The Message Column

crossroads

with a wasteland all around.

Isn't a clear choice, just that? Moral equivalency? That is what a tempter uses.

Those who pretend to it welcome it. Which 'it'?

The greatest evil comes from those who usurp, and pretend to, the 'holy'. And re-association of ideas is a powerful linguistic weapon, which is a violation of the linguistic freedoms of the opposition. The trained seals of a ra-ra section (ra! ra! ra!) love to tongue-tie their opposition. Meanwhile these dialectical bullies say whatever they effing want to say, with no such strictures. The person who actively tells strangers what words that they can use, within the heat of argument about politics, is called a 'linguistic imperialist' or better a 'dialectical imperialist'. For the provincial, or the traditional, to be put under a stricture by politically motivated operatives of grand-fussy-hypocracy, for the purposes of cartel governance, such is a grand tyranny. The list of prohibited words and ideas is parred way way down by polite people respecting their debate opponents (and even on the political stage).

The regime of mean always looks for those who they consider the villain. The kind of stories that they write always have grand villains. They never see that any villain, that any author composes, is always a kind of autobiography of the author. How is that? Because this idea of this villainous cretin (of the author's fiction) emanates, or perhaps 'channels through', the author. Either or. So all of the creep behavior that gets described gives a detailed account of the kind of self censorship that an author is capable of. How does this author restrict himself in this quest to present some kind of villainy?

In the case of a professor of English telling students that they can't use a style guide from the 1960's and forget about the politically motivated strictures that 'eliminate' gender pronouns, that professor is dead wrong about that. In the real world they are all the rage. Gender is, and continues to be, a very important aspect of human relationships. The erasure of it in the word-use of jelly-fed children of the power, who are given job-for-life roles within the power structure, just because those fools don't use 'he' and 'she' anymore, doesn't mean that the whole rest of humanity isn't using them, and thinking about gender, and the differences between real people, and who, who it would be, and gender is mostly part of this, who would it be that would be that one for you? That is what the people want to know about themselves. Men, women, not sure? That three categories, not one. If anything we need more gender pronouns, not fewer.

I do understand that the slang dialect of some feminist writing teachers (because it is a slang, and certainly not proper English as it had been previously defined) is one that very many ought to be able understand and mimic (or mock). This fetish of restricting words, and changing usage, basically violates the freedom of the human spirit by requiring a fussy sub-process to please the vain-glorious conquest-ritual of this perverse generation of false professors. I say 'false professors' because they restrict their students, and enslave their students, to various political fallacies designed by malicious haters of the ho-poloi of the world; and try and control the thoughts and words of those in their charge, and anyone else as well; based upon how they 'feel' about gender politics; and while utilizing the polemics, so fondly practiced, by a whole giant crowd of group think plebs of their political or ideological pier-group. Yes, the aspiration of some is to train children to spend all of their time trying to please fussy academics underneath the addiction of power who have devolve into becoming petty tyranny, and doing a 'no soup for you' bit with the diploma if the student doesn't act like a good submissive and talk and think with the tick, trying to erase the facts of human existence: gender. The facts of animal existence: gender. And the total and complete and constant obsession about it. Including the cult of trying to errase it, which is like a kyacker thinking he can kyack up Niagara falls. You can't kyack up Niagara Falls. You can't erase gender.

The only way it would be OK for a teacher to mark someone down for using common terms that the anti-gender mafia do not like would be if that professor were to assign to students a writing assignment that would mimic, or mock, this imposed style guide of gender-annihilation. And also to write; in mock, comic content; what is totally the other way, and uses gender grotesquely and as a way to harm others. This would be a writing exercise, the product of which would then be graded, then tossed aside, and not published. So why bother? Just as a way for someone to understand the genre.

Both of these types of writing are rather extreme. In one case we say never do this (write tasteless and baseless diatribes about gender and mock the concerns of those who believe the Equality: which is not congruence of gender ideas, but a congruence in other fields, where 'gender' doesn't matter. Yes, at the court, in The House (the people's house) the 'gender' of the person isn't to be put up as the reason for . . . whatever it is that they are going on about with this individual. We look at the person and we don't presume to offend by the worlds we use. If I say 'Is she OK?', ought i not get some giant cred for being concerned about the person? Or do I get some kind of guff for using a pronoun of gender identity? And if you have some grand doyenne of some great and ancient family (that is humanity) and she is an old matchmaker withe a scheming mind (she schemes for your well being) and she wants you to be paired off . . . so you can have a purpose. Because if you don't have a purpose, and this is perhaps a grand and rarely confessed flaw in people, if you have no family of your own you might just become a busy body and start going all ragtime and wondering around telling people what words they can use, and always pretending to interpret what other people say and do as if it's a great and grand offense against sacred traditions of [fill in the cause, the humanistic concept, equality? Abolition? anything real]. Some people do not want to get along with those around them.

So how do you write it as a writer? How do you create it as a creator of situation for drama? The self-importance of self-righteous solans is mostly a threat to people of the same moiety or ideology, who have this person, this angry young person, as a drone for their cause, always angry and agitated and ready for battle against anyone or anything that he/she/? opposes (see, I can do the gender neutrality thing too). These drone people are particularly dangerous when the hornet's nest gets a good whack. They will go out an sting anyone around them. Ask that professor from Middlebury who, last month, was in the center of a truculent group of riled up hornets. They just sting anyone around them.

As I writer I craft a lot of parts that are vague or obvious metaphors or analogies. I assume that people understand, or I just don't care. Having been told that if I weren't of a certain kind then I ought to change my name as if I were, or I won't get published; it made me understand that the fragile thing we call literary fame is a manufactured product that craftspeople create, not just an author. And if there is authentic literature, it might be amazing in how it conveys it's literary world, with grand style and humanistic interpretation of events that a young mind, drunk with the idea of a grand literary life, finds fascinating; and it would find useful and awesome; and you will be the next Hemingway! Ya, right.

The problem is that when someone is idolized and adored like Hemingway, or Kerouac, or Steinbeck, and their life becomes a cottage industry, people see them as points of aspiration for future possible role for themselves. We look at them as if if we emulated them that we could be them. Listen young author, you can't be them. Their fame was also manufactured. And, yes, they were very good writers, and conveyed a lot of wonderful emotions and awesome senses of meaningless, and possibly dangerous, purpose.

You can only be yourself. And while you are young and FOS, you might be able to write very very well, and make all the fussy professors of cause very happy with how you pander to their ideological delusions. And you might be great at writing copy, and you might get a good job in Marketing or advertising. Or you could sell your soul and go work in PR at a . . . or . . . anything. But here is the point: just because you are a good writer doesn't make you a moral authority. There are plenty of very famous people, who, as writers, had the world enthralled with their hypnotic on message didacticism. As soon as Death come in his midnight-thunderstorm hot rod hearse, bolts of lightning raining down, the smell of Ozone, as soon as Death came up, chirping along the side streets, billowing up giant bellows of sand and dust, blaring rock-n-roll from the boom boxes along the side of the crate, as soon as Death came to take him off to his final reward, that author fades off into historical oblivion. And though favored, and humored, in life. In death very many authors just disappear from the shelves. And no one looks for their work anymore.

See, see how a writer is often talking about himself?

At a crossroads there are four ways you could go, assuming two separate ways. But in the real world we think outside the box, perhaps. Do we need to get there by a road? Why can't we just tether some balloons and some drones to a lawn chair and float off to the hither-roo? Why do we need to be 'on the road'. What road? Whose road? Who cares which road. The road less traveled? What a great cliche, sounds so awesome but . . . the road less traveled is a metaphor and basically, in the real world, with hail and lightning a very real possibility, the well-traveled ways are often the better choice. You take the high way so you are high above the flood.

When you are in your twenties, and a 'great writer', who gets all the literary prizes, and a job-for-life contract; you might be a great writer, an awesome polemicist; but what kind of person are you, really? Are you really wise enough to know what kind of message the world will want to hear? Or are you exploitative and vindictive and petty? How could you know, now, what you will think of yourself in twenty years? And if you were to see yourself as a bad person in twenty years, after you have grown and matured, you could not know that now. So write. Write whatever you think. And don't worry about gender pronouns as you do it. But don't be offensive. And don't pander to base stereotypes. And don't be overly didactic. And don't listen to people like me without saying 'maybe he, too, is FOS'. And listen to criticism. Heed that prudish professor, with her linquistic bullying. Write like that for her, to get the grade. Because the system is fraudlent in so many ways and she’s trying to show you that it is by being rediculous. You can never win. She’s trying to teach you that. She didn’t. She is forced to be a dialectical bully to please her mentors, those who stand over her head and told her she wasn’t anything, either, unless she knuckled under. Never knuckle under. But don’t be a fool and throw away a good degree based upon ridiculous style guides that no one in the real world uses. Get your degree.

But here is another point: get your work out there. Most writing is of the moment, current to the day, and is not going to have relevance beyond a small duration. Ideas get stale. Writing, when it gets old, might need to be tossed to the side.

Alright, enough of my curmudgeonly advice.

April 10, 2017




I'm not doing this because I would 
have chosen this trail through these bryars,
but here we are and we need to proceed
to a more fortunate location.

But sheriff, he's a dangerous man . . .

if you can does not mean that you do.

A friend passed away,
he knew a famous rockstar.
It was a long time ago
before any of them were famous.
and now, upon the death of the friend,
who was truly a friend to all,
one of the most magnaminous of all
there is to be a concert and some kind
of fund raising tribute and . . . 
famous rock star guy isn't sure that he
can attend.
name dropped. I won't repeat it here.

I told my other friend that
if famous rock star guy were to show
up at a music festival and
with his guitar stuff
to play his famous songs,
then don't you think that they 
gotta keep it on the down-low?

But I thought about it a little more.
Someone we all love died. So now
why do we expect that anyone
even famous rockstar,
would be in any mood
for an outdoor show
on a windy day
by the water 
for a 'cause' that we
already gave to anyway
in so very very many ways.

We all mourn in different ways.
Expectations get placed upon the way,
the yellow rose means something that you have to do
as well . . . 
the desk in the hallway
that old green vase
and pictures of old friends 
who you will never see again
with writing on the back of them.

It's just a lot more that phrases and sounds
and the clanging of thrashing metal
guitars like a mosh pit
at he prime-eval moment of conception
into that . . . place of emergence
if you go in you
never come out the same
but that's life all around.

Some moments seem longer than others
the expecation of doing somethign great
for other people
and always being didactic
about the joy of living.
that dream you had was
never more than just a story
for you to use as a guide.
You could not perscribe 
how the love would flow
in your river of love
but the expectation
that water flows like it does
and forms as it does
so in Rock songs love
is often coveyed as water, 
or the rain,
as it's said in a famous ballad
by a famous guitarist (not the one who knew my friend).

So if famous rockstar
guitar gawd guy
with the giant poster
posing with his ear ring
larger than life
at the guitar store up the highway
can't make it to the outdoor show in the cold rain . . . 
becuase he's too involved
with what he's involved with . . . 
why should anyone say anything
either way,
up down,
the chords to his song are very complex
he has a very beautiful voice
they were all equally as talented,
one group of brothers
got the better brake.
They were all friends,
and brothers
and brothers of friends.
Your sister, your mother, your elderly aunt. (ant)
some times people do 
even when they'd said that they can't. (cawn't?)

 
 Why worry about things that you can't control?
 Maybe just to get out of the way and 
 live through it?
 sounds right.
 I'm so decisive.
 

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Oh tiny font nonsense,
just because your letters are smaller
doesn't mean you have some alternative importance.

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

      🖐♥♥Love♥♥🖑
      ♥♥🖑Cops🖐♥♥

      

Is it obvious parody or News or both?

 

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🖐♥♥Love♥♥🖑
♥♥🖑Cops🖐♥♥

      

     
Vote Once
One Vote
here is a fresh link, a new path to some older content:
   photo pile!
   
 

 
 a sane backup strategy includes . . . 
 

   
Suns gone
don't follow me
Spring falls 
like rain.

If you don't wait for me
I'll never wait for you again.
I'll never wait for you again.
I'll never wait for you again.

All of those dreams I had last Summer
they fade fade fade
with the rain
All of those times I tried to reach out to you
you always act like i'm insane
I'll never wait for you again.

Again
and again
I wait for you 
in the morning
I dream you'll come
to see me
buy you never ever ever
come again.

Again and again
you never ever ever come again.

All of those dreams I had in Summer
they did
fade fade fade
with the rain
All of those times I tried to talk to you
you always acted like I'm insane
I'll never wait for you again
I'll never wait for you again

Again 
and again
I dream
you come
to see me
I dream that
we are walking
down the long and storied lane
and you'll always come again

In Wicked Need of an Edit

🚛 🎓 🎔 🌀

Political and Media Inanity

Kafka wrote comedy. Orwell was a pessimist. Depends who you ask.

Imagine if they both could have lived and made it to Los Angeles, post war, and been collaborators on writing romantic screwball comedies for Hollywood. If we search IMDB for movies written by Kafka, or by Orwell, will we find one? I kind of doubt it.

Truck-u-later

in this column Truck-u-later steps in deeper . . .

We all know you've been watching me. I saw how you looked at me . . .

So let's review: the people calling in the hate-stuff to the . . . .were . . . themselves.

I was sure that 'technically' they thought that they had our president, when he did his furious accusatory 3 AM tweet. honestly, I said 'wiretap'? Doesn't he know that they are using IPV6 and no actual wire needs to be tapped. But I understood that he meant it in the general way of a 'wiretap' as a thing, not as a description of the actual activity. Ie: there is no wire so how is it ever a 'wiretap' anymore?

That's all just a technicallity and we all know that. All in all Donald is being Donald and I'm glad for him but I worry that it's a little bit overwhelming for him. He needs to remember that Republican's are only some of the people who voted for him. And I'm sure that he does.

It's been my contention that he mirrors back-at-chas to people. And so if they are nasty he seems nasty.

It was insightful to me to see a roast of Mr. Trump from many years ago and to see a certain wellknown, if not photogenic, shock jock personality (I won't name him) leaning over in a loving glazed up love lock on our beloved president and Donald just soaking it all up. Yes, Donald is well-loved by the people who love him.

It's too bad that Paul Ryan is still in charge at the House. It would be better for all involved if they choose a better person. A consensus person, maybe not from either major party? Mr. Paul? Mr. Sanders? How about a coillition speakership?

Or rotating speakers. Wait, Bernie isn't a congressman so it can't be him. Pence should do the Senate, let Rand do the house.

As far as Nancy and Chuck go, Well, Chuck, we need you to cluck. A spirited opposition, and aauthentic outrage, give credance to the idea that we actually debate and choose the best path instead of it being group think, lemmings over the edge. Look at all the beached whales of the democrat party.

Paul Ryan, I think you should gather together your spirit of self sacriface and move on. Let someone more of the mind of swamp draining be the leader now.

Trump-zilla

The kaiju (strange creature) who the protestors imagine.

He's just not that guy!

The mirror is in your face? What do you see? Do you get what you give?

Feb 21, 2017

from The Japanese
kaiju : strange creature
kaijin : strange creatures

Both Mothra and Godzilla were kaijin.

Give us back our egg.

The demcracy twins say:


"the accusation of racism is often the most racest tripe of all!"

the usurpers say:
"we are just in your imagination!"

some one shouts:
"Careful your description of these people you hate so much, you starting to sound like you are describing."

The giant statue starts lumbering, like
a huge Olmec Head chess piece, 
or giant Gallapagous sculpture, 
animated,
across the scene.
Is Says:
Make the date,
don't be late.




the protest kwel-aide
is all gone.
It's was dranken up
in the last verse of this song.
Expect the staggering to stagger through
they'll have very mean things
to say about you.


"but it tastes so good!" they cry.

Gathering together is holy effort.

I say I don't know,
but I do know what I don't say.
And I try to say what I might know,
but as a form of entertainment,
and a way for me to channel out my urges.
In that sense a blog, a speculative
writing project, like this one,
is a conjecture factory of snark and
possiblity hopefully 
to open up the gates that
block the water from getting to
the thirsty minds,
starving for acceptance and
affection
within the scrum.

Protestor megaphone Jones.
He's got his ap
on your phones.
He knows all your triggers.
He's got voomp and hair stand jiggers
filled with the kewlest of kewl.
Filled with taboo drewl.

That's some pretty colored drink.
Drink up.
Twenty years ago this week.
Drink up.
Drink up.
Comet Hale Bop
Dring up.

The poet hopes that no one drinks
that fowl brew.

My recomendation is to not
take the drug taffy
from the tripping guy
you jest met who is
already explaining to you
about Kabballah.


delete
delete
delight in the delete.


There is nothing heroic
in chanting along
with an idiot.

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


the poet won the prize for literature!

  well, nothing more here today.