Monday, November 26, 2007

Goddamn the Pusher Man!

Yes... I am still without Internet and so I watch CNN once or twice a day for as long as I can stand... sit, actually, to do it. That is usually as much as 15 minutes, never more than that. In the last eight years I have probably seen CNN International (I’m in Europe) maybe a couple of dozen times. I haven’t seen any other network news except for a brief period about seven years ago when I saw MSN cable news a few times, occasionally seeing Leno or Conan O’Brien as well. Maybe I could still find that again now; I’m supposed to get 500 channels from the satellite we installed but I can’t be bothered to look. We have it so that the elderly woman who lives with us can get her TV.

It’s been interesting, these brief periods of pained observation. I watch myself while I’m watching and I notice that I get increasingly angry... annoyed... uneasy... I begin to feel more and more out of wack and at some point I shut it off.

It’s been a little over a month now that I have been down here at my house in Southern Europe for the winter. I live in Europe because in late 1999 I saw Bush coming and I said, “It’s time to go.” When Reagan showed up I said much the same thing and moved from the east coast of America to Maui, HI. It was as far as I could go and still be within the U.S. In the end, there was no further I could go and remain in America. I made the smart decision and I got out of Dodge.

I was thrown in jail several times in previous years; a direct result of things I had said on stage or wherever I was running my mouth. Yes, the actual circumstances of my imprisonment were not from what I had said- but what I had said- did lead to the conditions under which I got arrested. In every case I was told this later. In the two major cases, other crimes were engineered. In the last one I managed to prove this and was acquitted. I remain the only person in Hawaiian history that beat these major felonies under these circumstances. I was facing a mandatory 60 years in prison at the time. I managed this with a court-appointed lawyer and no money. That is a story for another time; what a circus that was. It would make a great movie. In any case ...I digress.

I remember when Ted Turner had CNN. It was a different time. You really did get the news and it was an outstanding concept. I remember wondering on several occasions; what happened to CNN? For some reason I always forget. Then I remember... Time Warner happened to CNN. The Zionistas took over that airwave as they have taken over every airwave they can get their hands on. It’s a smart tactical move. When you are a well-financed fascist putsch with designs on world domination, the first thing you want to get your hands on is the mediums of information. They didn’t figure on the Internet. For some reason there’s always something that later comes around to bite the brown-shirts in the ass. There are always Nazi’s among us. They are always looking for opportunity. They are always looking to create conditions of opportunity. They are always the spearhead of financial interests. They can be the perceived victims at one juncture and then turn into the oppressors at another. It’s a permanent fixture of the dark side of the human mind.

They are like bacteria, actually ‘viruses’ would define it more accurately. They like to create crisis and conditions of fear. They especially like to occupy the mass mind with trivia and banal pursuit; bread and circuses. They are active in ‘dumbing down’. They are big into the distribution of drugs. They control the kind of music that plays on the radio and the programs that people watch. One might think this was fantastic on the face of it but you can just look and see it. It’s happening right in front of you.

CNN now has a variety of shills whose cartoon effect defies belief. Who is this Richard Quest? I remember this weird freak that used to be on Carson or Leno- often, I can’t remember which. He printed all of these books which showed you how to rip off money from the government... legally sort of. He was a hyperactive fool with spittle flying and appeared to have just been tazered whenever he began to speak. I could never figure out what he was doing on major television. I also couldn’t figure what he was doing pushing the products he was pushing. Richard Quest is this same guy reincarnated, except that he is talking to world leaders and former world leaders like Jimmy Carter and doing strange offensive, unintentional satires on Peace and whatever he touches; releasing doves and what not. His voice and demeanor have the impact of fingernails being drawn down a blackboard yet... he’s on TV a great deal. Someone has chosen him in order to legitimize buffoonery for the ‘dumbing down’ effect. Little Georgie Bush was chosen for the same reason. Life is becoming a cartoon.

It’s more insidious than that. Zionista, Christine Armanpour is now going after Vladimir Putin, painting him as the same sort of implied scoundrel that Chavez and Ahmanedijad are supposed to be. All of them have oil. Guess who wants that oil? I’m not saying that Putin and the others are altar boys. But how does Bush compare to these men? It’s a fact that he’s killed and/or destroyed the lives of more people than all present world leaders put together, much less these three. Their only real crime is that they oppose what Bush’s handlers are up to- or are engaged in things that Israel; which controls the U.S. government, objects to.

Every single day, ‘the only democracy in the Middle East’ is murdering Palestinians and imprisoning their ‘democratically elected’ leaders. They shoot school children on their way to school. They have hundreds of children in prison. They were friends and supporters of the South African apartheid government and are now practicing an even more virulent version of it. They let their settlers attack Palestinians with impunity while the soldiers and police look on... often laughing about it. You can see the truth of this on Youtube. What they did in Lebanon recently is beyond obscene. Nary a word is ever said on CNN about it. Israel doesn’t want Iran to have nuclear power because of what they ‘might’ do. Meanwhile at Dimona the Israelis have their own nuclear weapon stockpile with no oversight and have imprisoned the man who blew the whistle on them for many years. This is all okay though. This is all okay. They are a superior race and everyone else is an insect. It says so in the Talmud.

Every time there is a disaster, CNN takes its camera crew on location and looks for some wretched, inarticulate soul that is guaranteed to crack-up on camera and then they take them to their devastated homes and film them weeping and wailing. It’s entertainment. When there is a pending political debate, like the upcoming Republican debate, they screen people with the greatest clown and fool factor and then use them in their looping commercials. Presently they’ve got a spit spraying wacko yelling about his taxes who’s a ringer for that comedian Gabriel something or other; a corpulent woman holding a stuffed donkey, a stern Muslim woman in full costume and a paranoid teen age boy playing pocket pool below the lens.

When I wrote that the ‘diamonds and pearls’ question at the Democratic debate was scripted, I didn’t know that for a fact. But I could see that it had to be. Now I find out that it certainly was and that many more people than I were outraged by it. The woman who asked the question has gone to some length to disassociate herself from the event, saying that this is what CNN demanded. It doesn’t change anything.

What of the other news channels like Fox and the rest? Surely they are as bad and some, like Fox are much worse. This season’s Nazis are a tight aggregate of Christian fundies, Israelis and assorted Zionistas, London bankers, neo-cons, corporate interests and a little of this and a little of that. They’re running the show for the moment and it’s a ghastly affair. It’s amusing that some of them have pretensions of religion when they produce the sorts of things that they do. I think of Sciafe and Murdoch, Wolfowitz and Kristol, all kneeling before some black draped altar before Baphomet ascendant, praying for guidance as they shepherd the world through increasing states of pain and stupidity. The vision of these men can be most accurately seen in the works they produce.

These Nazis will go the way of all Nazis eventually. A whole lot of people will die on the way in ever new and ingenious ways. Human dignity will be trampled under the feet of rampaging shoppers and crushed under the asses of impossibly fat TV junkies. Innocence will be raped in every opening and treacle and screams will fill the air so thickly that what was once human will develop a breathing apparatus for it but... finally, somewhere, at some time, new human life cycle will develop from the wreckage with new hope in their eyes and a new vision in their hearts. A new world will emerge ...then, sooner or later, the Nazis will show up again. We need our Nazis. For some reason we need them and finally they’ll turn up on Hogan’s Heroes, complete with laugh tracks, in shows produced by emergent gestating Nazis. Those who worship the new Gods will be those that crucified them in the previous reel and I’ll probably be in Mongolia or some unnamed island and I still won’t have internet.

Friday, November 23, 2007

Chuck Hugh Farley, In Memoriam

In Memorium

Chuck you
have discarded the used condom,
this body
that great white hope...
this poor drivel of words like an old man too long at the toilet cannot encompass the breadth of that
which you did unto death

Chuck, we hardly knew ye.

Chuck it here boy
Keep on Chucking
Let's take a walk through the ground Chuck of the latter days
Have a few Chuckles
and do a little Chuck and Jive
before we get Chucked out

Terrorism and politics were not always happy bed fellows
not in the former democracies of the West
in any case.
But the precedent now set by the president-
who has not met a limitation caused by lack of judgment or character that he could not evade,
who has not met a bar he could not lower,
nor a truth he could not distort,
has given you...Chuck;
hope of the once free world,
champion of chicken pots of multiplying roasters, cross-dresser par excellence of all things

appearing to be other than...

has given you the opportunity to make our world the champion no interest,
3 car monte,
one used owner only,
deal of a lifetime,
no odometer,
no problem,
drive it away today-
answer to the prayers of millions struggling into polyester pant suits
and spraying,
as if for hornets and locusts
to remove the stench of their need and feed from the abandoned house of their being.
For all of these who have lost the power of speech themselves, Chuck-

now walking on all fours
with the rhinestone broaches and garrish unknown gems bedazzled upon fat sausage fingers,
for the non-push-up capable whining children, jiggling like Jello walking to the video-game shop,

inhaling half-gallon Big Gulps....
low tar cigarettes and
some kind of soft shit from the pastry shelf..
death has given you opportunity.

for all the drunk daddy's lusting after/or
fondling 13 year old breasts through,
"I'm Yo Bitch. I'm Yo Ho" sequined t-shirts cut off above the impaling navel rings...
yet further above scant emerging pubic patches already trimmed and buffed...
because "you're not getting any younger", as the due date approaches...

For every young boy in the brush past the roadside restrooms dreaming about
"fuck, I don't know what."
For the halcyon-eyed housewives and that 10 minute temptation fuck in the afternoon
between drinks and missed appointments
otherwise engaged...
now to spray yet more mists of unearthly hues and sticky stinking excresences of Dow
and Dupont unto Monsanto beneath the bridge strained through the Sterno filters of other dreams more

dead, more remote...
but really not that far fucking off when you think about it from where we are now. virtue tis of thee, cheaper than stolen, freer than free.
For all the once wretched refuse
evolved by faith, effort and determination
into a bedrock American Gothic portrait in the brief camera shot of a prime too short;
now blown past too fast to recall
and once again wretched refuse,
now of its own making-
retching, stumbling, fumbling at zippers and stays...
flesh bulging like Susan Sarandons eyes or that Morty Feldman guy-
from the lobster tank...unsure, uncertain slithering..
mandibles waving

if not drunk then certainly insane
lurching down enormous aisles of nothing but potato chips,
turning into the 'soft drinks only' aisle...
on into the frozen pre-prepared food section of dinners and deserts-
with an ingredient list that might as well be Chinese
unless you are Chinese .
Onward to the doctor,
to the pharmacy,
to the Barcalounger,
to the grave...
oh mighty race of once bright hope and strong facial features...
we now bend over for the Huns at the gate...
not only without fear
but in anticipation Chuck....

for the faux-Blackwater men in Iowa who nightly patrol the perimeters of their split level ranches...
for the Mormons and Scientologists,
the hippies and the girls on the Internet,
Thank you Chuck. Thank you very much.

Thank you for not only the bad things but for
the relentless hearing about them
the buzz in the atmosphere -radio waves of nonsense like
chickens cackling on the astral plane
like frogs fucking in jello
like shit running uphill in January

downriver the legs of murdered monks sticking out of the flooding river bank to the tune of

♫you can trust your car to the man who wears the star♫

It seems like everything we do is murder Chuck.
It seems like second and third hand murder
It's like looking into the toilet bowl between Larry Craig's legs
and Larry King is looking back.
Time Warner wants the funeral pictures
Peephole magazine wants the autopsy photos

What's next after fist fucking Chuck?

It seems like everything we do is murder a few times removed

Thank god for all of it
How could we ever need redemption so desperately if not for this
How would salvation mean anything if not for all of this

There's your silver lining
There's your light at the end of the tunnel.
To find the living light you must
imagine your zeal like that of a drowning man
seeking oxygen... seeking the surface but
actually the depths
they say that sort of thing happens but
you wouldn't know about that Chuck

torment is the purification rite that
strips away the blinders
the ever closing confinement of the energetic lost
the magnificent heat of the pressing density of matter against matter forming the diamond that proves
no matter how dark and confining it gets it ends in deliverance and perfection
and light or something to hold it
something to reflect it
something for it to pass thru
That endless irritation which forms the pearl
and you

That is their value
What they remind us of
the gas that fuels the keep on trucking keep on keeping on.
high in the highest Shamballa
the most pristine of worlds
touches the densest murk and proclaims them one
for the one

one for the one

thank you Chuck and may the roses bloom upon your cross.

Patrick Willis narrates:
In Memoriam: Chuck Hugh Farley

Monday, November 19, 2007

You're a Celebrity Here... You Know?

Nothing succeeds like success; that’s something we’ve heard and we get the impression that it must be true. Unless you live in a cave somewhere like the long dead Bin Laden- who doesn’t actually live in a cave since he is, in fact, long gone; dead if you prefer that term... but let’s say you did live in a cave but weren’t dead, or gone like Bin Laden and didn’t have TV and/or internet then, you might not be on the receiving end of a relentless carpet bombing of celebrity comings and goings. Otherwise, you’re aware of the glitter and fairy dust that rains down upon those in the limelight.

Celebrity is a curious thing. There are no fixed rules concerning the possession of it. It comes and goes. Like Lady Luck it enters the casino on the arm of one man and goes out on the arm of another. There is no fidelity involved, just degrees of time. Once you’ve spent the evening with her you could spend a much longer period looking for her again. If you do run across her she might do no more than blow you a kiss to keep your interest. She seems to like some people more than others but no matter how she might appear to like you for a period of time, it makes what she’s inevitably going to do to you at some point, all that much harder to bear. Ah cruel world (grin).

Anyone can have celebrity. You can get it from wearing a too short skirt while boarding an airline and wind up with an agent before you disembark. Then you wind up in the covered dish at the back of the icebox a few days later wondering what happened. It seems like only a moment ago that you were talking with Geraldo. Now you can’t even appear at a supermarket opening unless you’re going after groceries.

You can get celebrity from being born with a whole pot full of money, even if you have no talent at all- which has been amply demonstrated- and if you possess no shame or sense of self you can arrange for the release of a sex video and via the efforts of a first class publicity firm and, once again, a whole lot of money, you can be a star in the eyes of troglodytes everywhere.

You can be born the son or daughter of a director or an actor or any influential person and move through the chutes of public awareness like a greased pig. You can actually possess some amount of talent but that’s incidental most of the time.

You can be pleasant to look upon in the eyes of some particular demographic but you’ve generally got a sell by date which can be put off only so long and then the surgeons and cosmeticians turn you into a horror movie.

One thing about celebrity, sooner or later you wind up on Larry King or lesser venues talking about the thrill of it all; the triumph and agony of bringing your special gift to the world. I watch people toiling in the trenches of celebrity; in newspapers and magazines, in the blogsphere, in trendy clubs I’ve passed through, at pricey watering holes and resorts, on television, street corners and public parks. There are more levels to celebrity than there are in the most complex video games. There’s notoriety and fame and it’s difficult to tell the difference sometimes. There’s star-power and then there’s the more difficult art of becoming a legend.

When you’re celebrated it seems that everyone wants a piece of you. It must be some kind of a rush. You’re surrounded by friends and supporters on all sides until you screw up or run out of gas and then some cosmic Houdini turns the whole thing upside down in a twinkling. Then you’ve got to work like mad for redemption or some new angle. Screwing up as a celebrity is not like screwing up as an ordinary Joe. Even when you are not screwing up you are followed by a cloud of flies and mosquitoes that make it seem like you live in a tropical murk at the very worst season of the year. It takes a special kind of person to endure it. You have to want it so bad that nothing and no one is more important than to be celebrated. Gangway...

Meanwhile there are hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of celebrities. All of them have their lights on like the windows of an enormous apartment complex. All of them are dancing in the window with the shades up. All of them imagine that the world is looking only at them. It’s fascinating. Robert Burns would be so pleased.

Sometimes I muse on the condition of famous authors and musicians; on accomplished artists of every stripe. I think about how there are thousands of famous authors and musicians... all the venues... and how everything that they’ve done was already done and often better done before they ever got here. I think about musicians in front of large audiences and how it must seem to some of them as if the whole world is watching. I think about the money and the sex and power; all the accoutrements and trappings of the moth in the candle flame. Then I think about their lives apart from all the noise; if there even is such a place. I think about all of the demands made upon them and the difficulty they experience in dealing with all of the character defects that attend us- regardless of our status- as we negotiate the pressures and broken promises through which we pass.

Then I walk out of my door and stand in the meadow in front of my house and there’s nothing there but the wind in the trees and my dogs chasing each other; the sun is shining down and there’s no one around. Sometimes the wind in the trees sounds very much like applause. The sun feels like a spotlight, so does the moon. Sometimes if feels like all of creation is listening and watching though a one way mirror. I can walk with my guitar and sing for the birds (who often join in) and clouds; let the wind carry my voice across the world and someone will hear it the way something said in Los Angeles today might be repeated in Cairo next week. I think about the way a stone thrown into a still lake will eventually ripple across the entirety of it.

Every master has a life of secret shame. No matter what sublime state they have arrived at, behind them is many a mis-adventure and ignominious failure. It always struck me how remarkably humble they are. Here are the true celebrities with real accomplishments and they are just so self-effacing, shy and retiring. They must know something. Perhaps they are in the presence of something so much greater than themselves and they are constantly reminded of it so that there is no option besides humility and the most cautious and economical grace of movement; “wary as a man crossing an icy stream.” as someone once said.

I cannot help but cringe when I see people with some one trick pony thing that they have got going... what a roller coaster of uncertainty... cut to the Sunday morning panels of experts shouting each other down... preening at their introductions; seething at the competition for limited time and space... I wonder what difference there is between the monkeys and birds in the jungle trees and all the people talking on the radio.

Now and then Nature takes it upon herself to set a laurel wreath on someone’s head. Sometimes she does it after they are gone. Sometimes one rose or another may be “born to blush unseen” ...better that than that more than your immediate company should know what a fool you are. Should that laurel arrive, I suspect the greatest art is in handling the affair; not in the further production of works.

If Nature, for reasons of her own, wants to point you out to the greater assembly then that’s probably the best kind of celebrity and your opportunity not to behave like a celebrity is probably the greatest joy and challenge you will have. There’s something satisfying about that. Otherwise... the sheer joy of doing what you do for the sheer joy of doing it should be payment enough. It stands to reason that in a universe as vast as this that there are no doubt audiences unseen that are far greater in number than the population of this Earth. It’s a trick of the mind to realize what a grand stage awaits in every moment. I am always amused at the idea people have that no one is watching.

As I’ve occasionally said; just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there and just because you can doesn’t mean it is. Help yourself to the potage.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Welcome to 'Tard Nation

The itards, the Hiltontards, the Foxtards and neo-conservatards are just a portion of the faceful of acne running like an infected strawberry wildfire across the surface of this forceps-birthed nation.

The greatest weapon of mass destruction is the 'dumbing down bomb'; a by the roadside of life IED that is radio linked to the anti-educational IUD that is implanted by telepathic invasion into the young during their first body cavity exam. They’re dumbed down by diet because it’s a long way from brown rice to Burger King. They’re dumbed down by music because listening to rap is the equivalent of smoking PCP and drinking a bottle of bad wine while using a pair of horny spider monkeys for headphones. It’s a long way from being the Crown of Creation to a posse of pimps and ho’s. It’s a long way from Eat a Peach to eat shit and die and all of it in the wrong direction. It’s a long way from acid to alcohol and from geodesic domes to condos.

It’s a long way from Joni Mitchell to Britney Spears, from Jim Morrison to Kurt Cobain and more than one kind of suicide. Some are more chickenshit and less tragically romantic than others. The worst thing about Kurt Cobain’s final act of self indulgence was not in leaving himself to be discovered by those fortunate enough to have found his Jackson Pollock opus but that his fans didn’t take the hint. They make the Miss America contestants out of the same chemicals they used to create Donald Trump’s hair.

It’s the truth that we nearly all stand still as the culture moves along except for the surgically enhanced and the generation to which the moment applies and which gets left at its own point when the dynamics shift. The terminally hip have managed to turn cluelessness into an art form while the aliens for whom they are a reality TV show laugh their asses off.

What they did when they sat and planed this out in the Tavistock branch of the Recording Industry of America was to try to recreate the fifties and they worked in tandem with PNAC, General Foods, General Electric and Hollywood. They took MMDA and bent it into a sexual isotope. What you got was a masturbating Frankenstein monster that did rockabily and danced about as well as you might expect. All sorts of weird things happened. You got Bono playing Albert Schweitzer up front and suing his hairdresser for the return of some old jeans and a ball cap in the backroom, while pushing for 100 year copyright payments along with Paul McCartney and 4,500 others so that nepotism might prevail. It's no wonder he visits with George Bush. Jesus, even Bruce Springsteen lives in Beverly Hills. It's no wonder The River ran dry.

Money, honey, "That's what I want... yeah what I want."

How many roads must a man walk down before he's no longer a man? How many people can one culture dumb down before they walk on their hands?

I've got a theory about the beasts in the field...

It's reassuring to see that it took more than four years of war for ‘name people’ to start writing lame protest songs without fire, passion or inspiration. "Like, dude, war is bad."

So this is the soundtrack of your lives? It's a long way from Berkeley to Wharton. I used to watch the suits marching through Grand Central at 5:30 of an evening...tens of thousands of them in ranks. I went into the men's room and saw a wasted Rasta with a mop, collecting spare change and every single toilet had turds draped over it like an exhibit from MOMA. They were on the floor along with torn newspaper scattered all about and I knew none of these suits were going to the bathroom here but they must have all seen it at some point. 'seen it' and what?

"Let's see, I'll have one of the Cambodian babies, one of the African and could you let me have something from Afghanistan with a missing limb? We're doing a color spread for Vanity Fair and I'll need them all in Benetton hues. My kinesiologist will come by with the relevant coordinates."

Bill Maher; Netanyahu’s butt-boy is screaming at the 9/11 truthers on his disinfo show and no one seems to make the connection between the rapid descent of the American educational system and no child's un-raped behind, whereas the richest country on Earth is inexorably moving down the list and not by accident. Cut to The Congo from which the metals for their Xboxes are hacked from tunnels in the earth by laborers who no longer have shovels because the militias took them from them. The stupider the public gets the easier it is to move them through the stock pen gates and runners on to the killing floor.

We don't need any more evidence, what we need is a little less ‘eyes wide shut’.

The Bush Crime Family and Rupert Murdoch’s swine flu media, the Michael Savage’s, Rush Limbaugh’s, Ann Coulter’s and assorted self-promoting Nodwells from Nimrodville are not the problem. The neo-cons are not the problem. The problem is the slack-gutted Schmoos in the fried food section. The type of predator depends on the type of prey. If you’ve got a fucked up ocean full of flotsam and jetsam, Tonawanda White Fish and chemical froth then the sharks that feed there are going to be mutants. That’s when you get your Bush’s and Bush-bots squeezing the heavy, heavy drone of compliance across the airwaves.

There’s no terrorism problem. It’s a police matter; no different than organized crime or opium gangs. All of the elements that feed on the dark side of existence and milk the bank accounts of the Onanist Schmoos are not more than a small part of life’s ongoing annoyances. The fact is that terrorism arises due to the presence of certain environments. The very character of corporate rule gives birth to terrorism. How big or small terrorism may be- is not the issue. The issue is how big terrorism can be made to appear to be so that money and power can be manifested out of it.

It is absurd to imagine that there is some sort of world wide AlQaeda. There is no such animal but they are traded on the stock exchange all the same. What you find when you investigate something is that it is seldom what it is presented to be. Either you find you knew much less than you thought you did and the subject is transformed entirely by your discovery or you find that it doesn’t actually exist. It only appears to exist.

Much of humanity is on a super highway; a slow crawling gridlock in a downward spiral. A dying culture is not a pretty thing. You can’t save a dying culture. You can construct a new one from the ashes of the old but once the thing is over the meridian... it is going down; then liberty transforms into tyranny. Law enforcement becomes rentacops for the rich. Laws are made according to whim and caprice and always for the benefit of the few. Materialism is an armed camp.

The rich get richer and the poor get poorer and sooner or later revolution is at hand. During these times, “it profits the great man” to sink below the radar. At certain times it is wisdom to depart from the scene. Sometimes things just have to go through the process of change and there isn’t anything you can do about it.

Materialism generates fear because fear and paranoia are big business; just ask the arms merchants and the bureaucrats and bankers who manufacture the wars as economic ventures and who sell weapons to both sides. Just ask the money changers in “The City”; that square mile of London stocked with fountain pen killers who control the world’s money supply and suck the resources of the planet through sucker-pods on their multiple arms that straddle the globe; the massive globe-octopus who’s pumping out the dream soma and sucking in the life force of the populations.

Who are you, you nation of ‘tards? Moneytards, sextards, jesustards, feartards, fatandlazytards, vanitytards, accumulatards and patroitards... a nation of sheep following sociopathic fools into spiritual wastelands... willing victims of the vampire overlords. May whatever god there may be have mercy on your ignorant self-destructive nature as you follow the ghostlight into the swamp.

Do I sound cynical? I guess I didn’t expect the populations of the world to behave like moths around a light bulb. I didn’t expect you to turn into the poster icons from The Secret Policeman’s Ball. I didn’t expect you to become the physical equivalent of Bush mangling the lyrics.

Well, I should know better but I never do. I keep expecting you to wake up and shut off the snooze machine but you’re not going to do it. You’ll keep row, row, rowing the boat until it hits the white water rapids and the “merrily, merrily” turns into a nightmare. Then maybe you’ll wake up and maybe you won’t but the point will get made... one more time... one more time... the point will get made.