"Hey, Rick Rubin-- How's the Karma?". . . . . You were always a very mysterious, unfathomable. . . . . . perhaps EVEN DANGEROUS, sort-of-lookin' guy to me with the squalour of New York City tenements and curb-side "hustle" and unholy Kabbalistic-merging of that elusive mystery "of hip" like blooming lotus clouds of incense and pot smoke and neo-Eastern mystery and black Jamba-juice "SOUL" and chicken-necked beatniks and a thousand gnarled, scratching obsessive-compulsive squid-eyed neuroses with pulp magazines and the chopping machetes of the sugar cane fields off in Fidel Castro's Cuba. That's certainly "one way of looking at the world"-- that of course, is VERY VIBRANT-- and it is interesting to note that for all I glorify in "Conan the Barbarian" and other roving "Teutonic concepts", that itself sprung out of the cradle of New York City with a lot of different influences stirring around. But there is another land, say that of the rugged, clear-eyed outback of the Colorado spring water where young men wander like cowboys and pole-cats. . . . . . who consume the cultural product, the heavy metal and country music with the stars you've worked with-- but would not understand the subtle influence of the guiding hand "and where it comes from". Perhaps an exchange needs to take place-- a cultural ambassadorship-- so the common misunderstandings don't need to be any more riven than they already are. "Grok" the issues, the fallacies, the argumentative "dead-end's" as a milling Red-State mob ranges from indifferent to outright terroristic in a country "going through tough times". Defuse, deflect, party, laugh, toke. Rock n' Roll. . . . . "The American Way"!!!

"To Mr. Karr-Krash". . . . .

For all your morbid, shock-rock media antics this side of John Wayne Gacy, you make Andy Kaufman with his alter-manager "Tony Clifton" look like upright, moral Americans. It's awful when we're already "fringe characters" as it is, but this kind of cheap bid for outrageous attention "only blows you the fuck out into space" like H.R. Giger's "Alien" with "good riddance", relief, and applause of the mass general audience who do not chortle "at dead baby" jokes-- even if they are 6 year-old JonBenet Ramsey-types in clown-like make-up taking part in nouveau-riche pageants out on the bared-teeth range where bristled-mustached Sherrif's deputies follow a trail in the snow, "and size it up" like a bludgeoned otter.

Even I wouldn't sink that low. . . . . but your record speaks here.

"No one disputes the idea that movie-goers can tell the difference between celluoid and objective reality". . . . . however, one may only get "one side of the events" with an artistic work "that takes a lot of creative license", in a sea of market considerations "and peer pressures" whether amongst the writers, studios, culture industry, or potential audience at home "to be WITH IT" instead of what is truly germane to either a more fair-minded telling, or what is a bit more "socially-responsibile"-- when sometimes the self-serious effort toward such an act becomes its own joyless, liberal piety "that is applauded" by a stacked panel of judges.

In the words of Duke Nuke'Em. . . . . "BLOW IT OUT YER ASS!!"

Break in the Routine. . . . . on the Gaza Flotilla Incident-- From what I've seen, this coverage has been slavishly "one-sided" in order to strike back for years of repressed "slights" which is not particularly fair either, once you have "a mission" of scowling, earnest idealists going "bring it on, man"-- and spoiling for any excuse for a fight. My impression, much like "Kent State", was that the activists were provoking the soldiers with an intolerable assault in an already heated (inter)national atmosphere. The pendulum of hyper-sensitivity to a powerful lobby has apparently swung the other direction in recent months with some egregious stumbles on Israel's part, but what should happen is a constructive readjustment to fair-mindedness and honest journalism, not this token agitation-prop to appeal to the swarming anger of Muslim populations "who can only hear one thing".

The very essence of a state is integrity, or the will to police its borders and not to give its tacit blessing to defiant interlopers by air, land, or sea to indirectly, by the nth degree of separation-- abet and aid terrorists, if not a howling population "that supports them" with political votes "and underground capital" to menace the citizens, business, military, and infrastructure of a nation. It is the defintion of why The United States continues to hold a presence in Iraq and Afghanistan, and whatever the lack "of political will" that affronts the decadent attitudes of many people of modern Western nations-- it is yet the cowardice that cannot face "the crime and terror" of their own cosmopolitan capitols of sump-like world-denial, and ultimately "splintered-doors" of anarchy's howling winter and blood-stained snows. Those who seek to embarrass "with provacative political theatre" fool only the most beastly, simple-minded, and degraded of humanity's impulsive, ecstasy-seeking hordes living out simple lives of short-changed principles about as ever-lasting "as today's newspaper".

(Go fellate a yak)

Had anyone been "listening in" on a certain conversation yesterday, they would realize that my friend is a "motormouth psychotic" with delusions of "James Bond" grandeur-- that REAL INTELLIGENCE OPERATIVES don't blab over an open line "with quite so much gusto", and certainly "dress sharper". For the man "who can't find his keys", he wears a chain. . . . . and then loses the chain! Enuff said?

"The Supreme Joke about Rolling Stone, MTV Youth Culture etc."-- it's that most of this mentality is the kind of stuff that would appeal "to a 12 year-old" with perhaps an older teenage brother living in the house, remarkably "like Chris Farley" as it played out in many dens of faux-mature "significance", anxious about "the school dance" and the deep stabbing poles "between moonswept chasity" and "one-liberating-metamorphisis-under-the-heroic-pathos of teenage expectation". The trade in symbolage and currency just underlies "the aggregate misery of all", "how there are no true winners", how the adults who come back to teach and lead "pretend to know what they're talking about" with oblivious, gung-ho pitches about "a wishful future" that most find highly-suspicious. . . . . as it all washes away with the floods, slender tendrils of courage that could not withstand the peer pressure of self-interest, if not cajoling of parents and society WHO ULTIMATELY DIDN'T KNOW WHAT THEY WERE TALKING ABOUT. But in hindsight, did anyone?!

"I am not here to cater to your neurosis". . . . . because personally, I have gone through the wringer OF ALL OF THEM. I know the tricks, the traps, the overabstracted fictions-- and worse of all, the cognitive dissonace "when reality doesn't square" and we find ourselves avoidant, living in sentimental "fantasy-lands" of how life "never was". For instance, there's the good ole' tradition of "scholasticism" or the argumentation "over how many angels can dance on the head of a pin" in the marketplace that may only confuse and confound most-- but as a stiff breeze picks up and children play, it may soon occur that nobody or anything is going to fly down "and solve this"-- not unless it is turned into a surreal, clever little farce that only a seasoned, third party could fully appreciate beyond "this useless quibbling". Yet oftentimes these questions are played out "before the Supreme Court" with disasterous results when the lawyers and judges and elite applauding the decisions are insulated "from the consequences", and thusly "HAVE NO IDEA". 1st Amendment, free market principle mixed in with a heady dose of liberal, "Civil Rights" rhetoric pays off "for some of us" as smart, hyper-verbose "bullshit artists" who dazzle with glorious pictures "of angels, pins, Woodstock, Einstein, and Jimi Hendrix"-- but once someone rises up to challenge "this pretty picture", this "King of Equality"-- cracks the whip and calls their "fitness" and "overall equality" in question, for not going along with the herd of "free thinkers" and not dancing to "the tune of the piper", whether or not this colorful mischief-maker realizes that he's leading them "TO OBLIVION" to make himself "look better". Down in the muck of ungraceful human material, we may "cheat" to come across as way more "mysterious and unfathomable" with intellectual "cherry-picking", such as rustling off in the furthest bush and coming back-- but SO MORTIFIED when folks retrace our paces, or laugh, or don't care-- and once more we fall flat on our face "out in the open", an awkward "little death".

Watch what people DO. . . . . not what they say.

A grand understatement-- yes, with a nod-- is to see. . . . . how our ole' pal, Louis Rukeyser started way back, as a hungry, shifty Wall Street urchin who managed to con his way onto the solo seat "of a public affairs program" in front of a camera and evidently convince others "that he knew what he was talking about"-- gradually morphing grandly, magnificently into the role we know him for "by calming down" and developing the ability "to wink at all of this", plus truly being an expert in his field "with an ability to weigh" like a chess master "who never lost his cool", perhaps understanding to the degree "that we are all overgrown children"-- and true grace is achieved by how well we accept this objectively "and let it go". . . . . never being above gently hopping around the set in a pink Easter bunny costume "as the season would dictate", as inevitable as aging "or the tides".

Yes. . . . . one knows that they could have probably benefited from having this guy around, mixed in "with the primal scream" of Sam Knison for life's jammed doors "when one was never A LOYAL FOOT SOLDIER nor a TRUE BELIEVER".

When we always secretly KNEW that "The Swedish Blitzkrieg" would tear the gizzard out of "The Mighty Ducks", the slavering wolf's jaws of neocons, apcocalyptic Christians, and oil drilling lobbyists up against the silly quacking of a lame, waddling GOOSE. . . . . when the Nazis will always have the socialists plucked, cooked, and eaten with a bib around their hairy throats.

It's like a 12 year-old before the summer of middle school getting hooked into a band like Metallica, first drawn into their vaguely criminal, highway-man like imagery by some other boys off at summer camp. . . . . hopping around his room with great cerebral gravity and delinquent implication to their big, mainstream radio-friendly release. And then wishing to mystically "complete his collection" by having his mother drive him down to "The Sound Warehouse" box store in a brown Honda Accord with the sweet smell of cracked leather seats and New Age coffee where he immediately gravitates to their debut, the rawest, most offensive-looking "source material" offered on the shelf.

He takes it home, unpeeling the wrapper in anticipatory awe in the car at the ominous pall of mayhem, and when he pops it to the kind of lil' boom-box that only a 12 year-old could own (-- wanting to think of himself as a casual wheeler n' dealer in teen audio) he doesn't understand the grating racket. In fact, it's FUCKING GOD-AWFUL. And would be about accessible as the sound of a lawnmower, except "instead of doing his chores" he likes getting into "the role" of being delinquent. . . . . fancying that when school starts, he wouldn't turn in HIS HOMEWORK. And drink beer.

But over time, he would "begin to take this stuff A BIT TOO SERIOUSLY" and perhaps fetishize some of the pathologies of nihilistic, criminal culture. . . . . like say, "THE MOB". When you must understand, dear reader-- that much of this stuff comes down to a bunch of shady urban legends and the equivalent of 20th century "folk tales" on low-lit movie sets "of little Italy" as shoddy and pathetic as "the honor among mafia dons", which you won't find "in great quanities", other than trying "to live up to an expectation" but having the compulsive nickel n' dimin' dishonesty of an old grandpa in a fedora, mustache, and purple cape filching salt packets from a fast-food restaurent "as nobody notices" and he snickers with a hacking cough. . . . . truly, "a six-pack a day" habit.

And like a nervous, hungry young urchin-- I questioned, fearing "that I was losing THE FRESHEST & THE BEST FOREVER". . . . . wondering who I was, and what I should be doing before the great halls of tradition, searing brazier of a morphing youth culture, and an illusionary sense of 1960's-style "counterculture OKAYNESS", mortified "that anyone would find out" how desperately lost and insecure I felt with a niggling mind of objection, protest, and yet another raised finger "of wordy interjection" like trying to negotiate my way out of "the loom of the grave", but yet only finding myself "with a bag of rotten apples" instead.

Which is why I always wish to reassure women "a few years older" that they really haven't lost "all that much" with their wonderful beauty, and most of this becomes "a self-fulfulling prophesy" of the aggregate weight of compromise "over the long haul" when they have merely "sold themselves short" as they move about in life with a vaguely haunted, anxious look "as if the fuse is burning short", when you can always bury that "rot n' death" of the soul and have a far finer, fresher growth of revitalization, change, and God's grace. Wino(a) forever. . . . . or your "cougar" back.

To Cousin Jennifer--

What you don't realize about that boy of yours, "this little professor" with an autistic spectrum disorder that we call "Asperger's Syndrome"-- which makes him incredibly gifted in some ways, yet woefully "underweight" in others, is that you don't know what you have there. Yes, they are not quite naturally "graced" with "the emotional or social intelligence" to know how to handle themselves out there "with others"; in fact, you might even call it a pervasive developmental disorder. Yet with an incredible, laser-like focus "and obsessive attention to detail"-- oftentimes "boring others to tears" as you and Dad sit there exasperated, "not sure quite what to do with him"-- is that with the proper training and resources it's kids like that who grow up to take over the world. Once the kid acknowledges the ways "in which he's underweight" and makes a radical committment "to bulk up" like a hot-wired "soap-box derby" project between a marine/ninja/bodybuilder with an intense, self-driven course of study like a monk, or a Nizschean prisoner.

You can think of conversation as a bit "of a blues jam", say two or more folks trading solos back and forth on and ole' porch. Much of this is improvised-- yet plays "within a key". . . . . or in a box of notes, that depending on a few factors "a bit more complex" such as chords-- plays within say, seven scales that is relevant to "that key", yet falling within "that same box of notes".

Many folks with Asperger's Syndrome may confine themselves, to say-- two scales without "a great deal of emotional complexity" and have a hard time "readily switching keys" as "the jam of harmony" requires, others quickly losing patience though he is doubtlessly an enthusastic, if clumsy-- if even "tone-deaf" musician who must train "his ear" to catch subtlety by reading up on theory "and observing". . . . . practicing every chance he can get with that laser-like focus until he can become a screwy, off-kilter virtuoso "in his own right". Remember, that Ray Charles & Stevie Wonder began BLIND-- but with natural aptitude and human potential "creeping around roadblocks", plus the fact THAT THEY WORKED LIKE MOTHERFUCKERS, along with some lucky breaks-- "it speaks for itself".

**********

But the boy "must gradually leave THE GREEN ZONE". . . . . like my parents failed to introduce me to the concept thereof "over time". As a slobbery "little beetle" who fought everything, plus the fact they knew "I had it hard enough"-- these very liberal, nice, post-McGoverniks "were too lenient", and perhaps led "the little monster along" with flowery promises that "really couldn't come true"; not so long as A) Your attitude is that FOUL and B) Times change to become "less conducive" to those promises anyhow.

And besides, even at a young age-- one figured out how to creatively "mortgage their future", but oftentimes ending up right back "in debtor's prison" with dark, yet hilarious accidents before they'd come up with yet another "creative financing scheme" to slide right back on the road "to Easy St." before getting JAILED AGAIN. Once more, ole' Mom n' Dad would bail out my fat, crying QUASIMODO ASS. . . . . chastened, temporarily "wisened", yet NOT FOR LONG-- before another "pathetic incident" would come along and I'd be rattling the bars, gripping my teeth, and howling like an animal.

But finally, one would be thrown down into "debtor's prison" once more-- and be spooked by some of the inmates in there, "bad boys" and "the malingering" and "the insane" AND WOULD SURE NOT WANT TO END UP BACK DOWN IN THERE.

So one would go back home, and start investing "in real estate"-- the property of ideas with the honest sweat "of hard work", that looking back-- were pretty shoddy at the time, that didn't know "the true value of a dollar" nor "good craftsmanship" but for being "that young", was AN HONEST TRY.

But over time, one would fall for the crazy temptations and pinwheels in this culture AND BEGIN TO GET GREEDY, and once more revert to some creative "accounting tricks" that would somehow justify to myself "how on paper I WAS A MILLIONAIRE". Well, I started living opulently, with great decadence and disgusting flourish-- "like a prince" with my dubious "paper value" in a society already suffused with much ambiguity, license, and illusion-- until "reality's audit" arrived AND CLEANED ME OUT.

I lost everything. . . . . "the crown jewels" of mystery and wonder going for 11¢. If you could imagine a stinking bum out in the gutter, and folks "waving a cork under his nose"-- offering him "a cake doughnut & a beer" to star in "BumFights", thinking it's going to give him "a shot back at the big time". . . . . that's kind "of what it was".

More schemes, fortifications, retrenchment, a towering mountain OF DEBT that eventually collapsed LIKE A GNARLED, ROTTEN, FUCKING CASTLE. . . . . that would have been so ludicrously, tragically hilarious if I didn't simply hang my head and wish to drive home in silence without my naive, grotesque Jewish flake of a mother pecking at me, and emphasizing "the obvious" like lung cancer. . . . . or MAYBE A TERMINAL DISEASE OF CRUSHED HOPES as I scritched my neck toward her and suggested "bitter peace".

This may not be, when you think about it-- a story too different than what practically every last American has faced recently, left holding A GIANT SACK OF SHIT. Maybe mine came "a bit early", before CHRISTMAS MORNING when it dawned on everyone that none of us came out of here LOOKING PARTICULARLY GOOD. Yet, having "the existential right" to smirk, or perhaps "play possum", or to know that no one "can squeeze blood from a stone" even as you flake off chips with a whittling knife and fling it in their direction, as your creditors or nagging Jewish mothers eventually "get the idea" that it ain't going "to rain blood on their pestiferious demand", and with a wink-- no posse "of cowboys" need to misdirect their vitrol "and go riding in on JEW-TOWN" when to put it quite simply: EVERY SCAM REQUIRES A WILLING SUCKER, and every pity-pot-- A FUCKING ASSHOLE, even a half-Jewish "bullshit artist" like myself for many years.

     (Don't piss off this guy)

"On why, in hindsight, 'DRAW (X)-OHMMAD DAY' was a piss-poor idea". . . . . you must understand, that this is like "burning the flag" in front of a World War II veteran or the kind of Weimar depravity and silliness that gave rise to the Nazis. Or in the East, this is like not "bowing"-- or spitting in the face of THE SHOGUN. May I tell you, that riots broke out in 19th century colonial India when rumors starting mutually going around both Hindu and Muslim conscripts that the rifle cartridges that one uncapped in their teeth were either greased, depending to the taboo of your cultural HORROR-- with cow or pig fat "which was A DIRECT TICKET TO HELL", which added MORE FUEL to an already spreading insurrection-- as volatile as THAT WAS. This has about all the nifty humor of trying to feed a Muslim "pork rinds"-- or shoving meat up the asshole of you withered, self-abnegating "vegetarian types" who love to take "principled stands"-- no worse than you idiotic feminists, who with drawn faces-- liked to go on "rib-exposed HUNGER STRIKES" and all-and-all, "didn't know how to party". So with the frippery of your stupid "South Park" principles, know that "when push comes to shove" you won't BACK THEM UP while the far right-wing or its equivalent IS ALWAYS WILLING TO MURDER TO ACHIEVE ITS ENDS. Who do you think you're fooling? Some squid-eyed leftist "may bicycle-up and drop off a pipe-bomb" in the dead of night or some piteous-eyed "cat people" may join "Animal Liberation Front" but ultimately you're into "the romanticism of feeling" instead of the blood-lust OF CRUSHED SKULLS. . . . . and mostly feel sorry for yourselves like the left-wing pussies you are worthy of being subsumed IN THE HOLE OF OBLIVION, ultimately-- by the wrath YOU PROVOKE like the howls of ghoul-eyed HELL. Recently, Noam Chomsky was denied entry into Israel-- they should have worked him over with rifle butts as an example to the rest of you out there WHO FUCK WITH US. Or maybe just boot 'em playfully in the ass, but the only place where a leftist belongs is as entertainment, a whip-cracked "circus beast" for the amusement of smart-asses "such as myself".

"Zang! Zoom!"/ "Whiz! Bang!"-- and other such appeals that would perhaps catch the attention of the off-kilter and "morbidly down-and-out" who only had the time to dwell in that sad "splorch" of dispirtedness that would look down at some far-flung science fiction/fantasy sort of "Amazing Stories" pulp rag by some dubious, fly-by-night "bullshit artist" type basically living out of a suitcase with half-eaten sandwiches on a desk in some New York City, or perhaps a Los Angeles row-house as he clacked out a feverish line of ingenius, if half-plausible, if always high-flown declaration with the snap of "build-a-better-mousetrap" hokum that sold in the age of anxiety, conformity, fear of "eggheads" and "complexes" and "psychoanalyis" in the subsonic rumble of Cold War drift between the slow, titanic tension of nuclear superpowers.

That's the true orgin of your "Church of $cientology", if not most other "far-out" cults of the 20th century. Happy? Read about my experiences with the damn thing here and perhaps laugh along.

(Even Marina Sirtis from "Star Trek" would be laughing at this)

"You know there, my ole' pal GLENN BECK"-- In this festering right-wing hole WE ALL KNOW SO WELL, much less the one of nose-dived ratings like a host of sword-clanging MEGA-DETH, some things become apparent-- like some sycophant second-in-charge named "FRANCO" or something addicted to the power of "THE REGIME", strutting around like a tin-horn fascist. . . . . namely, that always the system seeking "the dry whiff OF CREDIBILITY" the arm of schools and government and even police departments (read here) "will cheat" and "cook the books", completely losing "the spirit of the original intention"-- no worse than those silly left-wing idiots you set out to oppose with this "illusion of ACCOUNTABILITY" that ultimately PUNISHES EVERYONE in this sewage "of bad will". . . . . even as cocaine is ever more flown into the country and seedy Cuban/Jewish exiles take bites out of mayonaise-slathered Reuben sandwiches down in sun-soaked Latin Miami with samba snake-like beats, politically-untouchable by whom will ultimately prove to be you RIGHT-WING COWARDS who cannot mention their name, lest you offend sensitive, leather-faced constituents pumping their fists in the air with squeezed-lemon expressions, dark circles under their eyes like the gang of sinister ghouls we all know ourselves to be, across all races and cultures. . . . . who will plow through popularly-elected leaders "or those who get TOO CLOSE", because we understand "what is what". . . . .

Oliver Stone "and the like" may have THEIR PARTY, but ultimately-- for what it is worth-- they may stick their films and books and conspiracy theories UP THEIR ASS for what is eternally unchanging; yet majestic, subtle, and just-- otherwise set up against the whining of adolescent "liberal insects" who may yet provoke the fascistic jack-boot they secretly yearn for against the bullshit of this democratic cosmopolitan CHAOS "if they don't watch their ass". . . . .

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