Nick Cage is a Vampire and I am the Wizard of It

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

May your noses always be cold and wet.

I love the smell of burning plagiarism in the morning, especially when it’s me. Some few night train lawyers seem concerned that I did that to the elegant work of Jim Kirwan, when it was Jim quoting me, so if anything, it was in reverse. Jim is a fine writer, one of the best; passionate and precise. However neither of us needs to steal from each other in the first because for both of us, it’s on loan from God. I hereby legitimize this sad state of affairs, I give Jim permission to steal my shit whenever he wants and then sell it back to me at a cost determined to be cheaper than stolen.

In my defense, I raise the case of the vampire, Nick Cage for your study and scrutiny. I know, I look like Nick Cage and that is another kind of plagiarism, which God is fond of. Nick can play me when they make a movie out of my first book. Now you can accuse me of shameless self promotion too, which is the second thing that comes up with Les Visible at Google after plagiarism. I know, I used to look like Nick Cage as you can see, by looking at the photo of me, and remember that I have aged just like Nick appears to have aged as well but we all go back into our coffins at night.

Actually, I’m more concerned about a movie I saw last night called Setup, which has Bruce Willis, ‘I’m not Justin Timberlake, Ryan Philippe’ and a guy called 50 Cents in a movie that wasn’t worth 50 cents and you really have to see this film to know what I am talking about but you will hate me for having made you watch it. It is truly and unbelievably bad and it cost a lot of money to make it happen and somehow it is connected to this guy whose bio says “Bringing an incredible array of diverse talents to the screen after designing action sequences for some of Hollywood's top blockbusters, Writer/Director Mike Gunther has used action to bring in over 2 billion dollars at the box office and emerged as one of the industry's most exciting "go to" creative forces”

We live in amazing times and as I watched this film, which was off the charts horrific, in exponential scope; given the name actors and all, I asked myself, “What’s going on?” I’m not entirely certain but it looks like an enormous cosmic meltdown is in process, as those who have made so much money from the things we all used to enjoy have finally come up against a wall or an endless wasteland because they watered it down and squeezed it dry so hard that now they are all hanging in air with no form or content. I mean to say that this is happening at every level of the game; political, religious, artistic. The mainline, mainstream players have come to the edge of the precipice with everybody else’s money and they are going where?

Let’s go back to the plagiarism thing because there are all kinds of ironies going down at the moment. I was hoping to get someone to do a graphic of the twin towers as a fuck you but it wasn’t my idea to tell the truth. Susanne came up with it and since she can draw, I asked her to do it but time goes by and I think, ‘let me get someone else to do it’. I was going to give her attribution after the fact but I guess you could say I plagiarized her idea up to the point that I was talking about it. Of course, it would only be plagiarism if something happened with it and I benefited as a result. I’ll see you in court Susanne (grin). She has many talents that I do not. She can draw and she can play the guitar. I am a terrible musician. I’m a singer/songwriter and I never have understood why nobody famous ever did any of my songs.

I went to Maui to meet George Benson, that was the motive and George liked my songs but his manager had ‘first refusal’ on anything he recorded. I stayed on Maui, hoping to meet Willie Nelson, working as a cook in restaurants. I wrote songs that I thought Willie would like. Willie had a friend named Poppi (I probably have the name misspelled) who was a restaurateur and Bud (The Birdman) Clifton gave him one of the songs I wrote for Willie and Poppi heard it and said that Willie would love the song and he would get it to him, then he died. That kind of thing has happened to me more than once. I never wanted to be the performer. I wanted other people to do my work. I was always trying to get songs to people but nothing came of it and it is hard to understand because the songs are good. I would think country and folk performers would love to do my songs. I used to run into Richie Havens here and there and that never came to anything either. Maybe my songs aren’t any good but I suspect that is definitely not the case. Some of my songs are pretty fucking good and would head for Grammy-land on country radio but maybe it just isn’t supposed to be.

How many years did I spend trying to get people to sing my songs? I didn’t have to sing or play them and I am a terrible musician and a truly bad mixer and engineer. I keep trying. Apparently my work is so bad, I can’t even be on Soundclick anymore and I don’t even put them at the end of my posts. It stuns me how bad my songs have sank. Jackson Browne did all that incredible work making Warren Zevon happen but I never got a Jackson Browne, or a Richie Havens or a Willie Nelson or a George Benson. I just went on and on. I’ve stopped recording songs because nobody wants to hear them and just stuck to the writing. I don’t play my guitar any more or the piano; not like I could anyway, but I do keep singing and I hope someone heard. Elvis Presley just dropped me by the side of the highway in LA. I can thank him for making me safe in Palm Springs when he would pull up to the curb in front of Bookland and tell me that “I thought you were going to Phoenix?” People thought I was his friend and they left me alone there in the rich man’s desert. He drove by about ten times that night, waving, talking to me through the limousine window, while people were screaming in the streets, “Elvis!” I lived on tangerines picked from trees and French fries that some kid might buy for me and slept in the desert, or some young girl’s car. Hardly anyone helped me out. Dark times and desolation for me but I just struggled though it with the kundalini.

Well, that could be a movie, just like the trial in Hawaii, or all of what happened in Washington D.C. and those tales have been told before at the other blogs. I am amazed that I am still standing, well, sitting actually. That is how come I know there is a god, which brings me to an incredible space, at least in my own mind, given the continuing lack of recognition. Or, is our purpose going to be fulfilled? Somehow I see a new day dawning and I do not know what will come of it.

I look at the evidence of this movie called The Setup, as the cultural expression of an absolute contempt for the purpose of existence, that goes nowhere, except into endless distress, while we have the means and technology to make anything possible. There has to be a divine hand but the times are dark because we have been shredded by psychopaths that have led us to our doom.

It’s on now. Maybe god is real and maybe not but does anyone doubt the presence of the devil? Or is this just evolution. Well. I guess we find out in the end. Because it really does come down to whether or not there is a god and I think there is. It’s a grand scale kind of a thing. You have the trembling heavens on the brink, however, heaven does not tremble because the actual will of god will prevail and all the hard on have all, steal all, will lose all.

I believe in a bright and beautiful future simply because I believe that somewhere ahead it lies in the performance of our being upon the nasty first matter of our present state. Authenticity and originality are the real currency that there ever was. If one were to accuse me of anything, accuse me for not having given my very best because I have occasionally succumbed to the weaknesses of my kind. I am harried by the same temptations and desires of the rest of you and I have fallen many times. On my own behalf I will say that I still endure and get up again and stand fast when called to account for the needs of the time.

You will notice that, as the old corruptions fall away that something better is coming out of the mix and you should hew to that direction. The time has come to make a change from the life you knew into something better.


End Transmission.......

Visible and The Critical List: ♫ Shallow Graves ♫
'Shallow Graves' is track no. 3 of 7 on Visible and The Critical List's 1987 album
'The Pope of Rock and Roll'
About this song (pops up)



The last radio show is available for download.

On This Potpourri Sunday

Dog Poet Transmitting.....

May your noses always be free of the nose rings of usury and may love be your final master.

Where to start.... As I look on my computer; a little to the right, I see Facebook page with ‘Stimulus for 62 and over’. Are some government attendants going to come to my house and stimulate me? I’ve never been one for professional sex. I keep trying to find my innocence. I know it’s around here somewhere and suddenly, I turn into Tony from West Side Story and I am singing, ♫something’s coming any day, I will feel it right away, as soon as it shows, something’s coming and it’s going to be bad (smack), good, (kiss), bad (smack), no, wait, goooood (kiss) ♫.!” Uh, I don’t know, apparently good and bad have relatives and it’s all in the family by degrees of association and six degrees of separation and “Hello, Kevin Bacon”.

I had this idea for a graphic of the twin towers, maybe that guy Dees, over at Rense could do it. It shows the devil lying on his stomach. He is engaged in a sexual act with The Woman and he is munching carpet, which turns out to be the controlled demolition of Building 7 that is the location and the pubic hair. He is looking right at you and his hands come around the lady and they are posed with the twin towers as the middle finger on each and he is like one of those Hindu or Buddhist demons and he has four arms, so the other two hands have puppet strings upon which dance the players who were engaged in the action. I don’t know, maybe Dick Cheney is one of his earrings and Barak, or Zelikow, or Silverman is one of the others. I guess he could have nose rings too. He could be all gothed up like Jim Baker’s son in his punk ministry supermarket. Somebody ought to do something like it.

I took exception to a commentary by Gilad Atzmon a week or so ago and I don’t feel like I was out of line but I note that he is saying some really good things and they need to be said and more power to him on that account. I’ll admit to an amount of paranoia about controlled opposition but a lot of the time people are just doing the best that they can under the circumstances as far as they can see how to go. Everybody can’t be like me and just say shit like they got nothing to lose, cause most people do have something to lose and I will bet I do too but that doesn’t stop me. It comes back to that God thing which I used to not be able to talk about in real time all the time but I can now.

I also note the lack of proliferation of Patrick Willis’s beautiful work on The World Declaration of Independence from Criminal Israel, so I will do my own proliferating (grin). You know, I stopped submitting my work to a site because I felt like I had to tailor what I said so it wasn’t too spiritual. I never said anything bad about the webmaster. Now I’m getting complaints from people about trying to get the spoken dialogues put up. It’s a cold, cold world baby and all the colder when you didn’t do anything wrong. Okay, enough of that.

What have we got? We got lots of rocks and hard places. We got the devil and the deep blue sea. We got oceans of ignorance and Mr. Apocalypse is tapping on the guano crust with his walking stick. He’s humming to himself, as he occasionally breaks the crust and some of that, definitely not hot cherry pie, smell comes up and he’s humming, ♫smells like something crawled down in there and died and I’m not going to want fries with that♫.

Nothing rings more prophetic and pertinent in the moment than that poem by Yeats about the second coming. We be there and it is interesting to note, the world wide social networking that is exponentially emergent in tandem, with whatever it is that is waiting in the alley around the corner of this world at this time.

Ladies and Gentlemen and those of you in transition, as I look out upon this vast sea of faces today, I see myself and that scares the shit out of me (quick! visible, put that shit in a test tube.. ”oh no, my brutha, I will be smoking this). Sometimes, I feel like one of those characters from “The Dark Crystal”, one of those Podlings that are trying to put the shard back in the crystal. Everything is broken and now, what does one do? On my account the seas are relatively tranquil, though rather pedestrian and dull, given the plodding redundancies that abound around and keep going through the motions because of an addiction to the familiar and I am podling like a Podling after that dark crystal and there are bad guys. There are always bad guys, or maybe it’s just the opposition, depends on how you see it but it’s a factor none the less and sometimes that is the exigent point.

“Excuse me, visible, do you have a point”? “Oh, sorry, must have had some kind of a relapse. I found this riveting. It’s been several years since I have heard this man speak and you have to go all the way back to when the Bush machine stole the first election when it comes to Gerta, who didn’t even know how to part her hair then; or was that on purpose? Maybe that is all just more smoke and mirrors. It’s divide and conquer or united we stand. It is, “Don’t tread on me”, and also certain that the blood of tyrants shall water the liberty tree. You’ll want to shower afterwards.

As I was writing this, I had to pause because I felt an enormous shift and change in the whole world for about ten minutes, I just sat here and said to myself, “something is happening, right now. It may not come out immediately or maybe it will but it is happening at the moment I am in... all kinds of fates that were uncertain are now no longer uncertain. Some kind of twist has come upon the scene. Maybe I’ve been in the saucer pod too long. I don’t know. It is definitely the time, on this warm and embracing equinoctial day, to run through the woods with the hounds.

Let us hope that those of us who are meant to be the guardians; guidons,, wayshowers and functioning plenipotentiaries of the coming age do not get caught up in their own celebrity out of the starting blocks, where we become enthralled with the power of our own presence over the greater importance of the message, where the messenger becomes more important that the message; to see those who bring the truth as somehow equally as important as the truth, none of us are or ever shall be, unless you are the word made flesh, which is rare in most times and near invisible in these.

When people preempt the one who gives them voice and then silence the ones who call attention to the one, we’re all in trouble. The standard bearer cannot be greater than the standard or maybe you need to go read Thanatopsis., or Ozymandias. There are some interesting similarities in the names, in respect of size, content and statuary rape. We need to not only keep things in perspective but ourselves in perspective because either can affect the other.

Yes, I am all over the map (there’s a map?) and I suppose it is one of those potpourri Sundays; eclectic and eccentric walk into a bar and so on and so forth and I am doing this because this is precisely what the mass media is doing and has been doing for the last several day, which is always a sign that they are about to hoist a false flag over some unfortunate location. When you study Nitwit-Yahoo’s format and features you see the psychopathic intransigence of his being and you see the neutered housecat that is pitching him the Nerf balls.

When those who are inclined to harm, have no inclination to cease from causing harm and when the harm that they have caused, is the cause of the conditions in which they find themselves compelled to do ever more egregious harm, you know that harm is on the menu prix fixe. When those who are being harmed are too stupid to get out of harm’s way or too deep in denial to sense the location of the harm being done, then both awakening and realization are on the menu a la carte. It does no good to talk about it and any solutions that exist and which might ameliorate the situation are not under consideration. The same old same old has to keep delivering the same old train load until the same old same old turns into something new and it is about to.

We are in the event horizon. We are right where the blue arrow is pointing on the bus map at the bus stop. We are at whatever point we have brought ourselves to at this point and there’s nothing more to say except, “there you jolly well aren’t, aren’t you”? ...In the words of the immortal Lord Buckley. So be aware and be off to the side of the main event because sometimes it is a lot better to watch it happen than to be part of the action. Nothing anyone can say or do is going to change the course of things now but, then again, I don’t know, do I?


End Transmission.......

Visible sings: ♫ Nothing More ♫
'Nothing More' is track no. 5 of 13 on Visible's 2007 album 'The Sacred and The Profane'
Lyrics (pops up)


Radio show tonight.

Apologies for this not being up to my usual standard but there’s a good reason for everything as we shall see.

The Grantig Army in the Fata Morgana of Paradise Veiled.

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

May your noses always be cold and wet.

Sometimes when I am out having a beer in a pub, on those rare occasions that I actually do something like that, I find myself sitting with one or two of the people I have met here, over the eleven years I’ve been doing the limbo in Expatria, where I reside. On some occasions, I find I have to make my way to the pissoir and on some of those occasions, I find myself standing next to some fellow traveler and usually I am singing some tune I remember from the halcyon days, when lyricism was in flower and sometimes they’ll say something to me and I will say, “You know how they make American beer”? In response, I will get some version of, “No”. Then I will tell them there is an elaborate piping system that runs from this portion of Western Europe to the American mainland that transfers the piss to the American breweries, directly from the urinal into which I am depositing the basic ingredients. Sometimes this will elicit a chuckle and sometimes a non sequiter that implies, “I wish that crazy American wasn’t talking to me”. I know that part of this is because I am singing some old standard and it makes them seize up when they’re trying to do their business.

Up and down the streets of this pastoral and provincial little town I go, writing songs on the fly and gathering the puzzled and sometimes paranoid looks that are the trademark of my residence here. No one else engages in this sort of tomfoolery and it’s apparent that I’m either crazy, or high and... on some occasions both of those would apply. Why am I singing as I make my way down streets that have, in some places been here since the 9th century? It’s because I refuse to become “grantig” like so many here who lockstep their way to and from whatever. When they’re not walking in that heavy coat of anchors made from the tuneless vibrations of ancestors past, they’re driving with the intrinsic impatience to get somewhere so that they can hurry up and wait. Like most of the people, with the possible exception of certain rural sections of Latin countries and remote primitive regions; the eternal children with little to show for their lives except for a good attitude and an admirable work ethic, they are driven. They are driven slow or driven hard but they are in harness none the less. They are yoked up like oxen to the cart that carries their past and which reminds them that life is sirus bidness.

Observing this and seeing it most places, I realize what I am up against in terms of effecting change to any noticeable degree. Sometimes I reach with my invisible hands into their chests and squeeze their hearts and say, “You know this is a dual use component”? Sometimes I am chanting Hare Krishna, Om Amitabha or Om hare sri ganapatiyay namah, avige namas du (that would be phonetic) and I feel my feet hit the stones of the pavement or sidewalk and I imagine the vibration of the chant penetrating the stones, with the slightest touch of possible inspiration, in the hope that one day I have impacted upon the density of its composition to the point that they might speak of something other than the droning hum of commerce and confusion.

Once I threw a stone into a still lake and I watched the ripples extend outward upon the surface until I could no longer see them but I knew that they continued, until they had covered the entire surface of the lake. There’s a metaphysical law that operates in that action, which is like so many of the laws of Nature that we don’t pay enough attention to. Every culture operates according to some laws of Nature, applied to the infrastructure and the most important feature of that is the laws that surround us, for all the time that we are here and which we never take any notice of. We generally pay attention to what we want and how to get it. We seldom consider that the things we want the most are unknown to us because if they were not unknown, I would not be surrounded by the Grantig army in the Fata Morgana of paradise veiled. We’re surrounded by paradise that is hidden in a cloud of impure desire, which has crystallized into a false world that we painfully traverse from the cradle to the grave. We take the fire of immortality and we make more of ourselves over and over, as if our hopes would somehow be realized in some new and improved version of ourselves, in which we invest all of the bad information that served us so well beforehand.

According to the rock in the lake, one can say something in Des Moines, Iowa on Tuesday and it may get repeated in Cairo on Sunday. Focus and intensity has something to do with it and it is an expression of practical magic, depending on the will and concentration of the practitioner. I think any deliberate seeker should make it a point to read the Alice Bailey translation of Patanjali’s Aphorisms (well, I haven’t been able to get that version but there are plenty of others and more books on spiritual, metaphysical and occult teachings than you can ever hope to read in this life and possibly others as well. I consider it a wise investment but maybe you want to see what they got first; cheap at twice the price). I recommend reading the book, not so you can get wild about the practice of what’s contained there (not that most people ever will) but just to see what’s possible and I guarantee it works, depending on you.

Many things work, depending on you and you are either singing or humming to yourself as you go down, or up, life’s highways or, you’re Grantig. That’s the main point and it’s all about quality of life. I’ve never had much materially and I’ve done without fame and important temporal friends, as well as important positions and most of the things people get all hot and bothered about and sacrifice their health and integrity to possess but I’m singing and they are not. I’m dancing and they are not and I am generally in a good mood, no matter what is going on and if I get knocked off balance here and there, it doesn’t last long and I’ve got no hard feelings like heavy rocks in my personality knapsack. So, who’s better off?

I imagine we all come to a place at some latter moment in our journey and the question will arise, “Did I leave this world a better place than I found it”? “Will people miss me or will they be glad that I am gone”? Will I hear, “Well done”, when I pass through the gates of mystery or will the angels be shaking their heads? These are questions that everyone should ask themselves now. For some reason, most of the time, we do not. We are intentionally distracted by the one whose job that is and that is why our primary concern should be to “seal the door where evil dwells”. We have two options; senility or regenerated innocence. Lunacy comes through telepathic invasion, via the subconscious, or serenity emerges from the sublimation of the same.

You have to ask yourself if the presence of so many enduring holy texts and the historical evidence of those rare but powerful examples of what these books contain, is evidence enough of another supermarket, hidden within the blaring chaos of the well known other. If this is evidence enough then what are we engaged in at the moment we are in?

Every day we pound the sidewalks of this world and speak to the rocks beneath our feet. Every day the gripping imperative of operating according to what we think we know, takes precedence over the eternal imperative of recognizing the existence of what we do not. Everyday we fall victim to ‘garbage in and garbage out’ because we have contracted with the wrong sanitation department. If the mind is a swamp, will the body demonstrate otherwise?

In the woods it doesn’t take a great deal of time to figure out that we are walking in circles once we get lost. For some reason, the same understanding does not present itself on the byways of the organized world. When you have discovered the primary objective you cannot get lost because wherever you are it is present. Otherwise you are lost wherever you are and the angst will build until you find yourself with the radio and TV playing at all times, in order to keep reflection upon it at bay.

Is what I am doing important? Ask yourself this? Is what I want important? Does my peace increase or am I at the mercy of its absence in a cauldron of increasing confusion? Am I leaving good footprints? Am I presenting myself as someone else out of the fear of the appearance of danger that appears to attend my being myself?

How many people go to bed at night and review their day in terms of value given and then set the tone for the morrow in respect of that? How many people walk into Nature and speak directly into the ear of God, concerning any and all concerns? How many people get their information from someone who works for the plant where they manufacture it, for the benefit of those who use it to blind the world for the purpose of profit? How long can you accept the lies until they become a personal truth? You have passed your own death sentence, again and again and again. How long do we stare into a smoking mirror that is obscured by the glaring evidence of the quality of our desires?

I’ll leave you with the admonition, ‘thimk’. No, that’s no a typo. I’ll see you up the road or I won’t and I think that about covers it.

A little something different for Smoking Mirrors and certainly more indicative of what goes through my mind and where my real concerns lie.


End Transmission.......

Anti-Semitic and Uncle Khazar Boinking in the Box Seats.

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

Day seven; off what really happened and no wife swapping in sight. I be counting off the days with all my might (grin)

A reader named Grassapelli brought something to my attention that had escaped my notice until now and that is that buildings 3, 4, 5, and 6 of the World Trade Center also collapsed in flames and explosions and god knows what, since I don’t know what. So, what else don’t I know, probably a great deal? I know I can’t play the violin, even though it’s the first instrument that I studied as a child in Paris. I remember my teacher, a very large Frenchman named Mr. Wolf. I learned to play Three Blind Mice; way to go, Visible.

Much as it was in revolutionary France, at least according to the estimable, Mr. Dickens, “It was the best of times, It was the worst of time”. It is the worst of times for 90% and the best of times for the 10 percent responsible for them. Today, some smaller portion of the 90% are amassed in the workplace of the 10% surrounded by the enforcement arm of the 10%; Jessie’s off with the two remaining Beatles singing, “Let me take you down cause I'm going to Hymie Town”. Whoops, that’s anti-Semitic and here’s a new modality for you to play with, no matter what comment someone makes, your response should be, “That’s anti-Semitic”. If someone says, “Nice weather we’re having”. Your response should be, “That’s anti-Semitic”. If someone asks, “How’s the wife”? That’s anti-Semitic. “Now that’s a good looking ass, two Siamese cats fighting in a burlap bag”. That’s anti-Semitic and don’t forget Uncle Khazar.

Actually it’s the Mason’s that are controlling the Zionists. They’ve got remote controls in their hands as thousands of black draped Hassid’s, with diamonds in glassine bags in their pockets, rocket around town in bumper car mobile drones laying waste to the economy. Tel Aviv airways have pilots standing by as they get ready to roll up the ramps into the C-101’s for the trip to India and Brazil. Let’s roll! Uh oh, here come thousands of Muslims with six foot scimitars dragging behind them; back with the Hassid’s on the bumper cars with six foot shillelaghs, hanging from wrist straps. Boy is that anti-Semitic. There goes Abe Foxman, pushing his pot belly in a shopping cart down the aisles of World Mart. And there’s mini-me, Rahm Emanuel, riding in a kiddies pack on Obama’s back, whipping his ass with a cat o’ nine tails. It’s anti-Semitic!

The illuminati are telepathically remote viewing the Masons and who is controlling the illuminati? It’s The Debil! Yes it’s the Debil. It’s that red guy in the black suit at the crossroads and Robert Johnson is picking his guitar. Jimmie Page is doing backup on the double neck strat and it sounds like someone is castrating a cat. No wait! It’s actually two cats having sex. A little known fact is that cat’s penises have barbs that come out and hook into the vagina of the female and when they pull it out? The female cat screams. What does she scream? “It’s anti-Semitic”! An orthodox rabbi, a French soldier and a Polish diplomat are captured by natives in The Congo. The chief says, “We are going to kill you and then we are going to make canoes out of your skin. The good news is that we will let you chose the manner of your own death”. Yeah, that’s how the chief talks, he went to Oxford. The Frenchman falls on his sword and bleeds to death. The rabbi swallows a bag of diamonds and chokes to death. The Polish diplomat looks around and reaches into his mess kit and pulls out a fork and starts stabbing himself all over the torso screaming, “You’re not making any fucking canoe out of me”! And? That’s right! It’s anti-Semitic!

The evangelicals handle poisonous snakes, as a substitute for playing with their own. The other Protestants and Catholics pass the collection plate. In the synagogues, you actually pay for the seat, just like at a prize fight or a concert. In some places this is only for the high holy days, when the gilded offspring of the Wall Street Bull is trotted out on to the dais. If you’re in Palm Beach that could run you a million a year and that too, is anti-Semitic! Anti-Semitics to the left of me, anti-Semitics to the right of me, into the valley of anti-Semitism rode the six million.

High rollers are playing AIPACMAN in the dying casinos, surrounded by the abandoned houses of the people that had to move; west young man! Move West! Heah cum de Muslims! Heah cum de Muslims! Here they come, bent over and moonwalking on their knees, but not in France! It’s the time of the holy wars. There’s an old lady on crutches beating a nun to death with a huge crucifix. Whoops, that’s not a nun, that’s a Hassid, my bad. And that is anti-Semitic. I just saw a bumper sticker go by on a pickup which said, “Could you revise history any better with the Dead Sea Scrolls jammed up your ass?” Sorry, wrong joke but it’s still anti-Semitic! “Do you know de way to Brooklyn or should I just go fuck myself?” Hey, that’s anti-Semitic.

The press lines are on fire with how The Palestinians aren’t going to do what they’re going to do but who controls the press? That’s anti-Semitic. “Organs! Organs! Get your ice cold organs!” Uh huh, anti-Semitic. ♫Moon niggaz, whiter than The Nile, I be crossing you in style some day. We be after the same Manichevitz wine and glorious behind to set your drink upon, it’s true, Moon Niggaz and you...♫ You will note that Manichevitz promotes responsible drinking. And you better believe that’s anti-Semitic.

God’s laughing and that’s anti-Semitic too. No telling if he’s laughing at this post or laughing at you for the moment, possibly both.

All right Visible, move your lunatic ass out of the way for a moment. I know, I know, that’s anti-Semitic but move anyway. Sorry, I get possessed sometimes. It’s probably the anti-Semitism that does it. Every time I snort a few lines that tends to happen. It’s probably the reason I got busted on the super highway a few years ago, trying to snort the white line on the freeway, under a full moon that just happened to appear in a school bus window, at the right time. I thought I might as well look for my car keys too since that’s where the light was.

Sometimes, late at night I imagine conversations between Alan Dershowitz and The Debil, prior to his entrance into Hell. Lawyers can talk when their ass is on the line. Of course, as per De Niro’s commentary in “Angel Heart”, “The world won’t miss one more lawyer” or something like that. Did you see dual national De Niro at the opening of last weeks NY Jets game? Way to go Roberto! Oops! Anti-Semitic. It doesn’t matter what I say or if I look at you any particular way, it’s all anti-Semitic.

Well, it’s probably time for me to go rub myself down with some Dead Sea Anti-Semitism cream and hope for the best. I got that radio show to do tonight and I ought to prep my head as opposed to getting some cause that would be anti-Semitic too.

Muslims, Muslims, who got the Muslims, I neeeeeeeeeeeeed some Muslims, wanna cop a dime bag of Muslims with no usury attached, that’s why the banks don’t like ‘em. Bring some tanks and fuck the banks, burn down Wall Street and de-ball the bull. Muslims didn’t do 9/11, Israel did 9/11 and they’re gonna do more and they’re gonna do it soon. Down on their knees to the Golden Calf, Heaven through a needles eye, don’t make me laugh, take my diuretic, pissing anti-Semitic and eyeballing Uncle Khazar through the glory hole, toss a maseltov cocktail through the porthole of the sinking ship of state. They took it down with them, I can relate, Hop on board and don’t be late! All the free will junkies are victims of fate. Yeah, I’m a playa hata that’s addicted to hate. Anti-Semitic! Material dialectic, your stomachs gone peptic. More and more profit, I gots to collect it. No more yards and inches they can steal more with metric. I gotta go, gotta go, it’s too eclectic!!! Your ass is worth how much? Well son, go ahead and bet it.


End Transmission.......

Radio show tonight, check the link for time and location in the Native Indian nation.

Degrees of Darkness in the Absence of Light.

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

'May your noses always be cold and wet'.

I have been putting myself through hoops since last evening when I read this, wondering what I should say and if I should say anything. I was especially astonished by the admonitions given to the Germans about being responsible for the Palestinian troubles, however convoluted the argument. If anyone should take responsibility for The Palestinian Genocide it is Israel and this should be proclaimed by those Israelis who present themselves as friends of The Palestinians. Those who call themselves Israelis have no right to be in Palestine in the first place and they are only there through devious maneuverings and pornographic revisionism.

I’m not here to debate the extent and reality of their marketplace holocaust and I’ve no inclination to deny or question the details. What I do know is that when you make it against the law to question something then there’s something wrong with the facts because the only reason for worldwide suppression of inquiry would be that the facts wouldn’t hold water against it. To question the affair is the real province of those who present themselves as agents of truth, in seeming opposition to their countrymen. No one can be an agent of truth who does not only admit but also proclaim that Israel was behind 9/11. No one can be an agent of truth who parrots official lines and never brings certain untenable absurdities to light. Of course, this requires the courage of being capable of it.

The reason I don’t flat out deny that certain things took place is because that isn’t the important point. The important point is that the descendants of those responsible for the far larger and greater lasting holocaust in Soviet Russia, are those presently living in Israel. Given that, and accepting six million dead, one can only say that what followed was righteous karma and they are still millions of bodies short on the debt. That is the cardinal issue. Another point is that the majority of Young Turks in the Armenian holocaust were Jews. Another point is the owners of the slave ships that trafficked in human flesh, much as their present day descendents still do. Another point is that there are so many points to point out, concerning these perpetual victims that a picture begins to emerge and which is verified in their having been the only group of people on Earth to be tossed out of most of the countries in the world and sometimes more than once. An agent of truth would know these things because an agent of truth seeks the truth and should know why as well.

It is an interesting irony that there are so remarkably few Jewish voices that go directly to the heart of the matter, or who state what is evident based on the chain of evidence. It is an interesting irony that one is accused of anti-Semitism, when one states that Zionist interests own and control 96% of the mass media, the entertainment industry and so many things when they themselves brag about it. Any fool knows that ownership of the media places the drums of war into the hands of those who possess it.

I sincerely do not like to point certain things out. There’s no positive social or economic future for me in these pursuits and when I took upon myself certain responsibilities, or when they were laid on me, I accepted the cost. It is similar to my never having cooperated with the authorities when I was facing years in prison and at one point, a life sentence, more or less. I told myself that I could not live with waking up in the morning and knowing I was a rat. I can look at myself in the mirror and confirm that.

I can write all around things if I want to and I can simply avoid certain subject matter, including the contents of this posting but that would make me another kind of a rat. It is possible that I am allowed to say the things I say and many another is not. That’s obviously true up to this point concerning me and I wouldn’t want to speculate on others. I’m not here to argue about why people do and do not say the things they do. I’m just here to ask the reader what they think it means. I know what I think it means, as far as I can know anything.

To this point, so many writers and activists are part of the controlled opposition that it’s hard to know who isn’t. There are only a few reasons for not telling the unvarnished truth, if you are one of those people who pass yourself off as intelligent, compassionate and informed. Self interest is one reason. Complicity is another reason and the presence of some kind of agenda that flows back into either of the two preceding reasons is another. We can’t accept stupidity or denial as a reason because none of those who present themselves as truth tellers would accept either of those in any case.

In the early 1930’s, American Jews declared war on Germany because Germany was taking back the assets they and their international fellows had stolen in the period between the two wars, which they were major financiers of. The Red Cross was permitted to visit the concentration camps in Germany, even though The Zionists wanted no aid to reach those incarcerated. In Soviet Russia, under the control of The Cheka, The Red Cross was not allowed into the camps. The Red Cross and other agencies all agree that something like 110-120,000 prisoners were liberated from the camps. Presently, Israel claims over a million horrorcoast survivors exist, though the number is sometimes even higher, depending on who is doing the lying.

We now know that the majority of so called anti-Semitic acts are carried out by Zionist agencies. We know it’s a club of intimidation, to be used against anyone who gets in the way of their psychopathic machine and its red-eyed international harvesting, combine with the blood stained teeth, also known as The Central Banks. Israel does not have a right to exist; only Palestine has that right and that is being denied to them. There is no Israel. It’s a marketing device for world plunder and manufactured and managed chaos abroad.

I don’t give a damn about the endless litany of those who know no more than I do that the Mason’s control them, or that The Illuminati control the Masons, or that some truly secret and nameless cabal controls them. I know the faces I see and the names I hear and the acts I witness and what the evidence shows. That is what I know and only for as long as I am allowed to know it or it turns into something else.

Nothing I say here is going to mean anything in terms of what is coming and which is long overdue from my limited perspective. It’s coming and it’s going to happen and a lot of it is going to be a grim business indeed. Those who have profited upon the misery of the peoples of this world are going to get their due and their numbers too. I don’t care how many governments they control or have compromised and Israel is going to be destroyed because it is anathema and a pestilence upon the world community and it’s ordained. It will come to pass and I won’t give it a thought, I’ll just look ahead to the world to come, for whatever time I have to remain in it, because I’m headed somewhere else as far as I’m concerned and that is all there is to that.

In the moments now leading up to the inevitable, due to the unmoving and indifferent, the hammer of temporal authority is coming down all over the place (I’ll address a personal anecdote in this regard in the comments section later today, when I’m in the mood to write it). If one didn’t know better- and this is one of the few things I do know- one would think there was no hope and it’s just going to get worse and worse until we are shown just how bad it can get.

Obviously, the bully of the Middle East intends to do something awful soon. They don’t want the rightful inhabitants of the land they stole it from, declaring their right to be recognized. They don’t want the possibilities that will emerge from this to be made possible. They certainly don’t want to grant them the original borders which are themselves just another example of earlier theft. They don’t want to share their Wal-Mart Jerusalem either. The truth is they want to destroy them and drive the rest into exile, until not a single Palestinian remains. They want to destroy Lebanon, as they’ve shown in the past and Syria, Libya, Egypt and Iraq and Afghanistan, which they already have ZATO employed at in wars they manufactured after THEY DID 9/11. Whatever you hear them accusing others of is what they are engaged in.

The anniversary of Sabra and Shatila is here. This is when hundreds of men, women and children of Palestinian extraction were murdered by proxy, in Lebanon, under the orders of The Sleeping Sharon and his vampire overlords, who institute these horrors on every possible day, as they have since they first got into the business. This next ten days should prove interesting.


End Transmission.......

Visible sings: ♫ Who do You Love? ♫
'Who do You Love?' is track no. 5 of 10 on Visible's eponymous
'Les Visible' Music Album
Lyrics (pops up)


Soundclick.com, where I hosted my music for the last eight years just closed two of my accounts for no reason but I suspect it was because of the 9/11 album. They gave me an absurd reason that has no relation to anything real. Then they closed my main account without warning, reason or explanation. This is what I was going to put in the comments section but let me get it out of the way now. So it goes.

9/11 and The Big Smoke and Lie Machine

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

'May your noses always be cold and wet'.

I’ve been told that tomorrow is an important anniversary for a significant event. People have asked me if I didn’t want to do something special tomorrow in memory of it. I know that in America, The Big Lie Machine is being trotted out to celebrate the events of 9/11. The Big Smoke and Lie Machine has been running at full power for some days. It’s operating in tandem with the world’s biggest rotating disco ball that spins and generates the flashing, multicolored, illusions that are synchronized with the pounding bass and drumbeat, which is the official soundtrack that accompanies the flow of the First Matter, as it passes through the aqueducts of The Cloaca Maximus and then into the factories and foundries, where all the ideas, information, infrastructure and objects of this perverted world, are stamped out or constructed for the comprehensive confinement of our consciousness, in a world of denatured, lemon fresh shit.

The Big Smoke and Lie Machine may seem like just the catchall name for various, industrial kitchen units that are in existence the world over but those are just satellite extensions of one massive, central apparatus which, like The Cloaca Maximus and the disco ball, are connected by pipes, cables and transmitting dishes that make sure the shit gets distributed evenly across the globe, as if it were a seed spreader larger than the biggest harvester or cotton gin the world has ever seen.

An army of politicians; technicians, policemen, big hair preachers, pedophiles, cretins and criminals of all capacities and persuasions are employed 24/7 to keep this tripod, lie machine, cloaca and disco ball, pumping, flowing and spinning to the soundtrack that keeps the bitches and ho’s dancing and humping to the international anthem of Hell’s unfinished symphony, performed in English Major or Asia Minor, with a sympathetic vibrating G string that hides the promise of paradise beneath the billboard light. You can think about it in public and touch yourself in private but you can’t do both at the same time.

Domesticated dogs, wild wolves and hungry red-eyed rats are howling and chittering to the higher octaves that nothing formerly human can hear. They’re waiting for the carnage in the aftermath when there are too many bodies to bury or burn.

Yes, I’ve been told this is a solemn and signature day, demanding moments of silence and forced hypocritical gravitas, as we honor not only the fallen but every former freedom that followed them down. I can’t imagine where the moment of silence is going to come from with the steaming, screaming tripod, red lining the tachometer, as the wheezing, asthmatic car of our collective futures hums on the concrete blocks, going nowhere.

I’ve considered walking outside my front door and pissing into the foliage as some kind of personal statement. I’ve given the occasional moment of thought to some token act of engagement in the world wider, robot reflex of automatons, doing the John Philip Souza down the dangerous length of Anytown, Main Street or Commercial Street, while the relentless pressure of the times, sends hundreds of those with nothing left to lose into a postal frenzy upon everyone and everything in reach. A symbolic pissing on this particular magnesium flare is going to accomplish nothing good and I’m not in the mood to commemorate ignorance, stupidity and denial in any case.

I’ll take this moment to say that Israel did 9/11, with the assistance of well placed and important puppets who dance on the strings of international bankers. I’ll take this moment to point out that while marching through Libya, while caught in the currents between Scylla and Charybdis, or Turkey and Israel, if you prefer and while far more important dates approach, it is essential to remember that you usually get where you are headed unless you die on the way.

I take this moment and a few moments tomorrow to mourn the loss of human courage and integrity on the altars of materialism, appetite and fear. I’ll say a prayer for the bitches and ho’s and one for the pimps as well because the latter will become the former in what will seem like no time at all. It’s a cycling endlessness of role switching abuse that punctuates the centuries with suffering and futility. It’s a Sisyphean redundancy of adamantine fools, lashing legions of oxen, pulling the heavy and pointless up an impossibly slippery hill. My sympathies lie with the oxen.

I recommend to every witness and observer of the pompous and bloviating spectacle of weeping crocodiles and ostrich ass bandits that they cry bullshit after every sentence and significant, meaningful pause. I recommend a world wide flash mob of mooners, attended by cellphone camera operatives, with a Youtube hookup. I recommend scorn and ridicule. I recommend revolutionary action of comic performance and ingenious satire. I recommend contempt and indifference from the bullhorn of conscience, in every public and private venue. I recommend a moment of silence absent, as the entire world cries “bullshit” at high noon tomorrow. I recommend a hundred million, middle fingers raised in a salute to our leaders and prison wardens the world over. I recommend monkey wrench business of the most sarcastic and sardonic kind.

We hold this truth to be self evident that Israel attacked the United States on 9/11 and blamed it on the Muslim world. We hold it to be self evident that Israel is not a nation but a collection of banker gangsters who stole a land with people, for a people with no central criminal base, for the purpose of ritualized religious genocide, while seeking to economically enslave the entire world and then plunge it into a holocaust of war based on the recovered false memory of brain washed populations, who saw the movie and bought the t-shirt. If it is not self evident then your self is in hiding from the fear of oppression, slander and loss, which are an inevitable certainty as a result. We hold it self evident that when it is not self evident it will, sooner or later, become evident in the most unpleasant possible way.

Yes, beat the drums, strike up the band and weep on command. Open your ears and close your minds, nod your heads like a fluffer, felating the ones who must be made hard enough to rape and kill your friends and families on camera, while you watch. It wouldn’t surprise me if you got hard and wet in the performance of it. You are nothing more than a controlled reflex but you might wake up. You might wake up today and you might wake up tomorrow, in wonder at the confinements of your pen and the salubrious atmosphere of the sty. You may find yourself speaking in a foreign language, no longer grunting and squealing and running around on all fours. You may not understand the meaning of what is being said in your own voice. It has been such a long time since it has been in use. You may not comprehend the emotions of your heart and the thoughts moving in your mind may seem like an alien landscape but you have the promise of adjustment and accommodation to, soon enough, make it seem like you have been this way forever and that should be enough to make your forget your awakening once more, as appetite and deception begin to act upon you once again.

Those whose purpose is to deceive and abuse us are losing their grip. You can thank the cosmos for that. You had no part in it but you can have a part in it now. The devil that torments and confuses you cannot stand to be ridiculed and laughed at. It robs him of his power. For as long as you take him seriously, he is a serious player. When you no longer take him seriously, he is an impotent clown, someone to be pelted with rotting fruits and vegetables, tarred and feathered and ridden out of town... on a rail.

Maybe you will awaken and maybe you will be brought to awakening but awaken you shall. The wand has been raised and the command has been made and now there is nothing more remaining but that the power must precipitate down, into the place where soon enough either surprise, wonder or lasting shame will make an appearance upon your face.

Visible sings: ♫ Have I Got This Right? Talking 9/11 Blues ♫
'Have I Got This Right?' is track no. 2 of 10 on Visible's 2002 album
'911 was an Inside Job'
Lyrics (pops up)



There will be a radio show Sunday night.

The End of the Road in the Rear View Mirror.

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

'May your noses lead you into green pastures beyond the end of the road'.

The end of the road lies somewhere down the road; you never know where that is or when you’re going to get there but you do know when you arrive. Things may change in front of you and there may be nothing more in front of you but the significator will definitely be in the rear view mirror. Through the windshield you may note abandoned houses, broken toilets and grazing cows. It might be a frozen lava flow and that’s never good news, given the smoke in the distance, whose location can’t be fixed. It could be white sands. It could be black sands and it could be red sands. It could be Tom Cruise running down the road in Vanilla Skies. It could be anything. It’s what’s happening in the rear view mirror that counts.

The first time you notice that you are getting close to the end of the road is when you look in your rear view mirror and see that there is no longer a road behind you. What that means is you can’t turn around any longer. You probably didn’t notice when the road disappeared, no one ever does. What you notice is that all of the things you are seeing in your windshield are now in your rear view mirror too. Sometimes the side windows are fogged with mist and you can’t see anything at all. Sometimes it’s smoke, as if you were driving through a brush fire and sometimes you can see out of the side windows but it’s more of what now is showing in the rear view mirrors and through the dashboard.

Usually when you are getting near the end of the road you begin to think you hear music playing somewhere. It’s not coming from the radio or CD player because that is never on when you are getting close to the end of the road. Maybe you turned it off shortly before or maybe it just stopped playing on its own. This is something you can’t remember, no matter how hard you may try. It does sound like music is playing somewhere and you finally figure out that it’s playing in your head. In many cases you can intuit what the end of the road is going to look like because of the soundtrack and this is the point where a lot of people look into the rear view mirror and notice that the road is gone.

You don’t need food anymore and there isn’t any sex at the end of the road, so that takes care of two of the major distractions of your life up to that point. For some there is an awful hunger and longing that is very much like what used to present itself, when one of these two things was on the Future Exit Menu but you know it isn’t either of these things, it’s for something else that went missing at the same time the road disappeared from your rear view mirror.

In many cases the end of the road has that late night Greyhound bus station vibe. There’s weariness and low level anxiety. There’s the distinct impression that the end of the road and the highway that took you there are still visible but only inside your head and the bus station effect makes the images return again and again like a runaway Rolodex. The Rolodex makes you think of all the people and opportunities that were going past the side windows on your way to the end of the road. This adds a haunting ache to the whole diorama of empty houses and grazing cows. In some instances and especially these days, the cows are not grazing. Even though you’ve never been to the end of the road and even though you may have been to the end of the road many, many times but just can’t remember from one time to the next, somehow you know there should have been cows grazing there, the same way you know that something terrible happened to the cows but you can’t see them at the moment. You know that whatever happened to the cows has something to do with you and you’re pretty thankful for the spinning Rolodex, although the low level anxiety has definitely increased since you noticed the cows were missing.

Now that you’re at the end of the road, you’re getting these flashes that you had noticed the road was changing behind you but you just didn’t register it at the time. It seems now that the road had changed from macadam to gravel and then to a dirt track. You’re not entirely sure about this but you can’t shake the sensation of actually having seen it happen. Along with this you’re getting other flashes and sensations about all sorts of things from the past that happened but you didn’t notice them at the time. You are only noticing it now. Some of these things seem like they were major events and screaming possibilities of all kinds but when they occurred they were very much diminished and more like distractions when, in fact, they were life changing experiences that didn’t happen.

You’ve got a lot of time to think now, in some cases and in other cases there is the pressing sense that you have no time at all and thinking about anything isn’t going to do any good. Some of you are probably going to explore some of the abandoned buildings in that case and maybe sit down on one of the busted toilets and have a cigarette and a beer but the cooler is gone from the car and you can’t find your tobacco. In all cases you realize that this isn’t what you wanted, it only felt like it was. It doesn’t seem all that strange to you that so many things are missing or that you are missing something you can’t identify because part of you knows all about it but the connection is bad.

Maybe you’ve gotten out of the car by now and it’s certainly cooler or warmer than you expected. The sun is behind the clouds and it feels like it shouldn’t be as warm as it is, or the sun is shining but it’s so much cooler than it should be. The thing you notice the most as you get out of the car is not the climate but the sounds inside your head. It isn’t music anymore and you realize now that it wasn’t music before either. It’s the rise and fall of a great number of voices. It’s like being in a quiet park somewhere in the middle of a large urban complex, when the wind will bring a sweep of sounds to your ear and then carry them away as it shifts in another direction, however, there isn’t any wind blowing at the end of the road. You can’t make out what any of the voices are saying but they are definitely saying something. You can feel the emotional impact that they contain but no matter how hard you try you can’t make out what they are saying.

Once you go into one of the houses you are hit with a wave of nostalgia, as if you’d been there before but you’re pretty sure that’s not the case. Still... everything is a lot more familiar than it should be and surprisingly, the inside of the houses are not abandoned at all. True, there are no other people but it looks like there were others here only a moment before. The inside of the house is as vibrant and animated as the containing walls and various objects could be. It’s the exact opposite of the outside appearances.

You haven’t been there very long. You don’t think so anyway but you do realize that you no longer have any sense of time and it’s altogether possible that you have now been there a lot longer than you think. A lot of what happens after this depends on what part of the end of the road you wound up in. You’ll have a good sense of what to expect from the unexpected by how you feel. Some of you will be feeling better than you would imagine given your surroundings and you sense that it has everything to do with being at the end of the road and the fact that with the road gone, everything that might have troubled you is also gone. In other cases, the road being gone is a terrifying concept but you haven’t got a clue as to what to do about it.

One thing eventually dawns on everyone at the end of the road and that’s that they aren’t feeling any different than they were feeling when they were back on the highway, before the gravel and the dirt track, it’s just amplified now. All kinds of things that were competing for the attention, or in place to distract the attention have been removed. The rise and fall of the voices has a hyper reality to it. It seems inexplicable that you wouldn’t be able to tell what they were saying, even though you know what they are saying and just can’t make the connection to the part of yourself that understands them.

You realize that you’ve been at the end of the road for awhile but the environment only just caught up with you now. It’s amazing how quickly it happened. It’s like it happened so very fast that the first time you saw it was in the rearview mirror and yet, it took a great deal of time. It seems like one should get to the end of the road well before they get to the end of the road and they might never have reached the end of the road at all. Of course, where one road ends another road is sure to begin, even if it is not a highway like the last one you were on.

I’m reminded of my enduring motto at this point, “Leave good footprints”. Those of us leaving good footprints are the very same people who found out what happens when you don’t and took it to heart. It’s got everything to do with the end of the road and the beginning of whatever follows that. I think it was Bilbo who mentioned what can happen when you step out of your door and into the road; how the road can sweep you up and take you anywhere, even to the gates of Mordor.


End Transmission.......

Visible sings: ♫ Every Day ♫
'Every Day' is track no. 11 of 11 on Visible's 2001 album 'God in Country'
Lyrics (pops up)

Heroes, Losers and Window Shopping Troglodytes.

I could have first written a short book called “Visible for Dummies” before I started doing all of this but I was too busy and I assumed too much; if you don’t know what a term or a reference means, by all means, look it up. That’s why god gave you search engines and doesn’t want you to use me as your research assistant. I know everyone wants to screw the cute librarian with the glasses. You should be informed, I’ve got all that kind of attention already and I live with the librarian and her sister likes me to. However, if it is that important, take a number and the butcher will be with you shortly. How would you like those hog nostrils sliced; real thin so they look like pepperoni on the pizza? Be patient, one our operators will contact you shortly.

People who actually like coming here know I will get to my point soon enough, or I might just take a lot of time; you never know. I introduced Lord Buckley into the mix yesterday and if you missed it there, because you didn’t find me in ‘all the usual places’, given that some of the usual places need to grant space for their consort and the religious music they offer, while reflexively dismissing anything spiritual by anyone else.... Oops, I’ve confused spirituality with religion again, never mind.

Anyway, I introduced Lord Buckley, who is not to be confused with William Buckley, who used to talk like his mouth was full of water, while he was seeding the fields of blood; much like the Kristol’s now do, or Buckley Cough Syrup; “tastes terrible but works great”... and Lord Buckley has had a great impact on me personally, as has Omar Khayyam and Lord Krishna, Shiva and a Buddha or two.

I learned yesterday that Lord Buckley used to go on stage and encourage the women in the audience to bring their mink coats to the stage and then he would set them on fire. Now who used to wear mink coats all the time, or should I go down to Miami Beach forty years ago in the summer or do you get the picture? Apparently Al Capone approved of what he did but Al was in competition with a larger crime syndicate, so we can appreciate why he would have that sentiment but we don’t want to talk about who his rivals were. As I heard the tale, Lord Buckley died in the gutter, though the word is that he was killed by the mob; which mob? Maybe that’s why Groucho treated him like shit. Well, for those who don’t know the man, go to Visible Origami for a small taste in the links and let me give you one I didn’t include that attends to the conquistadores; maybe the text is a better thing at this point.

This is not about Lord Buckley but more about all of us that have wailed backstage because the stage has been controlled by those who demand an open mouthed and kneeling fealty from the performers and some of us won’t put up with this. Some of us burn their mink coats on stage and some of us create our own stage but any of us that are honorable and have some shred of integrity remaining, improvise somehow to get our message out to those who tend to tear us to pieces instead of hanging their leaders and the propaganda skunks, who make the joint smell like the world needs to take a shower and then get run over by the tractor trailer of the divine, as they sit in the middle of the highway licking their fur.

I’m going to be honest here, which might be a stretch for me. I have often toned down my real message because a website I really liked didn’t like me talking about God; those days are over. I don’t care who does or does not link me anymore. If I can’t be myself then the whole point of doing this in the first place is a big waste of time and I’ve done enough of that already.

I don’t care if a plane or a missile hit The Pentagon. All I care about is who did it, not how they did it. Unlike the estimable doctors of one science or another, who write endless books about shit that any fool ought to already question from the get go, I already know it’s bullshit and I don’t mind calling it by its rightful name. I got on a train and traveled for a full day to get to Luzerne to speak to a group of Swiss and curious attended by press and the rest who came to hear Dr. Griffin and Niels Harrit go on and on and on and on about the kind of thing that only the Swiss will sit still for because they live in the country that hides the money until they need it to make another war.

I’ll admit that I got impatient after a couple of hours and I will admit that I had not much to do but smoke extraordinarily strong pot and drink beer and talk to the people outside who had enough sense not to sit through the show. So I told the promoter to put me on because I could tell that no one was really getting anything because it was just going on and on and on and on and on and on and on. The promoter is and was a very cool guy and he did put me on next and I knew what I could say and couldn’t say, up to a point so... what could I do, I did my best Lord Buckley and maybe you want to go and read “Visible for Dummies” at this point but without saying it, I said it and when I left the stage after taking only about ten minutes, a good portion of the audience followed me outside and stayed there until the promoter had to come back out and encourage them to go back in so that they could hear two more hours about intricate shit that was designed to put their minds to sleep and succeeded.

The next morning when I awoke from my troubled sleep, I did my best to avoid the good doctors at the complimentary breakfast buffet but I had left something in my hotel room. That meant I had to traverse across the space where they could see me pass because I had already been waiting a good time to get away and just as my streetcar, on a given Sunday- with reduced traffic; given that it was a Sunday, arrived, I remembered what I had forgotten and wound up having that undesirable brunch with them.

If what it takes to tell the truth involves having to have breakfast with people who don’t like me cause I stole their thunder in a small town that I can’t even remember the name of, so be it. If my taking a slow train fifteen hundred miles back and forth over the period of three days is not enough to show the lengths I am willing to go to and get no compensation, where I am sure the doctors got theirs, then maybe I’m not trying hard enough and maybe I’m wrong and maybe I don’t deserve anything anyway but... I know what boredom is like and I find it intolerable. I find writing endless books about HOW something happened is intolerable too. I find arguing about whether it was a plane or a missile intolerable because all I give a shit about is who did it. I don’t care what their mechanisms were; that’s for the people who make money off of it by their tedious books and lecture tours that make Bob Dylan’s present 365 days a year tour look like he was living and working in France... and he’s been touring non stop for a long time and not having much effect on anything anymore, just like the good doctors because none of these fucks addresses the root problem which is WHO DID IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don’t care how they did it and I don’t care about all the convoluted frottage crap that people get into, I care who did it. The producer of the event took me aside afterwards and he told me that we can’t talk about that here and, you know what? I didn’t even say it out of respect for him in the first place but I’m a performer. I know how to get my point across without actually saying it. I say it here because I own here. If I can’t say it in your space then don’t invite me and if you have a financial angle with me, don’t visit or importune me because I don’t need you and I never have. The day I can’t be heard, because I am dependent on small change aficionados, is the day I tie my feet together and tie my hands behind my back and then hang myself and I can be a suicide just like the real thing, all it takes is 12 Chinese acrobats and a whole lot of people who whore for money or sell their asses for the thrill of fear and I am good to go.

I like Lord Buckley and I like Colonel Khadaffi and I like Russia and I definitely like Vladimir Putin or anyone who is, more or less-as politician’s go- behaving themselves at home and not terrorizing the landscape. This is pretty much the world today. If they are not killing you by proxy, as the cowards they are, they are boring you to death or apologizing for not letting you have a forum because we don’t say these things here.

You know what? If you can’t print or allow all that I do, then don’t print any of it. You know what? If you have to pass the hat to print my books, I can electronically print them with NO ONE”S HELP but the one I have relied on all my life. Believe me, I have never relied on any of you and I am not going to change now. My life is between me and GOD and now that I don’t care if a certain website prints my work anymore, I’m not ashamed to say it; I’ve never been ashamed of that but I am done mincing my words. You like mince? Go bake yourself a mince pie for all the thanksgiving you have none left of to celebrate. You get back to me when November arrives.


End Transmission.

I’m celebrating other people now.