Worlds within worlds and poets under glass

Okay.



Santee Alley and Chinatown



two days rolled into one, with a passing glance at the tar pits.



We started at Santee Alley, which proved to be a great fun maze



like markets in Mexico





merged with a Hollywood





madhouse







a jumbled, swirling



temporary escape



from corporate



America





After the market we went to Chinatown, had lunch at Yang Chow's



and walked around



taking in the sights.



One morning, two worlds
then we went on to LACMA with hopes of also visiting the La Brea excavations going on next door.

Unfortunately, we just didn't have time to visit the tar pits. LACMA is just so huge. By the time we

were done, we were done but I did get a glimpse of the mammoth family at the pond. I've written about them here before. They haunt me. There they are, right on Wilshire Blvd, locked in a life or death drama. I know a guy here in Nevada who grew up in the La Brea area and remembers when giant fossilized skulls still protruded from the tarry sludge, mouths open, tusks thrust skyward, unchanged since the animals sank into the tar thousands of years ago. Now the bones, and so many more, have been excavated and this diorama stands in place as a memorial. The mother's feet are stuck in the gooey tar bottom of the pond and her mate and their baby, wild with fear and grief, watch helplessly from the shore as she tries to free herself. It's heartbreaking. The way the baby is stretching his trunk out to her, I can nearly hear his screams. It's as though the three of them have been struggling for the last 20,000 years to save her from an almost certain death.

We thought we might visit them and the excavation at Pit 91 after LACMA but as it turned out the museum was more than enough. M. Lee and I have been there before but still it was incredible and overwhelming. Along with everything else, the museum is currently showing Southern California Art of the 1960s and 70s and included were excepts from Semina, a "hand-printed, free-form, loose-leaf art and poetry journal privately published and distributed to a handful of friends and sympathizers" by Wallace Berman between 1955 to 1964, considered a "brilliant compendium of the most interesting artists and poets of its time."

The pages are displayed under a glass case. I looked for something from my uncle, not that I expected to find anything. Insanity and alcoholism scrambled him well before death finished the job. But I always check when there's anything about poets from the Beat era. I was just ready to move on and, to be honest, totally self-absorbed. Pointless. Why bother? Blah. Blah. Kathy found him. That's M. Lee's mom. She noticed that there was a poem by John Chance in the collection. She knew him in North Beach in the 50's, heard him read in the bars. Knew him from the scene. Mother of Beat Baby, don't ya know. She's a very cool lady. Bob Kaufman asked her to be godmother to one of his children, back in the day. In fact, it's her treat that we're in LA this week. She'd be in China now but her Chinese friend and traveling companion/interpreter had to opt out due to health reasons so the three of us came here instead. She found him ... Uncle John ... at the tar pit ... under glass.

The Security wouldn't let me photograph his poem. Museum rules. So I copied it and one more near by.

Talking Buddhism With My Lawyer


Every idea we took was carried to a point,
where it disappeared
into the infinity of possibility.

So there we sat.
There was something humorous
About charging out to the edge of the infinite

Only to find ourselves in that moment
Looking blankly across the table at one another
Locked in the same little room.

The ticker-tape clicking ignorant staccato
Outside the glass like a Zen Master.


~ John Chance


Excerpt from Pantopon Rose


Stay away from the Queen's Plaza, son ... Evil spot fuzz haunted by dicks scream for dope fiend lover ... too many lives ... heat flares out from the broom closet high on ammonia ... like burning lions ... fall on poor old lush workers scare her veins right down to the bone her skin pop a week or do that five-twenty-nine kick handed out free and gratis by NYC to jostling junkies ... So Fag, Beagle, Irish, Sailor, beware ...


~ William S. Burroughs

RIP Uncle John.

[next]

Getty and the goats

The first time I stood before Van Gough's "Irises", I cried. As far as I am concerned, it is the jewel of the Getty. And I cried again yesterday. I don't know why. I don't cry easily. I tear up over animal videos on YouTube and am outraged when children are drawn into the gruesome atrocities we adults spool and strut but, beyond that, I am dried eyed. Fool's tale. But this painting makes me cry.




"Irises" is part of the Getty's permanent collection but currently the museum is temporarily hosting a very disturbing exhibit by photographer Graciela Iturbide and good for them. Otherwise, they are merely caretakers of a lovely, very expensive archive of safe antiquities.




One section, titled "The Goat's Dance", I found not just provocative but heartbreaking. It put me in such a very dark place. I am in Los Angeles with M. Lee and his mother and at this point, they had the good sense to go their own way. We decided to meet in an hour and a half and I sat in front of the photos and wrote for a while. Sometimes, it's the only thing left to do.








After the Getty, we stopped by New Dvaraka, the Krishna temple on Watseka Ave. I lived there years ago, and at the temple's original location on La Cienega Blvd. It is so strange going back. We were there for the 4:40 darsan with the dieties, (viewing). I bought a new pair of kartals (cymbals) then we went across town for falafel, which turned out to be too rich.






So tomorrow in our little excursion de culture , off to Santee Alley, Chinatown, the LACMA, Rodeo Drive, followed by a drive through in Beverly Hills.

[next]

Notes on the fly

We are in LA

for the week

staying in a condo

in West Hollywood

with M. Lee's mom. Her treat.

This morning we are off to the Getty.

Bye.

[next]

Etude

I want to thank Roy for suggesting just the right name for the little Christmas card battery that earned his soul by playing on for weeks after being thrown in the trash. Etude. For warbling songs in the dark to the mice.

Etude. [French étude, from Old French estudie, study.] A short composition for a solo instrument featuring a point of technique but performed because of its artistic merit.

Etude. Like Mike the Headless Chicken who slept with his phantom head tucked under his wing until he died, six months after he was beheaded.

Etude. Life takes care of life.

Naming souls in the lateral universe

Béla Bartók + tiny mouse + one handed Santa + warped robot calliope music = ?

That Christmas card battery in my garage as been playing carols from the lateral universe for 13 days now and that, in my magical thinking, earns it a soul. Imagine one part Bartók on a macabre calliope (Roy's image), reincarnated as a tiny mouse (the mice in the garage get credit for that part though I have since relocated them to their new home along the Carson River.)

And the battery plays on. In case you can't make it out, in this clip it's belting out, "Santa Claus is coming to town". But it can't be long now, although I also thought that on the 31st when I made the first video of its plucky little concert. Yesterday, however, Santa with the missing hand took up the death watch.

I'm not meaning to start a debate over the existence or nonexistence of the soul just accept that everyone and thing gets a complimentary soul just for making it out here to the language barrier. So the little battery, the Christmas card dude, needs a name before entering the Great Silence but I haven't come up with one yet. Any suggestions?

Shut brain, open wallet

The other day I found this creepy little homily in a store dressing room. In keeping with the principles of perception management, which works best when the mechanics are hidden, it was placed high on the mirror, slightly out of sight but not out of range. I love the phrase, "This unattractive word". Obviously they are hoping to make customers feel "unattractive" if they don't splurge. I say tacky, desperate, and yes ... sinister.

The days of desks without roses

It's a dreary Saturday morning here in Nevada. Rain is washing away our fluffy white snow and after reading various posts about the horrors of the modern workplace cubicle, I found this sweet little NSFW clip at Drifty's which fits my mood to a T. Why T? I don't know. T has been the gold standard for fine fits since I was a kid. Glengarry Glen Ross has it all. Great writing. Great acting. And an office from the days when a desk was a DESK, real estate was HOT and men were, well... losers. Plus I love the line, "How should I know? I'm not a leash."

Glengarry Glen Ross

07:22
A similar scene has been playing in my head lately. In it, I am all the characters. It's chilling but I did get up early and write a new poem this morning and finished another I started a couple of days ago. I think it has something to do with my new desk which screams "crunch time", "do or die". "Coffee is for closers only".



Alec Baldwin

Yep

In case you're wondering, the Christmas card battery is still warbling its little heart out in the garage. It's been going 10 plus days now and, I must admit, I have developed both respect and fondness for that little thing. It has won a life of its own.

The Bounds of Sense

Dadaist Rock Band Album Cover Meme

I found this on Roy's blog. His album cover turned out to be "eerily appropriate" and it seems mine did too. He got it from UV, who found it at Mini-Obs and so on. According to the inexplicable whims of fate, the name of my band is The Bounds of Sense and this is our album cover. As you can see, we are a force to be reckoned with. And who are you?


Instructions:
1. The first article title on the Wikipedia Random Articles page is the name of your band.

2. The last four words of the very last quotation on the Random Quotations page is the title of your album.

3. Any appropriate picture in Flickr's Creative Commons licensed photos will be your album cover.

4. Use your graphics program of choice to throw them together, and post the result.

Restore paper ballots

Congress is poised to consider a new emergency paper ballots bill next week. This could be our one last chance to get this right before the election in November. Transparency and accountability are essential if we are to restore our democracy.

Please sign the petition here.
Thanks.

In case you haven't heard, electronic voting machines are incredibly easy to hack. Watch this video from Princeton University. They demonstrate the procedure. After you see it, I think you will agree. We need a paper trail!

Princeton Study Exposes Diebold Flaws

paper ballots 2008 election voting machines Diebold MoveOn

Hashbrowns with a side of Bush

Breakfast in the Bird Park this morning is hashbrowns and popcorn but the usual tiding of magpies was not impressed. I thought they'd love some tasty leftovers from a very greasy spoon, but they did not. Magpies are a bit picky. Even the starlings were freaked out. Maybe they don't like potatoes. Or perhaps it's the spices. Damn. If they don't clean it up by the end of the day, I'll have to do it. Before the mice. But I'll be surprised if the starlings don't polish it off. Where are the crows when you need them?

Did you catch the Cafferty File last night? His question, following McGovern's call for impeachment, was "Time to IMPEACH Bush and Cheney." We all know why it's not happening. Congress is owned by the corporate lobbies and won't touch the issue because they themselves are as guilty as Bush but there is some satisfaction hearing Cafferty read comments from people all over the country clamoring for Bush and Cheney's removal. Collectively we have woken up and smell the ... uh ... "coffee". America the beautiful.

Local new at 7

Another mouse in the PETA humane trap as Bartok plays away in garage, 7 days now, the magpies had popcorn and peanuts for breakfast, the starlings are mopping up, and the snow is still on the ground and white under a the blue Nevada sky. I hope your day is a good one, wherever you are.

Ghostwriters in the sky

And speaking of ghosts, for you writers looking for a little extra cash, ever thought of being a ghostwriter?

Snowy morning

Now for the Saturday local news.

The spécialité du jour at the Bird Park this morning is delicious, albeit moldy, Christmas bread. The birds are delighted. As there is snow on the ground today, I put all 3 feeders out and that's caused quite a fuss. Naturally, the occasional fight has broken out. Those chipper little birdy songs we like to think are happy hearted odes to morning aren't always sweetness and light, you know. Birds can cuss like sailors on Saturday night. And, as you might have noticed, the Santa in the foreground of the above photo is missing his right hand. I accidentally broke it yesterday while re-organizing my office so he is now awaiting repairs. Poor bastard. I'm going to fashion him a little hook. As for last night's snow, we got about a foot here in the valley, but there was four or five feet in the Sierra. M. Lee is talking about cross country skiing to the park today and, although I don't feel like interrupting my coffee high with exercise, I may drag my self along lured by the possibility of a photo or two.






Today I will put the finishing touches on my new office space. I thought about taking a "before picture" but that area was so oppressive I decided against it. But here is the NEW IMPROVED version. M. Lee is amazed, even jealous. And, for him, that is saying a lot. He fancies he can wander in here any time and threaten me with an intervention clean up. Now too bad. My tons of stuff at the moment all has its very own place.



The laptop is new from Christmas, an Acer Extensa 4620Z with Tablet PC. I have barely used it so far as its arrival necessitated creating a space for it, hence the Great Re-organization of 2008. It has Vista which so far I don't care for, but I've learned to live with worse. And I hear Microsoft has fixed some of its initial problems, if you trust them. So far the most obnoxious thing I've come across is the cheesy elevator music that goes with the Acer Tour. What the f$@#!ck were they thinking!#!%? I haven't even tried the stylus yet but soon I will shake the pen and see if any strange creatures fall out. I also added some atmospheric blue lights to the invisible theatre which are very cool.

By way of a footnote to the holidays, I lost weight over Thanksgiving and Christmas in spite of eating grand feasts and am now down to 113 pounds. They are right. Nothing tastes as good as thin feels! I suppose this will brand me as a total dweeb but... I love you Weight Watchers.

And yes, the ghost of Bartók continues its microcosmic surreal concert in the garage. Day five. I wonder what Rimbaud would have to say about it. He was adamant that "the air of hell will tolerate no hymns" but then it's not hell. It's my garage.

Snowy night

Here is the view from my window tonight. The color is as close as I can get, given my limited knowledge of photo editing. It's hard to capture as it's so dark out. The spirit is right anyway. Béla is still grinding out the Christmas carols on his calliope in the garage so it's not a silent night, but a lovely one. Four and a half days now and counting.

Béla Bartók on the calliope

The Christmas card battery has been wobbling out its warped melodies for more than three and a half days now and in that time I have become very fond it it. In fact, today I retrieved it from the trash and it now sits on a small black plate in the garage where it can sing till it dies. As Roy said, it's like "Béla Bartók on a calliope of the macabre, having gone horribly awry." I love that image. Bartók has been one of my favorites since I was a kid. My piano teacher turned me on to him. I was charmed. At that point in my life he was one of the first to open the door to the world and myself that, until then, I was not sure could, should or wanted to share. Later in high school I had a painter friend, Miki Balogh, whose father had studied under Bartók in Hungry and been the head of Cornish in Seattle during its early days. He was dead by the time I met Miki but I was thrilled to be have come so near the masters. She and I instantly became fast friends and spent seemingly endless time obsessing about art, poetry, freedom, sex, drugs and every kind of music and musician. Her mother had a lesbian lover who lived with them in their small home that doubled as a piano studio. That also impressed me. And for a while they had a house guest from Hungry, a wild darkly handsome revolutionary who had escaped from persecution under its fascist government. Miki told me that one afternoon when her mother and friend were gone, she lay in his arms on the couch as he recounted the sufferings of the Hungarian people, kissing every scar on her body, weeping all the while. That really impressed me. So, if a bit of the spirit of Bartók has incarnated in my garage this new year, eeeexceeeelleeeeent!



A BIG STORM is supposed to hit tonight or tomorrow. Weathermen are predicting 5-10 feet of snow in the Sierra. Old timers in the valley have already made a run on the grocery stores and the shelves are eerily bare so we followed their lead and stocked up as well. Tonight the wind is howling around the house and seems intent on knocking over our back fence but so far, no snow. But the birds must know something is up. The last few days, very few have been around, I had to put a "BIRDS WANTED" sign in the window. Other than that, I'm in the midst of reorganizing the north side of my office. I'm sure, in it's pre state, it would have made a Feng Shui expert desperate.

Christmas loop d' loop and new year's resolutions

As today is the first day of 2008 and a socially agreed on new beginning for a lot of people, I decided to break with my past tradition and make a new year's resolution or two.

Number one: I will move more. Not only will I ride my bike more and walk more and go to the gym more, I have set up the new laptop I got for xmas on a separate desk in my office so that I will have to get off my ass more when I am home, because the way it is, once I sit down in front of the monitor, until forces conspire against me, that is where I stay.

Number two: I will do more comix, write more poetry, more flash fiction, do (some) videos with action and/or content, play more music etc. etc. etc., although doing anything along these lines is almost automatically more than I did last year.

Number three: Stay open to change and continue to work on smoothing the edges, being less self-centered and more kind, compassionate all that.

Number four: I will keep my office neat and clean.

Before I get to Number four, I want to mention that Driftglass posted a smokin' year end post last night which set me off on a rant this morning which I include as prelude below. Warning. Some of you might want to go away now. I'll wait...



Okay then...

Like Drifty, I don't believe that lockstep Republicans are capable of facing (much less "compromising") with reality however, having made many mistakes in my own life, I have come to believe that consequences cannot be bought off forever so something has got to give with this nonsense, be it global warming and environmental collapse, a depression, the rise of China or simply internal betrayals, back stabbing and total panic as moron Repukelickers finely get it, that they have been sodomized en masse by the GOP which is unraveling our democracy and long ago sold America into unwitting slavery or all of the above plus handfuls of other karmic delights long ready and waiting to go in the pot. But then there's always the possibility that mass hysteria will finally and throughly engulf 'merika and undo this country from the inside out, as the fundamentalists already hold a sizable portion of the dark age patriarchy and their women folk in hypnotic sway, so as for even a thorny, long range, hard won political solution? We shall see but this leads me to...

Number five: It's a new year and I chose to begin it with faith, confidence and resolve, to throw my shoulder to the wheel and do my infinitesimal part, break the silence, speak the truth as I see it, and support and vote for whoever manages to buy, bribe and crawl to the top of the steaming heap in order that, in my wild dreaming, collectively we will create an articulate, successful global resistance to the subversive cancerous fascist corporatocracy even now carving up the world for its own lewd consumption although I suspect that, in our heart of hearts, many of us hold out hope that we won't have to actually do anything to save the planet and ourselves to boot because, like in the movies, the comeback kid and others will magically, at the last minute, appear and do it all for us.

So here's to new beginnings and better times. Cheers. There is a mouse in the trap from last night so I have to go now and release it into the wild and yes, the Christmas loop d' loop is still singing its little heart out in the trash can, 48 hours and counting.

"Doing another BLOG post, Asha?"

I can't count how many times M. Lee has crept up behind me and said those words, in a very loud, slow voice. So yes. I am doing another blog post, this one on new year's eve.



The music box from a Christmas card we got this year has been playing in a trashcan in the garage for the last 36 hours. At this point, I'm betting that it will play all the way into the new year. As I refused to take a hammer to it, M. Lee insisted I reset the (humane PETA) mousetrap. He claims the music sounds like a bunch of mice having a big party and will attract mice that might be happening by. So okay, he'll leverage anything but I set the trap and, naturally, made a video, 2 minutes and 17 seconds of pure tipsy existential wonder and pathos. I dedicate this to my beloved SO. If it's not enough to set your sails for 2008 baby, lemme know. I also have a version that runs 21 minutes and 48 seconds.

Christmas loop d' loop

0:02:17

Contact language, letter six hundred eleven

Xmas, there and back again

The magpies are dropping down into the yard this morning. They are the first to notice we are back from Oregon, we as in peanuts scattered freely on the ground and fresh water in the tubs. One is taking a drink right now. And now they have all ascended to the rooftop for a noisy debate. And now they are gone.

Oregon, eye of the beholder

Inside my mind

For such a non-traditional bunch, we had a surprisingly old-fashioned type xmas this year, with elders who were like logs in a roaring fire around which children, grandchildren and many loud and lively Norwegian and Croatian in-law/relatives and friends visiting from Europe gathered for warmth, fantastic feasts and merry times. And there were the good old friends, seen only briefly, but who leave a warm and lasting glow. And The New Puppy, born on the auspicious day of winter solstice, upon whom I am eager to rain goodies and puppets. But, perhaps sweetest of all, there was the son who, though never leaving Oregon, was the traveler from the greatest distance. After ten days of back to back here there and back again and again and again seeing everyone doing everything and topping the days off with nights around the game table we were full ready to go and felt lucky to get safely over the passes back through snow wind and slippery roads.

Game night

Road home

Red flares lying along the road behind Mt. Lassen warned us of what was almost certainly a fatal one car accident ahead, a black jeep, roof frame showing like the bones of a ruined building, body smashed, engine crumpled and crushed into the driver's empty seat, filling with snow. The ambulance was already gone, just cops and a road crew standing along the shoulder discussing how to remove what remained. As we drove by I looked to the placid snow-covered trees that the driver saw last and marveled at how detached, deceptively ordinary, and discrete they seemed, sentinels standing back just enough to make way for the road, as though promising safe passage through their midst.

Nevada, wide open

Good to be back in Nevada. We grabbed some food on the way home and today are laying low and staying warm. My text message quota is maxed out, I haven't caught up on the news, called anyone or even done my solstice/new year I Ching reading for the year ahead.

Happy New Year

Winter Solstice

Hoary for Winter Solstice

Near the South Galactic Pole
beyond the universe of naked eye
between Cetus and Sculptor
Galaxy NGC 253
shimmers.
To its west
near the galactic equator and ecliptic intersection
the diffuse nebulae M20 and M8
stellar sphinx
guarding the winter solstice point of our sun
shimmer.
On my earth wild roses
perfume this afternoon’s rain.
On my earth
in the 21st century after Christ
after countless way-showers
and seed-sowers
the only revolution left
is love.

asha

winter solstice poem poetry

Lull before the storm

Grove

Pretty quiet night here tonight, a relief after the frantic last few days, mailing presents and cards. I ended up with a cold. And my office and the front room are in shambles. Except for in the shadows on the north side of things, last week's snow is gone but a big storm is due to hit the same day we leave for Oregon. Lovely. We have to cross Siskiyou Pass, according to truckers the worst on all of I-5. But it's the only way home. Got to sleep now. Must try to stay ahead of this cold. Mark your calendar. The winter solstice is this Saturday at 1:08 am EST (06:08 UT).

Cannibal goes vegetarian

You can file this one under "What Ever Happened To Ol' What's His Name?". Plus, there are a few interesting things to glean about life from this curious story, starting with the forbidden fact that humans taste like pigs. Or so says Armin Meiwes, the world's current most infamous cannibal. Or x-cannibal as he recently went vegetarian, but more about that later. I'd heard that before, about humans and pigs. It does add a little punch to the old line, "cooks my bacon" or however the saying goes. Being a vegetarian, I generally avoid meat references. For instance, I don't say, "I've got a beef with you", or a "bone to pick with you", but if I do and catch myself in time, I'll substitute the work "tofu" for "beef". Ends up odd in translation but what the hell? I"m not trying to impress anyone. And I never did like "bone to pick". I'm not sure I used that one, even as a meat eater.

I also avoid equating people with animals, unless it's complimentary to the animal, which it generally is not. But we humans draw a lot of power from animal references which, when you stop to think about it, pepper the language. Once, when M. Lee was negotiating the jeep along a desert "road" at about 5 miles an hour for hours, we made a list of some of the more common ones. Of course, if you are one of the ultra hip who read my old zine, Reddog Review, you've already seen it but this is the new, improved version.

Common animal/human references:

hen / hen pecked
buzzard
leech
cow
horse
snake
pig
chick / foxy
(hot babe, but "chick" also indicates
inferior standing as in chick to rooster
whereas "foxy" is without the baggage )
chum
(good except if you're the bait)
weasel
hawk
hawk-eyed / hawk-eye / ol' hawk-eye / eagle-eye
(cool)
bear / bull
(aside from being financial icons, can go either way)
bull-headed
worm
vulture
dog
cat
(cats are cool)
catty
(not cool)
monkey
gorilla
(not complimentary)
strong as a gorilla
(complimentary)
shark
(compliment if you're the one doing the eating,
not so if you're the one being eaten)
turkey
slug
sloth
pussy
pup / cub
(diminutive but generally indicates fondness)
filly
(see "chick")
sucker
hog
sow
chicken
amoeba
wolf / fox
(see "shark")
old fox
(admiration)
ass
jackass
hyena
moose
pigeon
squirrel
piss-ant
spider
loon
hippo
elephant
toad
shrimp
mole
beaver
(complimentary when "busy as",
not so as a sexual reference. )
rat
mouse
peacock
sheep
lamb
(complimentary when "gentle as",
definitely creepy reference to human sacrifice
and all other forms of religious servitude)
stallion
stud
buck
tiger
lion
(Studly)
wise owl / doe-like /doe-eyed / eagle eye
(complimentary)
deer in the headlights
old frog
lobster
whale
shrew / old shrew
parrot
clam
bat / old bat
goat / old goat
cold fish
goose / silly goose
queer bird / queer duck
spineless jellyfish
slippery as an eel
ferret out
sang like a canary
bats in the belfry
clam up
pig out
squirrelly
squirrel away
fish brain
coo-coo
horse’s ass
crow / old crow
My little chickadee

The list goes one. Add your own.

I suppose if you drink you may have a fondness for Old Crow, the feather of the old crow and all that, but I digress. My point is, we humans are in the habit of comparing ourselves favorably to everyone else, top o' the heap, pinnacle of evolution, God's kids enjoying "The Father's" permission to treat and eat everyone else any ol' way we want.

But back to Mr. Meiwes, the fellow who killed, filleted, froze and ate a chat room acquaintance, 42-year-old Bernd-Juergen Brandes who, it seems, responded to Meiwes' on-line post "Man seeking man willing to be killed and eaten", which apparently Mr. Brandes was. Meiwes, now in jail for life, has become a vegetarian because he objects to the grizzly factory farm slaughter house practices with are a true hell on earth. Since acquainting himself with the realities of animal's plight, Mr. Meiwes now finds "the whole idea of factory farming as distasteful" as his own crime was. He ought to know.

As a footnote, I find it interesting how much more humane German prisons are than American ones. Three months ago Meiwes was voted to head up the Green Party section in the maximum security jail in Kassel where he is serving his sentence. The group is made up of murderers, paedophiles and drug dealers and now has a cannibal as its leader. Meeting every Tuesday, they discusses tax, legal and environmental policies. Fancy anything like that happening in an American prison. The only "salvation" our poor mopes have is to join a gang and then enhance that status by becoming a member of the soul-snatching, blood-thirsty Army of Khrist. Anyway, Good for ol' Meiwes. It's never to late to have a change of heart.

Al Gore's Nobel acceptance speech

This by way of Crooks and Liars: "Al Gore was in Oslo Norway, this morning with the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change to pick up their Nobel Peace Prize. If you have a minute, his acceptance speech is really incredible. Video here.

Excerpts from Gore's speech:

"There is an African proverb that says, “If you want to go quickly, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” We need to go far, quickly."

"But unlike most other forms of pollution, CO2 is invisible, tasteless, and odorless -- which has helped keep the truth about what it is doing to our climate out of sight and out of mind. Moreover, the catastrophe now threatening us is unprecedented – and we often confuse the unprecedented with the improbable..”"

Video and transcript here

Al Gore Nobel Prize acceptance speech global warming

Just askin'

HERE IS THE QUESTION AS I SEE IT:

Can a spoiled frat boy, trust fund baby whose father bought him a degree at a prestigious university, dry drunk alcoholic/addict, draft dodging corporate shill for the self-entitled untouchables in his uber rich "Base" (his Masters), idiot liar, chiseling megalomaniac religious freak with the reverse Midas touch, Peter Pan loser, fascist puppet traitor successfully spearhead the destruction of the United States Constitution and American Bill of Rights while intelligent, well-informed, committed patriots stand by watching everything this country stands for get chopped up, melted down, twisted and retooled into a fascist machine run by and for the Corporate/Military Elite for the sole purpose of waging endless, preemptive war on the peoples of the world on the backs of the American people which drains, not only our economy but shackles us, and our children for generations to come, to endless war with its unbearable loss of life, crushing debt and searing shame before the world for our war crimes as, all the while they, insulated from the consequences, remain behind the scenes in their boardrooms and war rooms, enclaves, compounds, gated communities and posh international resorts protected by private, evangelical armies paid for by We the People, where they gorge themselves on the spoils of war and an environment laid at their feet by their proxy, the President of the United States, whose Congress, courts and spies collude to intimidate, suppress, control and silence We, the People, so that We give up our power and cower and surrender and hope to be passed over during the sweeps by relinquishing our Democracy, abandoning our freedoms and betraying, not only our own way of life, but life in general and our planet upon which we all depend, our conscience, our morals, and our God, if we have one and however we understand that, so that they can make of themselves Over Lords in their psychotic vision of a New World Order?

Just askin'.



George Bush Fascism rants

My robot

I, well ... we, have a robot. My, our, first. No, it's not a humanoid. Or a robotic dog. But I'm already attached and see it as more that a "mere machine". Can't help it. It's just what I do. Anyway, it's a Roomba. We tried it yesterday and we both ended up standing there, watching it scoot around the room. Very cool little bot. It did a great job. I want to paint it so that it looks like a ladybug or a frog. Probably a ladybug. It's sweet like a ladybug. I dunno but it's definitely got personality.

Christmas graveyard

Reno in December

Plonk and his girlfriend are cozied up by the pool this morning, she lounging in the tub and he nested in the grass next to her, cleaning his gray feathers and airing his under wings, making him look like a pigeon angel. Sorry, Internet. No Bird Park videos until the writer's strike is settled.

Casinos from Dreamer's Cafe

However, it being The Season, I will post this video I did yesterday. Christmas graveyard. If these trees could talk, what stories would they tell? Listen closely and you can catch moments of a woman and some old man crooning along with Bing. Reno Goodwill. Cheery as hell. Be prepared. It is the digital equivalent of a stale but very rummy rum soaked bit of fruit cake, the kind you might find at the bottom of an ornament box long after the fact.


Christmas graveyard

01:01

Sorry, Internet. T. Strum throws down the pen

Naturally, we here at the Invisible Theatre support the writer's strike. Clearly, They are right and The Man is wrong. Writers deserve fair pay for their work. It's that simple. Otherwise I don't much care about what happens in TV land. Don't even have a set in the house. I watch Colbert and Stewart online. But yesterday when writers from the Colbert Report requested responses to their video Sorry, Internet, we were only to happy to oblige. The troope got together and decided that our decidedly not cuddly or adorable producer T. Strum, formerly known as The Shipping Squirrel, should do the honors so, after homage to the Muse, he threw down the pen. No more Bird Park videos until this thing is settled! Sorry, Internet.

Nora: The Sequel

Remember Nora the musical cat genius? Well finally she returns in this new video duet. I love this cat.

Nora: the sequel.

04:08

Rove's last stand

The dictionary has no entries for the search string: Karl Rove's ivory tower of lies is built on quicksand. He faces a huge reckoning. It is not a question of if, but when. However, it assured me that the words Karl, Roves, ivory, tower, of, lies, is, built, on, quicksand, He, faces, a, huge, reckoning It, is, not, a, question, of, if, but, when are spelled correctly.

Poor Turd Blossom. He is supposed to be very smart but, even though the words are spelled right, he cannot comprehend them. What will it take?

• Rove re-writes history - TV search
• Rove claims Dems started Iraq war - News search
  
• White House throws Rove under the bus - Video Search

Karl Rove Charlie Rose