Thursday, April 16, 2009


Seems like I’ll be gracing the stage at the LA Knitting Factory tomorrow, performing at a Hawkwind tribute, at the invitation of our pal Tommy Grenas . I’ll be reading Bob Calvert’s Sonic Attack and I hope a good time will be had by all. If you happen to be in Hollywood, the grand finale, of which I’ll be a part, as will master guitarist Andy Colquhoun, should launch at about half past midnight.

The secret word is Space

The secret message is 546970207468652062617274656e6465722e


I have a well reasoned rant about Grey Aliens posted on the L.O.W.F.I. website. (That’s League of Western Fortean Intermediatists, to you, pilgrim.) Click here to read it.


Our pal Elf Hellion has sent us a link to an amazing piece of archive material – a 1975 Rolling Stone interview with Philip K. Dick, by Paul Williams, and in full facsimile form. (Click here to grok the fullness.)

Wednesday, April 15, 2009


The sign read “AMERICAN TAXPAYERS ARE THE JEWS FOR OBAMA’S OVENS.” At first I laughed in disbelief. The Republican Party, just as I predicted back in January, moves closer and closer to becoming “a rump fragment of the GOP – the Raving Looney Shotgun Hillbilly Jesus Party who would, if lucky, constitute some 15% of the electorate and never manage to be more than a noisy nuisance the rest of us could tune out.” The only problem is that cable news in general, and Fox in particular refuses to tune them out. Even when only dozens instead of thousands turn out for the absurd – and unfortunately named – teabag tax protest, Fox goes on trumpeting as a “grassroots revolution.”
Unfortunately all this nonsense unwittingly backs the Raving Looney Shotgun Hillbilly Jesus Party in the direction of the White Supremist/armed militia/neo-Nazis fringe. A ugly wind blows through a ravaged middle American landscape, and lacking any appreciable philosophy, or even a pragmatic core of belief, conservatives follow the prime directive of protecting the rich and corporate, and fob off their benighted rank and file with nothing more than an irrationally venomous and sometimes racist personal hatred of Barack Obama. Earlier this week a report leaked from the Department of Homeland Security indicated that the extreme right was growing and on the move.

“If you think the conservative "Tea Party" movement is daunting, take a look at a new report issued by the Department of Homeland Security that says right-wing extremism is on the rise throughout the country. In the report (a full copy of which is below), officials warn that right-wing extremists could use the bad state of the U.S. economy and the election of the country's first black president to recruit new members to their cause.” (Click here for the whole thing)

I trust Homeland Security about as much as I trust Rush Limbaugh, but I did find it amusing that Limbaugh, Hannity, Malkin, Glenn Beck and the rest started screaming bloody murder about how conservatives were victims of an Obama police state, forgetting, perhaps, how gung ho they were when the DHS was hunting terrorists through the libraries of the land, and the NSA was tapping our phones. Back then they were prone to snarl how patriots who hadn’t done anything had nothing to fear, and that we should be willing to give up our liberty if we wanted to be safe. Bob Cesca notes in HuffPo…

“But back to that "fascist" accusation. I'm not convinced that tea baggers like Michelle Malkin understand that fascism is, in fact, a form of right wing extremism. Because for the last 24 hours or so, Malkin, Limbaugh, Glenn Beck and the usual band of apoplectic brainiacs appear to have been vigorously defending "right wing extremism" after having previously accused the president of being on the same flank of the ideological spectrum.” (Click here for the whole thing.)

Essentially if someone doesn’t shut the fuck up, it could all turn very ugly. The extreme right are not posturing media shills. They have guns and very bad attitudes.

The secret weapon is MAC10

The secret message is 546f206b6e6f772068696d20697320746f206c6f


Munz forwarded this and we swear that it’s real, and reproduced about as intact as we can make it.

---------- Forwarded message ----------

From: Rachelle Spector

To: undisclosed-recipients:;Date: Wed, 15 Apr 2009 03:50:52 -0700Subject:

Calling on ALL family, friends, acquaintances---I'M CRYING FOR HELP!!!!


Phil Spector, my husband, needs YOUR help now more than ever!!!!

A grave mis-carriage of justice has taken place and another innocent man has gone to jail for something he clearly and scientifically did NOT do.

Please help FREE PHIL SPECTOR!!!

Please do as many interviews as possible with regard to this case because NOW the gag order is OVER....we are ALL free to talk to whomever we wish!Do interviews for as many TV, radio and internet sites as possible; write letters to the president, the governor of California, councilmen/ everyone and anyone that will listen!!!


This is a matter of life and death people!!!!!! Any thoughts, ideas, plans....PLEASE DO NOT HESITATE TO TALK TO ME....BUT LETS GET OUR BUTTS MOVING.....


Tuesday, April 14, 2009


I had frankly grown bored with the Obama’s new dog. The First Puppy was taking far too long to arrive and had even developed its own politically correct political strings. But then I learned that the Portuguese water mutt had been named after Bo Diddley and I had to stop and think. That the White House Dog is named for the late lamented Bo has to be some kind of mildly significant symbol, even if Obama is flakey about legalizing dope.

And while you’re thinking about it click here for some Bo.

The secret word is Woof!

The secret message is 57686f20646f20796f75206c6f76653f


But this is the way we like to remember rock & roll’s first psycho. (Thanks Tom.)


(I notice the giant germs are only carrying off the women.)
Our pal Tim has more than his fair share of family troubles. Doc40 offers him all possible comfort.

Monday, April 13, 2009


I guess this is the fall of the Wall of Sound…

"LOS ANGELES - Rock music producer Phil Spector was convicted Monday of second-degree murder in the shooting death of actress Lana Clarkson at his mansion six years ago, a verdict that will send him to prison for at least 18 years barring a successful appeal. A Superior Court jury returned the verdict after about 30 hours of deliberations. The jury had the option of choosing involuntary manslaughter, but did not do so. The panel also found Spector guilty of using a firearm in committing a crime."

The secret word is Loaded

The secret message is 596f75e280997665206c6f73742074686174206c


Uncle Bill falls asleep at the dream machine.

And HCB has coincidentally sent us this review by Jason Anderson of the documentary FlicKeR, directed by Nik Sheehan.

“Toronto director Nik Sheehan’s biodoc on visionary painter and writer Brion Gysin doubles as a cogent yet appropriately trippy primer on how the activities of a few freaks who drifted between Paris and Tangier in the ’50s came to have a vast cultural influence. It was Gysin who led the Beats to Morocco after the British-born, Alberta-bred artist first joined Paul Bowles there in 1950. And it was Gysin who pioneered the literary cut-up technique that would be popularized by his pal William S. Burroughs. What interests Sheehan most of all in FLicKeR is another of Gysin’s innovations, the Dream Machine. This mysterious contraption offered the prospect of a drugless high. Though Sheehan has his own custom-made, the film also shows how low-cost versions can be jimmied up with a light bulb, some construction paper and a record player. (An additional record player may also be employed to spin Pink Floyd’s “Echoes” or the astral music of your choice.) Iggy Pop, Marianne Faithfull and Genesis P-Orridge are just three of the countercultural icons we see experiencing the machine’s effects on camera — alas, none report having visions of Karl Rove being sodomized by a mountain goat. In any case, Sheehan succeeds at renewing interest in an artist whose influence far outweighs his fame.”


This is not the Jetex spaceship referred to in yesterday’s post. But it’s close.

Sunday, April 12, 2009


These are your brains on religion.


"But you're not a pig."
"Seek bacon elsewhere, Earthman."


Jetex was crucial in the development of my pre-teen personality, and thus, when I discovered an actual print ad for the Jetex motor on my favorite website I was both surprised and uplifted. The Jetex motor was a cheap, solid-fuel burning, rocket-propulsion unit for toy planes, cars, and boats.
My first encounter was with a Jetex powered car that was supposed to run on a line – at quite alarming speed – in circles around a central tether. Although it was my car, my stepfather insisted on setting the thing up and lighting the Jetex fuse. And, needless to say, he fucked up. The car was being run on a very uneven patio. It hit a bump, went straight up on the air for some distance and then came back down again, scared the dog, and pretty much wrecked itself, although the Jetex motor was still intact.

My second Jetex experience was with something called the Dan Dare Jetex Space Rocket that was launched from a spring-loaded ramp, supposedly released a parachute after it had achieved what Werner von Braun called brenschluss, and floated gently to earth. It came in kit form. My grandfather and I took almost a full month of one summer to complete the asbestos-lined, balsa wood construction. But we miss-timed the first launch, and the rocket fell off the ramp before the motor ignited, and then it lay on its side, burning grass and spewing smoke until the fuel burned out.
The second launch of the Dan Dare Jetex Space Rocket was much more successful. The rocket went up a hundred feet or more before the fuel was spent. Unfortunately the chute didn’t deploy until far too late in the fall to stop it ploughing into the ground. After it was glued it back together, the Dan Dare Jetex Space Rocket made one last flight, with an incendiary device aboard to blow it up in mid-air. Which gets me to my real romance with Jetex. Or, to be more precise, Jetex fuse.

At age eleven, I was a mad bomber. Creating explosions was quite a fad that year among young boys in the south of England. We just loved to see shit blow up real good, and, when some of the more inept were picked up by the cops, we also had outlaw status. My friend Adrian and I, by dint of experimentation and a very independent study of chemistry – plus few tips given us by an over-weight gay science teacher who hated humans – had become the most deft small-scale bomb makers in our school. Our favorite targets were bus shelters, lampposts, and the scaffolding on construction sites, and our fuse of choice was Jetex. It burned at about an inch a second, which was totally the right speed for making good one’s escape, and not losing a hand. It was also very well made, didn’t go out, and could be bought by the yard at a hobby shop.
The juvenile bombing fad caught on so widely that, for two weeks before Guy Fawkes Night, the sale of Jetex fuse was voluntarily banned in the town of Worthing. Cops visited the school and issued dire warnings. Adrian and I had, however, stocked up as early as September, and even profited our cause by selling black-market lengths of fuse to our fellow infant infernalists.

At puberty, I largely gave up explosives in favor of girls and rock & roll. Probably just as well. Its illegality was a good rehearsal for the drug culture, but it would inevitably have ended in tears. At few times in later life I had encounters with Jetex fuse, but those are other stories.

The secret word is Kaboom!

The secret message is 49662074686520766f696365732074656c6c2079