Unnoticed in Clever Worlds

The clearest description I have managed so far about my blog is that it is not about cats. In general, I find predators pretty predictable while prey on the other-hand, because they live in universes of anxiety, develop more textured personalities. I also have as a writer a deft hand when it comes to making matters worse, so of course , the already panicky are ready made for me. I will try to grow this blog into an assortment of laughs, because that is what my life has mostly taught me to do. I will use the famous people I have known to get your attention and then tell you small but many times wonderful things about them. I will never name the ones I say ugly things about but I hope you will guess who they are.

Category: A Mumbling God

Women are the Problem

Women are the problem. I have been stewing all day about that snake incident in Eden.
Eve and that Serpent were right. God and Adam were largely full of shit. After all, what kind of Deity forbids a woman from doing anything. First, he puts her in the Garden of Eden, then threatens her about not eating the centerpiece fruit of an apple tree. Holy hamsters!, How dumb could you be? I can’t stop my wife from eating the top layer, and best-buttered, of my popcorn before the movie even starts.
What exactly was God’s point insisting on this Jeopardy clue about an apple?
Remember this was even before He invented apple worms.
Granted this was God’s first shot at creating a universe, and fucking Adam had landed out of nowhere, by himself, with no real-time life experience at all. This blockhead wasn’t sure he was even naked until Eve show up, and he got a hard-on. On top of that, our hapless deity had forgotten to pack an extra rib in His toolbox.
God of course, in his infinite pettiness, got all over Adam’s shit about the whole episode and Adam picked up from there and laid guilt on Eve like linoleum for the next ten-thousand tears.
But of course, women are the problem.
Go Steelers!!!!

Something of a Cold Customer

Happiness comes to those who wait. The religious prigs and prudes of divinity devoted centuries to winning the allegiance of uneducated, toothless and starving populations using this expression. The poor should postpone their bit of happiness until they die because they have no value on earth. Men of the spirit gave them what was theirs as charity. Show me charity and I look for pride and vanity.
Civilisation does it’s best to handicap the prerogative of forgiveness​ when it comes to imperfection. Even when our sins are silly, still, nobody wants to be lumped in with a neighbour who also masturbates forty-two times a day or pees in the shower or pool.
I grew up among Catholics and always envied them. They had the confession. Methodists, like me, were consigned to hell instantly on ridiculously minor offences. It just occurred to me that we are the black people of sin. We never peed in pools or showers, while my Catholic friends would hold it until they hit the water. They had an out. I did not.
This made me something of a cold customer.
I know women living lives of absolute saints yet they are scarred and rendered timid by self-reproach over something they did as a child. Women are by far the most certainly moral of the several genders it appears we now have.
Men sin with such rhythm​ and with a brute magnitude that nothing matters much to us after a while. Wars and indifference to each other somehow have less consequence. We are certain Hell awaits us. We can forgive ourselves and that makes us very dangerous.

I am God

serpentI have got myself stuck on this idea of Eden.
I am God, and you must recognise that you are too.
God, who never existed, got very lucky when we showed up. We built him things and gave him money. We even believed forever that She would answer our infinite prayer, ninety percent of which were hard on selfish.
So really it is time to cut that shit out.
But back to this Eden thing. Supposedly, He gave us a safe place from his hostile world of flesh eaters so we could be happy and secure. The Bible called it Eden. We did that not God.
I happen to believe we could do this again. We have terrified people running for their lives all over the world. The power to carve out space for them and protect it by surrounding the perimeter is far easier than slaughtering everybody in sight.
These “countries.” in Europe will be overrun by the desperate.
I worked in Europe for years, crossing a new border every twenty minutes, so believe me when I tell you world wars will always occur there. The only reason for them to exist is interesting food.
Brand new countries are easy to make. Just look at Israel. We should have given the Jews Germany, but that is another blog.
You just find a big space and toss the weak into it. Then you stand guard over it.
The important thing is to ban serpents and apple trees.

Perhaps this is what God would do if he really cared.

It is time for another Israel in the Middle East only much bigger. Perhaps in Mexico as well. Life in these two geographic regions has been a miserable proposition for a long time. The West did not cause it. The Kings, Mullahs, and oil-rich chieftains kept their people in poverty and allowed them only God as comfort for hundreds of years. In Mexico, the poor were supported only by our tourism, our insatiable need for drugs and the Catholic Church.
Bringing these people here is moronically ill-advised.
We should use our weapons and military to carve out new Edens for the suffering instead of destroying everything to catch a few.

Perhaps this is what God would do if he really cared.


Annex Mexico

We are entering a new century of wars conducted by swarming immigration. Water always flows downhill. Immigration will replace the nuclear weapon in the coming age.
People always move to where their life is better if they can. They will not neatly stay in a place where their children are in danger. I think human beings with stop short of treating each other like locusts, destroying intruders on mass. But one does have to recall Hitler.
The problem with our Southern border is manageable. Europe’s dilemma may not be so easy.
I think Trump is correct that we need to document people who come here, that’s only common sense. The Democrats don’t support this because they see human beings as voting blocks. The Republicans see immigrants from Mexico as vermin.
To me, our solution is simple and has been historically validated. We just annex Mexico and make it a nice place to live again. Tidy.


The Photographers

How can a photograph be copyrighted when it’s confined to the  public domain by definition? A song comes out of nothing.  A painting is as much the hand on the brush as it is anything inherent. Movies manipulate atmospheres and the medium simultaneously. A camera’s image becomes art only when interpreted in the aftermath. Could it be that photographers are more critics than artists? Could it be that there are no artists at all, only reviewers?

Photographers - page 158


I don’t get too tossed about this political correctness phenomenon. After all, when I was around twenty, I said “Groovy” and will still say “hey man” as a greeting, particularly to black people.
My father yelled at me when I was twelve when he overheard me on the phone with an adult speaking disrespectfully. He demanded that I say “Yes Sir or No Sir,” always. I still do this to this day, and I am older than everybody.meir
These rules can be learned.
I stumble clumsily over the speech regulations of today as though they are nuclear intrusions on my civil liberties. Hands always get a little burnt when passing torches. I know I am wrong, but I am stubborn so they can all go fuck themselves.
I have a theory about why these kids see slights that would have seemed not so grievous to my generation. Our millennials are the consummation of three generations of more and more targeted and cautious advertising. When the world does not behave the way it does in commercials, they are fearful and wary. They are suspicious of any gathering that does not accomplish fair representations of races, sexual identities or female /male neutrality. Words are paramount because they are accustomed to dialogue that has been worked and reworked by copywriters and advertising executives not to offend. One poorly placed word can result in the destruction of a Five-hour Energy drink or an Apple iPad. The stakes are huge.
I have two kids in this new generational cluster. I think they are better than me at that age. They, of course, roll their eyes when I behave deliberately in ways that will embarrass them. They forgive me for that, I know. They don’t know yet they will do exactly the same to their children. Nor should they.


Shakespeare’s Twat

When the Poet of Avon, Mr. William Shakespeare, this very morning, stumbled into brevity, he recognized that all other English playwrights, if indeed this is not already a sterile reservoir, will soon be marinating in morbid dread. As change is the arrow that wounds all except the archer, the notion of debuting himself this day as the writer of fewest words flung him into unkind merriment.
“Let the world find its verbosity elsewhere than from me,” he says to himself, in his new and truncated style. His work will now and forever be a port-wine reduction sauce of succinctness. “Genius is the tabernacle of the boiled down,” he gloats, ” I will leave the breadth of things to the amateurs.
“Verily,” he decides, a tad too loudly, for his mother now overhears, “I will no longer desire a theater, for after all is said, of what point is an audience?’ They are simply witnesses; bystanders distinguished only by their asses finding a seat.
No, henceforth, they will hunt for my posts on trees buildings and bushes.
Hearing this vow from her roost just outside his doors, his mother, the severely talkative Mary Arden Shakespeare dismays. Mary, a woman who could trace her long-windedness as linearly as an erection, back to the paramount exercise of pointless human wordiness, The Doomsday Book, feels her lifetime toil of maneuvering her son, about to splash into a puddle of abbreviated verbal sulkiness.
She slumps; legs splayed into a bunched nest of skirts, muttering miserably to herself, (wholly in Old English, to her credit), “I will not allow him an eternity of pithiness of verse.”
But Bill speeds by her, determined to conclude his life’s drudgery of taxing inventiveness before she can interfere.
“Romeo and Juliet,” was already redrafting itself in his mind as a love story that lasts only as long as the flavor in a piece sassafras chewing gum.
“Met Romeo today, parents way unimpressed, hook up, have a scheme, R. fucks everything up, big mess, the end.”
Shakespeare races to the Stratford’s Speaker’s corner to announce the new course of England’s scholarly conversation.
“Forever on,” Bill bellows to a gathering crowd of the muddy and toothless, “ My tragedies and comedies will come to you as “Twats.”
Be it known, that if it must be said, I will say it from inside the penitentiary of twenty-eight letterings or less. I will nail my twats to this tree as I fashion them; I will stamp each with a dollop of gruel for authenticity. Henceforth to be understood as my “gruel tag.”
My histories, poems, and essays will remain on my Facebook page.” Thank you.


It is why my life is so funny.

I love everything about America.
I don’t believe that every veteran is a hero. I believe that some are.
I don’t believe black people are all good. But I know there are enough good ones to solve their problems.
I know that wearing pink at football games does not make me more aware of breast cancer. My mind rarely wanders far from breasts.
I don’t believe children, academics or pretty girls on TV should try to tell me how I can avoid insulting them.
People should understand that I want to offend them. It is the only way I have to find out if they are idiots.
That is how I pick my friends.
It is why my life is so funny.

thdog ears

There Is no you and me

A lie is as satisfying as the truth to a believer. I rid myself of fellowship when it comes to anything I believe. I can’t use you to decide. What you think, is dangerous to me. No matter the subject. I barely want you to follow along as I write or speak because  you will remove my skin if you disagree. You will want to form a league that is you and me. There is no you and me.


%d bloggers like this: