Dog Poet Transmitting.......
May your noses always be cold and wet and may you never be depressed and down ...and if sometimes you are, may you always come around ...really quick.
♫When the rain comes ,you run and hide your head, you might as well be dead, when the rain comes. When the sun shines, you slip into the shade♫ Well, don't let it bring you down ♫it's only castles burning♫ I was watching the calendar these last couple of days because... the last two days are one of those significant, war celebration, false flag instigating, holidays that define the state of Israel. The world didn't blink. Ahmadinejad spoke out at the UN and none of the American envoys walked out. Nitwityahoo is going to speak at the UN today. There's no way he doesn't come across as insane. Everyone in attendance will be looking at him, as if he was a frothing, mad dog. This is Mr. Apocalypse's work. Things are going to get more and more starkly real. You know those line graphs, where you see a line gradually going up or down? Then, it suddenly takes a really steep pitch downward? Yes, let's say downward. That's kind of how it works. The ruckus in Spain is going to become very dramatic and spread like The Bubonic Plague . The bankers are getting called out, by the people. A lot of them might think it's the government that is responsible but the attention is going to come around to the bankers. That's how Mr. Apocalypse wants it. ♫Whatever Mr. Apocalypse wants, Mr. Apocalypse gets♫ and don't call him Lola.
What Nitwityahoo has accomplished, in his time of cavorting, like a deranged baboon, in front of the world, is to convince the world that he is a deranged baboon, with a serious case of red ass.. What the neo-cons have accomplished, in their time of cavorting around like a pack of rabid hyenas, is to prove that they are, in fact, rabid hyenas. As dumb as the world is, given the density of blockheads, pretending they are Legoland inhabitants, Mr. Apocalypse is going to use an industrial stapler and staple their eyelids to their forehead. That should do the trick, we hope, because in many cases you can piss in their ears and make them think it's raining.
Creative sorts, should make wanted posters of all the mucky mucks in The Central Banker Nation and post them everywhere. They should list the crimes and an intricate bio would be helpful. Consonant with that, it might not be a bad idea, for everyone to viscerally acknowledge that all of these clowns are international criminals, who have engaged in serial murder and everything else, from soup to nuts, including the rape of household pets, which had to be treated for STD's in the aftermath. As many of us as possible need to 'visualize' these reptiles as being behind bars, or marooned on some form of Devil's Island. We have to actually see this. This is what Mr. Apocalypse wants and ♫Whatever Mr. Apocalypse want, Mr. Apocalypse gets♫ He doesn't want you calling him Lola though.
My preference for these clowns is that they should be put in a zoo, not a petting zoo, a zoo with bars, razor wire topped chain-link fences, or some permutation thereof. There should be a good sized plaque in front of every cage, with a detailed bio and pictures showing native habitat, such a the bowels of Hell, or any bowels really. We should change Nitwityahoo's name to Cloaca Maximus, like maybe he is one of those Roman emperors, who were into all those depraved things they are so famous for. We should manufacture a line of cookies, called Famous Anus, which shows their pictures on the carton. Things like this are very powerful. We have to use satire and humor and blow things out of proportion and the sad truth is that you can't blow this out of proportion, because anything said, could well fall short of the endless tower of flaming scabrous shit they have erected in their own honor and, possessing no honor to begin with well, it's an honor to be writing this.
We need a poster of Phi Beta Nitwityahoo, similar to Phi Beta Crappa (cue Frank Zappa). It's new and unapproved. It's that unreal thing in the back of your mind. It's the giddy-up in Gitmo. It's a shit sandwich, sliced real thick, just the way you like it, Mr. Visible. It's some kind of turkey pastrami, while you're wanking your salami. It's the bending end, with sharp corners. Kids, don't try this at home. You need supervision. Yeah, you need super vision. You need remote viewing, because the stink would gag a skunk. How come no one ever says anything about what a skunk smells when he lets it go?
I might have mentioned once, a particular morning when I was in Bloomingdale’s in New York City. I'd been up all night, coked to the gills, swimming under water as a solution to the world's ills and I used to go into stores like this and have long, one-sided conversations with the mannikins. It could be pretty funny. In those days there was no Stand on Zanzibar, state sponsored, false terrorism. ♫Golden rose, color of the dream I had, not too long ago♫ ♫Waterfall, nothing can harm you at all. My world is so very small, with my waterfall♫ ♫So here I sit, the retired writer in the sun♫ ♫Made in the USA! Made in the USA!♫ You're dreaming visible. Say a prayer for me getting my passport on 10/1. ♫I got dreams, dreams to dismember♫ ♫Lean on me, when you're not strong. I'll be your friend, I'll help you carry on. I'm right down the road, I'll share your load, if you just call me♫
There is nothing like humor to show the absurd as ridiculous,. Anyway, end of digression. So I was in Bloomingdale’s in the morning. I was ripped. I was with a man who was my friend at the time, David Mowry, now an accomplished blues musician. Well, I don't like the blues. I like up music, well crafted. Anyway, David was still cool then, not an old man with curmudgeonly ways, like he is now. I had eaten a big Mexican dinner the night before. I was on the elevator and just before we got to the second floor, I let out a humungous fart. I knew, oh boy, I knew, this one was going to be redolent. This one had flavor enhancers. It was silent, sort of, as the best farts always are and... the door opened and two blue-rinsed dowagers, walked into the elevator, as we stepped off. I turned around to look at them, as the doors were closing and saw the look of abject horror on their face. It was one of those Mastercard moments, priceless. People, shopping can be dangerous. It ought to have a warning label. I have a warning label. It's tattooed on the back of my neck so that whoever is riding me, can have something to read, while they Rodger the situation.
Is this man sane? No children, he is not. He is a seashell beyond the sun's kiss, but he damn well ain't Memorex. I have never gone out to shop simply to shop. I have something I am supposed to get or I don't go. I didn't put the get in Gitmo. Someone needs to make a deck of cards called, “Sick Fucks from Hell”. Someone has to ring the bell. Paul Revere is on the hoof and “eternal vigilance is the price of liberty”. France gave us that statue. Noahide gave us the statutes. “Wise as serpents and harmless as doves”. Repent! The end is nearer my god to me. You know, I am as proud of that fart as of anything I have done. “The horror! The horror” cue Joseph Conrad. Or cue Conrad Hilton. It's up to you. Paris Hilton has something tattooed at the base of her spine so that the rider will have something to read. If you like a good read, read “Riverland by Phillip Jose Farmer. Read Zelazny's “Lord of Light” or “Jack of Shadows” ♫Walking in Memphis, walking with my feet ten feet off of Beal. Walking in Memphis, do you really feel the way I feel? Now Muriel plays piano. Every Friday at the Hollywood. And they brought me down to see her. And they asked me if I would. Do a little number. And I sang with all my might. And she said "Tell me are you a Christian child?" And I said "Ma'am I am tonight"♫
It doesn't have to be so hard but we are hard on ourselves. We are hard on ourselves because, dulled by sensation seeking, we are unable to be courageously honest about the vampires in our midst. Of course you know this. If I know it, you know it, so, as I have said so many times here, some amount of satirical guerrilla warfare is necessary. If you can't Johnathan Swift this, you will get swift-boated and... that's the name of that tune. You love me and I love you. That's a fact. Why do you love me? I make you real. Why do I love you? You authenticate me. You're why I get up in the morning. You make me want to be a better person. No more, “Uncle Sam wants you”. Now you should be seeing, “This man wants to kill you”. And non saddhu Nitwitanada, should be the poster child. You know he was deep into 9/11. Where was he on the day? You know that Dov Zackheim, was deep into frog shit, suspended in Jello; kind of like a fly in amber but it ain't amber. It's Madonna, also cavorting like a deranged baboon with a tattoo across her lower back, so I'll have something to read when I'm remote, very remote, viewing. Please note that no mention was made of Michael Fassbinder's dick or my own, during the filming of this Post Toasties. I will definitely never wear a kilt or play “Amazing Grace” on the bagpipes.
See “The Guard” with Brendan Gleeson. As a real homicide detective, I believe I have something to say on the matter, or would that be First Matter? A white stone, malleable. I'll cut you a slice if you ask me nice. No children, no dogs and no school bus windows, were harmed during the filming of this Post, way past, Toasties. This is like Crème brûlée gone bad. This is what happens to a soufflé, when you aren't careful with the oven door ...but who eats that shit anyway? Who eats quiche for that matter, First Matter?
Step lightly my friends and... “come and trip it as you go, on the light fantastic toe”. Go read “The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock. Someone post it in the comments. That's your job. He was a banker. God works in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform and... after all, it is for the porpoise of demonstration.
If you are in the UK, Mr. Visible is coming to see you in a month or so. RSVP my friends. ♫I would walk 500 miles♫
'God Bless You Cindy Sheehan' is track no. 1 of 10 on Visible's 2006 album 'Songwriter'
Lyrics (pops up)