(Wherever they "stashed him". . . . . .)
Can I rant in here, man?
One sec. . . . . .
It's good "to get out of the bunker" and the the spirited arts n' humanities, even if left-wing social realists such as Jo(e)seph Jones and all artists "of that stripe" are a bit "moping", "langouring", "and dreary". . . . . NOT EVERYTHING can be like A THRASH METAL SOLO.
Lots of kindly, quirky, pretty gals who looked imminently on the side "of coffee dates" with violet berets, easels, organic oat-muffins, with a dash of chocolate n' blushing cheeks like the lost streets of Paris and the sun streaming through the curtains like curled cats n' the Western feng-shui of carved stone arches, if not Madonna n' child-- the bastard da' Venci holding up a wine glass in salutation. . . . . .
(-- I 'vift FOR YOU, my 'lil 'Vinona. . . . .)
The energy of the canvasses and photgraphs shot back and forth with swirling, churning gnosis of muse-woman-Calliope-understanding of the (Di)-vine-fruit consciousness like the shooting, tingling singals transmitted through a fiber-optic CABLE; the fax-machine "of the GODS" as the artwork and my eyes exchanged information THROUGH PACKETS OF LIGHT "and left impressions upon each other"; of energy, consciousness-- and shimmering soul like the dance of the muse.
Like religious "Prayer Circles"; trans-substantiation of matter & energy "like soul conductors"; in the divine radio symphony orchestra through the horse-hair baton-waved opera house of inter-steller space, the explostion of galaxies "like fireworks" on a muggy 4th of July night. . . . .
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R6dm9rN6oTs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=28khv-BydeY&feature=related
Funny ='s Money (@ "Quibble-Ville" here)
Beyond
"Kaynofabee". . . . .
GET OUT OF MY WHITE HOUSE. Unless you want to be
filmed like a shivering 14 year-old in a stolen "debate-club" suit ducking out
behind MASTER'S SMOKE-SHED. Perhaps "by bayonet-point" you'll "play along" as
Tom Metzger lumbers into the frame "in a Grand Dragon" outfit and joshes ya',
before letting you "scurry out of the frame".
Whether or not this satiates "the blood gods" of some Military-underwritten coup d'etat, or is just winking "family entertainment" on Monday Night RAW. . . . . the public needs to see this, and is something only Lee Atwater, Karl Rove, n' Roger Ailles could dream up, 'cept JACKED-UP ON STEROIDS!!!!
So much of the aura n' myth around John Gotti, George
Steinbrenner, n' Donald Trump is "that they were putting you on" like a
rolicking, half-insane FREIGHT-TRAIN impetuous with its own momentum that could
"probably stand a beating or two", like when Vince Neil of Mötley Crüe "got
carried away" with his own impetuousity, "blatting his glottal stop" about drugs
n' girls n' ROOM SERVICE if not "despair of everything" until 'DA TOUR MANAGER
slugged him hard in the face "and sent him hobbling off", apparently "a better
man" for it with a meek padding down the hall. However, ole' Vince had absolutely "no collection of the affair" the next
day.
(-- or "so he says")
Much like the funny story of how Jim Hegel, the man behind "The Ultimate Warrior" mask threatened not to go out "ON THE BIGGEST NIGHT OF THE YEAR" at Wrestlemania VII unless Vince McMahon dumped an obscene sum in his bank account. Whatever the brutal, trash-lot world of limping "might-have-been's" and strobe-lit super-stars, this was VERY UNPROFESSIONAL and the way to have handled "such moral terrorism" was to take three or four "Knights of the Round-Table" and threaten to break his legs back in the locker-room.
Beyond hemming n' hawing and squeaky-voiced "defense lawyer" finery like a skinny, shaking wrist "petitioning THE ORDER OF THULE for grievances", you make RON PAUL seem like "a good German" and Sarah Palin a stalwart of Wotanistic intelligence.
http://www.wired.com/magazine/2010/12/ff_angrynerd_geekculture/
Now, listen. I checked out that January '11 issue of "WIRED" and sometimes I
wonder if some lunatic like myself has a way "of tilting
the news" as the biggest, meanest kid on the block-- "THE
HACKER" with the most toys, "the best taste", and the most
MORAL CREDIBILITY-- if not
AUTHORITY-- and what I sense here in "The Patton
Oswald mea culpa" is that it's basically the cries of "the weak" &
"out-classed" TRYING TO PULL ME DOWN IN MY VERY MIGHTINESS;
when, back in those gawky, awful trash-strewn days "those awful, geeky,
fish-eyed
BASTARDS" probably wouldn't
HAVE THROWN ME MUCH OF ANYTHING, 'cept a tip of da' hat and a "see ya'
later". Now, part of me thinks it's SAD how a strobe-lit
champion like Hulk
Hogan took his big, mighty tanned thumb AND SQUASHED ANY
ATTEMPT AT COLLECTIVE BARGAINING down there at the ole'
World Wrestling
Federation-- whether or not Vince McMahon told him "WHAT A
HUGE SUPER-STAR HE WAS" and how HE WAS UNWORTHY OF
"TAKING A PAY-CUT. . . . . but the fact is, for years n' years
YOU DISRESPECTED US WITH YOUR GEEKY, INFERIOR PRODUCT
and told us, basically-- "that we had NO CHOICE"
down there with the slipping, lost, inferior road of sliding CROWD-SOURCED OBLIVION
as the culture only went FROM BAD TO WORSE with
whatever sort of parsing, equivocation, n' black, sucking, sticky soda-hole of
your bastardized, fucked-in-the-head pot-scuzzy
MINDS. I am
not held by the existential bounds OF YOUR INFERIOR GEEK
MORALITY & WILL THROW YOU OFF INTO THE ROARING TOWERS OF FLAMES AS WOTAN THROWS BACK
HIS HELMETED VISAGE N' LAUGHS AT THY COWERING, COUCH-BOUND REBUKE. Death to the
liberal insect. Starvation to even more pitiful specimems of stand-up comics.
FUCK YOU ALL!!!!!!!!!!!
"Your chosen profession was "but a BAD
BET". . . . . You must learn to adapt and sharpen thyself
WITH GUTS n' DETERMINATION
that I'm trying to teach you up here. Morever, we must all find
THE COURAGE TO LIVE and DO
BATTLE WITH LIFE in all of its glorious Nietszchean
ferocity with the courting of fine women, great jokes,
AND THE EXULTATION OF LIFE. Anything other is fit
to be strangled, stomped, ridiculed, "and driven-off back into the cock-sucking
reeds OF DEFEAT". I AM
WHAT WOMEN WANT. I am TRIUMPH; I am
VICTORY; I am the Aryan
Christ. . . . . and you make me sick!!
In what makes me strut around here like Adolfous: "Lion of the North"-- I teach others THOSE SOUND, HONEST PRINCIPLES found in the spirit of play "and doing the right thing", but not bound to the scummed-over, lumpen, chunky-style sugar/glazed/cracked DEMENTED-HELL'S which others try to place me under in your rotted, dying conception of but "a false-life" which I DO NOT IMPOSE ON ANYBODY but only your bleats, dodges, cries, vagueness, and cloudy-reasoning deserves a Wotanistic wink "from his good eye" (-- his "other one" focused on the eternal blackness of time n' space) and whack you on the back with the flat of my sword n' "a boot to the bottom" with this benenvolent, yet-authoritarian SCOLDING from he-who-possesses MIGHT through RIGHT of nature, happenstance, luck, if not titanic destiny that looks upon thy petiferious gobbling AND THROWS YOU OUT THE DOOR WITH A "SQUAWK".
I do not live by the philosophy of "The S.S.": ruling over others, brutalizing them "to the utter far-driven, tortured margins of existence" like some whipped, mourn-faced, grunting beast-thrall of quasi Slavic-extraction. . . . . though it could be said THAT I WAS GIVEN FAR-LESS LENIENT TREATMENT BY YOUR SO-CALLED PROGRESSIVE FORCES "OF BENEVOLENCE". What's your excuse? I don't have one-- except the genuine charity in my heart for the less-fortunate. That is, by telling them what they need to know IN ORDER TO SURVIVE IN THIS CORRUPT, DECADENT WEST BROUGHT ON BY THY VERY WORLD-DENIAL IN THE FIRST PLACE.
And considering that you all "mocked me" and "attempted to pull me down at every turn". . . . . why should I be in a particularly life-denying mood for my otherwise eternal and undying reign of glory n' otherwise far-fetched caffeine-driven bullshit? That is, for ADOLFOUS to lower his mighty crown and let thou snap a lock over his muscular neck SO YOU CAN LEAD HIM AROUND and have his teeth pulled, his claws plucked, AND TURN HIM INTO A CASTRATED DOTARD.
Yes. . . . . a liberal man. A "putty-man". A loyal DEMOCRAT. There, but for fortune-- piddling down "with the slime of humanity" as you continue "to whip" and "brutalize" me with scarcely a table-crumb of regard, nor an inkling of intuition, FOR THE RISING CALL OF THE CTHULU FROM FAR BELOW.
I look upon all this, on some level-- with supreme Ceasearan skepticism, IF NOT CONTEMPT-- and would throw you to the war-dogs to fatten the red, rising sun of the morning BATTLE-WHOOP, the circling hawk, and the scavangers and hook-nosed cynics feasting upon thy carcass of oblivion.
You are but a boil upon a festering, riven erruption OF A ROARING HEART.
A MAGGOT upon a pile of stewing shit.
(I'm liable to change the name of "The Show-Me State" to fuckin' NEW JERSEY!!)
&
("GO WEST", young men!!)
