Dog Poet Transmitting.......
May your noses always be cold and wet.
If my name were Al... and it's not, I'd probably be tickled purple, if some cell phone app were named Anaconda Al and that was the name I went by as a, I don't know, Chippendale dancer with aforementioned snake ('private parties and public receptions as you like and tailored to your individual needs'), or the guy who had the line about the Alabama Black Snake in either Platoon or Full Metal Jacket. The thought of being plaster-casted and becoming the subject of a bidding war on EBAY well, that's a career enhancing thing. If you're a musician it puts a whole new light on touring. Ah well, however worthy a candidate I might be, I can't see turning something like this down. I mean, it's not like the “Here's Johnnnnny!” portable toilet thing that Johnny Carson sued over. It's got uh... uh... uh... (pun intended) cachet. However the man himself said, "The name 'Chubby Checker' is... used as a vulgar pun," Alsup wrote. Once again, yet another person who thinks sex is dirty at all points in time. Only if you head happens to be pointed too, at the time.
Let's move along to something uplifting, whaddya say? Given that it is summer and a young man's fancy, or a young ladies, turns to camping out; I guess we could throw in old people in an RV, well, this is the sort of thing that would just put the finishing touch on a fine dinner of those 'other dogs'. It's things like this that tell you there's hope for the human race and that maybe we might dodge a bullet but... not if we live in Rahmsville Chicago (♫a helluva town♫
We’re looking at an uptick of 'push coming to shove'. It's better late than never, hopefully. Obviously, there is something deeply wrong with The Late Great American States. Whether it's political correctness run riot, as seen in the previous link, or one more example of ubiquitous corruption, it's what it is. No! Seriously people, it's what it is. The rot is cultural as well, when it gets into the political 'theater'. It used to be just one of those sub cultures and it was no big deal in most urban landscapes. It's a multi pronged, (pun intended) pincher assault and it's not going to go away until it gets ridden out of town on a rail. Of course, the Tribe owned music biz, shoehorns the soundtrack into where the sun don't shine, so that most people can say, “I give it an 85 because it's got a good beat and you can dance to it.” The monsters even call themselves monsters and looking, for all the world, like Joan Crawford in “Mommie Dearest”. She was definitely made in a lab.
So... they didn't stay down long. I can think of quite a few fitting (or not fitting as the case may be) locations for an ear of some of that hot buttered corn, with a serious cayenne sprinkling. Critical mass is right around the corner. We've been hearing about the off the cliff scene for a very long time and yet, whatever it is now, just seems to be able to hang on by it's fingertips, even though the feet can find no purchase. So it is that eventually it must fall , atrophy into the cliff wall or implode. I'm not an economist and that means I don't have to be confused and bedazzled, by a plethora of figures that shout panic and alarm but don't actually go anywhere. I can look at that long term thing and, as I have exampled, according to the bards affirmation thereof; “all the world's a stage and we are merely players, each having their exits and entrances” God I hope I got that right. Anyway. As the bard (or Francis Bacon or a player to be named later) so aptly puts it, in confirmation of; everything is for the purpose of demonstration. That's the soul of Karma and the motive for life. It's all about what is eternal, being engaged on a long, long journey of self discovery; respond in your own time as counterpointed by your pain threshold and unfulfilled desires, with whatever the ignorance and denial factor might be factored in. Argue for, against, or whatever as you will, that's how it is, or so the principal tells me. ♫ain't no Karma like the one I got♫
All of this, all of these yugas, stage sets of varying degrees of light and shadow, are for the purpose of demonstration. It's hard to get your mind around it. It is especially hard to get your mind around it, if you don't want to get your mind to get around it, heh heh... well, then it just goes on and on and on, until you have no choice but to get your head around it. I don't care what you call it. I don't care what personal diagrams of limitation you have come up with, to contain the uncontainable; to give comprehension to the incomprehensible. I don't care if it has to make scientific sense. I don't care if it has to be by the book, even though the book passed through the hands of those who are working you, a long time ago. I don't care one way, or the other, how people go about it, except when their intransigence and ignorance, make this world far less hospitable and commodious than it might be; rather apportioning it as something intimidating and confining.
They say the world is what we make it but... if we are poor architects maybe that's our real problem and certainly the educational system is manipulated to produce a steady stream of bad and unimaginative architects. Life is magical but there is such an abundance of bad magicians. Bad magic will get you on stage because anything that demeans and dishonors human dignity and honor, is in high demand by those committed to the demeaning and dishonoring. See, if they can get you to hate yourself, that's more than half the battle. This is how they place themselves in the ascendant, while being seething and bubbling fleshbags of corruption, guided by toxic intellects and twisted libidos that get a hard on when they see a steaming pile of shit. It's why their whole dance is a scatological square dance.
This kind of thing doesn't happen overnight and this is why they have taken their time dumping you into that steaming pile of shit. When you do something like this, as part of a vast international conspiracy and you own the means and ways of the media and all of the arts, you can take your time setting the stage for mass murder and mayhem, if that happens to be your burning desire; a sort of foretaste of your guaranteed afterlife to come. What better playing field to demonstrate it on than the looted country of your so called best friend. Who looted that country? ...why you did, among other things, among a great deal of other horrifically tragic things; proving the moral of the tale about the frog and the scorpion. “I couldn't help it, it's my nature.” That pretty much says it all and that's how it is. That's how it is.
Sunday's radio show is now up for streaming or download.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Dog Poet Transmitting.......
Beamed from the Saucer Pod By Visible at 13:39
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