The Message Column

Is the age of celebrity for authors and writers over?

Is the age of celebrity for authors and writers over? I say no. The age of celebrity is not over. What is over? The age when agenda'd causes and 'on narrative' liars get to present a grand fiction as if it is 'truth'. The age where 'great writers' who work for presidents, and produce lurid fiction and pedal it in front of the international press: those days are ending. They are ending because it's too embarrassing now, when we can see how so obvious a fiction their stories are.

Oh true confessions,
Blue Oyster Cult
New Jersey
in the rain . . . 

bop bop and woe
which way the car?
From where comes the snow?
lost in the marshlands, that you'll never know
how many tracks
of bop bop and woe
coming through on your old
transister radio?
Is that a bear
or someone you know?
what are those tracks?
are you sure that you know?
there're bears out here?
even with snow?
Can you hear the sea?
how high will it go?
how many tracks
of bop bop and woe

Red Bank Waves
Sea Isle City 
  Says "hello"
  
  How the storm tracks
   we can't really know
    better just be ready
     because it's too late to go
    
    
    What is this now?
     Booming thunder?
    
    Here comes the rain . . .
    Drink up !
      Drink up !
        Draught is over!
          Drink up !
          
Ohhh Nooo

What is this now?
A great big wave?
What to do now?
What can we save?

Bop Bop and 
   woe
    floating along
     from that old
       transister radio . . .
       
        Is that a bear
        or just someone we know? (BRIAN???)
    What is this song
      how does it go?
      
      Bop Bop and Woe!
      
      Caitlyn
        dancing in the snow~!

    Great Big waves crashing over seawalls and dune
    worst time to happen: with the full of the moon!
    
    woe  ohhh ~
    
    Make love not war
     make love not war
      make love not war
       what da ya think ya were
          put on the blessed Earth here for?
          
 woe, bop, and bop bop
  and bop bop and woe bop,
   woe bop and bop bop 
    and woe bop and
          woe bop . . . (etc, but fades quickly)

          

True Confessions of those 'On Narrative'

The New York Times is publishing lurid fiction: David Samuels, "The Aspiring Novelist Who Became Obama’s Foreign-Policy Guru"

I got this link from drudgereport.com. You can go there to find it.

Or just go to the NYT link, and look for it.

As adult rack pulp as the text reads, I'm going to force myself to read it. Mr. Samuel's lurid tale is very much the kind of exposé that many people like to read, but the subjects of his piece seem . . . well . . . in need of time beneath the banyon tree (what banyon tree?).

People with a strong dramatic sense, who also understand how to influence emotions and want to keep 'on message' or 'on narrative' make great stage directors. They utilize their dramatic skills for the purposes of art with the hope of elevating human awareness: "let's let lightning bolts explode above the stage if only in the minds of the people." They keep their eager audience panting for more, and hopefully bestow some sense of humanity in the process.

In politics such stage craft is trite and displays a callowness that many find as a disqualification for leadership.

All curses be broken!
May there only be blessings
blessings for you
blessings for everybody.

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On the addiction and recovery of institution and governance

musings on institutional dementia

Most of those who work in these kinds of industries are sane, rational, and philanthropic.

The effect of the collective effort of institition and governnace (some small part of it) often seems to be 'clincally insane'. The institution behave, as a collective, in a way that no single member of it would behave individually. The people are all sane, rational, and well adjusted adults. The institution is demented. This is called 'institutional dementia'.

Workers at a demented institution are often just nine-to-fivers who need a check to pay their bills. Thus the only sane way to bring the institution back into sanity is to have an external audit and bring the organization back to be inline with legal, moral, and ethical guidelines as judged by . . . and that is the hard part. In any case we might not know who to ask to bring mental health back to the behaviors of an institution.

The other hard part is that any kind of reformation of institutions and governance can be subverted to be for private causes and by secret intellectual manipulations, nepotism of purpose. The result might be good people are cut (given a RIF) for the purpose of reform. The rotton might be spared and left there to keep rotting, and to serve the purpose and interests of some political organization and subvert the intention of the bylaws of that institution. Vigilence does not always prevent this.

Such tainted reforms happen a lot in this world. We can probably think of many examples of when such purges have happened. It might be better, for our emotions, if we just give out waves of forgiveness. Let's not look for criminals. If we start to find bodies, then of course, we need to find out whose doing it.

But as far as criminalizing the members of a corrupted institution? It just doesn't' help the process of bringing group mental health to the behaviors of corrupted organizations, governance, or institutions.

Should we not rule from kindness? Governance needs that. Those who are egregious and out of control, using public governance for their own purposes, might actually be doing what greatly benefits many. But if it does that at the expense of those of very limited means, like it creates some sanctuary amid chaos that wouldn't exist if said governance were not out of control, then we probably need to make some changes. Such sanctuaries, within the eye of the created storm (the result of bad governance), (such sanctuaries) will be seen as zones of the privileged. Opposition to that part of the governance will use any sign of self-dealing as yet another example of bad behavior of organization. Many times some see to flay 'the tyranny' of the bad governance, even if it well serves the public. Maybe the purpose and intentions are good, but the organizational behavior has been usurped (by . . . ? . . . selfish bureaucrats?).

Most bureaucrats are not totally selfish and self-serving, but follow the rules of their office and perform their duties well. The preceding was perhaps a partially false assumption? Well we can at least hope that organizational people are mostly philantropic and performing well, even if it doesn't always work out that way. Benefit of the doubt is the better method. Acting crazy and accusatory will not compel buearocrats to serve you well.

Most organizations, governance, and institutions are not institutionally demented, and the ones that are usually are only partially thus.

  Praise     Praise     Praise
   the        the        the
   Lord       Lord       Lord!
  for    because    
 Easter  He's so awesome! 
  welcome to The Message Column!

      🖐♥♥Love♥♥🖑
      ♥♥🖑Cops🖐♥♥

      

 🖐
 hello!
 

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🖐♥♥Love♥♥🖑
♥♥🖑Cops🖐♥♥

      

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     oh those arbitrary frames!
      spinning, but not this line.
     
spin me a yarn neon
spin me a yarn neon
spin me every where but not here!
here is a fresh link, a new path to some older content:
   photo pile!
   
   
   
   
   
   
 

Is he a
real detective?
Was that a
true confession?

your lurid fiction
is very hard to read
it's obvious destractions,
the name droppers reaction . . .

   lurid tales of power-junkies
   
   Confessional Politics
   
   I know I misled the public
   and was propaganda minister
   justifying war
   after war
   but I'm really a very good writer  . . . 
   
  name dropper
    name dropper
      cough drop
       cough drop
         drip drap
          a sea green mat
           a buckled flap
            a silver snap
             do you know the tune too?
              do you know the words?
               tootle de dew?

cough drip 
 drape drop
  drip blue sea
   nonsense poetry?
    nonsense
     isn't sensical
     but to them
     it's sensational.
     
     
     
     caught down deep dreaming
      above the deep blue sea
       forty miles high
        above the thunder
    caught down deep sleeping
     in the heart of me
       fifty miles
           inside the rain
        caught deep down in that rolling thunder
        stuck inside the sudden shower
        ddep inside the sudden forest
        stuck inside a dream
        
        Dream
         Dream drip
          weep 
           gated pasture
            no exit.
            you're a sheep
        Dream
         cream dip
          weeping willow drooping thorugh the open window
        you're still asleep
         the willows are all down by the river
          let's call it Ophelea's stream
           She's there rest with the grunge king
            inside this dream
            
    Dream
     Cream
       Stream
        a cracked trunk
        down within the flood and
           Ophelia
            she's . . .
              where is Ophelia . . . this time? This time?
              
    You can change the play
     you can change a play
      That's OK
      I'tll be a different play.
      It's always going to be
       a different play
       even if you perform it
        three times a day 
        twice a day
         three times with
          the mantinee
           but they don't make the poor kids pay.
           
Dream
 Scene
  Literary scheme
    where all the people who had it bad
    get resurrected to not be sad
     but the play
      still better play
        that other way
         Where the limb gets pulled down within
          the flood and flow
           how deep is it there 
            in the deep river flow?
              
 If you can't weep for her, 
 even as a fiction
  you can't weep for anyone.
  
  That sounds very poetic,
  and truthy,  kind of preachy
   and false.
     you might weep
      for some random event
      that the poet cant fathom even if
       Ophelia
        doesn't move you
         at all.
         
         
 

In Wicked Need of an Edit

🚛 🎓 🎔 🌀

Political and Media Inanity

scary Orwellian times. permission to speak freely? Depends who you ask.

Truck-u-later

Trump-u-later

You're hired!.

"Trump You Later!" how rediculous. But headlines need to be catchy . . . not that anyone really comes to this site. If they do then why don't they also download all the images? No, it's just spyders off in the void of corporate crawlers (these are people, not processes, lol) off in the nether of the illconception which we commonly delude is the 'culture' of 'the Internet'. Lookit, if you can't be polite at the door of the pharmacy, then why should I except your process to be polite to my process. If I get try.php, I firewall the whole range of IP adreesses by modifying my access.conf file. If you don't know what that is then you can just let it go. Someday maybe you will and you will have a website like I do, which serves as my social face. I don't use the crook book or the bird-chat aggregators.

My suggestion: use them but don't stop work on your own thing. It's not very hard to do anymore, anyway.

Hey, I was shocked yesterday to read that Senator Cruz had finally decided to withdraw from the race. I guess he didn't want Glen (Glen who? Ya, that one) to get even more mal-nurished. Poor Glen had to fire so many people. Maybe as a favor he could have had Donald do it for him? There really isn't anything funny there. Glen sounds like he needs some time to regroup his angels (demons) and start singing a better song with the choir inside his mind. I keep expecting him to rise from the stage with light shining all around him, or step out of the TV and come right into my living room with a host in his hand and expecting me to say 'amen'. Such lurid visions of psuedo-christian babblings of mind. I say psuedo becase if I were really being a total Christian about it I'd turn it into a prayer. If we can agree on what God wants, which we can about some things at least with some people, we ought to work on those things. And on the things that we respectfully disagree? The Things With Which we Respectifully Disagree about . . . that which polite people don't lay claim to knowing the full truth about. Maybe I should say 'He who polite people don't lay claim to knowing fully, or His will (we don't know that fully either).'

So, ya, Glen (Glen who? ya him) I want to say that I am happy that you can be so enthralled by wanting to do what is right and holy. But when you display such obvious delusional thinking: as if it's OK to tell people how God wants them to vote. Or maybe God has some trickster angels who go out and screw around with people like you who are so self-righteous and sure (cock-sure) and those angels, call them the Angels of the Evening Commute (a shameless plug to one of Bill's stories) (Bill? Bill who? ya him.), these are scruffy angels. They get the guy who died in a stupid car wreck. They guide him through the various stages of his twisted bardo. Whatever road that dude needs they make it for him and make him need it again. None shall pass. No, I said "Nun shall pass." So he shows up in drag, as a ghost, dressed like a nun and the angel of the evening commute asks him "Do they even have gender in Heaven?" He isn't sure. He doesn't even know he's dead yet. He's not dead in the eternal sense, but when the cops come and the EMTs and all the boys from the insurance institute (boys or girls or whatever) they list him as 'the discessed', spelling it just like that because they don't know how to spell either. Some EMT comes over and he's having a very bad day, explaing about what he had to deal with, what he saw. And the disceased, in his bardo, comes walking over like he's still living and he says "I've never seen a severed head before." OK, Iccabob (wicca bob?) crane, here it is . . .

But you'd never ever show that, for real. You'd show a reaction shot. Or, if you were describing it, you'd just talk about how he puked. Or he had an epistomological pants fit, a bad reaction.

The trouble making angel/demon would be there offering him a choice (I have to give a writing credit to Charles Dickens here, thank you Mr. Dickens!) either mend his ways or this bad dream will be the real deal story that everyone gets to read on the cellphones "idiot driver runs from the cops and ends up dead in a ditch along side the interstate. Traffic backed up for miles. Source are quoted as saying that the victim was a . . . " such unkind words. This must just be some kind of insanity. So instead, instead, he wishes for the better ending. He gives the story back to the angels of the evening commute and requests a rewrite.

Real life isn't so simple. You can rewrite the poor things you did previous, the meanness that you convey, your subhumating of the whole world, screeching to some stranger at the bank because he dares to mention a political candidate who you loathe . . . and then they had to call in the guard who was this tall fetching muscular he/she/? who Dudester (who is having this hullcination) felt a sudden warm felling from (muscley and a teddy bear and a fantasy guy). So he just let him toss him back out into the mall. But then the mall cop was there, and he wasn't so fetching. He was a brutish dikelike man, who wasn't a woman or a lesbian but had the persona of anyone who was ever brutalized and thinks that you are going to pull the same kind of chit. They channel your meanness right back at you and appear to be your worst delusion of how mean and unfriendly righteously indignant people can become. That mall cop chases you to the exit and he/she/? has a clicker door lock control but you get there too quick (I keep changing tenses in my little divigational story) and you bust through the mall door and that was when you went on your rampage car ride off towards the infinities of eternity and bad fate . . . if only you had not been such a big jerk at the start of the day maybe you wouldn't have ended up decapitated off the highway later in the day?

He's pleading his case to the defending angel of the late afternoon traffic jam. And they are calling him out on technicality after technicallity. One of them explains "Lookit the writers and we all agree that we dont' have time for a rewrite of you and all your mistakes, not just today, but eeryday. Lookit, the best that we can do is to set you back to some previous part of your story, and hope you write a better one forward. Or you can take what is behind thunderhead number III (which looks strangely like a prop from a TV game show, story credits to Merv Griffin? I am not sure) and proceed towards the nethers of your own scripted bardo"

Lightning bolts explode from the cloud head. Rolling thunder seems calming, like some kind of drum show in the second half of a really hot Grateful Dead Concert. Jerry comes running back to his microphone, strapping on his guitar as part of his husstle.

"Now I know that this is just a delusion becuase Jerry's been gone for 20 years by now." he tells the angel/devil/he's not sure what he/she/? is.

Oh no it isn't. You must decide.

"Can't I just take the cash? Do I have to choose what is behind thunder head number III?"

"OK" suddenly he's portalled back to the bank branch at the mall and the woman is counting hundred dollar bills into his hand. It's right at the same time that he heard the guy commenting in line behind him about a presidental candidate. So, instead of flipping out, like he did the last time through, he just counts the four hundred dollars again, like he was trained to do when he was a teller so many years ago. He shoves the cash into his wallet. He gives his thanks to the teller and walks past the barroll chested security person who gives him this giant smile. Like the Moon in the sky. "Come back soon."

As he proceeds through the giant mall back to where he had parked before he has to go back to the pharmacy now and get some more things. The woman is impolite to him again. That was the thing that had put him into a fowl mood before. She gave him the cold stare again, like she hated him. He ignores her.

Near where the door is back to where he parked he comes upon the Mall cop from before, and security guard from the bank who are conferencing. They both notice him. They each give him a giant smile. He nods and smiles back. He tries to think of some clever thing to say but he doesn't have anything.

And so then he went for a long drive on the highway, just to go past the place that he'd died the other time through. It's been a hard day. There is a traffic jam anyway even though there wasn't any police chase or car crash this time. So he gets off at the first exit he comes to. Maybe next time through he can go and see where it was, where it was that his crazy ways were decapitated and he gave up on his mean and his need to try to magically make people agree with his politics. It's better to let it all go. At the end of the day we all need to keep our heads. Flipping out because of politics to strangers is no way to canvas for votes.

The preceeding was a rediculous spontanious story brought to you by . . . the wind, the rain, and the sound of the sea. first draft of the spontaneous story.

May 4, 2016

We sure do need a billion dollar idea.

The tolerance of alternative views has waned in much of the media. The people put -up with a clamp down on ideas. They go into the face-crook jungle thnking that they 'connect' with 'friends', but much of it is virtual. They've been botted. unfriend the intollerance of jingoistic ideologues.

  Praise     Praise     Praise
   the        the        the
   Lord       Lord       Lord
  for his    for his    for his
 unfailing  unfailing  unfailing
   love!      love!      love!

  well, nothing more here today.