Even by Frozdick standards Isadora was a little perverse.
Tuesday, November 06, 2012
Monday, November 05, 2012
“REMEMBER, REMEMBER…
…the fifth
of November, the gunpowder treason and plot
I see no
reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot. “
Ever since
I was a young lad, I always wondered if we were supposed to remember Guy Fawkes
because he failed to blow up King James (of Bible fame) and parliament, or
because he had the audacity to try.
Click here for Aretha and Keith
The secret
word is Bang!
Saturday, November 03, 2012
SUNDAY BREAKFAST
With the
hype for the new Bond movie all over my TV I figured I’d martini my way through
the weekend, then God got in the way. (See below)
Click here
for Gene
The secret
word is Interrupted
GOD SEZ…
Actually I lifted this from
Tony Norman of the Pittsburg Post-Gazette. (Don’t ask how.)
"I am the god of the 1 percent. You shall have no other gods before me. I help those who help themselves and visit poverty over many generations to those who would redistribute the wealth that I have freely given to those who luxuriate without guilt in my love. I reward the spirit of material excess because I hate poverty and the poor who have rejected my ways.
"I am a vulgar god who never tires of the misery
perpetuated by those who exploit the resources of the planet for tax breaks and
personal gain. The smoke of belching coal plants and runoff from hydraulic
fracturing pleases me. Let those who refuse to rape the earth that I have made
in six days be accursed.
"I am the god of 'In God We Trust.' You shall have no
other gods before me. Give to the poor (if you must) out of your excess and at
your discretion. Don't be compelled by guilt. The poor don't need a safety net
as long as I, the god of the Koch brothers and Ayn Rand, lives in the heart of
every patriotic American. It is money that I love, not mercy for its own sake.
Mercy without conditions offends me.
"I am the god of the morally upright. I abhor
homosexuals, Democrats, mimes and all who believe in global warming. Those who
have AIDS can give all glory to me. It is by my hand that every dread disease
except obesity and cancer is visited upon the earth. Do not be fooled: I loathe
the followers of Lady Gaga. Women who refuse to submit to male authority are an
abomination.
"Those who believe in me know evolution is a lie
straight from hell. The dinosaurs drowned during Noah's day because the ark
couldn't contain them. This is not a mystery if you believe science is evil
with all your heart.
"I am the god of war. I love violence and the mindless
proliferation of guns in every home. Horses and bayonets proclaim my glory over
the whole earth. That is why America is my blood-stained footstool. Guns don't
kill -- I do.
"I am the god of the Invisible Hand. I hate the 47
percent who siphon the productivity of my blessed Job Creators. On Election
Day, I will pour out my wrath on those who receive the mark of the Kenyan
Keynesian. Repent of your idolatrous liberalism, or else."
IN OTHER NEWS I LEAVE IT ALL TO YOUR IMAGINATION
“The Prime Minister thanked Mrs Brooks for letting him ride one of her horses, joking it was "fast, unpredictable and hard to control but fun.".
DOC’S PAPERBACK CLASSICS #105
Click here
for Marianne (and see my old pal and partner Brother Wayne Kramer playing his
Capt. America guitar.)
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
A HELL OF A TOWN
The only word
is disturbing. To see long time familiar places on a flat screen TV in a
foreign land that are ruined, wrecked, and under water. These are places where,
once upon a time, I hung with comrades, went about my business, flirted with
New York girls, or stumbled drunk in the dawn. The power is out. Streets are
dark. The elevators no longer function. The subway is a storm drain. The
traffic lights are dead. Automobiles have been thrown about like toys. Ranks of
yellow cabs are partially submerged. The bars and saloons I knew so well are
silent. What has become of The White Horse, The St. Mark’s Bar & Grill, The
Grass Roots, The Park Inn, Dan Lynch’s, Tramps, McAnn’s The Chameleon. Have
they been washed away or were they all ready gutted by yuppies or moved to
Williamsburg. It’s been a while.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the
coin, Hurricane Sandy produces a distinct Godzilla foreboding. A tropical
hurricane, wrapped in an arctic cold front, and driven inland by a rogue
jetstream was the stuff of science fiction or disaster movie, or else a
worst-case horror theory of extreme climate change in action. How long has it
been since Tokyo was simultaneously attacked by super-earthquake, tsunami, and
hard radiation? When the fuck do we get the message?
Click here
for Bob
The secret
word Inundated
POSTED LATER – Seems I was fooled by the image. It’s mighty symbolic but also Photoshop. I’m leaving it, though, it doesn’t change how I feel.
POSTED LATER – Seems I was fooled by the image. It’s mighty symbolic but also Photoshop. I’m leaving it, though, it doesn’t change how I feel.
Monday, October 29, 2012
STONES ON THE ROCKS
Okay so
we’ve had the Swedes merchandising Motorhead vodka. And now the Japanese are
punting out Rolling Stones scotch. To celebrate the band’s 50th
anniversary Suntory Liquors will release a limited edition Rolling Stones 50th Anniversary
Whisky limited to 150 bottles. The press release doesn’t say how
much the damned stuff costs, but with tickets for the upcoming Stones’ shows in
London priced up to £400 you gotta figure the tab is more than a couple of yen.
I wonder if it’s rock & roll and I don’t think I like it.
“This
whisky is a blend of carefully selected malts distilled and casked in milestone
years throughout the band's 50 year history, including a malt from the year the
band formed that has been long-aged in mizunara
(Japanese oak) casks. Its weighty, complex aroma calls to mind both dried
and ripened fruits, and even cacao and espresso, and its rich heaviness and
slight bitterness expand in the mouth with a velvety smoothness. The aftertaste
is a pleasant and expansive woodiness akin to the fragrance of the finest aloes
wood, and a soft smokiness.”
Yeah,
right.
Click herefor Scrapper Blackwell and a more realistic perspective.
The secret
word is Exploit
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
THIS FOOL CLAIMS GOD CONDONES RAPE
This
is Richard Mourdock. I guess he’s a reminder of that they’re out there and they
mean it. Mitt Romeny and the Republican Party are tailoring their appeal to the
bigots, the ignorant, the fearful and the dangerously stupid.
WASHINGTON -- Indiana GOP U.S. Senate candidate Richard
Mourdock declared Tuesday night he opposes aborting pregnancies conceived in
rape because "it is something that God intended to happen." Debating
Rep. Joe Donnelly (D-Ind.) in their final Senate race showdown, a questioner
asked them and Libertarian candidate Andrew Horning to explain their views on
abortion. All three said they were anti-abortion. But Mourdock went further,
putting himself in territory near Missouri GOP Senate candidate Rep. Todd Akin,
the anti-abortion congressman who infamously asserted that women don't get
pregnant from "legitimate rape." "The only exception I have to
have an abortion is in the case of the life of the mother," said Mourdock,
the Tea Party-backed state treasurer. "I struggled with it myself for a
long time, but I came to realize life is that gift from God. I think that even
when life begins in that horrible situation of rape, that it is something that
God intended to happen." (Click here for more)
Click here for Leonard Cohen
The
secret word is Monster
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
WHALE TALK
You talkin' to me? You
talkin' to me? You talkin' to me? Then who the hell else are you talking... you
talking to me? Well I'm the only one here. Who the fuck do you think you're
talking to? Oh yeah? OK.
“A Beluga whale named Noc learned to warble in a human voice that was so
convincing it fooled a diver into thinking someone was shouting at him to get
out of the water, US researchers have revealed. Handlers at the National Marine
Mammal Foundation in San Diego heard mumbling in 1984 coming from a tank
containing whales and dolphins that sounded like two people
chatting far away. It wasn't until one day, after a diver surfaced from the
tank and asked: "Who told me to get out?" that researchers realised
the garble came from a captive male Beluga whale. For several years they
recorded its spontaneous sounds while it was underwater and when it surfaced.
An acoustic analysis revealed the human-like sounds were several octaves lower
than typical whale calls. The research was published
on Monday in the scientific journal Current Biology. The authors wrote that Noc
was even able to be trained to
"speak" on cue and
they were able to study how he adjusted the pressure and "phonic
lips" in his nasal cavities to make sounds much lower than ordinary whale
squeals and clicks. "The whale was exposed to speech not only from humans
at the surface – it was present at times when divers used surface-to-diver
communication equipment. The whale was recognised as the sources of the
speech-like sounds when a diver surfaced outside this whale's enclosure and
asked: 'Who told me to get out?' Our observations led us to conclude the 'out'
which was repeated several times came from Noc. "We interpreted the
whale's vocalisations as an attempt to mimic humans." After four years of
copying people, Noc reached maturity and apparently either lost the capacity to
make human noise or lost interest in doing so. He went back to sounding like a
whale, emitting high-pitched noises, and died five years ago.
Dolphins and parrots have been taught to mimic the patterns
of human speech, but it is rare for an animal to do it spontaneously. The study
is not the first time a whale have been identified making human sounds.
Scientists who have studied sounds of white whales in the wild sometimes heard
what sounded like shouting children.
Caretakers at the Vancouver Aquarium in Canada once claimed
they heard one of the white whales say its name, Lagosi. His other utterances
were indistinct and described as a garbled human voice, or someone speaking in
Russian or Chinese.”
Click here for the video
The
secret word is Moby
SELF PROMOTION CAN ONLY BE SHAMELESS
No
matter how one pretends to be ivory towered above the fray, the writer with a
book out, even a slim novelette, has get down in the marketplace and shill with
the rest. (Johnny de Luxe will probably have some snide comments.) My good
friends at Dangerous Minds just ran an excerpt which I really appreciate…
“Doc had been set up like a
bowling pin. Sub-space gossip about GS-AS Pentecostal Fire Boys with snitches
in tow, shaman mumblings from the jungle hinter world of insurrection and
planned cannibalism, while much closer to home the ominous silence that follows
and envelopes a pariah left him in no doubt that he was being fingered far and
wide for Huxley Hahn’s Roman butchery at the notorious Cardinal’s fuck pad. Doc
had no idea why he’d been chosen to take the fall – or if the motel interlude
at the Red Barn had been a part of a long term setup – but it had clearly been
decreed somewhere on the higher floors of Golgotha, and, in consequence, he was
royally fucking screwed.” Click here for more
Click here to order
Click here for Screwed Up
Thursday, October 18, 2012
I NEVER LEARNED TO LOVE THE BOMB (Part 2)
This is Vasili Alexandrovich
Arkhipov. Fifty years ago he may have saved the world. (Thanks to Jim Buck on Facebook for
the story.)
“On October 27, 1962, during the Cuban Millile Crisis, a
group of eleven US Navy Detsroyers and the aircraft carrier USS Randolph
trapped the diesel-powered nuclear-armed Soviet Foxtrot class B-59 submarine
near Cuba and started dropping
practice depth charges, explosives intended to force the submarine to come to
the surface for identification. There had been no contact from Moscow for a
number of days and, although the submarine's crew had earlier been picking up
US civilian radio broadcasts, once B-59 began attempting to hide from its US
navy pursuers, it was too deep to monitor any radio traffic, so those on board
did not know if war had broken out.. The captain of the submarine,
Valentin Grigonevitch Savitsky, believing that a war might already have
started, wanted to launch a nuclear-tipped torpedo. Three officers on board the
submarine – Savitsky, the political officer Ivan Semonovitch Maslennikov, and the
scond-in-command Arkhipov – were authorized to launch the torpedo if agreeing
unanimously in favor of doing so. An argument broke out among the three, in
which only Arkhipov was against the launch. Although Arkhipov was only second-in-command
of submarine B-59, he was actually Commander of the flotilla of submarines
including B-4, B-36, and B-130 and of equal rank to Captain Savitsky. Arkhipov
eventually persuaded Savitsky to surface the submarine and await orders from
Moscow. This presumably averted the nuclear war that would have ensued had the
torpedo been fired.“ (Click here for more)
Click here for the Beatles
The
secret word is October
NOBODY HERE BUT US CHICKENS
Back
in the days of the underground press this Gilbert Shelton cartoon was a great favourite of the sorely
missed Edward Barker who would lustily bellow the tune when drunk. Which was often.
Click here for the song
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
YES, NEIGHBORS, A NEW WORK OF FICTION IS ABOUT TO BE UNLEASHED
And
this is a teaser excerpt…
“This was some fucking party, a wang-dang-doodle crew of
grotesques and pony girls, kicking, cutting, drinking and drugging, copulating
in corners loosed with martinets, manacles, and devices, generally raising a
reasonless and increasingly riotous ruckus. Living lawyers squired dead-eyed
models who had long since adopted the habit of eating human flesh and other
varieties of voidoid meat. Skin sagged from bones and the shapes of faces were
reducing themselves to ectoplasm with a kind of sliding motion. Cocaine,
heroin, crystal amphetamine, elevated barbiturates, large mammal tranquilizers,
and other ingestible powders figured almost as strongly as alcohol, rolled
opium, and black tablets of belladonna at the tables. Dwarves in military dress
blues, bearing medals and strange insignia, looked on with over-sized Beefeater
Martinis in their stubby fists, while lizard men from the frightened cities of
the hollow earth, doing passable—if scaly— impersonations of Joan Crawford,
tangoed with Italian baby wiseguys in black fascisti shirts. A Krishna pimp
paraded with a swaying, finger-cymbal string of five of his stable. He offered
up the perfumed delights of slit-sari, honey-skinned, undulating Hindu whores,
heavy with gold and silver, with oiled and ample overfed thighs swathed in
silk, yab-yum dots on foreheads, and their yoni red, ringed, rouged, and
pouting. Gilded boys in spandex and tans so mahogany they could only end in
melanoma, performed queer tribal dances, with roots in the Hitchhike and the
Batman.”
Click here to learn more
The
secret word is Purchase
I NEVER LEARNED TO LOVE THE BOMB
Exactly half
a century ago, on this and for the next dozen days, we kids got up each morning
with no guarantee that we would live to see evening. We might quite easily be
vaporised or worse in a nuclear holocaust. The Cuba Missile Crisis was playing
out off the coast of Florida. Jack Kennedy and Nikita Khrushchev were engaging
in what was then known as brinkmanship. World War III was so on the cards. And
I really resented it. I monumentally resented it. I was a teenager. I was
listening to Gene and Eddie and Elvis and Miles. I was in my very first band. I
was learning about whiskey. I was learning about women. I wanted some
marijuana. I wanted some pills. I did not want my life gratuitously snuffed out
before I’d tasted any of it. It wasn’t fair and I hated it. Fuck you J. Robert Oppenheimer I cried. Thankfully the rest was history.
Here’s
Noam Chomsky with a more objective view…
“About one-third of the total force was in the air,
according to General David Burchinal, director of plans on the Air Staff at Air
Force Headquarters. The Strategic Air Command (SAC), technically in
charge, appears to have had little control. And according to Clawson’s
account, the civilian National Command Authority was kept in the dark by SAC,
which means that the ExComm “deciders” pondering the fate of the world knew
even less. General Burchinal’s oral history is no less hair-raising, and
reveals even greater contempt for the civilian command. According to him,
Russian capitulation was never in doubt. The CD operations were designed
to make it crystal clear to the Russians that they were hardly even competing in
the military confrontation, and could quickly have been destroyed. From the
ExComm records, Stern concludes that, on October 26th, President Kennedy was
“leaning towards military action to eliminate the missiles” in Cuba, to be
followed by invasion, according to Pentagon plans. It was evident then
that the act might have led to terminal war, a conclusion fortified by much
later revelations that tactical nuclear weapons had been deployed and that
Russian forces were far greater than U.S. intelligence had reported.” Clickhere for more
Click here for Vera Lynn
Sunday, October 14, 2012
SUNDAY BREAKFAST
As
I was eating my eggs and toast while looking at the Gmail, the following came
in from HCB. It’s a quote from Gershon Legman’s 1967 book The Fake Revolt reproduced
on the Arouse Your Passion website. G. Legman was an old school bohemian who
liked sex, but hated hippies, rock & roll, feminism, and gays – but may
well have been gay himself. I’d forgotten all about him and it was nice to be
reminded of the insults of yesteryear.
“The New Revolt nowadays consists therefore of
a bunch of inarticulate long-haired adolescents, without leadership and without
a program, trying to mouth prepared goon-bait such as "existential"
and "psychedelic," being shoved on them by psychological pushers that
nobody can arrest. If that's your kids and you don't like it, just be thankful
they aren't members of the same Fake Revolt one layer down: the motorcycle fags
and hoodlums who peddle their bodies to homosexuals in public toilets for money
to buy Nazi insignia, but who are scared of girls unless there are enough other
hoodlums present to gang-bang them or pull out their front teeth with pliers
and throw them to their death from apartment-house roofs. The dirty girls
available for this type of work do not require description - either before or
after. They are somebody's daughters too, and were also brought up on the
"media," and hassled into frothing in their panties publicly over well-publicized
pelvic crooners and other pop-culch offal. If you haven't a little LSD dropout
in your home, just wander up and down your local Freak-Out Bar area, not
forgetting a side-trip to the "S.& M." (sado-masochistic) or
"Sadie-Maisie" homosexual bars, such as those on New York's
fashionable East Side, for the meaner types of homosexual gangsters - also on
motorcycles - and businessmen-delinquents on their off hours, soft-shod rich
boys, and art-director types, who like to show what a super-cultured Elite they
really are, by chewing dirty socks and beating each other to death.”
Click here for the Mothers
The
secret word is Smile
I WAS ELVIS’ SEX COACH
This
is Tura Santana. She also came via HCB this morning. She was best known for her role as
"Varla" in Russ Meyer's 1965 classic Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! But she
also claims to have been Elvis Presley’s sex coach.
“When we first started
out, he was kinda like ‘wham, bam, thank you, ma’am,’ until I showed him what
to do. Eventually he became much more sophisticated.” Does that mean Elvis
became a good lover? “Yes, it
was worth the effort,” Tura says, closing her eyes. Elvis was becoming more
passionately adept, but there was one very important amorous pleasure he
had yet to experience. “Four or five nights later I showed him how to give
head.” Tura grins. “He hadn’t done it yet.” Tura instructed Elvis in
one of life’s finest sensual arts. “When a man wants to give you pleasure,
that’s what makes the difference—‘Honey, not so hard there, just nibble,
and when you find that little man, nudge him. Several times. But try to
do it gently at first . . . then a little harder . . . when you’ve got
him nice and hard, then you start to suck . . .’
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