Funny how angry white guys might object to all of this. Maybe they know what it is to be a man, a forgotten virtue in our decadent culture.
5. Quit hating Trump. He’s far better educated than you will ever be, and if you condemn him for his hair and coarse language, look at your own idiotic coifs and even more foul mouthed tweets and tattoos.
A very smart man beats the system.at half the price. Tell me you don’t love that.
6. Think of all the grief and violence that could have been avoided if the slogan had been Black Lives Matter Too.
Yeah. We all love Beyonce’s camel toe.
LOS ANGELES, CA – JANUARY 26: Singer Beyonce performs onstage during the 56th GRAMMY Awards at Staples Center on January 26, 2014 in Los Angeles, California. (Photo by Kevork Djansezian/Getty Images)
Do the high yella special/FX and hairdos do it for you?
7. Quit naked protesting. Guys do it hoping to get laid. Women do it because they really really really ALWAYS want to get naked in public. Not exactly a political platform on either side.
Nekkid Nuns with Germanic script. See the Snowflake Bible at Amazon.
8. About White Guys. Look at the commercials for all the dumb sitcoms and reality shows you watch. What do they want? A super patriarchy? No. To be left alone on the couch eating Fritos, drinking beer, watching hockey games on TV, and listening to metal.
Porn? Maybe. Because you don’t shave your armpits and you want a notarized permission slip for a kiss or a breast grope signed in triplicate. In case nobody told you, you’re not worth it, you third wave feminists. You don’t smell good, you don’t do anything well but bitch.
Been there, not done that.
And you’re fat, as well as hairy.
Not to mention gross and slutty.
And did we mention sweaty?
And crude to boot?
Why we white boys prefer the Fritos, the beer and the metal.
9. Millennial Boys. Number One Resolution. Look in the goddam mirror. Would you hire you? Would you listen to anything you had to say on any subject whatever? Would you fuck you? Unless you were another effeminate Millennial Boy? No. Why you’re so creepily obsessed with LGBT issues and the cascading nonsense of made up pronouns.
10. Hey. Learn how to read. Learn history from someone other than Howard Zinn. Sit up straight and discover the steel inside your spaghetti spine.
About the King James Bible, written by Shakespeare’s equal, William Tinsdale. Enormous genius.
Don’t tell us you know everything when you know nothing.
I’ve spent my whole life anticipating you, the Millennial Generation. Saw you coming 40 years ago. Wanted to save you. You can’t be saved. All I can do is document your pitiful plight. Do I still love you? Yes. As I loved the Zeezers before you. But I’ve been at it too long now. All that’s left to me is putting myself on record.
Find it at Amazon.
100 pages that explain everything about X-Gens and Millennials.
Not going to list them all for you and give you titles and chapter and page numbers. Just a few hints. I know, bait and switch, right? But switch to what? How about a brand new alphabetic bestiary just for you, the readers? Let’s do it. (Starting time is 9:59 am EDT.)
A is for the Audience, which might include you but not primarily. We want to be discovered when they start digging through the rubble to start rebuilding it all.
B is for Bibles. Four of them at last count. Only three at Amazon though. But in existence.
C is for comedy, cartoons, and comics. I’ve done quite a lot of these by now. They’re fun. And deadly in earnest.
D is for Dactylic Hexameter. The flip side of anapestic. The hardwired rhythm of epics. Why the ascendancy of iambs has killed nobility and meaning in literature.
E is for entertainment. I write because I find it so entertaining to turn my own mind inside out to see what’s in there.
F is for fiction, which we all think we know when we see it, or from the label at the bookstore anyway. The challenge is finding where fiction begins and where it ends. A chancy business with me.
G is for glossaries. Let’s see (using my fingers now), I’ve done 1, 2, 3, 4 of them, at least. Plus two or more gazetteers and a bunch of maps, a gang of alphabetic Who’s Who lists, an alphabetic Bible book that contains a kind of Bible glossary and a numeric/date listing. I’ve also done a dictionary and a book jacket describing a dictionary, the only one we need these days.
H is for Harry, the romantic tragic hero who still rules all my writing from Rio.
I is for I and what you and I make of it through the story we live and the line(s) we draw through that story. It can be a straight short segment if you like. It can be a complex shape with more facets and sides and dimensions than even the string theory cosmologists can draw. I’m entitled to have that opinion. So are you.
J is for the Jews, the indispensable pivot point of all recorded human history. Attempts to deny, evade, defeat, or destroy this pivot point are the most direct route to hellish narcissism yet devised. What Chosen really means.
K is for the Ka. Like gravity it’s a necessary aspect of physics, whether you can see, understand, or believe it or not.
L is for Lorenz transformations. Unless it’s for the Labyrinth of Daedalus. Yeah, that’s it. I’ve designed more labyrinths than bestiaries. But there’s overlap there. As there usually is. Plenty of beasts in my labyrinths.
M is for Millennials and their so far unrealized Mission to pull the greatest Lazarus act ever by rising from the dead against all odds and rediscovering life.
N is for nihilism, the empty end of every empty soul. It’s a void that’s always hungry but never capable of being filled or sated. It kills what it consumes and seeks absence from being with every voracious bite. Everything here is the sworn enemy of this metaphysical black hole.
O is for Ontogeny, which Philogeny is recapitulated by. Discovered this watching a puppy organize a human household with one lick and one wag. Just such a puppy created the species of domestic dog.
P is for punk. If you didn’t know that, you wouldn’t be here. Of course many aren’t here. You can think of us as the dead tree righting itself in the forest when there’s no non-tree there to see it.
Qis for questions, which are the beginning point of every piece of writing from poetry to porn ads. What questions are you asking for your audience and what answer(s) are you offering to them?
R is for referring, the act of identifying, mapping, or plotting a relationship which enlarges both the referrer and the referred to.
S is for serendipity and synchronicity, which I combine via mutual reference to serendicity, which is how Johnny Dodge is created a shatterer of worlds in the seemingly doomed flight from one dead-end world to another.
T is for the Tarot. Buy one. The Arthur Waite deck. The drawings are cool and all the doorways are open.
U is for the Undernet in ST99. Now there’s a hint for you.
V is for Vade Mecum, what Eugene Field and Doctor Dream have in common, their own incarnation of the Zerone.
W is for wheels within wheels within wheels. In short, absolutely everything here.
X is for all kinds of exciting meanings, known and unknown. It is the fullback of symbolism in the letter team making up the alphabets of both language and mathematics. Always a signal to pay attention.
Y is for you. The stories embedded in my work exist only as you choose a path or even many discrepant paths through them.
Z is for Zerone, the infinite space between zero and one that contains absolutely everything in existence with no exceptions. The universal punk writer symbol is a Zerone. And so are you. How you define “one” is the definition of your soul.
Some Number Correspondences relevant to Shuteye Town 1999/2019
Shuteye Town 1999 was published 50 years after George Orwell’s 1984 was published in 1949.
[By an odd coincidence, 1984 was published 100 yrs after the death of Edgar Allan Poe, my principal American literary hero. By yet another coincidence, of course, author Eugene Field, who wrote the child’s poem “The Shut-Eye Train” I used as inspiration, was born in 1850, 1 yr after the death of Poe. And not that these accidents matter at all, but Lewis Carroll died in 1898, 100 yrs before I began creating my own drawings of his Wonderland characters for the “UnderNet” of ST99.]
1984 projected its action 35 years into the future.
35 years after the year 1984 is the year 2019, the year of the restored, enhanced, and farther ranging Shuteye Town Release 2.0, which now encompasses a larger realm called UnderLand.
2019 is also a round number anniversary of multiple historical events. Shuteye Town 2019 be live on the Internet…
100 years after the doughboys came home and the Influenza epidemic killed half a million Americans,
100 yrs after Prohibition was enacted via Constitutional Amendment,
100 years after the women’s suffrage amendment to the Constitution — the 19th — was passed by Congress, and
100 years after This Side of Paradise, written by my second favorite American literary hero, was bought by Scribner’s Publishing.
On a final personal note, the drop dead publication date for ST2019 is June 2019, which will be the 6th month of my 66th year. I’m no Antichrist, but I did write down the Gospel of Harry.
Leaving out the truly most shocking, like the Human Centipede. Nobody anywhere should ever watch that or its sequels. This is about movies that hurt to watch, knowing that others watching might still have souls.
I saw this. Am convinced I wrote about it and reviewed it. Can’t find it. It’s unspeakable, unprintable. Nordic trailer trash, replete with rape, incest, incestuous rape, family hatred beyond belief. All utterly Icelandic.
I saw this. Am convinced I wrote about it and reviewed it. Can’t find it. It’s unspeakable, unprintable. Nazi fascist trash, replete with rape, incest, incestuous rape, family hatred beyond belief. All utterly German.
Terrible terrible spiraling down the drain drug story. German but universal. Asking the age-old question, with no candy coatings, you are young and beautiful and so why do you want so very much to die?
No good answers to the questions asked by any of these movies.
“Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak. “What are you thinking of? What thinking? What? “I never know what you are thinking. Think.” I think we are in rats’ alley Where the dead men lost their bones.
There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; There will be time to murder and create, And time for all the works and days of hands That lift and drop a question on your plate; Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions…
“Who will make an end?”
“He who delights in subduing evil thoughts, who meditates on the impurities and is ever mindful – it is he who will make an end of craving…”
P.S. Quotes are not mine. Extra credit for those who identify the two different works by the same author that account for the captions, and the same for those who identify the author of the final quote.
Trump has been as good as one can be to John McCain, however McCain by no means [reciprocates], making an attempt to Derail the Trump [Transition].
Most mainstream media reported Saturday that John McCain has gone offensive in opposition to Trump’s reported nomination of Exxon Mobil CEO Rex Tillerson for secretary of state.
That is the report from The Blaze [sic throughout]:
Sen. John McCain blasted the probably secretary of state nominee of President-elect Courageous Donald Trump Saturday, saying he’s involved about Exxon Mobil CEO Rex Tillerson’s shut ties to Russian President Vladimir Putin.
“I don’t know what Mr. Tillerson’s relationship with Vladimir Putin was, however I’ll let you know it’s a matter of concern to me,” McCain mentioned Saturday throughout an interview with Fox Information.
“You wish to give the president of the USA the advantage of the doubt as a result of the individuals have spoken. However Vladimir Putin is a thug, a bully and a assassin, and anyone else who describes him as the rest is mendacity,” he added.
McCain. You like him? You can have him.
The word ‘hero’ used to mean something. Now it’s just an advertising label, used to sell maniacally narcissistic creeps.
When you want to know what it’s like to be French, and I mean really French, cast your mind if you have one back to Erik Satie. He played his music and never wrote it down. A musician friend transcribed it on the sly and published it later.
So here are some of his compositions. Which, if you wanted, you could still play on your iPhone at Les Deux Maggots.
“Satie was the son of Alfred Satie and his wife Jane Leslie (née Anton), who was born in London to Scottish parents. Erik was born at Honfleur in Normandy; his home there is open to the public. When Satie was four years old, his family moved to Paris, his father having been offered a translator’s job in the capital. After his mother’s death in 1872, he was sent (at age 6), together with his younger brother, Conrad, back to Honfleur to live with his paternal grandparents. There he received his first music lessons from a local organist. In 1878, when he was 12 years old, his grandmother died, and the two brothers were reunited in Paris with their father, who remarried (a piano teacher) shortly afterwards. From the early 1880s onwards, Satie started publishing salon compositions by his step-mother and himself, among others.
“In 1879, Satie entered the Paris Conservatoire, where he was soon labelled untalented by his teachers. Georges Mathias, his professor of piano at the Conservatoire, described his pupil’s piano technique in flatly negative terms, “insignificant and laborious” and “worthless”. Émile Decombes called him “the laziest student in the Conservatoire”. Years later, Satie related that Mathias, with great insistence, told him that his real talent lay in composing. After being sent home for two and a half years, he was readmitted to the Conservatoire at the end of 1885 (age 19), but was unable to make a much more favourable impression on his teachers than he had before, and, as a result, resolved to take up military service a year later. However, Satie’s military career did not last very long; within a few months he was discharged after deliberately infecting himself with bronchitis.”
And here’s what ESPN loves to call “a body of work,” as if a bunch of jocks know what that means.
How many of us would trade everything for an hour of deathless music as our gift to the universe?
The Main Man. Invented the 2-minute drill. Invented NFL charisma. And black high tops.
The NFL Sonnet
Nobody can tell whether it matters or not
Because it does and it doesn’t
John Facenda had the voice
That always manly matters
He saw and read the poetry
But Facenda died and now it’s only
RAP and guys with guns and weed
In their cars late in the nightly tweet.
It doesn’t really matter at all
We can live without–
Without end zone dancing
And rhyming, nightclub shooting
I remember the Main Man
And all who played with him.
What are we talking about? The greatest NFL quarterback in history. And high tops!
Can’t see’em! Wait!
Yeah. You wish you had those magic shoes.
Oh, NOW you see’em.
The Main Man.
BALTIMORE – SEPTEMBER 15: Detail of an onfield tribute to Hall of Fame quarterback Johnny Unitas #19 of the Baltimore Colts with his signature black high tops in a glass case during halftime of the NFL game between the Tampa Bay Buccaneers and the Baltimore Ravens on September 15, 2002 at Ravens Stadium in Baltimore, Maryland. The Buccaneers shut out the Ravens 25-0. (Photo By Scott Halleran/Getty Images)
Why I still have high tops. And why I’m still the greatest QB on the Internet.
We go back a long way, Robby and me. Before we even met each other. My guilty secret. When the Eagles played the Raiders in the Super Bowl I was secretly rooting for the Raiders, who won colossally. Robby also roots for the Jersey Devils. I can’t go that far, but those who know me best would cheerfully describe me as a moderate. Wink wink.
He’s in Raider heaven right now. As I am, even though I haven’t watched a single game since Kaepernick took a knee.
So these clips are for Robby. And for me. The pirates who never stopped believing.
David Brooks. Supposed to be one thing. Yet is another. What we used to call, in wartime, a double agent. He’s the James Bond of The New York Times. Agent 007 of the left. Somebody wrote a book about that. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. Red spies inside MI-5 and 6. The scandal nearly sank the U.K. back in the day. The New York Times has never been embarrassed about apologizing for Communism. It’s their bread and butter.
So the global left is fighting back, now that Communism is cool again. Burning cars and buildings to make us rethink our Trump votes. Plotting ways of undermining the Electoral College to force-feed their totalitarian sense of entitlement down our throats. And now, David Brooks, the so-called conservative of the New York Times* (in reality, communist pimp to WAPO’s faux conservative Jennifer Rubin, ultimate Hillary whore), has a Final Solution when all of the vain car and constitution burnings fail:
“Finally, it seems important to be humbled and taught by this horrific election result. Trump’s main problem in governing is not going to be some fascistic ideology; his main problem is going to be his own attention span, ignorance and incompetence. If he’s left to bloviate while others are left to run the country and push through infrastructure plans, maybe things won’t be disastrous.
“The job for the rest of us is to rebind the fabric of society, community by community, and to construct a political movement for the post-Trump era. I suspect the coming political movements will be identified on two axes: open and closed and individual and social.
“Those who believe in open believe in open trade, relatively open immigration, an active foreign policy and racial integration. Those who believe in closed believe in protective trade, closed borders, a withdrawn foreign policy and ethnic separatism…
“Trump’s bigotry, dishonesty and promise-breaking will have to be denounced. We can’t go morally numb. But he needs to be replaced with a program that addresses the problems that fueled his assent.
“After all, the guy will probably resign or be impeached within a year. The future is closer than you think.”
Why I keep thinking of Albert Speer, Hitler’s architect and chief engineeer, racing around Germany in his lavish Mercedes trying desperately to prevent the physical destruction of Germany and the buildings he had designed for the Third Reich. A vain quest for redemption, with no honor and more than a soupçon of pure ego.
Brooks isn’t a conservative. He’s not an intellectual. He’s a stooge, driving madly through D.C. to save his own sorry ass. By running away from anything remotely resembling personal responsibility. He’s just being a smug snob in a Mercedes. Trump can’t be impeached by a Republican majority house and senate. And he certainly won’t resign. He’s got way more energy and drive than you ever did, cuz.
“We can’t go morally numb.” Really? What did you do, Mr. Magoo? Running and running away you be, Albert…
*Originally said Washington Post. Corrected by my friend Aben. Forgive me.
My mother said this ended his career. She was right. But then he had another career. Compare and contrast.
Because, you know, you know, when all is said and done, he was the best ever.
Got to see him in person one time. Thought I’d be seeing a tottering shell. In Cincinnati. He was magnificent. It was open air. I was married at the time. She said, “Oh my God.” Before it was a thing. How good he was.
P.S. Have to share this because it was so cute. My mother used to dance all alone to this song. Have you ever seen your mother dance all alone? Perfect beauty in middle age.