Wednesday, June 29, 2005

I returned from some external local wanderings around the pharmacy and the hardware store and found George Bush monopolizing my fucking TV, trying re-sell me that bloody war of his that I never wanted in the first place. And there was that dumb belligerence as he tried to reconcile the statements of Dick Cheney on one hand that it’s all over in Iraq bar the shouting with Rumsfeld’s equally dumb insistence that whole thing is going to drag on for decades so we better get used to it. Meanwhile, the mainstream media still find it impossible to join the dots, conclude how the Downing Street memos essentially identify the whole pack of them as lying toe-rags, or, more recently, how the somewhat amazing statement by Director of Central Intelligence Porter Goss that the CIA totally know where Osama is but can’t grab him because it would infringe another nation’s sovereignty, is kinda confounded by the Langley spooks who’ve been running all over Italy kidnaping Moslem clerics and shipping them off to Egypt in private jets to be tortured. Indeed, this whole bullshit administration has reached levels of absurdity that I find myself no longer raging, but simply dazed and amazed that it is, on any level, able to continue, and that’s when I’m not wondering, with the shock of hard-won deja vu, if Bush is in fact simply recycling old Vietnam speeches of Lyndon Johnson’s from 1967, when The Doors were playing "The End" and revolution actually seemed quite possible.

(See comments 719 over there >>>>)
I do remember MF and the Good Guys playing Camden Palace, so vividly, in fact, that I know we all went to the cinema between sound-check and show-time to see Sam Peckinpah’s Convoy, (big 10-4 good buddy) instead of sitting in a pub so Larry and I wouldn’t get shamelessly drunk and total live-on-stage spectacles of ourselves, a ruse that was doomed when we took a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black with us to the film. But I still don’t recall seeing Chas and Dave.

(How’s the punctuation, Fiona?)

The secret word is Sufficient

CRYPTIQUE -- Did Tom just screw the pooch on a major Scientology power play?

Monday, June 27, 2005

Although I’m well aware that there are many more crucial things going on around the planet, I've more than once caught myself thinking about that 11-year-old who was lost for four days last week in the Utah mountains, and couldn’t be found because his parents had taught him too damn well that he should never talk to strangers, and he kept hiding from the search parties of potential rescuers. The timorous brat really doesn’t have a prayer if he’s ever shipped off to higher education in a major city. The kind of victim body language that alerts every urban predator for blocks around must be totally ingrained. Okay, maybe times have changed since I was raised in the woods so I knew every tree, but this strikes me as the same dangerous psychological overkill that has idiots in suburban Idaho so coweringly convinced that Al Qeada are going to attack the local mall by next Tuesday that they’ll reelect George bloody Bush as many times as Fox News tells them and the voting machine will let them. What the fuck happened to Home of the Brave, Land of the Free, or the realization that we’re born, we die and, between the two, we play odds to survive just like the gazelles in the TV nature show? There are no other guarantees, and not to accept this reality is another version of living on one’s knees, and (to paraphrase Big Nose Katie Elder in the movie Doc) when I get on my knees it ain’t in fear (although maybe trembling.)

Here’s a piece of truly inspired biblical craziness sent over by some girl...

The secret word is Reckless

(* How many of you, dear readers, recall "The Teddy Bears Picnic"?)