Planet Earth dates back about 20,000 years originally, but the major influx didn't occur until about 2,000 B.C.E. (there was no Christ, btw, "historical" or otherwise (lol;-))

Then, from the serpent-gods came the reptilian-demis, who can, like their progenitors, communicate telepathically but, unlike their forebears, don't excrete waste through their pores and are able to shapeshift into human form for several days at a time. And, yes, they are terraforming your planet. Duh, right?

Being from Europa has it advantages, in that my existence here doesn't necessitate hostility toward your kind's requirement for survival. I like humans. Sort of. Okay, "like" isn't exactly right; let's just say that I tolerate you in spite of my finding you intolerable. The main point is, I like your atmosphere.

If you're looking for me to make some grand pronouncement of enmity against the serpent-hybrids, I got bad news for you:

You've all been crossbred to some extent.
Most of you are about one percent.

An' da Mawshans begat yo ass too!
When the Jovians began dipping into your gene pool, you'd already been Martianized, which is what it means to be "human". An abundance of pure primates was left to roam the surface of the planet as a clue, because they knew that they (you) would forget from whence they (you) had sprung.

Evolution is a quaint theory, the ironic result of a narrowly deductive reptilian brain. Who knows what you'd've come up with had the serpents left you alone. In reality, the religious freaks are closer to the mark. Those of you who snicker at the creationists are carrying the same serpent-god/Martian-monkey mashup, which sports the traits of obstinate ignorance that have led to the intolerance and sense of superiority on both sides of that issue. But humans have their good side, too.

A human's financial class reflects roughly the predominance of its Jovian gene, or lack thereof. Sounds ridiculous, I know, but that's how it works. Keep in mind, however, that it is not a strictly proportional proposition: There's a crystal ceiling for anyone without nearly ninety-nine percent Gas Planet in 'em, and legion are the parties that half-n-halfers never get invited to, even if they do demonstrate sacrificial sycophancy at "Bohemian Grove".

Read Faust: It really is instructive; except for the ending.

Are you a rept-brid? If you don't know already - not enough to count. No one drop rule here: if you can't do a jig, you ain't Irish. So what do you do? You could declare the demis enemy number one, but that would be almost as effective as the Native American waging war against the United States. On the other hand, if it gives you a sense of purpose, I say do it.

The Good News is: everybody dies.
Most of you who live long enough won't survive the coming changes. If survival is what you're after, best chance'd be to find somebody really rich (really really rich) and marry into their family. Though, to be honest, I am pretty sure that the serpent-gods have already completed that phase of the project, so you'd likely only be kept on as a slave. And not a sex slave; if you find yourself being a sex slave, it means you've hooked up with a lurking fifty percenter. That ain't good. Talk about issues. They got 'em.

Me? Well, it seems ye olde Nat Woods are being wandered again, so I may have to make myself scarce. She was a seventy percenter herself, you know: nearly three-quarters serpent blood. Back then I still had an affinity for 'brids. They knew how to party and could, uh, do other things. When it became obvious that she was never going to leave that "not Lyle Wagoner" guy - a lowly ten percenter - I tossed her into the Pacific.

That was rock-bottom for me (more-so for her); I was doing a lot of tina back then, which quickly devolved into pure reptilian behavior. We were all tweeking that night. Walken even let me do him in the butt after he saw what I had done. Shows you where he was coming from.

If you want my advice: I think resistance is the best option. It has a sort of code to it. But take that with a grain of salt; I'm from Jupiter.

"Chocolate City" - Parliament

von: George Clinton, William Collins, Bernard Worrell

*Your colloquial "in" (a state/country/continent, etc.) has interplanetary origins: the majority of what you understand as life dwells within planets, not on them.

If your heart ain' init...

2011-11-15T14:56:00.018+01:00

...it'll end in tears.

Run your cursor back & forth over images for one of life's many implications.

abwesende Augenblicke

2011-11-13T21:34:00.011+01:00

Stuck in a dream loop going over the same set of considerations regarding the dedicated subject-object for the evening. Being being of no consequence, save the inability to look away. Or think elsewhere. A microsecond stalks for an eternity. Meditation at dreampoint. Solitary consignment. To slumber in the comfort of a torture chamber.

This will go on for some time. Then the loop is interrupted by the awareness that the alarm will not function. The battery has lost contact. Where the awareness comes from is a mystery. The alarm is outside the dream. Part of its design. One of its limitations. Or not?

((Another puzzle: how the contact points lose one another. Nowhere for the battery to retreat. So snug in its shell. Contacts have nowhere else to rest. But upon themselves. Like the dreamer in the loop. Or. Maybe the smallest space. A gap. An electromagnetic fault.))

Pulled from the loop long enough to consider the failure of an electronic device in meat & metal land. Worse than the imminent malfunction of the alarm clock, something else has not occurred: it has already failed; passed its appointed time. Well now he knows; he has just thought it. Or it has thought him. Occurred to him. Made an appearance inside the loop.

Wait. I am the one caught in this coil. I am the one nightmared by the whim of technology, hence the unrelenting discomfort.

If the clock on the street isn't running when I finally awake, the principle of punctuality will remain shrouded in pre-dawn darkness. Assuming I wake up no later than now. This being a message from the near future out of Circadia: You are late. But it's not too late.

Before I can pedal beyond the reach of my own intersection, I get a feeling comparable to having realized that I've forgotten to put my pants on, and despite recognizing this as the jolt of suddenness common to my early mornings, it always affects me somehow, however vague.

The fleeting eye-contact I receive from those who are waiting for the bus distracts me from that thought: You've just fallen out of inactivity and into the street without the slightest idea where it is you are headed. The distraction is a reminder of something else. Now I forget what the distraction was, the reminder being a new one.

The reminder is of a time when I was young. Several lives ago, across many oceans, past searches and choices to the place of my upbringing.

The occasion - this one of which I am reminded by the distraction from my obliviousness - is waking up on the couch where I had fallen asleep in the early early, early evening. With some kind of query, I blearily prompt my brother Gock. He replies that we should get ready to go. To school.

Dressed & ready, out the door we head. The eerie darkness reminds me what that distraction was that reminded me of this time from long ago: I'd wondered, riding past the bus-stop, at how they watched me, like I should know something. I should know better. It is dark. Is it too dark?

"Must be the eclipse," so goes Gock. It is my first. What am I, eight? Nine?

We cross the street to Bobby Joe and Ronnie's. We'll go to wait for the bus together. As we always do. Standing on their porch waiting for them to join us, their reaction to our presence reminds me of a time in the future, beyond oceans and searches and choices, when I notice the expressions on the faces riding past the bus-stop, which takes me back to the porch with Gock, observing Bobby Joe and Ronnie's features through the screen door.

Confusion. Something amiss. What am I doing wrong? Then goes Bobby Joe, "Ohhh, right. School." responding to Gock's frantic semaphore behind my back, which breaks the porch-light ray, casting a shadow-play through the screen. Gock's illusion is broken.

It is night. The bus won't be coming for another ten hours or more.

Not hard to finally catch on. Bobby Joe lies, but not well. Just like the people at the bus stop who would have me believe that I'm forgetting something more than whatever I's already trying to remember. Were it not for the feeling that I've just quantum sprung from my window - one moment squinting down at the clock below, then instantly rolling along my way, missing the crucial choices that got me here - their distraction would have little effect. What was the distraction again? Oh, yeah!

„Euer Bus kommt erst in zehn Stünden. Zu mindest!"

["Your bus won't be coming for another ten hours. At least!"]

music & lyrics: Peter der iVampyr-Betroffener

Unleaven Novocaine 11

2011-11-11T15:53:00.020+01:00

A mayor, a monsignor, and a magistrate are having martinis & meth. The mayor is bragging about his ability to navigate the corruption of local politics; the monsignor is extolling the power in the belief of the transubstantiation of the body & blood when accompanied by a heightened state of sexual arousal and the submissive fear of a male virgin; and the magistrate? He says, "Boys, I just love to see my buddies get off!"

___

Freud posited a frightening frequency of child sexual abuse within the extended family and organizations of authority; depending on who you believe, he either subsequently came to his senses, or was scared back into the box marked "respectful member of the community".

Either way, thanks to Freud, we now know the extent to which children "fantasize" about being raped. And thanks to how much we cherish our children, "innocent until proven guilty" has become "Not only were they asking for it, but it didn't even happen!"

___

By testifying to the grand jury that his former colleague had been seen "fondling or doing something of a sexual nature to a young boy", Joe Paterno was using his male instincts to attenuate the perception of his culpability: As a manly man, he knows that stickin' it in is the most awesome part of the act. And with copulation being the goal of the drive - especially for sports fanatics and the religious - it stands to reason that it would be the most unspeakable crime under the specific circumstances. What's speakable? Why fondling, of course!

In JoePa's noggin, "no penetration" means the ball had not been advanced, so he gave his bud another couple of downs to get it right. No harm, no penalty. Shower elsewhere. See ya at the fund-raiser.

And that's just the best-case scenario.

Outrage expressed in boilerplate like "inconceivable" is phony; nothing is inconceivable. Folks have an aversion to the whole truth.

As soon as somebody says that Sandusky may have been pimping pre-pubes out to his donors, somebody else says that conspiracy theories don't help the case against him.

Mark my words: We will continue to do everything in our power to relativize reality to protect ourselves from believing the worst about human nature.

If it turns out Sandusky had an accomplice, I just cannot hear that it was a judge. And if it's revealed that a justice of the peace was, indeed, buggering Second Milers along the Happy Valley, please spare us the talk about his having let a hitman walk in exchange for the whacking of a Pennsylvania prosecutor. And if that whole sequence of events proves to be factual, we can be sure that it was only the few of 'em involved.

Yes, there are child pornography rings, but they are made up of Internet freaks and outcasts, not influential members of society. Okay, maybe there's a politician here or there, but it's not like they have a big network set up to protect themselves.

Sure, they lie us into wars and steal public money, but why would they ritually abuse our children?

Happy Veterans Day, pride mongers.

This is too rich...

2011-11-09T21:45:00.043+01:00

Hover for the full treatment (view the banner ad that descended when I loaded the source page the first time).

AriannaOnLine® even matched her lede-link headline color to that of her lead advertiser's.

Nice touch!

Or: not that it matters, but one could suppose that the 1% connection in the drop-down display was no-one's doing but the ad-folks for Chase; that Arianna's peeps hadn't the slightest: the color-combo likewise being an "unfortunate" co-inky-dink, and whoops! they yanked the headline in a Huffington-hurry and pushed the Rolling Stone link way down below the fold.

I mean, it's either that, or somebody knows their donkey-sheep better than they'll ever know themselves and are relishing rubbing their delusional devoted noses in what they are incapable of apprehending is the piss-soaked newspaper laid out for their never-ending potty training. Well...

I guess it could be both. At any rate, HuffPo kept chasin' the bucks: the advert remained long enough to frame a different color headline (probably red, I forget) about somebody or another from the big bad GOP. Hey. A girl's gotta eat!

One doesn't have to leave the source to see what The Daily Democrat with Jon "I'm just a comedian" Stewart is up to.
Disclosure: It was actually at this point in the vid that Stewart interrupted their cozy tête-à-tête and - using a huge figure that Bubba Jeff'd just quoted - made an absurd "number of Cain's sexual abuse accusers" knee-slapper. Now if that ain't rich...

Meanwhile, over't ExxonMaddow, the firm plasters an MSDLC-friendlier face to promote a different project than the Keystone pipeline expansion that the Hollywood libs are currently "holding the president's feet to the fire" about. This one still draws from the same Athabasca oil sands - again, coincidently enough. I'm glad I don't give a shit about this stuff anymore, otherwise my head'd explode trying to figure out who's playing what angle on this one. I suspect it's a muddying the waters, we win when we lose kind o' deal.

And why wouldn't it be? Ain'nobody stopped hedging yet.

Dimensional Compression

2011-11-09T16:20:00.013+01:00

I like to assume that humankind once played our fiction without pretense of its being anything other than our fiction - but that at some point we began taking our theater for reality and falling for the resulting theater ever since. Poor humans. We have lost our inherent knack for being genuinely fake. And not sucking.

And if this reality were not bad enough, simultaneous to our stinking up the stage, we proclaim how much we don't suck on television and billboards. And in banner ads.

___

I am skeptical of any artistic statement when it's not made within the art itself, but sympathetic to the artist caught in the trap of hustling for patronage.

Unfortunately, this language easily bleeds over into brochure'd entreaties to come & see this or that compelling & important work. If the text therein is not quotations from critics with long-buried creativity dreams, then the pretentiousness leads even more seamlessly back to the artists themselves. And why not? What is art school for, if not to learn how to write a grant application and suffer the consequences?

Thumbing through Biennale material and finding the expressions "blurring the line", "breaking down barriers", and - egad! - "crossing the border" make me want to build a wall between me and those pieces of work so I never run the risk of accidentally "experiencing" them.

Perhaps the Schools of the Arts should teach would-be professional artists to draw lines? In the process they might learn to erect a big barrier along the border between the profession on the one side, and the art on the other. Understandably, the art world is crowded with those who don't know the difference.

If your moments are not transitional, then you aren't likely to move anyone else, especially if the moment is explained on the wall directly beside your piece in all its boundary-breaking significance.

For the installateur who feels the need to summarize a piece of work for the general public - that is, to reveal its relevance in textual form to someone standing right the fuck in front of it, "plumbing the depths" might be a good choice of phrase, and he or she should charge a hefty hourly fee to do so.

Welcome to the working class.

And to the woman who recently blurred the line between the chore of the art and the art of the chore, keep the 800 grand. You're doing important work.

This digital image was recorded on a cellular telephone on the occasion of the radio programme Kate Donovan & davidly Play w/Words & Music for their broadcast on the topic of Covers: Musical artists who cover a song originally & more popularly known by another musical artist, reinterpret that music and, in doing so, invite the listener-at-large to reexamine the boundary between the music that had been known up to that point in time, and a music that is to be known thereafter.

With the above image, we invite you, the observer, to look a picture of the "on air" sign outside the radio studio and view it in a fresh & exciting new way: with a hand over it. We, the artists feel that this is an important breakthrough. We hope you feel the same. Tip your waitress. Yours, K&d

Thought Provocateur

2011-11-06T13:21:00.005+01:00

Sometimes a great notion cannot be distilled into words. Having, itself, co-opted analog 1s and 0s found blitzing about your fanciest ruminations & fever dreams, neither might such an occurrence be captured and encapsulated.

Words infiltrate ideas, sure, for there's no other way for the ultra-tame to pluck thought from the head. But utterance - and more-so script - would likelier water the image down, than boil it down to its essence; it'd sooner vaporize than crystallize.

Certainly the best you should hope for in this meta-world we've thrust our lives into is crusty phrases at the bottom of the beaker. When you're lucky, they resemble something that came to you once. So it is at the speed of inspiration.

a metaphor 4 that thing

they make French fries from

A word might remind you of a potato, especially if that word is potato. But this only works when you know what a potato is. If not, it'd be next to impossible to pluck either one from a bowl of alphabet soup.

Simile and metaphor work with a functional vocabulary, hence der Erdapfel and la pommes de terre. Even so, one can't be sure their conveyance won't get all mucked up or go, "Muckety muck!"

Then somebody say, "Wuh'?"

D'you ever - in taking an unusual route from one familiar place to another - approach a word you've known like lunch, but from an angle you'd yet to observe? This can be enlightening, even empowering, which, by definition, means it can also be disconcerting and discouraging when you turn around and find yourself in a strange neighborhood surrounded by sentences you'd do well to shy away from. In particular when you catch somebody using them to instigate a reaction.

None of this means that this convention is phony. I mean, most of us don't invent words as a way to get lost. The narrower the direction, the clearer the path. Likewise, language was not created in order to deceive. As a matter of fact, the more distinct the diction, the purer its palpability. Sure, there are practitioners of the deliberately obscure, but there just might be as many good people out there using language creatively to get to the bottom of the others' bullshit.

Presented as such, theater seeks the truth.

Yet beware the man who tells tall tales; be wary of those who're the first to reveal who that'd be; and be leery around tattle-tales. That which characterizes itself as the truth is most assuredly fiction. Theater parading around as reality is patently false.

But don't take my word for it. Ask B.J. Clinton. He can tell stuff reel good.

Can you chew on this?
If they tell you to put your money in silver, find their silver and steal it from them. If you have to, leave them bleeding to death in front of their screeching children. Just kidding. Send the kids to a movie.
First.

Really, though: wouldn't the world be a better place with a few less people who can look at you with a straight face and sniff, "Safe bet's silver"? You don't have to agree. It's a rhetsterical question. And I'm comfortable with your wondering what's putting such thoughts into my head. As long as you're comfortable with my wondering what could've led to your silver-dealer fetish.

If told,
"Invest in gold!"
stock up on corn flakes*

But cereally: maybe you "moved your money" yesterdee? Maybe you moved it a long time ago. Maybe you moved it to where MoveOn.org told you you should. Good for you.

However, it's one thing to take your money out o' th' big, bad bank and put it into a community credit union you feel you can trust, or to close an account because it costs more than it's worth or simply sticks in your craw to hafta pay a recently established "maintenance fee" when they got one less person maintainin for 'em with each fiscal tick of the time-clock.

But if ye tink you're gonna find a safer bet of a bank when the chips are down - when your chips are down, when, for example, the next time some earnest-acting suits are lined up at a table facing sombre-looking agents of the greater & lesser of your two-ly elected evils tasked with presenting serious sounding questions about what tragedy might befall uns when the wheel stops spinning and the little ball settles into its colored number - don't bet on it.

At the end of the day, the only thing that is liquid is something you can drink. And unless you know of a pistachioed avocado-papaya river somewhere that's not already filled with Nestlé's Piss^TM, you're prolly gonna need to eat.

Am I saying you should stuff all your rent/mortgage money into your mattress and spend the rest on provisions? Heaven forfend & hells yeah-NO! My latest research shows that that'd make me a tinfoil-hat wearin' crank, and I need my tinfoil whatfer to fireproof m'money I put in m'mattress.

All's I'm saying is "Diversify, man!" And it couldn't hurt to ponder the meaning of diversify while you're juggling that equity.

*As to the corn flakes, proceed with similar caution. Enjoy this Kodak moment. That's yer Sundie Paper;-d

G-Money Summit: The Wrath of Cannes

2011-11-05T17:00:00.003+01:00

Yeah, but he inherited everything from the last guy.

HUFFINGTON POST FILES FOR BANKRUPTCY

2011-11-02T11:12:00.016+01:00

With a finger on the pulse of a rapidly expanding e-media landscape, this reformed conservative pundit and founder of her husband's namesake was never short on cultural acumen. And while she strove to shape the discussion more than just follow a trend, with AriannaOnLine® she found herself increasingly able to do both.

Hover over the image to observe one striking manifestation of her editors' sensibility for the subtle differences between two of their more recent emerging markets - in this case, the respective free breakfast preferences of her newest visitors.

COMMENTS (A BAZILLION AND THREE) | LIKE - UNLIKE | LINK TO TWAT
LABELS: OLD NEWS, A BIT MUCH, KAKAPOU ACIDOPHILOUS, RIP HUFFPOO,
MERRY LOL UKANADA, HOVER FUN, ;-D

The Futile Precaution (my cleverly misleading & therefore appropriate title for the Euro shuffle)

2011-10-30T20:55:00.009+01:00

What would you say if I told you that I'd trade you a half a loaf of fresh bread for your whole loaf which just happens to be moldy and rancid? Exactly. You'd say, "Wanna sandwich?"

Now what if you were a stingy bastard? That's right! You'd ask, "Where's the fucking mustard!?"

A voluntary haircut, they call it. The voluntary part having something to do with an attempt to avoid a replay of the AIG credit default swap ~~windfall~~ disaster.
*Uh-huh.

If you have to be reminded: All deals favor those holding the most bread, even if the dough ain't worth shit. So what is being played as "bankers paying half of the Greek debt" is really speculators being able to trade in depreciated bonds for a guaranteed fifty percent of their face value.

What if their actual value is below that fifty percent? Sounds like we got a deal!

And that's not all!
To extend my analogy, the mustard in this imagined solution equals the interest those lazy (and probably un-bathed) Greeks will be paying.

Come on, really!
Just what is this suggested possible optional understanding of a potential agreement that the EuroZoners have come to? Did I say "come to?" What I mean is "drafted".

It has a lot of "welcom[ing]" vis à vis the PIGS states. From welcoming their "important steps" towards "budgetary adjustment" and "fiscal consolidation" all the way to "increas[ing] competitiveness by cutting red tape".

If the fact that they dreamt up such an acronym in the first place does not make you wonder, then the quoted language from the statement will not likely curl your skeptic's wrinkle. I, for one, cannot help but think of an imaginary American parallel: "We welcome the niggers agreeing to sit in the back of the bus and remind them to stay off of our lawn when not in appropriate jockey attire."

As a whole, the text highlights how they agree in principle to keeping the monetary union together at all cost. In their own words, it begins:

Over the last three years, we have taken unprecedented steps to combat the effects of the world-wide financial crisis, both in the European Union as such and within the euro area.

It reads like any number of papers I got a C- on in 101, except I've always err'd on the side of too many commas. Keep in mind that this is a dramedy here and "as such" is geared toward many target audiences:::

::: PRESS RELEASE ::: full house ::: relayed as European Leaders Reach Agreement Over Greek Debt ::: check :::

::: IDEA-FLOAT to the general public ::: buttloads of empty seats ::: watching CSI Wall Street via the Westinghouse Licensing Corporation so not really paying attention ::: check :::

::: LOB into the self-discerning polit-junkie crowd ::: big enough house to do the show ::: Mixed reactions in Greece over new EU deal ::: check :::

::: PEP TALK for traders ::: full house ::: Markets Rally After E.U. Summit Shows Progress ::: check :::

::: CUE for Bo Rama and Jay Carny-val barker's next beat change ::: fully distracted press room ::: Obama welcomes decision on Eurozone crisis ::: check :::

::: sales pitch to bond holders ::: oh yeah, it wuz them wut come up with the idea ::: this is some funny shit ::: check :::

*For better analysis, read this (in German).

More Better Wars or Hee Haw gets cancelled

2011-10-29T14:17:00.006+02:00

The political process in America is too complicated for someone with my limited education and sophistication to understand. And since I've been out of the country for so long, it helps to have a couple of friends who are Democrats to explain it all to me. For their part, they warn me that Republicans can't be trusted. But this I remember from before I left.

It seems that next year is a really big election that'll decide the future direction the US will take. The Republicans want to go in the direction of Hell. The Democrats don't want to do that. But for the Democrats to avoid going with the Republicans to Hell and taking all of America and probably the rest of the world with them, it is really important to increase the good wars to at least sixty percent so that they can stop the Elephants from fighting their bad wars with these filly-busters, which apparently are able to seek out and destroy Donkeys.

Then, and only then, will they be able to reinstate the Congress' constitutional authority to rubberstamp all of the wars. The reason they can't do that now is because, even though he is drawing down the bad wars, the president knows that the Congress cannot be trusted to fight them in the right way, this being one of the main things that makes a bad war bad. The last Republican president showed us that by creating the dictatorship that the current president suffers under.

The United States is undergoing a political awakening, which could be a good or a bad thing. It is too early to tell. A lot of people are camping in the cities in order to keep guys like Donald Trump from getting to their cars. My friend tells me this is okay as long as people from Democratic fundraising dinners can get to their cars without being embarrassed, or their girlfriends getting their dresses ruined.

The pigs are throwing things at the Iraqi Vets, who are also camping. Pigs are really intelligent animals, but don't understand the not-unlikelihood that just such vets will be their partners one day, since the pig profession is the only one left that would hire someone potentially more unstable than a pig who hadn't already been a vet.

I think the reason why the vets are called "Iraqi" is because this particular group of vets used to kill Iraqi babies. Some of the vets are camping because they now believe that their killing of the Iraqi babies was wrong. Some of them are still proud of having killed Iraqi babies, but are camping for some other reason. My friends tell me that this is a complex issue, but that the vets are all heroes as long as they are for the Democrats. The only reason they killed babies is because the Republicans made them, or it was a mistake.

They tell me that mistakes happen when you are struggling to keep the Republicans from taking us all to Hell. I sure am glad some things never change. Otherwise we'd be in Hell already.

Dems are a "middle class" GOP: Shoppin' at Trader Bo's

2011-10-23T15:56:00.011+02:00

Damn near concurrent with the shot-heard-round-th'world announcement of the official full-scale subsidized privatization of that unfortunate situation in the cradle of civilization, Bo Mighty Rama just rammed a really huge spike up all a y'all's ass.

Or, as'll be kazoo'd throughout the coming year without a hint of irony (or getting into too many specifics):
He just added to his list of accomplishments.

I was curious to see if I could find anything about this on ThinDressPress (as of this keypunching, nada), because in searching for details on the freshly minted trade pacts with Korea, Columbia, and Panama, I ran across this post of puke from July 5th. First thing out of their gag reflex:

Senate Republicans last week threw a hissy fit last week [sic] over the Obama administration’s insistence that free trade pacts pending before Congress not be approved without renewing an expired program that aids workers who lose their jobs due to international trade.

I think that's called counterhissyfeiting. Their readers must lap that shit up. As in right off the porcelain rim of the dotOrg server space, the function of which is to spew a continual feed of YOUR PROTECTORS ARE UNDER ATTACK chyme.

To be fair, they are really good at squawking policy and linking Congressional Roll Calls, though that would seem to be a way to get their regular diners to link 'em in their Twat-feeds: Well-informed and politically active.

I ain't linkin' it. The blockquote is goo-gla-bull.

That one snip says so much in spite of itself:
Is it really so hard to recognize without blind qualification that everybody who is doing this deal knows damn good and well that workers are going to lose their jobs big time? So why would either troupe do it?

DrinkGrogRest spun the already blatant crafting of a sellout to sound like one side was carrying all that's blatant, while the other was arduously trying to balance the blatancy with the renewal of a "program" that just happened to be expiring. Classic.

Just. What. Does. One. Call: taxing people to put them out of work and then giving them "assistance" for having put them out of work? Sounds like Democrats really know how to get the economy moving.

It's gonna take some serious gall to campaign on this fucker. And they called the president spineless. Bet the progressive, discerning media consumers'll be savoring them some gall about this time next year (with & without holding their noses: they're politically diverse, after all).

_______________

Have you heard about the substantial number of American folk who think they's middle class when they ain't? I wonder how the following dictated dichotomy plays to them:

Pro: "When the middle class suffers everybody suffers."

Con: "When the most affluent Americans are not doing well, everyone suffers."

Pro: "Tax incentives for the middle class give working families a much needed break and increase consumer confidence. This stimulates the growth needed to create more jobs, which, in turn, fosters a sustainable, vibrant economy."

Con: "Lower taxes. This encourages investment. Investment means jobs, which puts more money in the pockets of ordinary, hard-working Americans and leads to a thriving economy."

If you swallow the one, it means you think somebody's got your back. It means you think you're middle class*. It means you think you got something to lose.

If you swallow the other, it means somebody does have your back.

I think at the heart of the loyalty of the working class dyed-in-the-wool liberal lies a sense that Democratic politicians work harder than their counterparts. This is true: It's much harder work pretending to be trying to look out for someone you are not. So many levels.

* In the same way you think you're left of center?

What a Difference a Rice Makes!

2011-10-21T17:49:00.033+02:00

I care not to discuss the cold-hearted who take pleasure in challenging those who question humanity's failure to cast aside its acculturation to vengeance. Nor do I, in particular, feel like making nuanced excuses for that acculturation, which may as well be (and for all I know is) less assimilation, more embedded attribute.

To what, for example, do we owe that nary a "plot" trickling down the Hollywood Hills plays to the end of its third act (as if) without going through the revenge wringer?

Chicken or egg? It doesn't fucking matter.

I would rather talk about Jefferson and Harrison:
The former was respected as a man of great knowledge and intellect, renowned as an agent of enlightenment (The Enlightenment, unnerstand?), referred to as a forefather, a Founding Father, and even has a big "D" democracy named after him.

Whenever the subject of slavery enters the discussion of stuff Jeffersonian, two ideas appear more than any other: 1) He was a man of his time. 2) His views were complex.

With his being at once slave owner and abolitionist (at least as the latter related to international trade), can we not say that "his views" may have evinced something akin to Jeffersonian Hypocrisy? I mean, like, even "in his time"?

Dig: "I got mine!" Dude owned hundreds of slaves; dealt over a thousand in his lifetime.

Oh, but he treated 'em well.

Ooooh - he treated them well, alright: He let 'em take long coffee breaks and occasionally spooged in one of their cooters. Y'think they got maternity leave?

Interestingly, in spite of his opinion that slaves should be freed once the investment had been recouped, he was also a separatist and proponent of back to Africa repatriation.

So how does that work? I'm "cordial" with you as a servant or serf, but I don't think you're equipped to live amongst me & mine after you've finally worked off the hard-earned money your owners paid for you?

No, no. You have it all wrong. He just knew that Whites would never accept freed slaves as citizens.

Wrong again, bub. The man is on record expressing his fear of a potential Black Rebellion (okay, his words were "slave rebellion", but it wuz teh freed Blacks wut wuz gonna help it). Sounds like Tea Party paranoia to me. The modern version, that is. What a pioneer! (Yet, for some reason, it ain't the GOP who's always trumpeting him as being the model they look to for guidance. (Hee-Haw!-))

What Jefferson teaches us, I believe, is that the concept of ownership has always - and always will - make excuses for treating each other like figures on a balance sheet. His distrust of bankers should enlighten one to the fact that while looking out for his own "Jeffersons", he apparently didn't possess the knowledge and intellect sufficient to have his slaves educated in the art of leveraging their own indentured servitude (on his behalf, of course). Dude could've made, uhhm - a mint. But he died broke. Whatever. I just hope he didn't blame the Jews. Hardy-har-har.

In his time, Uncle Tom was one of the 1%.

Yep, "People 'R' Money"
Jerome Harrison is a running back for the Detroit Lions. He was respected as an All-American football player at Washington University, where he studied Humanities and Communications. He is renowned for his time in Cleveland, having rushed for 286 yards at Kansas City, breaking Jim Brown's single-game team record. He is referred to as not worth the risk.

Dig: Harrison was about to be traded (back) to the Philadelphia Eagles, but the deal has just been voided. You see, due diligence in NFL-trade terms means that your potential acquisition requires a physical examination. Jerome Harrison's physical revealed a brain tumor.

Obviously the Eagles wouldn't want to take on such a liability, right? Business is Bizness, yeah?

The Eagles probably won't regret the rescinded transaction unless Harrison recovers, leads his team to the playoffs, plays a decisive role in defeating Philly in the NFC Championship^TM - preventing the loser from advancing to the even more lucrative Superbowl^TM.

And if he never plays another game? Or dies? Bittersweet luck?

And what nouns did I use to recount what is happening to a human? Trade, deal, acquisition, liability, asset. They don't stand out, do they? Are there any commerce-neutral words to describe how we interact with one another as a species?

Not sure if Harrison is one of the 1%.
I guarantee his owners are.

As to the title of this entry
I mean, Condoleeza versus Susan. (I know. I should be comparing Condi to Hills, but that'd be sexist;-)

Didn't that lady from Darren Aronofsky's first film^π look just like Condo friggin' Leezza, I mean, like when she was all mean an' shit, going after the hero under the car and everything, with him having the secret cabala-like code for the ultra secret unspeakable name of God or some shit. You remember that?

Well, even if you don't, just picture mean ol' Condoleezza and remember all the ugly & evil she done delivered upon uns.

And shake with fear and shudder with disgust at the day the Repugnicans ever Occupy the White House again. Lord ham mercy!

Now would you look at that! Couldn't be more beautiful.

Susan Rice: father Emmett, Cornell U prof, governor of the Federal Reserve.

Stanford alum her own damn self. Not too shabby. I mean, valedictorian and all that shit.

Not that Condoleezza wadn't without her documints. I'm jus' sayin' look at that face. What a doll, yeah? An' smart t'boot!

And nominated by Bo Rama to be Ambassador to the UN. The position was tailor-made for her, it would seem. God bless us all, sweet Jesus.

And unlike that sell-out Leezza, she tells it like it is and speaks truth to power!

And though I don't know who that power might be, I'll be damned if Bo Rama ain't the mos' powerful man on the planet right about now, ain' 'e?

Just picture them two. Harvard and Stanford. Talk about good breeding.

You couldn'a bred 'em any better.

And for y'all that object to my going all Jimmy the Greek on you: Don't forget the father of American Democracy (and a few other "assets"), Donkey Party fave Thomas m-f'n'* Jefferson:
He bred the shit out of them. Just didn't want 'em hanging around for another several centuries.

I relent, just by the way
I cannot quantify the extent to which Mu'ammar al-Qaddafi was a liability. But I do know that he wasn't an asset to anyone other than the companies that sold the missiles that chased him & his kin. And the bullet that went through his head.

^π in retrospect his only "best" film you should ever watch more than once (no, not the prequel to Jeff Bridges as a Kuntry Sanger, all due respect to the Pope of Greenwich Village's Comeback Tour)

* by default, I suppose (& retroactively, of course)

MmmmBo Ramney!!

2011-10-19T01:16:00.007+02:00

You gotta admit. He's awesome. And so is. . .

. . . ₫-mar-kr-€-C$-¥ 20!2

If you've learned nothing in the last - how old are you? No matter. If you haven't learned anything in the last three to eleven to nineteen to thirty-one years:
Don't risk your future! - Bo Ramney 20!2

Or, jeepers, whoever you think is best. It is a ₫-mar-kr-€-C$-¥ after all.
Sorry if I came on a bit strong.

₫-mar-kr-€-C$-¥, part 4 <<

kein Entrinnen, nur Zuflucht

2011-10-16T10:15:00.024+02:00

So far from replying, she dissolved into the darkness and silently shut the door.
Robert Aickman - The Inner Room

Imagine you were the member of a club having never asked to join and that only through death should be allowed to leave.

Now imagine everything else.

________

Found a message in the sand.
It read, "Just do the best you can.
This world's not how I planned.
You're on your own."

James - Strangers (from Millionaires)

And God said to Moses, "Don't forget to use some kind of clear demarcation for the hypertext code. Otherwise they'll take it for law.

"And, oh yeah, I'd use a sand wedge instead of the nine iron on that next shot."

I think I'll call that one Missing Links

________

Relinkin' blog'd & self- re referencial, this punctuation to a poem I once wrote to someone I'd never know, this time as a belated 65th-tribute to Justin Hayward, still on the road chasing the ever-rising retirement age, which, the masters willing, will be dying on the job in due time.

And that's it for the Sunday Paper. Because, frankly, there's nothing really going on.

"I couldn't care less." meets "Never say never."

2011-10-13T13:55:00.019+02:00

From: Depression
Re: We're sorry, your motivation is not sustainable.

Day two of headache. Begun yesterday, third Wed in sequence on waking. Death-wish replaces standard absence of desire. The difference in degree cannot be overstated: I can't fake life with a headache; the person they meet when I have one is entirely different than the one who has them fooled.

____________

This is the time of year when one reads about it being this time of year again (again).

Again: the death of life; ascendant darkness descending at growing intervals; a cooling atmosphere. They cloud the souls of those apt to read such...lunacy. Others take it in stride, having become accustomed, or being just plain happy... idiots.

Not that it's all gloom: they scribe their attendant reminiscing to "put things in perspective": smells, holidays, family.

Before the interwebs, newspaper columnists dusted off their 4th-rate autumnal poetry every single, godforsaken year. Then came the bloogs. Now there's as much colorful commentary on the changing of the seasonal guard as there is dogshit clumping together the colorful brown leaves on the ground.

I too am guilty of entering such pretentious lamentations into the void of the netroverse (but I don't have a dog).

It doesn't necessarily mean I've been inspired; it does mean that I have, however briefly, borne insufficient ennui to prevent its occurrence.

I harbor no ill-will towards those who get a kick out of living; some of my best friends enjoy life. Or seem to.

I hate it really. It's not just the state of things (politics, culture, etc.). That's just the headache to the depression. Or fuck, shit, maybe I got that backward. Whatever, I just don't get the point.

Yes, there are plenty of pleasant hours, and I am more than grateful for the human connections I have, as well for moments during which I am able to appreciate my surroundings, or some other aspect of "beauty".

And I know my attitude is dishonorable to those who give me their friendship. But I just can't help it.

linksherum

2011-10-12T01:15:00.003+02:00

the moon sees me

auf dem Kopf treibend

Cosmic Conspiracy < con't > Perished Planet Policy

2011-10-09T14:09:00.032+02:00

"He's no rocket scientist." is a great way of expressin' that somebody's not bein' one of the "best & brightest" means they're stupid.

In the first part of the Cosmic Conspiracy (just the other day in theeshier pages), it all began with one of those fancy linkin'blogs over't a place called Halcyon Days, to what that author has since imp-scribed as one o' [Rob's] rants (once again linkin'blog'd rightchere fer yer refrince).

I was inspired to add "Also spricht Alfred Nobel" to the title on account of there being some implication therein regarding the way compartmentalized science has become a dogma that one dare not tread upon, in word or deed. The proclamation inherent to my subtitle was to lend renewed irony to the prize which carries the Nobel name and the inseparable connotation of the named's greatest contribution to science: By "greatest", of course, I mean biggest ka'splosions.

Afternoon Delight
All this, I felt, would tie in nicely with my own paro-noi-dy explication of that which makes the world go round: In this case, the ka'splosion kartel & her sisters in konspiracy.

Nation-states world history over abound with tales of larceny and racketeering. As a matter of fact, the portmanteau "profitiers" is a perfect descriptor for the form that state-organized crime has taken since we have begun organizing states. It matters not, the opposition of convenient self-descriptors & disparaging equivalents of the States & opposing States.

Anyone who has ever witnessed the likes of the emergence of Walgreens - which, with the sheer availability of the corporate hold-out dough, is able to close down every mom & pop competitor that had ever graced a neighborhood community, resembling the infiltration of the pod people in The Body Snatchers - knows the irony of the capitalist coloring communism "anti-competitive".

Correspondingly, if one follows the stories of Anna Politkovskaya and what they ultimately meant regarding her punctuality for dinner, then one is creepily aware that the Kremlin is not only the corner shopkeeper, but also your elevator man.

And back on the other other hand, the equivalent tales of Gary Webb might inform us that this isn't merely a case of hard-line tactics of The One's versus the opium of the faux free market, but that sometimes even in a free society, the dead do no journalizing. (Ironically or not, the former afore-linked case has more legs.)

So it is, here, that I aim to continue.

Each of the governments of the nation-states has its shielding shells, protective layer upon layer, built tier upon tier (or as the free profitiers are quick & proud to detail: profit upon profit, without which could not've been built), usually with its own funding organ, sometimes called a central bank, which is really just a collection agency which feeds the protection racket nobody realized they'd asked for until something's burned to the ground.

And the governments each have departments for espionage, counterespionage, war (terrorism), defense (counter-terrorism), diplomacy (counter-counter-terrorism), business (chamber of commerce terrorism) and so on.

Whether they're calling themselves socialists or capitalists, business is business. And to understand this, it really helps to look at the mafia model. That's just business too.

As we know from those mob stories, there are competing families (businesses) with overlapping interests (sources of income). Corleone & Tattaglia are to Kennedy & Bush, what Great Britain & the US are to the Roman Empire & the Church of Rome: an owner's manual from the would-be perspective of the owned.

And each family has its own bodyguards, secret security detail, spies, and so on.

Political parties are no different. They just add more tiers, erect more complicated structures upon the already fiery firmament of a polity. Regarding them United States, it'd be tempting for me to draw as cursorily sloppy an analogy here as I did a few sentences ago, and, indeed, political dynasties infiltrate parties as much as they are loyal to them. But there are simply too many competing & overlapping interests, so many tiers (even in a two-party system like in the US), that parallels seem illogically analogous: the closer one looks, the more figures one finds on the board.

Any politician worth his or her weight in whiskey had better have their own protection.

Watch this, it's not what you think:

Might this surprise the many who haven't seen it? Generations of the jaded repeat X's roosting-quote, short the proclivity to spew forth an hour-long rant worthy of Alex Jones.

Otherwise more, "yeah, but"-ism than you can shake a tube o' lube at. I, too, am weary & wary of bullshit, but...

One thing for sure: Jackcelot took one for the team. We'll never know whose team it was, or which team he was on to begin with (or to end with). Re-revisionism reigns supreme and HISTORY IS WRITTEN BY EVERYONE. I don't suppose the winners would have it any other way.

Mob rules
You think for a moment that Bo Rama ain't got some Chicago half-bro law school or wallstreetball flunky watchin' his back? That is, looking over his shoulder to the guy who's officially shadowing "Renegade"?

And, in turn, wouldn't it make sense for anybody else, too, who makes deals with that devil who draws no distinction between public & private business (save to say that both are his own private business & none o' yours)?

So Bo Rama is both scrutinized & sympathized for saying that investors gotta make money, right on the heels of "expressing understanding" for main street. He is blog'd & flogged and excused & cleared for ordering an assassination before & after it is revealed that SHAZAM is really responsible for who drafts & prioritizes the Hit List. And the authors of those memos are nunyas.

It would seem to me that the nation-state and her interests are scratching each other's backs & scorching each other's ground; creating plausible deniability & mutual culpability; crafting a determined distrust & codependency. Mob rules.

And what is NATO but a nation-state? Is it not a State of nations? We see again and again that there is HUGE interest in manufacturing & deploying all of Alfred Nobel's wicked little children, and what is the North Atlantis Alliance if not for the sole purpose of making sure that members of the family get to see their children grow & flourish?

She blinded me with science
I'd like to close today with an e-news link outa HotLanta. This report from last week includes a lot o' to-&-fro splainin' from Monsanto regarding opaque fiscal practices, but even more opaque coverage of the investigations therefrom.

And what it doesn't mention - which is odd, seein' as how this oughta be huuuge shit in Georgia (even them Libs up at print'N t'fYT Media International manage to squeeze out an annual turd or two) - is even the slightest hint of a reminder that while Monsanto is cornering the market with patented capital, they are rendering our globe crosseyed & cropless.

But it's in their interest. It's only business. Now go eatch'r cornflakes. That's yer goddamn Sundy Paper.

₫-mar-kr-€-C$-¥ < UPDATE > - in which the primary-catch unveils its haircut

2011-10-08T14:55:00.009+02:00

I am the .0000000033%
No wait. That's not really true.
In a democracy, only eligibility counts.
I am the .0000000048%
Now I like those odds!

But do I have a message that unifies me with the rest of me, enabling me to truly communicate my demands to the other 99.9999999952 percent of you?

In ₫-mar-kr-€-C$-¥ parts one and two I pleaded for your bid for my vote. You think the Occupy crowd is gonna tell me who to vote for? They don't even have a leader! And if they do tell me who to vote for, you gonna let that happen?

The good news is that you have more time. Originally, I wanted to take bids for both the primary and general elections. But the election code in Illinois conveniently narrows the options available to last minute deciders:

Sec. 7-44. Any person desiring to vote at a primary shall state his name, residence and party affiliation to the primary judges, one of whom shall thereupon announce the same in a distinct tone of voice, sufficiently loud to be heard by all persons in the polling place.

I ran upon that paragraph when I was researching what to fill-in under your political party preference on my absentee ballot request form. I'd say that the possibility of me receiving/being able to choose between two mail-in primary ballots is slim to none. And being the fair and democratically-averse-to-risk-minded person that I am, I WILL THEREFORE ONLY ACCEPT BIDS FOR THE GENERAL ELECTION.

Send your bids via email. Again, any of the currencies indicated in the above title are acceptable, but candidate choices and cash-in-the-mail can wait until later, after I've announced the highest bidder.

FAQ:
Do I have to be from Illinois?
- Don't be silly. I'm the one who is registered. Do you think I care?
Why can't I just send a check?
- Because I don't want a check. I wan't pictures of presidents and national heroes.
Is this really legal?
- What're you a cop? You think the 1% care what's legal when they make their bids?

₫-mar-kr-€-C$-¥, part 3 << -- >> ₫-mar-kr-€-C$-¥, part 5

Cosmic Conspiracy: Steady State until frozen or something

2011-10-06T13:29:00.010+02:00

First things first and then I mention the problem. Okay? Good.

Rob Payne's Nobel Entry here en-capsulizes much my sense of things in this direction. I cannot think of how to contextualize it otherwise, except perhaps to add to his title "Song of the cosmos" the little hanging addendum, "ALSO SPRICHT ALFRED NOBEL" and hope he doesn't find it offensive.

With this in mind, I would like to continue on to - on Rob's behalf at the very least, if not, at least, on yours - talk about our little problem.

The problem is in not admitting (or being too armored not to protect yourself from admitting to yourself) what the problem is, and where the true danger lies. From whom the danger emanates.

It is not whether or not I deviate from a legally prescribed behavior that decides whether I run afoul of authority.

You have to admit to yourself just who that authority is before this conversation can reach a further understanding. That's not a demand. Just a fact. Now, before I go on, I would like to ask you, if you make it to the end of this diary entry, to come back to the beginning, here, and read these words:
IT'S A PRETTY BIG PROBLEM, IDN'T IT?

You still here?

Just between us, this, yeah? Because I think we're in danger. And simply by saying so in this fashion draws attention to it which we DO NOT WANT at the moment.

This isn't like in a public space where we can assume nothing bad 'll happen cause too many people are around, or whatever. Okay, sure. I know they aren't gonna just grease me right here and now, obviously, that would be silly right? I represent no threat.

But can we admit, at least, that there are those that I could be a threat to - and this without so much as committing the slightest crime against the smallest of us, down to and including those who are dying at the hands of the all-important job-producing weapons industry at this very moment - as in, they are taking their final breath as you read. This. Word. No? Have I lost you already?

Or, I dunno. Did you come here alone? Suddenly, I don't feel so comfortable anymore. Do you know him, over there?

Let's just change the subject. I'm only as much of a threat as I choose to be, right? Fuck! Like there's any other subject! It'll keep coming back to that.

So, anyway, what else is goin' on, huh? How about that "Occupy Wall Street", huh? Anybody see that, seen what's goin' on there?

Seems to be gathering up it's own steam. Sorta - creatin' it's own momentum, yeah, anybody seen this? Really impressive. As soon as Steve Jobs is done being dead, it'll be right back up at the top of webpages other than the one extolling the greatness that is Michael Moore.

As a matter of fact, just the other day, the Bo Raaaamaa Administration actually said something about it...

...but nobody really knows what that was, exactly, but'cha-know...

MoveOn, huh? What do ya think about this MoveOn?

I dunno. Me? I find it a bit too DailyKosy, to be completely honest. Strikes me as a bit "How can we move them on to our bandwagon" that we're kind of trying to build back up again, now that it's time to crank up the donation engines. Time to get to work, right? I'm sure they'll manage to co-opt the "Occupy Everything" spirit for their brand. Hope does something eternal, no matter how many murders it commits and who gets bonuses for it.

Or is it "Move on, nothing to see here!"

Aw, come on. It can be both, yeah? A rallying cry and a distraction.

Hey. That's a great slogan: WE'RE A RALLYING CRY AND A DISTRACTION

Except people don't like that "distraction" part. Better only use that when referring to "them".

Them! Fucking lowlife bastards. They'd just love you to get hung up on all of that shit, right now, wouldn't that just be perfect!

And people buy it!! They're so stupid...

Pssst! Hey you. Over here.

You alone? Cool. Come over here, closer. You ever heard of the weapons industry?

Wait. Shhh. What was that?

Hey, I was only talking about the littlest part. Not the whole shebang. So holster yer pissers, there, US Cowboys.

(are they still looking at me?)

Nothing to see here. I'm just talking about the tiniest insignificant, relative to the sheer worldwide numbers, minuscule, really, to be honest. I'm talking next to nothing, just a little arms between the Germans and Greeks, you know. Nothing to do with the, uh, recent financial situation or nothing like that. Even if you do see the goombahs standing around at all the official state dinners and whatnot.

Who'da thunk, that amidst all the to and fro with the BIG EURO CRISIS that the two biggest actors in the play would find time (and money) to sign off on heavy artillery as part of those austerity measures?

Come on, you guys! You're not gonna wack me. Not when you let this Pelzig guy, expose this very fact, and in doing so, so gloriously dressing down such a valuable (if decreasing in value, apparently) FDPer in front of a live audience, not to mention the millions who were watching at home. I mean he actually called it out on nationwide television.

Look at him, not me!! The link's up there. It's in German. Sorry. (But I really do recommend all 66 minutes of it. If nothing else, it is worth seeing the FDP boss pale, sickly, even scared and lost. We know he's expendable. I take comfort in that.)

And if it were not buried in the middle of so much other bullshit - this show from Pelzig, I mean - it would have been worth the required payment to the public broadcasters (soon to be, oddly enough, automatically deducted from each German household, keep your fingers crossed). That's what's great about public broadcasting: All the political parties are represented. Again and again. And again.

So good timing the last several weeks with this Pelzig guy. Great heart. Funny guy. Glad he got his own program. Really rips each party member equally, like any great cabaretist should.

(Read the next paragraph with this in mind: Small potatoes. What're you gonna do about it?)

But most importantly, he had the guts to lay bare this tidbit and force the Free Democrat chief into stammering, what is it, Herr Brüderle - a mere 3% of exports? Pfft. Peanuts! And that this one transaction, just a sliver of that export total, might have been a part of any implied deals one way or the other? Fully absurd!

Of course not. Politics is not gangsterdom, after all. That'd be like sayin' that nothin' is really on the up and up, know what I'm sayin'? Nahhhh. It ain' like that.

And, anyways, even if it was, we're only talking about this little nickle and dime shit between Greece and Germany, who both have interests with the, uh, Turks, er, I mean, you know... relationships with this girl Turkey (who Greece happens to think is a bitch btw but Turkey know they just hoes anyhow).

Things are complicated, don'tcha know and let's not louse-it-all-up all the more with uncomfortable conversations about it. They is money d'be made!

We are all NATO, after all. And we all know that THAT is on the up and up.

No question. Lower your guns, fellas. WINK.

Your President & His Supporters are Some Scary Motherfuckers

2011-10-02T12:14:00.004+02:00

If you can't see that, so are you.
Were I a supporter of the Death Mercantile Exchange Program carried out by the United States, her acting partners, subsidiaries, and silent supporters via the public-private partnership of drone and conventional warfare and special military operations in order to kill, by execution or assassination, persons planning or having carried out plans for acts of terrorism and/or fomenting sympathy for the same, then I should by extension be inclined to support an Anonymous effort to hack into the Drone System of Nevada servers to steer an operation, redirecting predator drones to kill President Bo Rama and his entire cabinet down to and including White House Press Secretary James "Jay" Carney, as well as his apologists and supporters elsewhere, from those stroking their joysticks in the American desert, outward to carpet the American taxpayer.

But that would be absolute batshit crazy cold-blooded murder, wouldn't it?

Idn't it?

If, by chance, just such an Anonymous boomerang did manage to vaporize the Commander in Chief and his cohorts, I would not only not shed a tear, but typically, conveniently, so long as nobody I know and love perished in the "misguided" attack, I would probably find it kind of satisfying, perhaps even thrilling. Would that make me an instigator as well?

Does it?

Es geht immer noch um ein Rad: The Law justifying Itself

2011-10-01T12:33:00.017+02:00

Speaking of trips to and through Wedding: What happened to Karolidas and me a month or so ago

Riding home from our radio show. Karo had just subbed for Kate, having as well thought up the brilliant 'outer space' theme which inspired this little ääh? and also managed to postpone the telling of this tale until now.

After the broadcast, friend and programme director Séamus asked if we'd like to check out this new place he had heard about called "Panke". A friend of his had a studio there, I believe. At any rate, it's the same place where we - Olivia and Nexus and I - played last night to some success. Classic courtyard ateliers. Just beautiful. Typical Berlin "use it 'til we don't need you anymore now that you've established its worth" kind of real estate.

The three of us, Séamus, Karolidas, and I, sought out this little gem, they ordered their drinks but, I, not being the drinking type just smoked some of Karo's weed, which he was all too willing to share (of course, right?)

So we were riding home together, you would say, since we both had to ride for some time in the same general direction. Chatting happy-go-lucky, stoned, Karo asked if I would mind if we stopped for a moment, as the bike-lock he had wrapped around his waist (as was the style at the time) was digging into his side (fashion can be so cruel!). The manner of his asking is of particular interest to me, because I found it cute and odd that he would've so politely explained himself in this way, one. And two, that he would be explaining it again, in that same reasoning manner, in just a few moments.

We stopped. He stowed it. We chatted. Happy-go-lucky, stoned. We might have even laughed at our musing occurrences. But, Lo!, dear reader of my diary, even in the middle of this great fun & fury, we couldn't help but notice the motorized police vehicle sniffing our assholes after getting a gander of our smiling halves as they slowed past heading the other way. My thought: I only have a rear light, Karo has none. I don't wanna get fined. Let's wait a moment.

They drive on.

We've hardly achieved momentum when they creep up beside us, having pulled a U-turn, and ask us to halt. Literally: "Halten Sie, bitte an." To appreciate the full-German, imagine it pronounced like the name 'Hal' drawn out just long enough and then with a 'tn' to finish the word before 'Zee bitta ahn.'

Don't get me wrong. They were being perfectly polite. Per Procedure. By the Book. But there is a pattern here and it is my function at this moment to present it to you, dear reader, in as specific detail as possible without boring you first.

"Procedure" equals "Just polite enough" while "demonstrating clearly every authority that you can't do shit about if you know what's good for you" in the process. Some say this is justifiable. I say it is the justifiable justifying their justice.

There were two of them: The older, I've-seen-it-all-already, just gimme-a-friggin' break guy; and his partner, the rarin'-to-go, by-the-book while justifying her existence as a pain-in-the-ass from, where else but, the working class. That's the part that hurts the most: The class. We're us ferchrissakes!

She starts right in with the justification: "Es wird Autos in Berlin abgefackelt, vielleicht haben Sie etwas davon mitbekommen? Vielleicht haben Sie etwas in der Zeitung geleeeesen?" Those extra ee's represent just a bit more than a hint of sarcasm.

Previous quote per my English translation: "Cars are being torched in Berlin, perhaps you've heard something about that? Maybe you've read about it in the paper?"

You see her justification doubles as the beginning of her interrogation. Brilliant, this one.

Now I could give fuck-all-hell what motivated her ironic tone, be it genuine suspicion or a simple haughtiness. The fact is, we were at that very moment stopped from moving forward in the joyous part of our lives because we were suspects: Even if our having a clandestine laugh on the side of the road were not enough, we were both wearing black hooded sweatshirts and had rucksacks on. She thought she just might have nabbed a pair of 'em. And this, dear reader of my diary, is ALL THE JUSTIFICATION SHE NEEDED:

SHE THINKS. THEREFORE, WE ARE.

But here is where they really had us from the get-go: They didn't say shit about our bike lights. With this they establish the con: Our indentured gratitude.

I know what some of you are thinking: If they'd both had full lights, etc. would they have been in a stronger position?

Only psychologically.

They ask for identification.... and then, of course, to search our bags.

"What were we doing there just then, stopped at the side of the road?"

"What are we doing here now, stopped at the side of the road?" would have been my answer were I not the guy to whom nobody ever has to say, "Fuck, man. Be cool!"

Mark that a point against me.

So Karo has his opportunity to retell the tale of his desire to alleviate the pain in his side (minus the part about a bike-lock around the waste being the style), rendered all the more adorable with hand gestures - and in Canuck German this time.

So, anyway, in and amongst her rooting through - or, more accurately - forcing Karo to root through his bag with curt instructions: "Hier." "Da." And having him emptying his pockets and lifting his shirt, etcetera etcetera, we are being told how we'll soon be on our merry little way, just as soon as we cooperate with this little procedure, which at no point suffers a lack of detail, at least insofar as the justifiable justifying their justice is concerned.

Now at this point, our bike lights, or lack thereof, or the merciful non-acknowledgement of the same, were the furthest from my mind. I could only think about K's weed. Right around the lifting-of-the-shirt I was getting a bit uneasy.

Make no mistake. While this was otherwise an annoyance and a huge hassle, it was also an injustice. And in case you are confused about the injustice bit, I am talking about MY MOTHER FUCKING RULES NOW, alright? Just so we get that straight before moving forward.

Now the veteran cop character can clearly sense - as he probably already had before this all began anyway - that this is going nowhere, but he's just playing along, because that's his role in this production.

He was sure to be the one to make references to our being on our way after mere formalities. But this was no Mutt & Jeff routine. You see, that's how they pair 'em up: The farce is cast from headquarters, and he (and she, for that matter) ain't laughin' a one of 'em.

Procedure.

So she's startin' to call in our I.D.s, eye-balling us for what can only be our benefit. Now it's Hans-Heinrich's turn to rifle - excuse me - have me rifle through my bag.

It's clear at this point that he doesn't give a fuck about what's in my bag or in our bags or that we don't have bike lights the-both-of-us, or any such shit. He wouldn't care if Karolidis had a whole damn kilo in his tobacco pouch...
Of heroin. Gentech and highly explosive. Out of Kandahar by way of a laboratory just outside but not quite beyond the Euro Monetary Kingdom. A country that just happens to double as a secret schlepping point. Or torture chamber.

He doesn't give a fuck about any of that shit right now. Because, at the end of the day, he, like us, just wants to get the fuck home.

Unfortunately for him, he knows that once Karolidis and I are back on the road, he'll be back in the squad car with Officer Gruff Gudrun. So he's playing it out. But like any good actor, he remains focused on his intention from moment to moment.

His resignation comes through loud and clear (for her benefit this time, as much as mine) as he tells me "that's okay" before I have a chance to show him what he asked for. Basically the same routine as her search of Karo's bag, but even more superficial than hers was thorough (and thank goodness for small miracles).

Now time passes. Or is gonna pass. Cuz she's waiting for a return on our particulars, with an ear to the phone trying to look as if it's gonna pop up in any second now - and he doesn't have anything better to do than stand around looking like a cop with nothing to do. Procedure.

I guess I must have blinked first.

When I am focused, with a purpose, my German can flow like it was meant to be… I basically took

"what is the opportunity to ask a question I have wondered about for some time, which would be 'Is this valid identification for our purposes?' [producing my relatively new German driver's license] Because, of course, I happen to know that the photo copy of my passport and residence visa that I just gave you could have been grounds for making me lock my bike up here and carting me home to get my actual passport and booking me at the station and releasing me there, so that I have to come back here and get my bike, and so on, so, yeah, of course, I don't carry the ol' passport proper with me, not wanting to lose it an' all, and anyway I heard.. [I shouldn't be saying this] that a photo copy is enough under 'standard' circumstances, but if I were to, say, be doing something, uh, ill… hm. If I were… Well, anyway, it could be that sometimes you'd wanna see the original, so I was wondering whether or not this driver's license was, um, valid as my sole I.D. as far as what I had to have with me, and all."

He quite matter-of-factly told me that it was. By this I mean that he said something to the effect of "As a matter of fact, sure. It's got your photo and name. It's got what we need." But that wasn't enough for me, I was on a roll, and the partner still hadn't gotten the dirt on us yet, so I continued with a monologue about how

"I had to buy glasses to get the license, though I don't drive, I just wanted it for valid I.D. so sure am glad that it was valid and, whoo boy, how I had to get an eye test, which was conveniently done at the Crafters of All Things Eyeware located in the very same building downstairs from the license branch, and how I failed the test, making the only way that the lady'd give me a certification - which would've cost a mere few euro-bucks - would be to purchase a pair of brand new peeper-goggles, courtesy of hers truly.. and, again, I don't drive, so I am happy that it serves as a valid I.D."

Justifying the unexpected cost, as it were.

Boy-Cop seemed to be stimulated, so that led to a debate about the difference between the American and German right-of-way rules, the sign-age thereof, my belief that tourists shouldn't be allowed to rent cars (playing the old "I'm for sensible law & order, too" card to compensate for my having just said that the German right-of-way is all wrong).

It was right about here that I saw a look in his eye that said "This guy is really fucking high!" and I shut up. This coincidently coincided with our being cleared to go and sent about our merry way.

So what is the moral to this story?

Theater. The law is no more real than the Chancellor's billions more where that came from: We put up with it because we just wanna go home.

The catch: At some point somewhere, somebody else is gonna say "Halt."

Now you tell me which one of those two working stiffs is looking forward to that day, and which one already regrets it.

Das Rad dreht weiter…

Posterior Scripture: As to the specifics of how the F.A.R. concert and event went last night: Most importantly, the concert performance was a triumph. There are details. And of these we have evidence. This will, in due time, present itself. That, too, is theater. But more pleasant, somehow.

Mustererkennung: The Wedding in my Present

2011-09-29T17:47:00.009+02:00

It was a cluster of obstructions I navigated on my way home today: Pedestrians squirrelled about the bikepath or leapt out of seemingly nowhere into the street; cyclists abled up beside me at intersections only to wobble and weave into my path upon green; more often than not there was a cyclist already at the red light when I arrived, and they either took their sweet time pedalling off (we have an anticipatory yellow here), or were engaging in extracurricular behavior which would preclude pedalling at all (one woman, rooting through the bag on the luggage rack behind her, eventually produced a handful of something and then looked up and smiled at me whilst scattering birdseed onto the walk beside us before she finally rode off).

Sharing much of my journey with four-wheelers, I am used to automotive interference; today put the pun in it, sort of; it was the un-caged humans' turn: the guy in full-business garb and helmet whose "forward momentum" tron'd me into a rare both-feet-down full stop; the woman whose first step into traffic caused my annual skid; the guy and his two dogs completely blocking the door while waiting to be buzzed in: Their oblivious actions put me in a more conscious mode than usual.

The experience serves to remind me how alert I should remain regardless of circumstance, but the sudden cluster of hindrances brings to mind a trip from Jupiter to Mars: I just rode through the asteroid belt.

There's also something I had been contemplating recently which, though it renders the asteroid analogy more obscure, is appropriately apt and analogous:

My life's journey has been taking me to Berlin-Wedding with a frequency unknown to me until this summer. I have been to Wedding more in the last four months than in the nine years previous. Some of it is foreseeable and corresponds to one demographic of my world: a business move involving collaborators. Other aspects might have to do with a general migration, which happens to bring my varied worlds into congruence.

I formally recognize these as patterns, even if I cannot extend the asteroid analogy to include the cause of increased interference on today's ride. It'd be tempting to say it is more recognition than pattern, but I am just esoterically inclined enough to think that that would be an oversimplification. Or maybe that makes me more a statistician than woo warrior. I dunno.

One might also say that something about my behavior today (as a result of my state of mind, perhaps) led to this cluster of encounters. This is a bit more to my liking, yet still hard to completely swallow:

The number of times I had to dodge someone not looking out for themselves was too high and 'd more likely be coincidence than my doing. Still, the count is too high to be chance, too much a departure from the norm to be anything other than part of a larger, more complex picture.

I recognize parts of these patterns and believe that somewhere beyond mere cognizance of the clusters lies the formula for our lives.

"He's selling the goddamn hot dogs!"

2011-09-24T10:12:00.005+02:00

Dig. No mystery:
We - you and me -

WE ALL.

We all know that this thing we're experiencing -
it GOES ON AND ON
and on and on and on and on and
WE ARE STUCK WITH IT
and it JUST KEEPS ON GOING and going and the only thing we can seem to manage to do is to try to
FIND SOME WAY
to MAKE IT THE MOST BEARABLE (or more bearable, at least)

to ride the comfortable wave of this

VICIOUS CIRCLE of an ONGOING CYCLE
(at least as far as we can see)

into our ever wondering forever-dom...

But this guy's just selling the goddamn hot dogs!

And with that you got your early Sunday Paper.

O, won't you stay... < update > a little bit longer

2011-09-24T04:36:00.020+02:00

All translations (and interpretations) mine, and I tried to improve them a bit, giving more than enough credit where it might be due, linguistically speaking. After a long hard day of work, and after even longer night of the same: a word here, a thought there. It remained much the same::: for you...
and, by the way - I am aware how beautifully translated that last paragraph is (thank you very much)... which 'd make you wanna give one your chiddin's...
just that...
much...
mo...

„Manche bleiben mit ihrem Blick auf die Kirche an ihrer äußeren Gestalt hängen,“

"Some get hung up on The Church's outward appearance,"

Not like anyone has ever tried to get a closer look, eh, Ratzinger?

„Wenn dann auch noch die leidvolle Erfahrung dazukommt, dass es in der Kirche gute und schlechte Fische, Weizen und Unkraut gibt, und der Blick auf das Negative fixiert bleibt, dann erschließt sich das große und schöne Mysterium der Kirche nicht mehr.“

"Add to that the distress of experiencing that there are good and bad fish in The Church - wheat and weeds [if you will] - and the view remaining fixated on the negative, then the great and beautiful mystery of The Church is no longer revealed."

'Look, we got enough problems. The Lord works in, uh, mysterious ways, and so do we's, forgedaboudit!'

„In Christus bleiben heißt, wie wir bereits gesehen haben, auch in der Kirche bleiben. Die ganze Gemeinschaft der Gläubigen ist in den Weinstock Christus fest hineinverfügt. In Christus gehören wir zusammen. In dieser Gemeinschaft trägt er uns und zugleich tragen alle Glieder sich gegenseitig. Sie halten gemeinsam Stand gegen den Sturm und geben einander Schutz."

"To remain in Christ means, as we have already seen, also to remain in The Church. The entire community in faith is firmly decreed in the vine of Christ. In Christ we belong together. In this community he carries us and, at the same time, all limbs carry each other. Together we maintain our position against the storm and protect one another."

Give me your children.

And this image should make you laugh. Like watchin' the ol' Pope at the ball game... he sellin' the mutha fuckin' hotdogs!

Wir sind Papst, motherfuckers! &u cn b2

2011-09-21T11:45:00.009+02:00

Public comment here leading up to our recent local election did not depart from that which I'd already become accustomed, including: "I vote because I don't want to leave such an important decision up to someone else."

That's funny (right?) because in a democracy - whether the republican variety in the US or the parliamentary system in Germany - voting is precisely leaving important decisions up to someone else.

__________

Among his many undertakings on his backpack through the old country, the Pope is gonna speak in the Bundestag today. It won't be a full assembly, though, as several members have decided to boycott, either based on what they view as a violation of the distinction between government and religion, or because they find the moral qualifications of the speaker and/or the speaker's organization questionable.

Can you relate? Would you be honored to have the Infallible Pontiff promulgate from the congressional lectern, or do you shudder at the very notion of Joe Nazinger drooling edict before Boner & Bayhden? [Ed: Boehner and Biden] Would you welcome an address from the Ambassador of the Holy See - who is a head of state, after all - or do you hold dear that separation of the order of the Pulpit on the one hand, and the planning of the Pentagram on the other? Did I say "Pentagram". I meant Pentagon, sorry. Unless you prefer Pentagram.

Either way, you have my full understanding and support.

The Pope was against Troy Davis' execution. How do you feel about that? Simply as a matter of principle, he was also against Larry Brewer's lethal injection. Does that change your opinion? He's against abortion. Now?

I agree with you on all counts.

Perhaps you think that the cop killer in the first case and the heinous nature of the crime in the second deserve "the ultimate punishment" - "ultimate" in this case meaning, like, "totally fucking awesome". I just can't argue with you there.

Or maybe you believe that no killer is worth more than his crime. Wow. Chilling words. Well said. That certainly gives me something to think about.

Or just maybe you are of the opinion that the death penalty is proper when we are absolutely, 100% sure that the accused is guilty of the crime for which he has been sentenced. Why - that is a pragmatism for which I have the ultimate respect.

Just tell me what to think! I'm on your side here!

__________

What I am offering by way of the campaign for ₫-mar-kr-€-C$-¥ is a chance for you to neutralize throwing away your first vote which turns the important decisions over to potentially corrupt politicians. And my being a huge believer in Democracy, I enthusiastically serve you towards this end. For you, the one in the one out of many; for the people. For your people. Unless you believe otherwise. I'm o.k. with that too.

Just email your bid. I might vote for you!

₫-mar-kr-€-C$-¥, part 2 << -- >> ₫-mar-kr-€-C$-¥, part 4

Durchgespielt & Rausgeholt

2011-09-20T22:56:00.006+02:00

This one of the pieces in the program, but without me, sorry. If you wanna hear me, you'll have to come to the show. Money - F.A.R.

Our performance will include this track preceded by Sex, and continue with War, Art, Religion, Death, and Speed. We're going on last. The challenge for me is to find my niche, for the most part frequency, but not to forsake the mesh. Based on tonight's rehearsal, we'll manage.

Nexus said that Markus might be getting out by his birthday Friday. After further inquiry, the response from Sven: "...he is already out!"

Thanks to everyone who donated and for everything else. Unfortunately, as Olivia sings above and Jack crows under Blood Debts and Death Magic, not everyone is so fortunate.

Nighty-night. I have a long couple of weeks ahead of me.

Spätsonntagsaufrufe: Drehpunktakkord Kreisverband

2011-09-19T02:59:00.006+02:00

Dear Diary,

I've been meaning to write this for a time, thought, in fact, I had scheduled it to go... and am now still having doubts. I'd reference the burning of the candle, being a bit loopy, but it feels like I've begun from the middle, and the wax is just melting outward, towards the ends. I can't see the ends for the wax. I know I'm still awake and know what day it is, but there is a part of me that doesn't trust it enough not to check, just to be sure. I just know that within the week I am going to wake up in a panic, believing, perhaps knowing, but not knowing, but believing I am late. Too late. Or worse, just late enough.

___________________

I have sat with CD Kreisverband Friedrichshain twenty-eight times over the last nine years which is a lot for me anyway - but especially since the ensemble is not fixed-member oriented; except for Ohmnoise (Markus), no one has performed at all of their stages. He is the Fripp in the Verband.

And he is sitting in jail.

I can neither confirm nor deny his guilt or innocence, nor would I if I could; suffice it to say that he is paying a financial judgment for having been the ostensible possessor of a few plants and the unfortunate neighbor of one who said so. He'll be sitting until the 13th, just three weeks past his birthday this coming Friday.

All hail law & order! (Translate that; it's hilarious, but ironically might get you jailed if you yelled it here on the street.)

Twenty-two of those twenty-eight performances included Michael Schmacke of Fake Masters fame. He happens to be a super-mondo animator and performer who also happens to be a historian and local Berliner who squatted his way into, and back out of, insanity.

And he's running for office.

In ~~today's~~ yesterday's election he is was seeking for the second time to represent his district as a member of the Bergpartei. (The candidate survey at that link is definitely worth a read. I can honestly say that I agree with him on all points and belly-laughed at all of his answers.)

All hail the Bergpartei! (It's funny 'cuz you don't have to.)

Sixteen of those shows included Olivia Pils aka Fake Mistress, whose group, F.A.R., I'm performing withon the 30th. And two of those included Kate Donovan; we'll be doing our monthly broadcast on the 27th. They are both inspiring artists, but neither is in jail or running for office.

davidlyours

by R. Thomas

Spaß am Wahltag: Election Funday

2011-09-18T13:09:00.001+02:00

Today is election day in the Kingdom of Prussia, but not for me*. To think that I've lived in Old Fritz's Grove for all this time and I still can't rubber stamp my Prince Elector. Talk about disenfranchisement!

If you didn't notice amongst yesterday's little outburst, I have been experimenting with rollover imagery. For yous not versed in Hyper Textual Militant Lingo, that means that every photo you see below hides behind it another, slightly altered version.

Just move your cursor over the picture to see what some lawless hoodlums have done to deface the sanctity of the art of the democratic race for office. Or, no, wait. Maybe I have that backward. You decide:::

May as well get The Left out of the way first; that's what every other party does when it comes to answering the question of who they'd be willing to form a coalition with. And so the disfigurement in the first example below is appropriate, what with its lack of sophisticated imagination, if not an indication of borderline strawmannerism.

Not that I have illusions about any political faction, even if I still fancy myself left of mind. It's just that die Linkspartei is treated more like the bastard step-cousin party than the neonazis in the NPD... which... I'm sayin'... is telling.

Now would be an appropriate time to move your cursor over the image, if you haven't already.

But Berlin has been a model of sorts; a lesson on how, if you wanna sit in city hall in this town, you gotta do it with die Linke. Or with der Linke or den Linken, as the case may be. Heehee.

Ohne Links geeehts nicht. So far. That doesn't keep the Christian Democrats from trying to capitalize on the big-city scariness of Rot-Rot (SPD-Linke) and all that it hath wrought.

The hover image suggests - regarding the candidate seen here simultaneously hawking his platform book along with his image: Greed?

Personally, I would have gone with Neid? (envy) Especially considering that his little booklet costs fifty cents. I wonder how much he's selling his image for.

Up next: the man being accused of dereliction of duty. The Incumberbundant. Like so many mayors of the international, yet provincial, ours is a guy who'll probably hold on forever. Or until Rahm Emanuel comes and takes his job.

He's seen here already cultivating the b&w elder statesman look, reminding the aging population: 'Remember all those other guys you reelected just because?'

At least our merry pranksters have lent him a slogan: Substance is sooo '90s.

And now, his main challenger who turned out to be not so much. For a while it looked like the wave that swept Fukushima (on to become the Grünen of Baden-Württemberg's own version of reverse disaster-capitalism, two weeks after the disaster) would give the Green image a substantial half-life boost. But since Berlin ain' a glowin', the wind ain't blowin' her sails no mo!

Be careful when you hover over this one, 'cuz Renate kämpft.

Somebody thought capital dwellers could use a reminder that what is killing Berliners now... wait for it... is their desire to get the fuck out of Taliameristan. What's that in Renate's right hand? Eine Grenate! Get it?

Go ahead and go back up and move your cursor on and off the picture. It's fun. Are you paying attention Piratenpartei? This is you in twenty years. Mark my fucking words. And that's if you're lucky enough to have grown desperate, clinging to the perks of power (& of course the desire to hold onto it because without it you can't make more gooder policies for the folks;-)

Free Democrats, like all good lib... er... terriers, tend to be more-so towards those with more-dough. Which just means they're like everyone else - but always having to campaign for and against their brand: 'Why oh why are the rich always being punished!?'

Here they pose the question "Is the FDP a workers' party or the party of the well-to-do?" then the repartee "We'd like it if one earned more with a job than without."

I didn't say that they were clever at fighting against their image. Or connoisseurs of language. Or culture. But they are clever at something. Nobody knows what that is yet.

Because it certainly isn't poster design. They made this one look like it had already been tampered with. With one word-change via vandalism: "We'd like it if one earned more with exploitation than without." My prediction for the FDP, with apologies for its clumsy Isherwoodish... ness: Goodbye to Berlin.

And finally, the guys who bring us Titanic magazine and the party "Die Partei" have provided the image for our last hover.

The background story here is the National Democrats having chosen "Give it gas!" as their slogan. (If ya didn't know the thing about anybody with "National" in their title, surely this little catchphrase is illuminating?)

Now we know this is a tasteless, tactless, and shameful wordplay; there's no denying it given their predilections. But it also shows that they are precisely as clever as the FDP... which... ain'tsayin'mucheither.

What the folks from "Die Partei" party have done is recreate the poster, replacing the photograph of the NPD chairman on a motorbike with that of the founder of the Alliance for the Future of Austria (BZÖ) superimposed over the wreckage of his next to final resting place (depends on how you define "resting" really).

Two weeks after successfully leading his new party to replace his old party in the Austrian Parliament in 2008, the BZÖ leader drove his Volkswagen off the road and died, rendering him unable to deny having gotten liquored up at that gay bar, but not having to deny hustling Sodom out of millions on the eve of shock and/or awe. And enabling his wife to sue the Bild Zeitung for teh gayslander.

It may not be the best system...

...but ~~it's the best one out there~~
~~it's the best one goin'~~
~~it's the best one we got~~
~~it's the best one we got goin'~~
it's the best one currently in full operation.

*Coming soon: an update on the ₫-mar-kr-€-C$-¥ campaign.

Whore Ring Tone Post !-)

2011-09-17T13:21:00.010+02:00

Imagine, if you will, that such a "show" is part of your daily reality and that, as a matter of standard procedure, the single greatest financial expenditure on the face of your planet is geared towards such 'Unbelievable Gore'.

Do you care? Or would you rather just chalk it up as a "whadaya gonna do" kind of thing and go back to watching Rachel Maddow "take down" somebody or another for their stance on the everso-more-important domestic policy of the United States?

Or is your brand rather more like the wannabe outcast dipshit phony anarchists like Crispin Sartwell, who so easily write off America's continuity of cruise-missile neon-liberalism as a friendlier alternative simply because those on the receiving end of our awesome understanding of liberty and justice happen to have suffered under a harsher domestic policy and, anyway, you are happier to live in America than in the land catching your captors' moral victories?

I'll repeat it again, in case you don't get it: Keeping America healthy internally is the last thing the world needs to live peacefully. What the fuck good is a jobs program if it leads to a larger tax-base to support this kind of fucking bullshit?

You want change? Stop glorifying the fucking air-shows and stop funding their export. Did it ever occur to anyone that the sacrifice to be made in the name of freedom-for-all is the sacrifice of one's own well-being - so long as that well-being leads to the complacency which would allow 'Blood Everywhere' else but - heaven forbid - the Reno Air Show?

A world in which holier-than-rethuglican liberals and progressives feed off of AriannaOnLine and MSNBC as a presentation of more-betterism is not a world worth improving towards.

[I hasten to add printiN' t' fYT Media Corps, who mirror the most strategically nuanced version of "does ya do, or does ya dudn't-ry".]

Jack Crow does an incredible job of crystallizing the meaning behind the civics lesson as it relates to your belief in liberty and justice for all:

You see all those paragraphs wherein the text repeats, over and fucking over again, that law and justice are universal, or at least ought to be? See where the fancy ones discuss isonomy and the dumbed down ones go on and about "rights and responsibilities"? Go on, take a moment. Note how often these planned and designed study guides mention democracy, human rights, equality before the law, one man one vote, et cetera. It's like a catechism, or a sales pitch, or a call to be washed in the blood of the Lamb, or some shit.

If you care to spare another minute or two, flip back and forth to all those sections which make mention of struggle for equality, democracy, rights, and universal human behavior. Even the whitewashed versions which get the imprimatur and the nihil obstat of the mandate schoolmarmers end up contradicting the claim to universality, don't they? I mean, if history is the record of people with power resisting giving it up or losing it - and it is, this royal history we're still learning in the age of Democracy™ - then you almost have to wonder why these same rulers insist on mandatory schools in which the opposite is also taught.

If they have to teach it, and if it takes them ten or twelve years to get children to believe it - it really isn't so universal, is it?. That shit is indoctrination.

Don't believe it? Exaggeration? Let me remind you that when I was four - FOUR fucking years old - I repeated the words "liberty and justice for all" every weekday morning at 9. And that was just the beginning.

What should it matter what Spook Perry or anyone else in Texas wants to teach as American History when the corporate machine's Brand Left can do no better than a token lesbian squawking about how awesome our men and women in uniform are?

What good are the mockings of the Tea Party Pledge from those who recited The Pledge of Allegiance as often as I did, but that, unlike me, are genuinely saddened at the Horror in Reno?

Fuck those people. They're better off dead.

Meinen Senf zur Berlin Wahl 'elf'

2011-09-14T09:58:00.009+02:00

As I've mentioned in round-ups of German elections-past, the campaign season here is mercifully short. The run-up to next Sunday's municipal-state ballot is no exception. When I returned from Poland in August, the streets were plastered with paper that was not there when I departed. The timing is all strictly regulated, as is the deadline for their removal.

Nevertheless, the content of the canvases themselves could not be more superficial. One is to find sympathetic, not pathetic, a visage typical of a driver's license mugshot. These at best might evoke sympathy for the local joker were it not for the occasional intelligence-offending running-gag of a byword, which as far as I am concerned should be their prison ID numbers.

Enough. On to the ~~mockery~~ summary:

The FDP on integration: "We think it'd a be nice gesture in Paris to ask for 'croissants' instead of 'bread rolls'."

Translation:
The Free Libs don't realize that „Schrippen" are to "bread rolls" what „Croissants" are to, um...
"CROISSANTS"!

Fucking retards.

SPD (Social Democrats): "Understanding Berlin."
Translation: Berlin Besserwissen! We understand Berlin so well that we know better than you do.

Die Linke (Left Party): "Protect renters from the wild west!"
Translation: If we had any guts, we'd be communists.

CDU Christian Democratic mayoral candidate Frank Henkel parades one of his party's slogans this time around: "Straight forward. Correct." As wordplay this could be understood as "Just right." and/or "At just the right time."
Translation: Gerade gruslig. Just creepy.

With the Greens it's best to go straight to the translation: Promises, promises.

The Pirate Party:
"Don't trust campaign posters. Inform yourself"
- and then -
"Vote PIRATES!"

I'll leave the translation to the experts.

These guys are projected to clear the 5% hurdle and sit in the Berlin Parliament for the first time.

The self proclaimed Free Democrats are worth two looks, if only because I just got a whiff of this:

"First cars,

and then...?"

Followed by shit about
"Work."
"Education."
"More police."

Reminds me of Clinton: right along with the privatized prisons, free trade/slave labor, and the final wave of banking deregulation. And then? How about those two fucking guys?

______________

I'm not convinced that advertising is so persuasive. Above all, the thing that has been successfully marketed is the advertising industry itself; they have duped those with too much disposable income into spending a good percentage of their cocaine and whore money on the ideas of rejects (of a world they'd rather be working in: if you can't sell your screenplay, maybe you can edit trailers).

One of the examples touted as successful advertising is American fast food chain Wendy's 'Where's the Beef' campaign from the 1980s - thought so effective that Fritz Mondale used it on Gary Hart in the '84 primary for the Democratic Party nomination for President of the US. This was four years before we found out that Hart's beef had been in Donna Rice. (If sloganeering is so compelling, Hart should have been able to use "Our guy's beef is in Rice" to defeat Dukakis that year, who himself went on to defeat in the general. And yet, we are to believe that what put George the Elder over the top was an embarrassing picture of Massachusetts Mike in a tank: Why, even Jon Stewart - who voted 'Bush' in '88 - still says so; it must be true.)

Frankly, I don't buy into advertising's effectiveness. I rather believe in the idiocy of those who are not offended by it. Speaking of being Frank, here's some persuasive pith related to local polo-tics:

Hinweise: Zappa's old school; ponce = pimp

Von Anfang an war alles klar

2011-09-12T15:20:00.018+02:00

Threnody n. lyric of lamentation; memorial to the dead
The above image is taken from the state-sanctioned 9/11 festivities, on the occasion of their 10-year jubilee celebration. I manipulated the color of the image to enhance its resemblance to the ELP album seen below.
music by Greg Lake

15. Januar 2008

2011-09-07T07:32:00.001+02:00

F: "Do you wanna hear something I've never told anybody before?"

B: "Is it a story?"

F: "I heard somewhere that more questions are answered with questions than direct answers."

B: "I imagine questions are more often a way of avoiding the answer than looking for one."

F: "Or in search for a better question. Do you wanna hear my story or not? I don't know how long I'll be in the mood."

B: "So it is a story! Please don't let me stop you."

F: "In the early part of this century, when I was still working for a living, when there were still possibilities for living, though I wasn't aware of it at the time, a man used to come into my café on a regular basis - once a week or so; sometimes he wouldn't come for a month, once or twice he came twice in the week, but mostly only Tuesday. He was my age - not young or old - old enough to know what it means to be an adult, young still to wonder if there was something of greater promise just around the corner." Pause. "That's exactly what I thought: 'Here is someone of greater promise.'

"He usually ordered a baguette prepared how we did then, and a cup of coffee. He was polite, simply polite, but more considerate than the normal customer. He didn't just say, 'Have a good day.' Something in his eyes said that he really meant it. Or he wanted you - me to know that he meant it.

"He would always sit in the same spot, if it was available, and I always felt his eyes. Sometimes when I looked at him, which I always wanted to do, he'd look up at me, or be looking at me, and look away, often smiling first. But not creepy. His smile was like his greetings, intentionally meaningful, but just as intentionally not suggestive in any way.

"I got used to his weekly visits, looked forward to them, had butterflies on Tuesdays, even though we never exchanged more than the pleasantries I've mentioned.

"The times when he didn't show - I say this as if we had a date - were really sad. Once, when three Tuesdays passed and I hadn't seen him, I assumed he'd given up on the dump. I mean there were so many nicer cafés in the area, it's not as if this one were more convenient. Mine was a branch of sorts, and I didn't get a lot of business. I'd answered a 'Start your own franchise!' ad in the paper. The company wanted a presence in every town, so I was able to run the place into the ground with their help.

"The bread wasn't horrible, just by the standard. True, we were a little cheaper, but I can't believe that's why he came to my place.

"I'd like to believe it was for me." With a certain uncertainty, "Of course it was.

"Anyway, he came back on the fourth Tuesday. I was thrilled but didn't let on too much. This went on for almost two years. Twenty odd months of looking, wondering; wanting; waiting, wondering, filling in the blanks."

Visibly sad with the following words, as if she's aware for the first time of their finality: "The most powerful and long-lasting love is unrequited, relatively undefined."

A long pause while B waits for her to continue. F collects herself, but when it's clear she's not going to continue - at least not right away - B asks, sympathetically, "Did he just stop coming?"

F: "There was a last time. Yes." A fragile silence, then: "I'm ashamed to say that if it weren't for this last time, I probably wouldn't be telling you this."

B's confused and doesn't know what to say.

F: "It's what happened, what he did. The last time. It was Tuesday, January 6th."

B calculates, searches her memory, thoughts swimming around her head.

F: "He ordered the usual and sat at his usual table. There was something different about his demeanor, but I didn't know what. At first it was not a big deal, but then it started to make me nervous. He came to the counter about the time he'd have normally gone. He ordered a prosciutto and another coffee and went back to his seat. I clumsily suggested with the question: 'More time today?' and felt like an idiot immediately. He smiled in a way that erased all the apprehension from my being, though, in retrospect, the smile was the same as it had always been - no more, no less.

"At this point I realized what it was that was distinctly different: He was waiting." She pauses to ponder what she's said. "He was waiting until we were alone.

"Normally we would have been. Most of his visits were interrupted..." Laughs, "Interrupted! Most of the times one or two customers came in and got something to go. Sometimes somebody'd be at another table.

"Anyway, on that particular day, one or two pairs came and sat and went. I noticed how he would feel his periphery, without actually looking for presence or departure. Now at this point I got so excited. I thought, 'Oh God! Just maybe today was my lucky day. Today he's going to declare his undying love for me. Today my life would blissfully evaporate into the ether of eternal contentment!'"

Laughter, awareness of folly, quickly fades to silence. B sits motionless, stunned. Waits. Waiting for the conclusion to this... tragedy?

F: "When everyone had finally gone, he looked over his right shoulder to survey the empty room. His left side was against the wall. He smiled at me, and this time it made me nervous again. The lump in my throat was suffocating, the butterflies unbearable. Then he did something I did not expect, but was no different than every other time, so it shouldn't have surprised me.

"He took his coat from the back of his chair, and though I was beyond disappointment, although I was filled with dismay - maybe you find this a bit übertrieben - but even though I was near balling my guts out, I managed to say, 'Out of time?'"

So emotionally defined, it's hard for me to quantify.

₫-mar-kr-€-C$-¥, part 2 - in which I plead the case for more currency

2011-09-04T13:09:00.010+02:00

If you truly believe that your vote counts, then increase your vote-count by 100% percent! If you think, as I do, that the non-voter should refrain from complaint, then double down on your bicker benefits ¡pronto!

I don't take my vote for granted, and neither should you. People have died for the right to vote and passing up this opportunity to purchase an extra ballot from someone like me - someone who without your guidance would probably just end up throwing my vote away - is akin to not voting at all. That will not stand!

As you can see from the display on the right, I have begun the process related to my offer. I decided to submit this registration semi ludditely, per email, as the "automated assistance" provided to fed-voters outside the confines (presumably to ease and speed the, um, submission process) prompted Firefox to warn me that the site in question could not be securely certified and, therefore, should not be trusted.

And after my too-trustingly forging ahead under the assumption that the feds would be the last to remain up-to-date on what it takes to avoid red flags regarding visits to their on-line offices, I got one last warning: "Seriöse Banken, Geschäfte und andere öffentliche Seiten werden Sie nicht bitten, Derartiges zu tun." which is a helluva, hootuva sentence that roughly translates: "Serious banks, businesses and other public sites [read: DOTguvs] would not ask you to do this sort of thing."

Message finally received (but I gotta laugh at the fact that naiveté applies either way).

But you know what's not naive? Voting. And you know what's half as naive as that? Voting twice!

The replies I've so-far received to my offer/campaign have not been serious. By that, I don't mean to say that the responses imply the belief that I am not serious. No. I mean that the amounts in the bids I have so-far received have not been serious. And that is good news for you who still wish to snatch our little ball of spinning dirt from the jowls of The Democalypse^TM, for it's entirely plausible that you'll be able to get your extra votes on the cheap!

Now a lot of folks would just put this offer up on CraigsBay and make mint gravy. But I am seriously interested in promoting YOUR brand of democracy. So please write me with your serious bids.

¡Primary and General Election sold separately.

*I take all bids seriously. It's just that I am hoping to cover the various costs of freedom.

₫-mar-kr-€-C$-¥, part 1 << -- >> ₫-mar-kr-€-C$-¥, part 3

Stickin' it to the Man

2011-09-03T19:20:00.002+02:00

Wadn't absolutely certain what "Bitte, freimachen, falls Marke zur Hand" meant, but was pretty sure it meant something along the lines of "postage paid". Of course, the GEZ wanna bleed me like a couch potato; a quick search found the following, the salient point of which reads "Pay what you can, we 'preciate it."

Für Versender ist die Rückantwort kostenfrei
Verbraucher, die diese Rückantwortumschläge nutzen, brauchen dagegen nicht auf irgendwelche Formalien achten. Befinden sich auf den Umschlägen die erwähnten Freimachungsvermerke ("Bitte ausreichend freimachen", "Freimachen, falls Marke zur Hand") ist eine Frankierung der Sendung nicht nötig. Der Brief wird trotzdem befördert. Gleichwohl können sich die Verbraucher an den Portokosten beteiligen. Sie können die Sendung entweder ausreichend frankieren oder aber nur einen Teil des erforderlichen Portos drauf kleben. Die Differenz zahlt dann der Empfänger. Eine Pflicht zur Frankierung des Briefes besteht aber nicht.

Memo Rex

2011-09-03T12:20:00.001+02:00

- For readers of German, Robert Lorenz has written a poignant tribute to Christian Borchert.

- Jeff Wells has blooged again. I'm reticent about recommending this piece because it reveals something about myself I'd rather not admit: my brain has transmogrified along with the new power generation; he includes too many links!

The post is interesting for its take-down of transhumanist-progressive liberalism and reminds me that I have a draft of my own thoughts on the false dichotomy created in the evolution vs. creation debate (no others need apply).

But for those interested in the meaningless absurdity that is a-merkin polo-ticks, I display this pertinent paragraph:

And don't think the Sadean few for whom the system works aren't loving the masochistic spectacle of good Democratic foot soldiers debasing themselves as New Deal Sonderkommando, immolating their Social Security on finance capitalism's pyre of a trillion dead presidents before freshening up with a whore's bath of Enjoy President Bachmann ooga booga. (Somehow, moving the goal posts never interfere with their end zone dance.) Maybe, when you're given the choice of Satan, or Satan's Little Helper, it's past time to crash the parties.

₫-mar-kr-€-C$-¥ (101 & 2.1) - in which I announce the intent to sell my vote for cold hard currency

2011-08-26T13:24:00.007+02:00

"NATO acted with impunity. The NATO command recklessly bombed civilians in the name of saving civilians."

My own rep said the same thing. (Achtung! this Link in German) Not that he's mine, 'cuz I can't vote here, I just happen to've lived in his district for the last decade.

Not that I would vote if I could. I'd have a year to go for that anyway. But if I were of the mind t' (and I could), he'd be the closest thing that I'd vote fer.

I know, I know: Irony abounds.

Like little Denny K over't'h' Cleveland Plain Dealer District across the way, my own private Hans-Christian sues (attempts to sue/announces attempts to sue) his government over their secrets (such as what the Bundeswehr might actually be doing in Libya). Call it STRÖBELE'S PEEPS v. DIE BUNDESREGIERUNG'S NATO v. THE ACTOR (FKA) KA-DAFFY.

(Y'think it's too late for Mo Mar al-G to change his name to a symbol? You know, at least until the contract expires?)

But just because I don't have German voting rights does not mean I have to give up my right to vote in the Land of Lincoln. And it occurs to me that I am letting my currency go to waste; it could be working for me.

With this in mind, I would hereby like to announce my intention to sell my vote to the highest bidder.

Seriously. I really mean it.

Bid to Win
As you all have likely heard, in November of 2012, from sea to shining sea, the MOST IMPORTANT ELECTION in the History of Humanity will take place. Don't get caught napping! If your bid wins the contract, you could be the lucky one to tell your great-grandchildren that you snatched the world from the jowls of Democracy's Apocalypse! Or put more practically: You could be the recipient of an historic second-vote. And it's completely legal.

You see, I am a corporation. This not only qualifies me to donate twice to political candidates in the United States (much to the chagrin of those Democrats, who only take the money 'cuzin they gotsta), but given my status as a corporate-citizen, and your status as a citizen-citizen, you can donate to me, and I can do your bidding by voting for the candidate(s) of your choice.

So I am prepared to use my function as the secretary of a nonprofit organ to rescue America from certain ruin.

Now for the rider, which I assure you will only be standard procedure once my example is dutifully followed and achieves (for your favorite party) a permanent filibuster- and veto-proof majority in both houses of the US Congress:

Write to me with a monetary bid and a list of your chosen candidates as they are to appear on the ballot in Cook County Illinois. Meanwhile I will be doing everything in my power to get re-registered in time for the March 20th primary. (Hey, if Rockin' Rahm could manage to skirt the rules to become mayor, it's gotta be a piece of cake, right?)

No later than 31 January 2012, I will contact the winning bidder, who will then have until the immediately following Valentine's Day to mail me their love in the form of cold hard cash. No coins (not that hard).

I will not accept electronic transfer. I will not deal with any mother fucking bank. It's called FexEx or UPS or DHL. Use it. Any of the denominations listed in the title above will suffice, although US Dollars are also acceptable. (Special consideration applies to those who forgo the bid and just start sending money.)

Now - you might be thinking, "Why would I send the dough first, when I can't be sure that he'll vote as instructed?" to which I would *reply: You don't really know how democracy works, do you?

*Sue me.

>> ₫-mar-kr-€-C$-¥, part 2

Neolibyan Policies

2011-08-26T01:03:00.003+02:00

This is the only interpretation you need.

Raum- oder Luftfahrt

2011-08-24T03:26:00.005+02:00

„Wat maken denn die Astronooten? Die, da oben?"

„Janz jewiss det Gleechet, wat die Jenosse Kosmonoten jemakt ha'm, damals."

„Naja, untanommen ha'm die halt in'r andren Art und Weese."

„Man weeß ja nüscht - wat die alle so heut tun.“„Stimmt."

Report from the Front

2011-08-21T14:21:00.003+02:00

I think space is a void: like my mind, devoid of knowledge if it isn't already imparted by beings from beyond. I take these creatures for gods, or simply the guy next door who works for a company with a registered name including the word "Dynamics" in the title - which you can see on the sign out front.

I suppose my neighbor might be from outer space. Or maybe all these ideas are from inner space, or, more likely, are just space. A void. A blind spot.

I do know that he can't take the bus to work unless he wants to walk the mile of space that his building's removed from the entry gate to "Something-or-another Dynamics". That's why he drives a truck. Or so he told me once.

Or maybe the Gestalt that is my neighbor is the science I trust, yet still don't understand. For I used to have faith in "the word" received from God; later I became a skeptic believing what I was told by, yet, someone else. Someone of a less ecclesiastical nature. Someone who seems more reliable because they base their theory of space on that which can be observed now.

Well, "now" relative to Revelations anyway.

Aristotle found the concept of a vacuum in space so horrifying that he imposed this abhorrence as unnatural - or more specifically, he projected his dis-ease upon nature itself, positing his fear of space as scientific fact. This had a profound influence upon the Cartesian way of thinking, which might be said to include the dictum: There is no space I can't conceive.

So it is with science and religion.

The Chinese knew all along that the heavens were boundless and void of substance - at least as long ago as Zhang Heng, who in the second century told them so. In modern times they've gone about proving it by buying up worthless American credit. Of course, it is just a concept they are buying into, so the actual value of those assets is open to speculation.

And what about my neighbor who works for "Something-of-another Dynamics"? Is he, like Jack Parsons, indispensable to both rocket science, as it relates to the exploration of worlds beyond planet earth, AND obsessed with the sex magick proposed by the likes of Aleister Crowley? Is he capable of conjuring aliens from beyond an ancient region in northern Africa from the secrecy of his basement next door by night, while by day inventing a better projectile, the explosive of which propels the locals from the north Africa of here and now back into that ancient state?

And is what I know about outer space any more or less reliable than the story that the Libyan Rebels are worth killing for because of the always morphing Gestalt in the meat-space known as Colonel Muammar el-Qaddafi?

I mean, is this so because everyone from The Berliner Zeitung and TAZ all the way to Arianne OnLine and the priNtin’t’fYT global federation of most valuable media tells me so?

Does our being bombarded with the latest information from the front justify the bombardment of those within it?

Is one world really enough for all of us? Or is someone out there in space testing our resolve?

No. I think that the term "outer space" is misused. Not because I can't conceive of its contents or lack thereof, but because it was proved long ago that the earth is not the center of the universe. Therefore, to my way of thinking, Planet Earth is outer space.

I am an alien, perhaps from here, perhaps with origins on or in a world far from wherever my inner-space will ever be able to take me. But my being is thinking; my mere existence is proof of the existence of extraterrestrial life.

And if I had to guess, I'd say that the final frontier is a parking space not worth fighting for.

Rise of the Image Nation

2011-08-17T04:16:00.002+02:00

Denying the myth of American exceptionalism will quickly get you accused of blaming America for all the world's problems.

Nevertheless, American exceptionalism is still just a fantasy perpetuated by American interests upon the American people. And, yes, it is the same way that every state glorifies its heritage in order to nurture a patriotic citizenry lacking in critical thinking skills.

Now this, by very definition, does not make America exceptional, but typical.

National exceptionalism is always based on mythology and is symptomatic of collective denial. Not so much a denial of the standard ruthless geopolitical machinations. The most deep-seated denial hails from a class of folk who habitually ignore how these machinations benefit them, and they are at best conveniently selective in their opposition to their states' actions.

The mythology takes root in the minds of those who love to parrot that their nation was built on noble thoughts and ideals. Now, this notion itself may be idealistic, but it's also beyond delusion, if not merely ignorant of history.

And, of course, there's the "always righting the ship" part of the American narrative. Allow me to tackle one common example cited by the exceptionalist class of American patriot: What was the bread in the Civil Rights Act sandwich if not the US supervising and murdering 1.5 million Vietnamese?

How’s that for ideals? Americans love to use the Cold War as an excuse for bad behavior the same way the Democrats like to use Republican malfeasance as an excuse for their own. But respective Democratic and Republican Party exceptionalism is but a small part of what unites the political class.

In spite of collective American denial, the voting class has the feeling that an exceptional empire of sorts is coming to some kind of hasty end. But this view overlooks an entire heritage of murder and theft.

The truly exceptional politician can publicly lament his nation's having been built on slavery, cheap labor, genocide, and stolen land - all the while engaging a foreign policy which wages war and meddles in others' domestic affairs, enacting a trade policy which encourages wage dumping and environmental hazards, and fostering a domestic policy which makes eminent domain seem like a really cool website.

And the class of American under his influence still glorifies that old wealthy gentry as a group of super-enlightened fathers of democracy, when they were no more or less so than the friendly oligarchs of the past from whom they borrowed their great nobility of thought and speech.

So no, America: Just because I insist that you are not the world's preeminent good-guy does not mean that I believe you are the world’s sole bad-guy. The world doesn’t work that way. You just happen to be a classic example of yet another state whose rubes are led to believe that they are special.

At great expense.

Genüßliche Gnostiker & ihre Blutkotzenden Goten - Ossis sind ja immer gleich

2011-08-13T08:48:00.003+02:00

So another "monumental" anniversary: a Kennedy coin cents' worth of years since the god-awful Reds built The Wall (Roger Waters' mope came later).

But can you believe that a third of those ungrateful bastards still think it was a wise choice of construction? How dare they! And after all Kissin'ger Helmut done for 'em!

I mean, to think that they had the gall, then, to feel the need to protect themselves from fascists, when whatever Nazis the DoD hadn't already taken off their hands, the CDU integrated, allowing the Stasi to turn towards more pressing matters than developing their own Nazi rehabilitation program.

Now a tenth of those ingrates have the nerve to suggest that they aren't better off. Amazing how some forget that people were actually shot trying to flee the GDR. And did I mention the Stasi?

And not only that: First they didn't want the Deutschmark after reunification, now they aren't happy with the Euro. There's just no pleasing some people.

Maybe I'm getting worked up over nothing. Three years from now, when we're celebrating the Golden Jubilee of the Gulf of Tonkin¹ incident, we'll just look back on this and laugh.

May the force be with you. Unless you're one of them.

¹Not mentioned in the debate about how much better Vietnamese immigrants have integrated culturally into German society than their Turkish counterparts is the fact that the Vietnamese were the guest workers in the GDR, while West Germany took the Turks.

Reckless implication of that aside, maybe the Vietnamese are just more flexible: There are one-and-a-half million Vietnamese-Americans, which is the same number of the native variety killed during That 'Nam Thingy^TM(nice to close with one of Freedom's Fun Facts).

Taliban Downgrades Special Forces to Kill Team, Gives Helicopter 'Traditional Chinook Burial'

2011-08-07T10:12:00.002+02:00

For the first time in Afghanistan War history, United States Special Ops Forces - including 20 Navy SEALs that had led the mission to sell subscriptions of The New Yorker magazine in order to fund their trip to the Sayd Abad district of Wardak province - have been downgraded to a ragtag band of grunts wearing body parts as trophies. The Taliban, which had on previous occasions reduced the status of regular combat troops to corpses, said the downgrade was inevitable even had the SEALs not met their quota.

SEE ALSO
- Dead Soldier Whistle-blows: "That ain't the way it went down."
- China: "We taking bath here!"
- I Ching: "No time like the present."
- Al CIAda Statement: "Cost to train a SEAL: over $1 million; cost of one Boeing Chinook: $35 million; cost to freedom: Ba Ba Booey!"

Willkommen in Antarchia!

2011-08-06T10:20:00.001+02:00

Laut Herrn Monsieur:

Arguing about the nature of left-vs-right-wing perfidy is like crafting a careful scientific explanation of the physics of dreams. Denise Levertov once wrote a poem called "Everything that Acts Is Actual." True. But also: everything that acts is, well, acting.

Don't try and tell me my dreams are not reality.
Now I'm awake, convinced of their actuality.

What is the State if not to collect and redistribute wealth? What is my mind, if not to collect and redistribute all my hopes and fears?

The cuddly kitty-cat and adorable puppy are clues sent from beyond the Image Nation that somewhere lurks the wolf version of man, and that we are not far behind.

If you think that an innocent baby human wouldn't instinctively hunt and kill, I have a digitized copy of an 8mm from 1968 that would prove otherwise. Behind the scenes was a mother who thought the savagery cute enough to prompt Daddy to keep right on rolling.

Maybe my masticating that grasshopper was the result of an oral fixation. And maybe Predator Drones^TM are a manifestation of the human desire to build things.

You can believe in God if your mind will allow it. If it helps you the first Tuesday in November, you can deify (or demonize) those you admire (or loathe) - those you alternately laud as brilliant and cowardly (or stupid and devious). God damn it all to hell (and praise be Jesus)!

Whatever you do, keep paying your conscience protection. The survival of your state is at stake. A state of affairs, a state of illusion, a state of denial; a state of utter bliss and frustration.

It is true that if you quit paying your taxes, you might reduce your state of affairs to 9m²; limit your choice of lover to one person; amend your suicide fantasy to include little more than hanging from the top rung by your bedsheet.

What is the State, if not to provide you with a wider variety of death opportunities?

Mama, why did you stop at me? A few more siblings and I'm pretty sure we could have taken over the Langdon's yard, where the bugs were more plentiful. And, anyway, Bobby Joe and Ronnie would have benefited from our guidance.

Emma S. Embassy: da Pat & Al Show got 'em reelin' 4real, tho

2011-08-04T13:54:00.000+02:00

You gottdamn, mutha fuckin' right the revolution is being televised!

When House Neeg-Bro-Rama has got the Reverend Fetchit schlepping the waste water from the White House outhouse to his thirsty worshipers at the P-Avenue fence, you got the makings of darn fine teevee.

To the dehydrated, the story is that the Y chromosome buried deep in Bay Buchanan's sweet asshole is still a racist. "Oh, no, he di'n't!"

The great washed & fed masses (those with the luxury of sophisticated political analysis from the cool comforting consternation of their couch of concern for those less fortunate than themselves) are able to see how astonishingly clean and articulate Doctor Brawley uses a simile of the sweet science to talking-point punch the shit out of anyone who thinks that Bo Mighty Rama is anything other than a hybrid of allthings one step ahead of anyone or anything else. That includes you, by the way.

Schwarzfahren ohne Schwarzfahne

2011-07-28T15:33:00.001+02:00

One self-proclaimed anarchist calling another a nihilist reminds me of the American Democrat calling an anti-war progressive isolationist.

Anti-Statism aside, lefties who see the Democrats for the irredeemable spectre that they are simply cannot be put into one chest of drawers, let alone one drawer and, in this regard, cannot be expected to agree upon functional action. And different folks with entirely divergent investments in life cannot be expected to see the opportunities and risks involved in going forward in the same light, let alone same reality tunnel.

For some, the most radical question is whether or not the formation of a third party to challenge the establishment is tenable. Others are convinced that voting is a waste of organizational energy which can only lead to more of the same, irrespective of the ideals of the party in question.

Yet, still, the latter of those two cannot agree upon just what it is that constitutes effective and positive, substantive change when it comes to putting an end the status quo. There is this nagging "engagement versus withdrawal" straw-man of a question.

I personally find the observation that when one withholds from the official economy one's labor and fruits thereof that one is "damaging the commons and those who don't have the luxury to do the same" to be so wide of the mark that it is difficult to know how to respond.

Indeed, because it seems obvious to me - just as obvious that the American president is not battling Republicans, but doing the will of big money - that one must choose which commons one wants to be a part of. Paying my taxes on time will do no more for a poor family in Detroit or Guben than voting for a Democrat or the SPD will.

As a matter of fact, the oft touted benefits of voting for "the viable alternative" as bulwark against the "ever-increasing scary faction" are but an infectious side-effect of their corruption and mendacity; likewise, any penny I place over the table is as likely a part of willful oppression as it is poverty's diminishment.

One can do no better for the working poor than to tell them to go cold turkey. Fuck that commons. Regarding the mother who cashiers at Aldi - running to and from stocking the shelves every time another customer brings his booty to the checkout: No matter how I choose to live my life, I couldn't deliver unto her the privilege of choice any better than I could convince a Democrat to vote for Cynthia McKinney, or an SPDler Sahra Wagenknecht.

Or maybe I could. But it sure as hell ain't gonna be by shopping at mother-fucking Aldi or forming a union. The union makes us strong, but what about those who aren't us? Has this strength led to the ability to more effectively share the same? If the movement from FDR to LBJ was so empowering, why does it have no critical mass? Why is it not sustainable?

While I'm grazing the subject of the byproducts of indirect democracy: the aforementioned former Georgia congressperson and Green Party candidate for the Presidency of those United States has, not for the first time, noted the Libyan lie and how Bo Rama's policies are not good for Africans or African-Americans. But to get any kind of press she had to go on "a pro-Khaddafi television station" and the medium became the message of that story - with the mumbling implication of the black on black on black nature of her criticism.

But as Fred Hampton would tell Ms. McKinney, had he not been murdered in his sleep by American law enforcement for the crime of not being the state: Putting a Black man in the White House don't mean shit. Not that she doesn't recognize this as self-evident; I imagine it was just her way of lampooning post-racial politics.

If you don't believe the obvious truth that the first and foremost and most probably exclusive reason to drop bombs in Africa is to enrich the financiers at the top of the pyramid, then you probably believe that the snot trickling down from Mister Moneybags' nose will lead to a better society as long as "the middle class" gets its greedy paws on it first.

There doesn't have to be an Illuminati to make this so. The simple fact is: the most powerful, official governing bodies on Planet Earth are throwing their weight behind "the Libyan rebels" in the same fashion that the Carlyle Group and associates (or the not willing to disassociates) ordained Hamid Karzai successor to the Taliban - and as a consequence the newest breath of freedom to endure.

In short: It is not even a remotely tenable argument that "at least it will result in ending tyranny". What is happening now in Libya and what will emerge from it is quite exclusively and intentionally all-inclusive collateral damage. If democracy arises from the ashes, it will be taxed to fund more collateral.

_______________

As anyone who reads my other pages knows already, I'm off to Tuczno. Come along if you can find the way and 're into that sort of thing. I'd bring a waterproof tent.

Goldener Tschüss der Weinführerin: a heroine's guide to heroin

2011-07-24T17:12:00.006+02:00

Too many supporters of the decriminalization of marijuana take the wimpy route when it comes to harder drugs. Needle exchange programs are a political taint, no matter how well they achieve their aims.

But hard drugs like smack and crack don't create hard criminals; the criminalization of drugs creates them. Sure, many cokeheads and/or junkies are assholes you would rather not be around, but drunks aren't exactly good company either.

And don't tell me about your best friend who stole from you to support his habit. If the shit had been available at the liquor store for the price of a bottle of Jim Beam we wouldn't be having this conversation. Just imagine the CIA having to make deals with the likes of Nestle as well as Afghan farmers.

Before Dame Winehouse's autopsy results are revealed, we cannot say for sure whether her death was an overdose. I will state with no uncertainty before the fact, however, that even if she did take the golden boot out, that it was just as much the alcohol part of her addictive personality that ultimately did her in.

Scan a list of those famous for substance abuse and you'll find a lot of them having drowned face-down in water or face-up in puke. And nary a one wasn't drunk first. Talk about a waste: I cannot imagine anything that would ruin a perfectly good heroin high than being all liquored up.

The other common denominator you'll find on the Fiend of Fame is old junkies who wouldn't die. William Burroughs isn't the only one to live into his eighties. And though Del Close died in his sixties, emphysema killed him, even if it was a morphine drip that put him out of his misery. As a matter of fact, the list of junkies who kicked alcohol to live into retirement is a hell of a lot longer than the number of rock stars who croaked at 27.

die Fälschung

2011-07-21T14:49:00.001+02:00

Allusions to conflicting interests and the press' willingness to play along, framing the debate thus: Merkel finds Kozy's planned 0.0025 percent tax on all European banks' assets risky and would rather not have taxpayers carry the brunt of the next Greek bailout.

In case fractions aren't your thing: Twenty-five ten-thousandths is two-and-a-half one-hundredths or, twenty-five cents for every hundred euros.

Merkel's pretend implication has to be that the banks would just pass the cost along in the form of an additional fee to their customers, because the argument that it has anything to do with freeing or seizing up credit is by now laid bare: Lenders lend when they wanna, whether or not they have the money. It's one of the perks of being a lender.

So Kozy plays all "We gotta make those darn banks share!" while Merkin counters with "But that would hurt Mom & Pop!" while no one with any decision making authority dares to say that it is all the same money either way: Otto and Else Normalburger, happening along, are not going to be able to pick the shell with the pea under it, even if they get three tries.

So we gotta spare the banks the imposition of investing in their own future. Care to guess how much they're getting in return for the last "rescue package" - Greek Tragedy, part I? Really, just take a guess; because the answer you'd get from a ruling parliamentarian would be "That depends." or "It won't be that bad."

How bad? Let's just say that that quarter-on-every C-Note that was bandied about as a way to achieve half of the capital needed to keep the Greek Isles from going the way of Atlantis - and, as a result, knock the Earth off its axis and send it careening into a big black hole - is forty times less than the pile of profit that'll be divvied up come bonus time - whether the money is actually there or not.

You do the math. As if.

From the Bottom of My Heart (you'll find my liver)

2011-07-16T18:34:00.003+02:00

Classic about this pic: I didn't black out his eyes!

I always tag these as "fotos von davidly", which is misleading because that category includes both photos I have taken myself, as well as those I have found and altered for my own amusement.

I ~~stole~~ drug&dropt this one from Arianne OnLine®, who in turn, I assume, is paying the organization who paid the photog who had the guts to stare long enough into Rup's soul to capture an image of it.

Summarizing: I only give credit where due credit has been given in a manner that I recognize.

In Dependence of Despair; and of the Image Nation

2011-07-04T17:39:00.001+02:00

Life, at least the living of it, is but bureaucracy as far as I tell. I don't recall signing the contract, though I suppose one might say that forgetfulness of the law is no excuse. And I furthermore take into consideration that, with every vague undertaking, I've established some implied consent.

Therefore, herewith, and henceforth, I would like to inform the authorities that I do not consent!

I awoke today - not with the intention of living life to its fullest. Quite the contrary. I awoke today with a singular, aching desire, insofar as desire is a part of anything other than my most primal instincts. Better stated, I awoke today with an aversion. I awoke today not wanting to have to bother with life and all that the living of it brings with and against it. As a matter of fact, that is how I awake every single, dreadful day.

Lest it go unnoticed, I view every single day as dreadful. So the implication is certainly true, that there are no days upon which I awake with any other feeling than that of a feeling of dread and despair.

Let it forthwith be here so noted that this has been issued in writing.

Yet life would have me believe that I have a choice in the face of this nagging dilemma. And that choice involves carrying to the likely conclusion the question that is. That is, that most-dreaded question, even more dreaded than waking up on yet another dreadful day: of whether or not to be. But the problem is: I already am!

And I wanna see the contract! Even if I don't remember signing it, which I don't, I should at least be able to refer to its contents so that I know what my responsibilities are.

Now, of course, with that request I have peeled the red seal from the can of worms. That is, after all, what life is, idn't it?

O say, can you see,
Life is bureaucracy,
Of a contract you signed
One you think you'd remember?

Though it's implied each day,
As you appear to stay,
Through the thick and the thin
From New Year's to December?

And that dread and despair,
Insofar as you care,
Hides truth of your plight,
End it all? You don't dare!?

O say, does this body of
Matter still crave
O'er life a victory,
Or into it to cave?

Dying Surfers: actually, time machines

2011-06-25T13:42:00.005+02:00

"The more y' drive, the less intelligentcha are." The quote had finally made real sense. Which is why we got a special laugh out of it. That, and for having just survived a dangerous maneuver. Passing someone on the two-lane highway on the way to San Fernando, La Union, may have become routine. But this was my first time. And I didn't have control of the wheel.

You loved that mini-truck. I remember when you got it. You were gonna "get the fuck away from this place" every weekend if you could. You just about did.

But, again, that was my first time. Away from that place to the land of the soulful. Away from the base and her aswang of the soul, deretso na! Thanks for taking me along. And for teaching me how to surf. Which led to another near-death experience. For me. And your boogie board.

But there we were. In your truck. You trying to pass someone and get back over before we smacked someone else head-on.

Was that before or after that weekend when what's her name was with a guy who pulled the same move? As I recall they were following a rabbit bus's lead. The bus got back in time. They didn't. A classic on that road. The guy driving made it. She was the passenger. Like me.

But you could see what you were doing, 'cause we weren't following a bus. I don't know if that's to your credit or not. It's funny how the person you're passing will speed up, even in situations such as these. The feeling in my belly as you got back into the right lane just in time was like almost falling back in your chair while feeling your back pocket missing a wallet to the power of five.

You liked to talk about that movie Band of the Hand. Because you related somehow to the put-upon outsider, faux-punk kid. I guess we were both outsiders. In the chute shop, whether in front, or in the back with the rafts and preservers. Certainly on Clark Air Base. Maybe even in Angeles City. But we didn't always have the same taste. You were a water going freak. I was just along for the ride. And what a ride it was!

We both liked Repo Man.

And then you said it. And it was true: The more you drive, the less intelligent you are. Relief. And comic relief.

Fuck, Ruford. If it weren't for a different kind of whimsical surfing, I wouldn't have heard. I don't suppose it matters. It's been a long time. I doubt I'd've ever seen you again or known otherwise. Were you doing something stupid when you hit the tree?

Searching around a bit more I found that you were doing what we'd been trained for and hated so much in the P.I. I wonder if you liked it. I guess context is everything. It certainly makes sense that you put it to good use. I still don't know what the fuck I'm doing.

I think now of your life. A whole life, really. Had either one of us knocked up an island girl back then, our offspring could've found the god particle by now. And in all that time, I still don't know where either of my god daughters are. Rachel and Lovely. Idaho? Cebu? Good thing I didn't have children of my own.

Did you and Barry and Anton ever visit after the PI? We lost contact after I'd moved to Chicago and then they to wherever. Probably 'cause that fucker Barry is as bad as I am about such things. I should've been more proactive about it. I miss them too. But 'll probably never see them or Rachel or Lovely or Naia again.

It still produces wonder in me to think that a life - your life, wouldn't've just begun the next time I saw you; that time exists for everyone within their own universe of experience; that had we run into one another, it wouldn't've been news to you that the Terminator had been governor; that catching-up involves two, or neither one.

Salamat po para showing me how to catch a wave.

Baptism on the East China Sea
I remember how you told me that they measure the waves differently over there: from the backside surface upward, instead of trough to crest. Which made the size of the ones we were trying to catch-- well, I was trying to catch - all that much bigger in the translation.

So there we were: you, a few of your homeys, and me, floating on our boards, waiting for the next worthy wave to roll in. Which'd've been fine, had we just been waiting. But we were bs-ing. Me probably just trying to fit in, or not stand out at least. I don't remember.

All I remember is you guys saying something like, "There it is," and paddling off. It couldn't've been more than a half-a-sec before it hit me. At least I got to see it first. I turned around to look where "it" was and there it was. How odd that you guys caught and rode what smacked me like wall of wet cement.

And down I went. Like a sack of that same substance. But not for long. I hit my head on the reef just when the undertow jerked me back away from the shore. That scraped me a bit. The momentum spit me out of the water, reminding me that I was no sack of cement.

Had it happened faster, maybe I could've caught the next wave. Instead it caught me. And so we repeat the process, during which time salt-water refilled my nasal passages and the thought came into my battered noggin: How many more times might this happen?

SMACK! PLUNGE! RRRIIIP! WHOOOSH! Cough-cough-spit pluh pluh. Repeat.

Fortunately just that once.

If the doggy-paddle had been my favorite stroke, now I didn't have any choice. I'd been beat. What I did to get back to dry sand could best be described as a limping version of swimming. Even when I got to shallow enough water, I didn't stand up. But then I had to, finally beached. And there you were. Sitting there. Waiting for me.

Thinking back to it now, I realize you were doing your best to express concern and look out for me, yet play it down at the same time. I love the way you gesticulated with your arm for emphasis when you said, "Let go of the board, man!"

It was a little late for that, but I appreciated the advice in case there ever was to be a "next time" for me to have to let go of your board.

That whole spin cycle in the water, what seemed like minutes, must have passed in all of a few seconds.

Did your final moments go as fast? Was being on fire as bad as drowning in a vortex, or had the impact already got you?

Why the fuck didn't you take those words to heart? The more you drive, the less intelligent you are. Until you die.

I'm gonna miss you, Ruford. Even if I was never gonna see you again. I'll never forget how you caught a tube at midnight on Christmas. During a full moon, no less! What can I wish for you? That, like Otto and Miller, you're streaking through the universe in a glowing Chevy Malibu?

Shoot the tube! Mabuhay (ang) La Union!

Ruford V. Nacino: May 13, 1967 - June 9, 2009
Sumalangit nawa ang surfing kaluluwa.

The Afghan Chalk Outline

2011-06-23T13:59:00.010+02:00

The story goes that Solomon, the judge, is presented with the case of one child claimed by two women. So he devises a plan (an ingenious one, according to Hebrew scripture) to reveal the real mother. He summons the power of the sword: Since there is no way of knowing which of the women is lying, the only solution is to divide the infant between the two claimants.

His sabre-rattling works. Not only does the real mother in this story immediately give up her claim to the child in order to save his life, but the liar - remaining true to all tales of triumphant vengeance - responds that, no, Solomon's solution is best, the bastard must be sacrificed. You see, she is cartoon evil, bitter and jealous, and only wants to deprive the real mother and licks her chops at the prospective bloody outcome.

This biblical narrative might have inspired Xingdao's and then Brecht's parables, the latter turning conventional instinct on its head, showing that the caring nurturer is not necessarily the biological mother. (I reluctantly add that all of these variations are scenically patriarchal with a misogynistic flavor.)

But how would this play out in the 21st century? How would the parties react to such a ruling today?

Easy. They split the difference, one party muttering something about not having much choice in the matter, the other party bickering about the weakness of the decision, both taking their dripping portion back to their respective corners, neither accepting their bloody responsibility.

Any motherly grumbling from this play within a play are staged as naive to political reality at best, or - if you care what Solomon really thinks - presented as professional retardation.

In other words: The only ones with any say in this Grand-Guignol are the cartoonish evil villains. All they care about is political reality. The "reality on the ground" is rhetoric to them. Even the court reporter sees the dead baby-halves as progress.

Not that there's no revenge. This being such high art, however, it remains to the theatre-goer's fantasy, their having been conditioned to crave such emotion. So vengeance is anyone's guess.

Here's your goddamn, motherfucking rule of law!

Broke and Still Fixin'

2011-06-19T14:53:00.001+02:00

The closest I ever come to begging is when I avoid eye-contact with the homeless newspaper hawker as I - slinking past him or her - exit the supermarket. Translated: If I do that, I am financially desperate.

Dennis Perrin has repeated a request for financial support, which by my interpretation can only mean that he really really means it. I'd also say he's earned compensation. And since I am currently avoiding eye-contact with anyone who even looks like they might be asking for dough, you might think that I'm asking you to head on over and be his PayPal.

But I have a better idea: Buy one of his books. If you wanna read about the manifestations of a crazed culture, there's American Fan. If you were more a fan of the original SNL, with it's Lampoon flavor, there's his much lauded Mr. Mike biography. And, of course, if you're not a thin-skinned liberal, still making excuses for the current White House who'd make the last one blush, then there's Savage Mules.

Speaking of doing the schlepp-work in the name of exceptional savagery, prescient Panetta knows how to stroke an emerging meme:

The next Pearl Harbor we confront could very well be a cyber attack that cripples our power systems, our grid, our security systems, our financial systems, our governmental systems.

Ah, yes, the Democrats and their Pearl Harbors and FDRs. Those were the good ol' days. Not like those crass Republicans and their 9-11s and Gippers.

With his orange-level like certainty, you'd think that ol' Leon knew about it in advance. Heh-heh.

Today's foto is from Jodie Rose who, with bridges on her beautiful brain, discovered that this "Berg" in Berlin really was one.

Everyone's Doin' Everybody Else's Act

2011-06-15T16:18:00.006+02:00

Lenny Bruce died on the 3rd of August, 1966. I was born eleven days later. If the postmodern-Buddhist pro-lifers are correct, that life begins at conception, then I am not the reincarnation of the man who talked dirty and influenced people.

I do have an appreciation for his act - and unlike so many of his fan/critics - especially the material in which he obsessed with his obscenity trial. It's all so meta-wonderful commentary on everything he ever brought to the stage.

“I figured out after four years why I got arrested so many times. Dig what happens. It's been a comedy of errors. Here's how it happens: I do my act at, perhaps, eleven o'clock at night; little do I know that eleven a.m. the next morning, before the grand jury somewhere, there’s another guy doing my act who’s introduced as Lenny Bruce in substance. 'Here he is, Lenny Bruce! ...in substance.' A peace officer - who is trained for.. to recognize clear and present danger, not make believe - does the act. The grand jury watches him work and and they go, ‘That stinks!’ But I get busted. And the irony is I have to go to court and defend his act.”

A master monologist can own a room. He or she has the ability to contextualize an issue using all manner of communicative tools at their disposal. All it took was for one person in Lenny Bruce's audience to land him in front of the judge; not that his ongoing problems weren't the result of an agenda.

In this day and age, no matter how skillfully someone works a room, they can be sure that one offended person in the audience will be doing their act via Facebook and Twitter, enabling others to cast their judgment on the original via the reinterpretation.

None of this is meant to be a defense of Tracy Morgan's act. I have seen a couple of things that have showcased his true talent; his stand-up routine is not one of them. If you don't know, someone at a show of his has at least partially quoted his routine, which many are saying expressed a vicious hatred towards homosexuals. Still, I refuse to read a transcript of someone else doing his act and come to any hard conclusions.

If I were to wade into that mine-pit, I wouldn't be the first person to make an observation regarding Black intolerance of homosexuality. But to treat that as a monster on its own does a great disservice to reality: White people hate 'the gays' just as much. Serious discussions of what it means to be Black and Gay, I'll leave to those who know at least a little bit about what that is like.

I suppose Tracy Morgan can thank the travails of those who came before him that his act doesn't land him in jail. That and the fact that folks from all walks of life harbor latent anxiety and hatred of homosexuals.

Now, as to the use of words and how they can hurt: Imagine Lenny Bruce having to defend this incredibly lame portrayal. Talk about not doing something justice in an attempt to dramatize. Lenny must be spinning in his grave, eternally trying to defend himself from Bob Fosse's cut of Dustin Hoffman's act. Dig.

Who Reads this Shit?

2011-06-13T18:15:00.001+02:00

Cursory analysis of the priNtin’t’fYT® media organization determines that "the New York Times sucks" or "they sold out".

I won't dispute those conclusions, but believe a more thorough examination is necessary to maintain healthy bitter insanity:

Mr. Obama, who enraged many financial industry executives a year and a half ago by labeling them “fat cats” and criticizing their bonuses, followed up the meeting with phone calls to those who could not attend.

Enthusiast Translation: Those fatcats sure hate Obama! Lucky for us he rode to victory on one-dollar donations via PayPal from university students and their grandmothers who phone banked and canvased door-to-door.

"Realist" Translation: Damn Campaign finance! We just gotta win one more time.

Actual Translation: Board meeting.

They manage to string together a narrative about an administration having to convince big campaign contributors that they haven't been betrayed, and the first couple of paragraphs consist of language intended to convince voters that they haven't been betrayed:

The event, organized by the Democratic National Committee, kicked off an aggressive push by Mr. Obama to win back the allegiance of one of his most vital sources of campaign cash — in part by trying to convince Wall Street that his policies, far from undercutting the investor class, have helped bring banks and financial markets back to health.

Enthusiast Translation: He sure tricked those fatcats! They'll probably fall for it again! LOL! GoRama!

"Realist" Translation: It's just for show. Behind the scenes they are working for legislation with the kind of teeth that take a while to come in.

Actual Translation: They showed them their portfolios and said there's more where that came from.

As I mentioned last week, intelligent people believe that presidents sell out for the election, but if they can just get to a second term, they'll be free to obey their conscience, unencumbered by reelection concerns. This view defies logic and all evidence to the contrary, but so it goes.

And precisely the contrary is true. The second term is when things like Gramm–Leach–Bliley come as easy as spooging on a dress. I really don't see how someone who'd been raped with NAFTA barely out of the gate could believe otherwise. Must be a disease of the politically self-aware.

Back to priNtin’t’fYT® - you have to go to page two of the same article to read the message where the high-stakes gambler is addressed:

The campaign is also courting prominent Wall Street figures who could serve as Mr. Obama’s ambassadors at firms known for leaning Republican: Lenard B. Tessler, a managing director at Cerberus Capital who donated to Mr. Romney and Mrs. Clinton in 2008, and Hamilton E. James, the president of the private equity behemoth Blackstone.

Translation: Don't waste your money again. If you think our donors are doing well now, imagine how you'll make out after our reelection.

Now: beneath, between, and behind all of this, depending on which direction you approach it from, my actual translation is superficial. But that is another wrinkle in the Image Nation.

Angie's Recognition: Ominous Freedom

2011-06-11T09:55:00.001+02:00

She had heard that Americans had a tendency to discuss the most personal things with those whom they had only just met, or had hardly gotten to know. And although Angela did not understand all of what Hillary was saying to her, she sensed that something more sinister was missing from this bizarre tale of depravity...

This pictorial complements yesterday's entry.

United Kingdoms

2011-06-10T16:56:00.008+02:00

TAZ journalist Dorothea Hahn reminds her German speaking readership that, while Tuesday was Angela Merkel Light of Freedom to the World Day at the White House, there is always a piss-break's amount of time to meet with crown princes:

The President reaffirmed the strong commitment of the United States to Bahrain. He welcomed King Hamad bin Isa Al Khalifa’s decision to end the State of National Safety early and the announcement that the national dialogue on reform would begin in July.

"Both sides" in that conflict are encouraged to come to a compromise. In Libya, on the other hand, we are to believe that ballistics prevent bloodshed, and their leader's call for a cease-fire is seen for what it is: A transparent attempt to hold on to power.

Gadaffi, who once overthrew a king in a bloodless coup, is a legitimate target. As are his family. A king faced with the same kind of opposition force and who responds to the protesters with the same tactics as Gadaffi has: bullets, imprisonment, torture? He's a "long-standing partner".

If you are a protester hoping to oust your oppressor, the placard that'll play best at the Western Democracy Black-tie Dinner Circuit is 'My Country for a Kingdom!'

It strikes me that big-ass FREEDOM only knows two responses to tyranny: State recognition or bombardment.

UPDATE (at least the fourth so far): Okay, I am aware that there is at least the third option of saber rattling which may include sanctions, blockades, boycotts, any combination of the above.

And as I said yesterday, money dictates the response to such matters. So what's my point? I guess I don't have one. Though I would rather diplomacy include none of it. But that's a silly proposition for the biggest arms manufacturer in the world. We need manufacturing jobs, right?

You are getting very sleepy...

2011-06-09T19:11:00.006+02:00

In, like, completely regular mainstreamish news:

Libya's main opposition group appealed Thursday for urgent infusions of cash from foreign nations to help support the rebellion against Moammar Gadhafi and said a meeting of countries backing NATO's military mission over the country would be a "total failure" if financial assistance was not forthcoming.

Shoot first, ask questions later.

Your President is a Tyrant (&btw also terrorst)

2011-06-09T14:50:00.010+02:00

It's funny because it's true. Jack Crow says it brilliantly enough, but I'll put my own spin on it anyway. Or call it emphasis.

I'm gonna cheat and steal a couple of excerpts, because as Lupe Fiasco says at the beginning of the video at the bottom of this entry regarding social media: People don't go to the links. First Jack Crow:

Barack Obama is the president. It's his administration. These are his policies. He's the commander in chief.

His response to the crisis in Yemen - a crisis caused by the US backed militarization of the Yemeni state, transforming it into a dependent client in the War on Forever - is to...

...militarize some more.

I would only add that Libya, with full support from NATO and tacit support from non-participating nations like Germany, is virtually the same. The only difference is that they are putting their money on the guys who are still willing to give it back.

Money dictates all relationships. Period. There is no other factor. You can't have oil without the money. You can't have trade without the money. You can't kill people without the money. At least not legally. And so it goes.

Bo Rama doesn't care about "the rebel forces" or which side is gang-raping whose innocents. He, like his clients, cares only about ensconcing the side he's got his money on. Those Libyans looking to get out from under the boot of the tyrant are only desperately changing boots.

Again, as the truth Crows:

For this, Obama escalates direct US attacks, in full interventionist mode, in order to take advantage of stasis, crisis and instability engineered by the government of the US, and specifically the Obama Administration.

That makes Barack fucking Obama a very specific thing.

It makes of him a tyrant.

Pretty simple really. That he seems like such a nice guy in person has nothing to do with it. Not to the recipients of the payload at his disposal.

And since the progressive policy wonks and junkies can't keep up with the ever expanding military machine, all they can do is tweet their wavering beliefs regarding where tariffs should be, what Krugman thinks, or how "we need a jobs program".

And this is only if they aren't already blogging their fealty to the master with claims that "we are on the way". Though I hafta say that I prefer the latter to the ones who excuse their milquetoast journalism with "I have repeatedly criticized this administration on..."

The other night Bill Maher was fantasizing about (I swear to god) "what the president will be able to do once he gets his second term". What a funny guy.

To continue to try an' choose the lesser of two evils is simply an attempt to ease one's conscience, to postpone one's cognitive dissonance, to shift the point at which the trickle-down begins, to jockey for a better position in spite of knowing that there are those in the worst possible position imaginable and accepting that nothing is going to change that - so I gotta get mine (for the already wealthy Bill Maher, legal weed).

To downplay the significance.

The modern manifestation of democracy can be summed up with: Money dictates your relationship to the world. Give a homeless guy a buck, live with yourself for a day...

In the video below, the artist known as Lupe Fiasco says:

To me the biggest terrorist is Obama in the United States of America. For me, it's like I'm trying to fight the terrorism that's actually causing the other forms of terrorism. The root causes of the terrorism is the stuff the US government allows to happen, and the foreign policy that we have in place in different countries that inspire people to become terrorists.

This used to be the most popular foreign policy position amongst progressives under the previous American administration. Though they weren't calling themselves progressives then. Then they were Democrats. Now (apropos postponing cognitive dissonance) they refer to themselves as Progressive Democrats. If they'd only start a new party, one could choose the lesser of THREE evils! Not that that is gonna happen.

Lupe Fiasco goes on to say - much to the shock of his trending host - that he doesn't vote.

If I'm gonna say I stand behind this person, and write on a piece of paper that says, 'Hey, I stand for this person,' then I have to take responsibility for everything that he does, 'cause that's just how I am as a human being. Right? So, politicians aren't gonna do that. Because I don't want you to bomb some village in the middle of nowhere.

And in response to the interviewer's question as to what might happen if no one voted, he says, "Who knows? Let's try it out and see what happens."

Now that's what I call Rockin' the Vote!

But I do already know the answer to what would happen if no one voted: Nothing would change. As in: STILL, nothing would change.

Only money makes a difference in today's world. Maybe the money isn't real, or defined by those with the most of it. But those who dictate monetary policy are the dictators. And the last time I checked with America's endorser-in-chief editors at priNtin’t’fYT® media inc., the dictators are the tyrants. The dictators are the purveyors of state terrorism.

So maybe with the knowledge that it's the money that is the root of all evil, and in a desperate attempt to assuage some vestige of conscience, one might still assert that the president is neither tyrant, nor terrorist. Well, in that case, no president anywhere is a tyrant, and the terror is all in your Image Nation.

Honestly? I'm with Fiasco and Crow on this one.

Dick und Doof erzählen Witze

2011-06-07T21:26:00.006+02:00

Unfamiliar with "Dick und Doof"?

Flyin' 'n' Weinin'

2011-06-07T19:50:00.009+02:00

Writers want readers to get what they are getting at. With the briefest of setups and a quotation, fellow Naptownster by birth, Dennis Perrin, triggered a neural receptor that would have led to laughter had it not been for the concurrent cringe chemical which killed the urge. He paints a painfully vivid description of why I don't care to be locked in a flying tin of American-made meat:

His voice rises a few octaves. "And to those military personnel aboard, we thank you for your sacrifice and patriotism."

_________________

And lest anyone actually believe that some kind of anti-establishment hero has been taken down, I am posting excerpts from NY Rep Anthony Weiner's Wikipedia site, with my translation following each one:

Weinerpedia
He sought to become a television weatherman, but his interests turned towards politics, and he became active in student government.

Translation
Something steered him in another direction.

Weinerpedia
He started a program to put at-risk and troubled teens to work cleaning up graffiti.

Translation
He assisted Giuliani in Disney-fying the more vibrant New York art scene.

Weinerpedia
Weiner is known to be one of the most intense and demanding members of Congress. He often works long hours with his staff fact-checking documents, resulting in one of the highest staff turn-over rates of any member of Congress, including, at one point, three chiefs of staff in 18 months.

Translation
He forces his staff to remain at work while he fucks off at the computer.

Weinerpedia
Weiner has said that a public option “gets you some of the way” towards reducing costs...

Translation
He also agreed with his president - who never had any intention of signing a public option - that selling out to the insurance industry is a victory for "the perfect not being the enemy."

Weinerpedia
...and set up a web site to push for the public option in HR 3200.

Translation
He sometimes had more than one tab open on his browser.

Weinerpedia
Weiner attracted wide attention when, on February 24, 2010, he proclaimed in front of Congress: "Make no mistake about it, every single Republican I have ever met in my entire life is a wholly owned subsidiary of the insurance industry."

Translation
He decided that including Democrats in the statement would be too bipartisan.

Weinerpedia
Weiner voted for the authorization to use force in Iraq in 2002, which he later said he regretted. In a conversation with talk show host Bill O'Reilly on The O'Reilly Factor, Weiner proposed a withdrawal from Iraq.

Translation
Having his cake and eating it on television, he insured that he'd be the enemy of FOX viewers everywhere, solidifying his liberal cred.

Weinerpedia
In May 2006, Weiner attempted to bar entry by the Palestinian delegation to the United Nations. He claimed that Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas did not represent the PLO, and implied that this was because the group is listed as a terrorist organization by the US State Department. Weiner further stated that the delegation "should start packing their little Palestinian terrorist bags." Weiner went on to claim that Human Rights Watch, the New York Times, and, in particular, Amnesty International are biased against Israel.

Translation
Israel takes precedence, even if it makes him look bat-shit crazy to almost everyone else.

Weinerpedia
Weiner, along with several other members of Congress, have criticized the Obama administration proposal to sell over $60 billion in arms to Saudi Arabia.

Translation
See, the Clintons have absolutely no influence over me!

Weinerpedia
Weiner is a friend of actor Ben Affleck, whom he met while Affleck was researching this role for the film State of Play, in 2008. "We got into a chest-to-chest shouting match over Obama–Clinton within about four minutes. Literally, people were outside the office wondering if they should go in and separate us," Weiner has said about one of their first encounters.

Translation
Theatre of the absurd: pretending like it mattered.

Weinerpedia
In June 2008, Weiner sponsored a bill that would increase the number of O-visas available to foreign models. Weiner argued that increasing the number of visas would help boost the fashion industry in New York City.

Translation
Has a raging hard-on.

Weinerpedia
Weiner voted against the Tax Relief, Unemployment Insurance Reauthorization, and Job Creation Act of 2010. He said the Republicans turned out to be "better poker players" than Obama.

Translation
Knowing they had the votes already, he continued to pretend that the president would have it any other way.

Weinerpedia
Weiner married Huma Abedin, a longtime personal aide of Hillary Clinton, on July 10, 2010. Former president Bill Clinton officiated the wedding.

Translation
"Family" loyalty recidivism on the most beautiful day of their lives.

Weinerpedia
By July 2010, Weiner had reportedly raised $3.9 million for a potential campaign in the 2013 mayoral election, and was considered a leading contender in early polls. However, his sexting scandal has caused this to be cast into doubt.

Translation
Maybe it's just a New York thing.

das Humanum

2011-06-05T15:02:00.008+02:00

I won't be riding in the big Sternfahrt this year either.

It's true that I used to cycle past the Siegessäule regularly, looking over my shoulder as I rode away, the foreground-background effect making Else look like she was really flying.

Those trips were largely inspired by this:

I suppose it is a shame that I am not moved to ride for the ride's sake, as I used to be. But today of all days is not the time to reintegrate one's love for humanity. Not for me.

You see, the risk is just too great that I will bemoan the Sternfahrt in the way that've led some to see New Year's revelry as amateur night. And it is all-too likely that I will look past the (potential) evolution in consciousness to the clouds: this makeshift pathway is in no way an improvement to the infrastructure, what with Monday morning's cross to bear.

As I told my brother in San Jose
I use my bike, point B to point A
Neither of them are those of a star
And I an angel, neither near, nor far

False Memory, Fake Life

2011-06-03T13:40:00.001+02:00

These dreams remembered are just bits of random data, recalled, connected, and constructed not in our sleep, but when awake. You did not dream that story. You made it up as you remembered it.

This may be just another cockamamie theory of mine, but it is not a radical leap in logic. For example, studies of the effectiveness of advertising have shown that every instance remembered is instantly rewritten. Memory is, in this sense, of the moment of recollection, stored data notwithstanding.

The advertising industry is filled to a large degree with artist wannabes who - if they still believe they have not given up on their dreams of creating something transcendently uplifting, unique, of their own volition - have managed to make themselves think that they are gatekeepers of the zombie machine, creating a better catatonia from within. The rest of them are more aware of their pre-emptive soul-killing battle for the human nervous system.

Long story short: Much Monday morning water-cooler reminiscence is less the discussion of personal response to actual shared experience, and more the result of ex post facto product placement. Colon-loads of TV viewers imagine themselves to have been part of the party depicted on their screens. More than a few someones actually remember drinking tiny bottles of Coke in a candlelit frozen valley of snow at Christmastime.

No wonder, then, that a number of the FaceTwat data-verse thinks that they "can even join in on the conversation".

Back to my pillow thought
I lay in wait as the dream-data flooded my conscious memory. For the first time (or so it occurred to me at the time) I recalled something from between two happenings in the dream: A thought; that is, I took note of something specific just after one thing happened and another happening was to take me away from the thought.

Why that occurrence seemed like a first to me, I can't say. The words "I remember thinking" are, after all, standard dream-recall phraseology.

false friends/falsche Freunde
actual: adj. existing in act, fact, or reality
aktuell: adj. current, up-to-date

So now I realize that if anything was profound about that thought, it must have been the thought itself, now forgotten.

"My"Space
I remember something more startling from another dream: I was not in it. At least as observer, I didn't find myself identifiable. Since that time, I have made it a point - as much as one can make a point of such things - to try and identify my physical self in my future dreams. So far, I have not been able to do so. Or so I would have myself believe.

The Image Nation: Serving Statehood

2011-05-26T13:07:00.005+02:00

There are so many other more important things to worry about, and there's nothing to worry about, except everything. And that's not so important.

- Concurrent with the president's promise to veto Republican expansion of president's willy-nilly war waging comes the ratification by the Senate of the further expansion of said president's willy-nilly war waging power? Why should I worry? I am neither the primary target of the corps of news' thought experimentation, nor am I being pummeled with explosive rockets. Talk about winning! And if the police beat down anyone's door, it won't be mine.

- New German defense minister declares that part of the reformed general mission is to be one of "securing the world's energy resources"? This, after one of last year's presidents had to resign for suggesting the same thing? What do I give a shit? I use energy. I am the world!

- Hyundai strike broken and US hard-on for South Korean trade pact? So what? I am my own union. The reason I freelance is so that I can say "No, thank you." while thinking "Fuck you."

- Cognitive dissonance finally too much for the johnny-come-lately "Brother" Cornell West - a man who still can't quite accept that his keeper wouldn't have it any other way? Why should I in a million goddamn years give a flying rat's-ass-fuck? I didn't punch the chad or grease the screen for an abstraction of platform policies only to be disappointed later; let alone have I spat forth the crumbs from my bag of triangle pretzels, screaming at those who so clearly belong to me the rationale that supports the idea that they just don't get it.

- On the heels of the Alpha Phi Rama celebration of Hitler's demise, Bibi Net'em Yahoo garners more standing ovations from the joint session than a Donkaphant could shake a Churchill-stained poop-stick at? I've slept through louder concerts.

- A 250 kilo aerial bomb unearthed from beneath my neighborhood bridge, halting traffic at a spot between two parts of the city that hadn't been closed since prior to the fall of the Wall? Big whoop. I got a bike and ride wherever the hell I want. And we all gotta go sometime.

________

All hail those who have long realized that it is either pointless or useless or both. Not fruitless, though. Fruitful is all it is. But there's so much goddamn fruit that most of it is rancid. Long live the Lord of the Flies!

The information flooding the system is the result of a wager. What you see is just metaphor. Something out there seeks resistance. Something else, submission.

Eschatological paranoia is fueled by an awareness that others are enduring a personal apocalypse now, and that none familiar with its cause should remain immune to its effects.

But this earthly existence has always been heaven and hell. Human disappearance from the face of it will be merely the result of the passing of events.

It's clear that this has been spreading, but who saw the triggers? Everyone did. What's next? It doesn't matter. It really doesn't. Just images and sounds and material disturbances. Turn the volume down. Close your eyes. There are no cues to follow, no marks to hit, no furniture not to bump into.

There is no vote to cast. There is nothing more to be said. It is what it is. And what it is is all in the Image Nation.

Two Choirs, One Cup

2011-05-21T23:57:00.002+02:00

Make-up of the Image Nation

2011-05-19T23:32:00.013+02:00

A couple of days ago, both Terry Gross of NPR and Jon Stewart of The Daily Show had a guest by the name of Annie Jacobson, an author plugging her book on Area 51.

The book includes tales of American nuclear testing during the Cold War, culled from declassified documents, all of which had "Area 51" blacked out.

How, then, does she know it's called Area 51?

That leads to the "creepy part" that Stewart drooled over without a hint of skepticism. But before I give you the money shot, I should point out that the rest of the story relies on her "only anonymous source", a person in whom she placed her trust because they had "worked together for eighteen months".

I'm sure at this point one might wonder whether or not her source could be believed. Allow me to point out that this woman, who somehow managed to get these two pretty good promotional spots in one day, had already once tried to pass off as non-fiction what was to turn out to be either a tale of her own questionable judgment, or simply her penchant for spinning yarns. On the face of things, the nature of her source is irrelevant.

First, the spoiler
According to her trustworthy turncoat, a former reverse-engineer-er in the employ of (redacted), a flying saucer really did crash in Roswell, New Mexico in 1947. But the source didn't learn about the specifics until the parts from the wreckage, including its passengers, were moved from Wright Patterson AFB to the secret location in Nevada in - that's right, you guessed it - 1951.

The aircraft, it turns out, was built by a pair of brothers, scientists of Nazi extraction. It seems that while the US was recruiting the likes of Werner von Braun and other choice beige-shirts, the Ruskies were busy getting some of their own.

Apparently Joseph Stalin was inspired by Orson Wells' famous radio broadcast which had been mistaken for a real world alien invasion by forefathers of The Jersey Shore; the Soviet secretary wanted to stage a repeat performance, complete with props this time. He had his ship. All he needed now was a crew.

Enter stage-right, Josef Mengele.
Stalin: Make me alien pilots out of children!
Mengele: Out from ze cheeldrens! I'm back, baby!

Add one part genetics and a liter of cosmetic surgery and Fahrvergnügen!

The kicker is, according to the source (according to the author (according to the book (according to Jon Stewart and Terry Gross))), this all had to remain a secret because the Americans decided that the whole creating fake aliens thing was a path worth pursuing.

Now, the real spoiler
Who is Annie Jacobson, and why should Terry Gross or Jon Stewart care?

Long version: Read the links. Short version: a woman with access to media who in 2004 wrote all about her fright-flight from Detroit to LA with a bunch a Syrian terrorists.

She detailed how they, one after the other, took sinister, clandestine trips to the lavatory and made ostentatiously secret hand signals when returning to their seats. What she didn't detail was that the air marshals on the flight feared that Jacobson's freaking out might have been her attempt to get them, the marshals, to blow their cover.

Later - when again at the merciful safety of her keyboard - she wondered whether a few might have to have their rights suspended in order to keep the many safe. What she didn't wonder was whether the passengers in question were able to make their connecting flight to Vegas after being interrogated and cleared by the FBI in LA.

What she managed to convince herself (according to her article in now defunct womenswallstreet.com) was that those fourteen shifty men were doing a dress rehearsal for 9/11 II. What she didn't find convincing was that their instrument cases contained instruments that they'd be playing that very evening.

Who is Annie Jacobson, and why should Terry Gross or Jon Stewart care? Occam's Razor demands that they shouldn't care. They're tools for their employers. Simple as that.

Viacom does a solid for Little, Brown & Co (or Hatchette Book Group or Time Warner Book Group or whatever), and the favor will be returned later cuz it's all good for the economy.

But if Gross & Stewart aren't up on their conspiracy theory, how the hell are they gonna know that this isn't just a new spin on an old tale? If the hosts of this gargantuan rotating round-table were to express the slightest curiosity, or bothered to google now and then, they'd know that it wasn't Mengele, but the Japs, man! And it wasn't just any ordinary kids, but kids with progeria. Wicked!

Guess that's too gross for Terry Gross, and too creepy for tone-it-down Jon. (Not to mention that any reference to the even dodgier source material might lead their audience to question what they are being fed.)

Meanwhile, all the other, um, formerly terrestrial networks and cable outlets, as well as news publications-a-plenty are taking a crack at Annie Jacobson. Not that anyone is noting her little terror tale from the nascent nine-eleven era or that her current conspiracy exposé is plagiarized from something nobody took seriously when it was published by Paraview just a few years ago. Think this garners a mention in The Daily Beast?

Like I said before: On the face of it, the nature of her source is irrelevant.

Tangling Webs

2011-05-17T21:36:00.003+02:00

I haven't seen much on the following; there's this French ex-pat bit here and in the TAZ (in German). Not too many seem to have picked this story up, which is already several days old. From the AP:

The French government has been tightlipped about the circumstances surrounding the death of Pierre Marziali, head and founder of SECOPEX Conseil... A rebel commander said Marziali was killed in an accidental discharge of a weapon as he was arguing about his team getting arrested. A statement from the rebels' transitional government Friday said four Frenchmen with Marziali were arrested for alleged "illicit activities that jeopardized the security of free Libya."

And the Expatica points out right at the top:

Libyan rebels said Friday that a French ex-paratrooper they shot dead and his four compatriots were not private security contractors but were in Benghazi to sabotage the anti-Kadhafi revolution.

And the German article also quotes the rebels as saying that the French security team was spying for Qaddafi.

When you're printiN' to fYT, things always look "murkier":

“We are very sorry for what happened,” said Gen. Ahmed al-Ghatrani, a rebel military spokesman, who blamed “gangs that the old regime used,” without providing additional details.

You gotta be careful when you're fighting the good wars, eh liberal media?

But you can't blame 'em for the lack of coverage on what seems to be a story about the only private military security firm in France being accused of double crossing the very people they were sent to protect by the President who got the ol' bomb dropping in Libya in the first place.

It's not the media's fault that Sarkozy's erstwhile competitor had to take his job to such a personal level.

And now that we know that the Governator was banging the help, I'm not even sure that's all that important.