honoring time by passing it by

This is an interesting “homage” to a gun-smuggling member of Congress. It’s compelling in and of itself, but the story has been sanitized of any unsavory details of the undoubtedly sordid reality.

I Want to Believe? This bunk left me speechless.Complete with pedophile priest,the tortuous tale knows no restraint as it devolves into cartoonish ridicularity. I Couldn’t Believe is what I’d call it.

Three stars for Chicago backdrop. Otherwise, this shallow yarn has all the elements necessary for the rote mediocrity to which we have grown so accustomed.

Oh! you’ll hate this one.Drug-induced hallucinations inspired tortured representations of the landscape. Nudies and Bluies romp about to find a path to strife and violence. You’d rather see Maude’s bush

Pure tripe with small hero constantly fighting bigger and bigger “monstas” using more powerful weapons and “splosions.” Standard drek in the anime genre. Uninspired and substandard animation. Skip it.

Interesting multi-perspective brings to life the chaos and lawlessness in what is modern Iraq. Shocking and pathetic, it makes you question just about everything about this occupation.

Standard goo-guy/ ba-guy HK film with requisite brooding cop with dead girlfriend anger screaming for revenge. Some shooting and ass kicking, but nothing you haven’t seen except one guy is invincible.

This movie is rather tripe. Its promise of senseless violence went largely unfulfilled and I so hate being duped. It was as if a bunch of mongoloids decided to become vigilantes. That’s this that is.

A madcap and mildly predictable brit-romp, (avec midget), but overall enjoyable. In fact it was so good I don’t ever want to see it again, but rather remember this midget flick fondly.

Like most Freedom films, this one is a slice of life piece with grand drama manufactured from something mundane, in this instance, the death of a rummy. Wanted to give it 3.5 but rounded up for style.

Excellent human docu-drama. Draws you in to its alien world where the blatant bias and unfairness will leave you surprisingly indignant. This is an excellent piece of work about a Piece of Work!

Another dissolute music man who couldn’t deal with his talents or vices. Much too dissolute. This guy drank himself to death. At least he didn’t make himself a fat spastic.

Excellent and interesting overlay of the involvement of Western powers in the Middle East since WWI, culminating in the “Peace to End All Peace.” Recommended viewing for today’s citizen.

Dull back-lot production riddled with inconsistencies so obvious that a zombie could have picked them out. 30 days? BS! These clowns wouldn’t have lasted 10 hours if this thing were properly written.

Interesting take on the “zombie” movie, i.e. an excuse to shoot people without guilt. I liked the filmcraft and movie- within-a-movie format the director utilized. Otherwise, uninspired writing.

Rote blarney about a “Nazi super-guy” who is infused into a ship somehow. This couldn’t have more macho- and testosterone-laden stereotypes if it had been penned by SpikeTV or the Pentagon. Truly awful.

Everyone loved this movie. I did not. I thought it was dark, dull and pointless. It just didn’t interest me at all. Hungarian cinema can shag off if this is what they have to offer. Disappointing

Looks at life on the “terrorist” side of the “official” debate. For the most part these are ordinary people who say they are resisting the occupation of their homeland. Agree or not, it’s worth a watch.

This cat is interesting and has some intriguing things to say. He’s actually a pretty energetic speaker, which is good because his presentation is about 6 hrs. I don’t expect anyone will watch this.

Juxtaposing the Book of Revelations with Mayan prophecy and a bit of sci-fi scare thrown in, this jumbled mess seeks to evoke some apocalyptic spirituality, but the only real tragedy is this film.

Amusing look at the US govt propaganda and lies in the name of eradicating the “most dangerous drug in America.” These dishonest shills are ridiculous and illogical, but funny nonetheless.

Initially promising creative intrigue, this quickly lost that promise to become more of the light-hearted unexceptionality that is far too common on the Sci-fi channel, see e.g. Stargate.

This movie is so skewed, hokey, and preposterous, yet strangely amusing. Perhaps it’s the legions of B-list actors they got to play the increasingly ridiculous roles. Not a loss if you miss it.

Rocco in a legit movie. Can’t believe it. This film is explicit, clinical and morbid. Not fo the faint of heart. In fact many of you would hate this. Not recommended for those more delicate friends.

This [movie] is complete tripe. Forget about this nonsense and drink some hot-dog water instead. You’ll certainly feel better than if you watched this hokum.

(2006 horror film)

This is yet another remake of the Invasion of the Bodysnatchers and it is suitably trite and hackneyed. A not unpleasant waste of time.

Excellent expose of how Cheney and his cadre of servile believers engineered the invasion of Iraq and reshaped our government to implement their ideology.

Interesting French, sorry, Freedom film shot in Paris about a little man’s struggle to crawl out from under his rock and change his life. He’s helped along by a statuesque blond who is what she seems.

Angels Don’t Sleep Here

This movie was pathetically weak. Complete waste of time. Best part, Roy Scheider getting blown away. I think Jaws shot him. Don’t waste your time with this offal.

The thing is you cant just assert “Islam is more violent that other faiths” on account of this idea of scriptural prescriptions for violence. This idea, if it is even sound, is interpreted within a system and has as much to do with how the system is practiced.  For example, how do we reconcile the violence of holy Christian warriors? Do they believe that since there is no everlasting life without Christ that a heathen’s life is in vain? Or that, if they kill wrongly, their confession can offer them grace? These are both sound arguments. Well, neither confession nor the idea of salvation only through Mohammed are part of Islam, so that factors into the idea of violence in the religion as well. The Islamic God repeatedly says as well that forgiveness is better than violence. I would say that Qur’an has more prescriptively violent things than the New Testament, however the nature of salvation of Christianity makes violence more forgivable.

GNILBBIRCS MODNAR TSUJ
ESNES YNA EKAM SIHT SEOD
GNILEEF TAERG A SI AESUAN
TLEF EB ECNEULFNI RUOY
HTIAF EHT PEEK
EVOL EHT EVIG

When you see her looking back at you,
don’t forget the sun’s in front of you.
Every moment has its madness,
that’s a fact.

Snuggle inside a blanket,
try to forget the money’s gone.
making a pair of scissors
cut the cake.

Sometimes when I look at you,
I swear I can see the residue.
Is it just the threads from your mohair suit
or does the past relate itself to you?

All laid down,
grab the pillow and a bottle.
We’re all laid down,
that’s okay.

Does becoming degreed make you less greedy?
Beware the full moon flavor.
The key to success with most adults is to treat them like babies.
I prefer a more passive activism.
She’s not a critical thinker, she’s just critical.
I was the class valetudinarian.
The only thing you stand to lose is your buttplug.
The best cure for a sore throat is cunnilingus. Don’t rinse your mouth.
Alexander the Grateful Sex Change Machine
Beauty and the Biesterfield of Dreams

Midnight on the green line and a bum i have seen for years enters with his monologue. halfway through, i empty ten seconds of my silent colon into the crowd. he ends his spiel early and exits the car. everyone must have blamed him for the stench, too. passive aggressive or massive regressive?

After months closely observing New York City’s finest underground stand-up comedians at venues such as The Lip Room and Buckwheat Lounge, Joe Biden got the nerve to try his material at an open mic at Sullivan’s Snap Room in late December. The Veep had a lot of time to write material with Obama in the White House, his fists full of new legislation. Barack had discussed the possibility of Joe leaving Washington for a while after a series of gaffes and insults had landed the Veep at the top of tabloids and news magazines. David Axelrod, President Obama’s chief strategist, suggested a Labor Day Mediterranean cruise, but Biden, upset at being forced off the continent, took early leave of Congress’s midsummer session. He indulged in what friends have called a case-a-week binge of Irish whiskeys across the whiskey-, gin-, and Karaoke-joints of Metropolitan Boston.

Joe’s drinking buddy Shoes O’Riordan suggested a 5 borough tour of the Big Apple, and Biden was hooked on the burgeoning open mic and Karaoke scene. Known to be a boozing baritone, Biden got turned on to Live Karaoke at the Undertown Wonder Bar in Brooklyn in early July. He was reported to have memorized the first side of U2’s Pop album and was able to sing it without benefit of the karaoke monitor. After falling in with the Williamsburg musician and artist crowd, Biden got turned on to hash and by September was a staple at any number of Manhattan cabarets, building a reputation for glad-handing piano singers out of their benches for a 30 minute coke-fueled stream of consciousness variation on Ice, Ice Baby.

After Joe Rogan spotted him at Harry’s Bag of Tricks on Bleecker, the two worked furiously on the Veep’s shtick, which can best be described as angry septuagenarian-politician-who-has-been-trying-to-make-a-damn-bit-of-difference,-but-no-one’s-listening-because-they-are-too-infatuated-with-the-goddamn-President-to-listen-to-what-I-have-to-say. Apparently, the first few open mic spots featuring Biden have been moderately successful. Never one to shy away from revealing clothing or spitting into the audience, some have described the Veep as having found his true calling - yelling at young people and mixing in vaudeville satirical song numbers in order to deliver a social message. Since the New Year, Biden has been “listening, writing, and smoking a lot of Maine homegrown” in order to change his angle for a stab at a larger venue like the Apollo or Standup at Lincoln Center. So far, coverage from the mainstream press has been all but muted. Apparently the story, if broken, could lead to scandal, a backlash or worse, a confrontation with Obama about “Joe’s lost weekend.”

Today, the court is deciding on an appropriate emotional punishment for the perpetrator of a sex crime. Apparently and according to the evidence and his confession, Ben Blakely raped a woman he threatened to kill at knifepoint. He assaulted the jogger in Austin Gardens, and told her he would shoot her unless she sucked his dick then and there. She complied and did a pretty good job, but later claimed she felt bad and felt violated.

The courts started the procedure of surveying 100 women deemed similar to the victim and described what the victim probably felt like during and after the crime. The consensus was that the shock and fear of the assault was terrorizing. Words like “degrading”, “invasive,” “revolting” were used, especially after looking at the disgusting state of the perpetrator.

The court jury was then tasked with coming up with a punishment that would evoke similar feelings in the perpetrator. In secret meetings, it was decided that a fat black lady unbeknownst to the perp would be hired to surprise the man in a place he was vulnerable and helpless - his bathroom. The court was granted permission by the Constitutional amendment that ensured emotional equality for all citizens. It was agreed that the fat black woman would present a taser armed at the man. To bring the man to equal footing, he would be tased to the point of inferior capability and then ordered to eat out the lady’s unwashed vulva until orgasm.

After the punishment was agreed, the perp was unaware of the punishment that was coming, but knew that the court-mandated karmic intervention was bound to trap him in its tentacles. Sure enough, 12 weeks later, the professional hit-lady, a lesbian black-belt, unshowered and with unshaven genitalia, broke into the perp’s residence and accosted him in his sleep with a dose of electricity and shoved his head between her thighs and told him the rules of engagement. At this time, due to rules of informed consent, the perp was notified that if he resisted he would be forced to suck black cock or even take it up the ass, a suggestion to which he demurred. He tearfully licked and penetrated that pussy and ate it til they both cried out in relief and release. Justice was done.

Another case in the history of the emotional punishment almanac. In a country where victims of emotionally harrowing crimes can ask for emotional punishment to be visited upon perpetrators. Naturally, rates of sexual assault have decreased dramatically since the amendment was passed….

me giving
a foot massage to A., and then she
retires and I continue on someone else.
It is very platonic and full of
yearning, but knowledge that is
different, or more than, physical…

Next I come to a cool,
inner city-meets-Western frontier
sort of cafe, with lots of wood and
stale air. I order a double decaf latte,
and the barista nods in acknowledgment.
I notice a lady frying something and I
ask if it’s butter and she politely
explains that it’s some soy derivative -
nothing in the restaurant has any
animal ingredients to “keep the zoo
out of the kitchen.” I explain how I agree,
that there should be a designation for produce
that has been grown on a farm that
has no meat processing. One of the other
male clerk concurs, calling it a $50 million
idea. I drop a few dollar bills and look
where I dropped them and find many
old crumpled bills, presumably from other
careless patrons. I inconspicuously grab them.
I have fun taking in the scene at one of
the wooden bench-tables, but am sick of
bombastic scenesters after awhile, and
muse out loud that I can hang in any
scene, that the accomplishments of an individual
at mastering one subculture do not impress
me. I go outside, where it’s big country,
I have heard the members of Pearl
Jam have arrived, I am trying to pick
out some tunes on my guitar, but I
am self-conscious as they stray by.
While I am outside, I see the little
cafe is being turned upside down to
host a massive bowl game - I sit quietly
and watch it all go down, the crowds
going in and the zoo dissemble.

Finally,
I am back in an apartment with A. and
looking in the closets for some hair
pomade, and A2 is over and wants to
make A’s hair. I warily
turn away and entrust my friend to
groom her. My love for them both has
not diminished.

A party hosted by N. and his wife.
He shows me his kitchen, which is incredibly
long, almost like the size of Hutchinson
Commons, although more rectangular. At
the far end, probably 90 feet from the
entrance, is the range and sink. On the
way there, I encounter various islands,
eating areas, prep areas, all lit beautifully
by fixtures. There is also a family
room area with TV. All the appliances,
coverings, are to the highest specification.
Also, there is practically everything
in the kitchen — family room, breakfast
nook, dining areas, library… It is
so spectacular, I go home and tell my
mom about it, and I want to show her
a design studio website - but I can’t find
it, and she is
starting to get irritated, impatient,
and agitated. I reassure her the
website is close at hand - in the
meantime, I have stumbled upon several
candidate websites, but they are none of
them the ones I was looking for. Finally,
I go to the Chicago Tribune website, and I
see a photo of my wedding, and a 10 year
anniversary announcement! I ask if this
is the reason mom was agitated, and
she says yes — she had something to
show me!

7 things to avoid to maintain health against chronic health syndromes:

1 Caffeine
2 Nicotine
3 Sugar
4 Alcohol
5 Stress
6 Pharmaceuticals
7 Red Meat

Waiting for creative feelings
 to emerge by themselves,
  spontaneously. How myopic
   is school, correctness,
    officiousness, administrative
     assiduous work that
      serves to dim the lights
       of revelation until we
        become wage slaves of
         ignominy.

The people who are making the world a better place are doing it, not talking about it.
Politicians make a living talking about making the world a better place instead of doing it.
They are projections of our idealized values.
Their true character is at odds with their accomplishments.
They pay lip service to our egos.

i’m always finding a thread of long, curvy brown teetering on black, and i tease it from my garments or undergarments, or even my skin. it is yours. it smells fragrant when i touch it to my nostrils.

The important thing is to
write, with every tick of the clock
you quell the free-flowing lyrics with the
crushing weight of analysis; how far are
you                alienated from the
feelings           inside yourself?
Are                you scouring the
meat               markets of the
world              for a new best
friend,            or counting the
hours until your beloved takes your
calls? Are we robots to one another,
or is your greatest gift to me your
callousness, that reminder to spend myself
solitary, to give my hands the pre-
eminent place in the center of my
field of vision. Women with sharper
vision than mine have sung the
praises of my words, and they don't
lie, have no agenda but the desire
for the world to see brightness,
my confidence only a side effect, I
fear not my silence, but my howl.

Of a portrait of a young girl, a woman
in her early 20’s, desperate, despondent,
tired of life, disappointed by abusive men
and her saddled life with a baby.
Large part of her disappointment with
adult life is due to her failures in it,
that were partly due to her lack of
preparation for it. She was left emotionally
immature by the infantilizing controlling
behavior of her mother, who would beat
her, mock her, yet profess to love her.
Now she is in another country,
hiding out, doing drugs, unhappy.
They miss each other, though anger
is in the way. Stress caused mother
to mistreat child.

Of an Islamic convention; The speeches
were laughably boring + pretentious,
in one ear, out the other. The
fun was to be had in the gallery,
watching others, flirting and sitting with
them. The convention went on and on, speeches
lasting until the brink of dawn, and
me doing prayers, the motions at least,
in my own way, with shoes on.
And me babysitting 2 girls, between
5 and 10, and having fun.

Perhaps insinuation is a red-letter day-glo yard fabric sale
for workaday maladies packaged like parched paper tigers
and cough repressant haploid diglycerides subsuming idle
conversation + heartbeating tapestries of forlorn skin that’s
lost its fit on sunken eyelids + hamstrung jowls, under-
watered people + vegetation + the right to bear arms +
self-mutilate + to choke a lover, these leftist insurgencies
leave me pasted to the cabinets of winged migration,
why did you hotwire the bootstraps to my memories and
stick me with an itinerant firecracker, I rise with the
thick smoke and all the herb in the world is telling me
to relax and love my brothers + teach my father +
listen to my sons. This was a sunset in the dawning,
a grease-fire in the awnings over a shuttered memory,
bowling lanes full of knobby-kneed endives, cottage-
makers on the edge of extinction. Tall grey stones
with the ombisure of elephants rise red through rose
gardens + the sparrows in their hidden sanctuaries wait
patiently for the call to prayers, needling + wheedling,
threshing wheat + rice against cinammon trees, silk
catches languorous eyes + these lost slaves want me
to forget what they have never known, a history so
vivid, all they had to do was bow their heads to the gods of color + meaning + their screams, turning to tears, would turn to light.

what a presumption to call yourself the center of poetry, housed as you are in the art institute, that racket bent on selling postcards and day planners.
when i own the material and inspiration for creating a world of words outside your marble doorways.
fuck the poetry center. poetry is within me, unaligned and unaffiliated, i bow only to myself.

As Sally turned to walk out that flaccid doorway, she turned with all the heft of her gathering moss and declared, “Dammit, Johann. I tried to learn from you. I tried to show you that a student is a teacher’s greatest gift, the only manifestation of a questionable talent. But you treated me like a flower-vase, an ashtray to collect an unceasing downpour of cigarette butts and errant saliva. But those days are gone. I wiped myself clean for you each day anew. I wanted to be your palimpsest, and you made me your doormat.”

Oh God
the lusts call me

I want another
someone fresh and dirty
like the girls on TV

skin glossy
like the pages of a magazine

Glittery
like gradeschoolers lips

She wants to be wet
I want to make her that

Save me!
Their wants are my shaitan

My love is at home
where it’s always been

since 20 you gave me a dream
Sometimes I take her by force
Sometimes she takes me

Allah, let your name be inscribed on these acts.

In the land with no name, but lots of money, everything was planned. People’s lives were planned. Civilization was at its “highpoint.” In this land with a name of nothing, things were much too serious, much like clockwork. Well that’s what Newsome thought. He was now 15, and he was as confused as hell. But that was no surprise to him. “Adolescence screws you up,” that’s what all those old guys taught Newsome. As Newsome got stranger and stranger, he created pictures with his mind and put them on paper; they weren’t like photos, which was bad. His elders were very unhappy. They asked, “What is this hallucinatory scribble?”

So his elders diagnosed him as a “troubled child” and said he had been abused as a child. Newsome thought this absurd, since he knew that no abuse had been done to him through all his life. Newsome was sent to a museum to get a new “perspective on life.” They wanted to show him how almost UNREAL their society had been. And how far they had come. In it, he saw what genetics could do to animals.

He saw how hard-working men gave birth to the new generation, which had presently deteriorated and offsprung him.

“How men had ventured into forests and tamed wild beasts,” they said, “and bended them to their will.”

It was two years later, and Newsome had finally finished his assignment by the elders. He had stopped making pictures from his head and had stopped questioning why.

But there will always be others.

So much gold, she’ll cream!

This chump is lame and
doesn’t even know it. Nobody likes him
and he is socially retarded. He didn’t
get enough love at home and hates
himself. Poor guy. Life from his angle must
suck. People like to harm him because he has harmed them.

Reading Canterbury Tales and watching Fear and Loathing. Same shit, different century.

Modus operandi: Love out loud!

If you like keeping busy and being a busybody, then a career in busyness may be right for you!

An incestuous dream, me with mother. I have been with myself many times, auto-fellatio, and anal sex with my boys. What does it mean? I am repressed, and want more than marriage offers. Oh well, dreams…

Dreamt I was in a convention hall, and waiting for A. to finish a presentation. Then it was her turn to wait, but instead, she went off to go out with some friends. I was devastated and disappointed. And a solo older woman saw my look of sadness and we instantly knew we were there for each other. I guess all these zombies walking around sex-crazed, looking for infernal hook-ups, are dreaming the same things. Anyways, this woman and I needed privacy, which is always my prerequisite. Although, in Kafkaesque fashion, as we were looking for it, the less and less of it we found. We were in an arcade, an underground garage, a movie theater bar, all the while surrounded by a roving circus of strangers. And I eventually became so distracted by the lights and the mildly entertaining banter and concerns of those around me, that I lost my companion. Or did I forget about love and replace those yearnings with the phantasms of electricity, which illuminated the pretty features and obscured the grotesque hearts of the denizens of Chicago?

I am dreaming of my wife’s cousins, best friends, sister, mother… everyone but her. And I am always flirting and getting ambivalent reactions. Sometimes we seal the deal, but they are always left aghast. It just isn’t right with anyone but my mate. That rare dream which is usually found only in the arms of waking reality.

The three components of self

Our gestalt is divided into three orthogonal planes that appear to be elementary. They are mind, heart, and soul. These absolutes are actualized in our experience of the world and interaction with it, namely through our material being, approximated to body.  Not only are these the elements of personality and hence, identity, but the world outside of ourselves mirrors this composition. We perceive the world to be composed of these three aspects as well; though the forms of impression and expression are diverse, they correspond to manifestations of these three.

Structure of self corresponds to structure of reality [Read more →]

Watched half of this and was very pleasantly surprised. Here is a guy who is not afraid to allude to his career as a misadventurous path toward enlightenment and self-destruction, all the while cheekily pointing out all that’s wrong with modern American society. You may find his material obvious or bluntly delivered, but I find his insights original, valuable, and sincere. His prescriptions are probably not as robust as his proscriptions, but that often goes with advice from entertainers.

I think that sitting in a
cafe allows me to write with concentration,
preferably there is a lot of space and
no music. If my goal is lucid
reflection and authentic self-expression. I think
the scenesters who go to a cafe but
are subconsciously reacting to the
scene stimulus and the social cues are
really just another form of lemmings.
Which brings me to the point of
laptop nursing. These people and their
laptops. Taking care of baby. Making
sure baby’s fed - that’s all it is.
I’m sure most people on their laptops
are doing some form of technical babysitting
or surfing (cultural grazing or
entertainment). The ones who I am
curious about are the ones who are
doing something “creative.” Why they
chose a laptop to do their writing?
It’s not like it is a pure form of
expression to me - although I wrote
editorials on a computer, I never have
written poems directly on a computer -
there is far too much of a mechanical
feeling, a feeling of disconnect from
my words, the abstraction of typing keys
vs. forming letters, the distraction of
all the other things a computer can
do, and all the things a computer
needs. Those people are not even aware of
their own potential.

you have been working all week and trying to get home and workout and watch some crap and sync your ipod so you can go to sleep and do it again tomorrow. you are looking for something different today, but you are going to drink that swill and talk to some cookie cutter guy who tells you nothing [Read more →]

I’m singing to the man, woman, and child within you.
I’m searching for the smile that’s buried inside, without you.

And though the time keeps ticking by,
another lovelorn lullaby,
and though the time keeps ticking by,
oh a long fey memory…