Dr. Omed: La LANTERNE : Makeweight of the Left

Thu, 05 May 2005 23:57:52 GMT

BO'S BACK!

Dr. Omed has recieved a communique from his AWOL correspondent Mr. Strofeda via U.S. Mail, and Bo kindly granted his permision to share some excerpts thereof:

After her recent public stands Senator Barbara Boxer moves right up the list of those scheduled for NSA interdiction by aircraft "accident".

The Mad Scientists are at work again on the H2N2 flu vrus. They just passed out free samples of an incredibly deadly and easy to disseminate biological warfare agent to thousands of labs worldwide, including some near the Mideast. They then notified the whole world of their error, in time for those samples to be "disappeared" into the hands of terrorists fed fat with $60/bbl oil receipts, and last but not least they and the vaunted crack [ers]Homeland Security Forces are taking the word of those labs that they have destroyed the Samples [ i.e. the megadeath everlasting doom in a small mailed tube ] upon request.

Science and technology have unleashed demons upon the world, and it is only a matter of time until numerous cataclysmic events unroll themselves. If as likely there is a fortuitous concatenation of those events, "doom" will be too frivolous a word for the results. I would like to survive for a while just to see if the remnants of mankind take vengeance on those supremely arrogant technologists, or , as much more likely, say "May I have some more, sir?" Vonnegut got this wrong most likely, and Farenheit 451 too.

4-26-04 Re the front page photo of Dubby Dubois [ does 'do boys', get Tennessee Williams' original and still workable joke ? Well blanche my ass in a butchy buggery Bilbaotic excess, Dubdub DuBwaaahz haha ] locked in palm-to-sweaty-palm cum pinky-to-mons-veneris inside the arc of thumb clutch with the G-own Prince: Even a "faded, jaded mandarin" such as the Good Dr. O can appreciate the depth of my despair.

My sweet baboo hast thrown me over , fired me, in favor of Big Daddy 'Dullah [ hey i could have countered with a large softish dildo, circumscribed of course ]. My widdl' heart is bwoken. Whatever shall a boy do to replace such a moon-tweaked nelly belle of the ball? I should have known Rove and Gannon [sic] would lead a poor li'l cuntry boy astray in the big city. A fascination for Saudi crude overcame my darlin' Dub, no kyjelly fa" him no more, dadda ain't got no new lube fa" dat boy , nawwww. .

p.s. One suspects Karlovingian expects that Bushbase will perceive Bush here at least as tops, or Daddy, to the effeminately dressed aaaarub. How wrong they would be about Missy Kneepads. And about that other guy, the second most powerful man in the world after Dickiepoo?

p.p.s. Mike Malloy of nighttime Air America comes right out and says repeatedly that just as CIinton was the first "black" President, Dubafoos is the first homosexual President. [ Tho’ pan-sexual would appear to be more accurate. ] "How many hints does he have to drop?" says Malloy, looking at the above mentioned pics. What settles the issue for me is how defensive the White House denizens became last year when it looked like the whole story of Dub's long out and avowed homosexual college cheerleader squad roommate, the ex mayor of Nashville who was pensioned off as ambassador to someplace in Europe. Net says Dub used to take Air Force One to Tennessee to visit him.

But the biggest issue is the overwhelming evidence in the 200 some visits of the so-called Gannon male prostitute to the White House, some forty of them "overnighters", that Dubya and crew are libertines. The world has seen this before. The German generals of the 1890's loved to party up in their tutus, and send the millions of young boys off to die in revenge for their own getting old, i.e. WW I. Then there is that club nor1h of San Francisco. 0r the big names in the Mattachine Society. Many powerfu1 men in the U.S., and perhaps throughout history, are bisexual "family" men, ala Mr. Capitalist Toolhead, Fortunato Zine hisself. The basic drift of their sexuality is merely the same mantra as the rest of their putrid existence, i.e.“I got the power and don't have to play by any rules, and I'll prove it to you by fooling you, killing you, taking your money and buggering your sons and daughters in every way possible". The pure dross of sewage plant skimming ponds that such "leaders" represent is enough to make any self-respecting bisexual artist, like a Bernstein, or populist like [ insert name here ] hie himself to a nunnery. The problem isn't that W is gay, but that he is an infantile, necrophiliac thief, i.e. the usual pk.Jtocrat of inherited wealth. Animal House gets shown a lot on tv of late, the tiniest little poke of conscience from the entertainment executives, and much too kind at that to the wastrel debauchee that he is.

p.p.p.s. When oh when is some abused wife or some lefty Kenneth Star going to get out the truth of these buggering thieves ?? Why doesn't Dan Rather call in a few i.o.u.'s and get even for his pillorying ? It is becoming evident that Bill Clinton failed to become a part of this essential core of the old boys club, despite his stellar service to them in selling out the entire populist and Democrat base, because he just wasn't libertine enough, esp. in those critical college years at Yale. “You do lotsa fat girls, huh Flinton? Well that doesn't even get you up to the plate, oink oink. Guy like you who’s never stood naked in a coffin sucking off the line of his fraternity sponsors and getting Daddy's money to cover up his vehicular homicides hasn't got a well, prayer, of getting in. Sorry. Oink oink."

4-27-05 Just heard Josy Cardinal Ratzapper, alias Pape Interdictus XVI, has lit into J.K. Rowling for her part in the "plot to destroy Christianity" via her “children's" books. Any switcheroo to take the heat off the renewed press reminders of his old, recent, and continuing role in squashing the investigations of pederast priests around the globe, esp. in the nations of those chief financers of the Vatican deficit, i.e. the U.K., the U.S., and Australia. A kindlier gentler Pape, no doubt about it, with a thousand points of medieval blight emitting from his Inquisitorial talons. But hey, no problemo, when you already have [ one half of] the stupidest fifth of the planet locked up in your magical cult, it’s easy to threaten the rest of mankind and make it stick. The Eurotrash Sledge, the Jonestown Hole Card, the Dictatorship of the Entitled Christers, the Children of Crusade, Our Soldiers of Infantile Magick, for sale to the highest bidder under the aegis of our ever doctrinaire Christian nationalism. Play it our way or the Roman Corporation that served as the model for Charlemagne, all the Phillips, Elizabeth I, the Hudson's corporate Modernization of Empire, the Cosa Nostra and V.I. Lenin will fuck you too.

Wed, 29 Sep 2004 06:00:33 GMT

MANUMISSION NOT

Originally published as a response to a column by Rob Salkowitz entitled

Living in Bush's World, which appeared 9-27-04 on his blog, Emphasis Added.

Yes and Yes and Yes. One cannot but commend you for your focus on the "larger agenda" of the Bonobo-Agogo and Crew, which intents Kerry has ignored with a blind will to date. If you haven't heard the words "sell out" chained to the name Kerry yet, you will be, for years to come. Think of the alliteration possible with "Quisling".

You suggest however that the world you describe is in the future:

"This agenda represents the fever-dreams of ideologues" or " election being fought putatively on the grounds of anti-terrorism and Iraq is actually about the future of" or "what this will mean for the country" etc.

I suggest that we already live in that brave "new" world, because it is the brave old world of feudalism which you describe so well. Feudalism has been the fallback, retrograde, or default government of western societies since the fall of the Roman Empire. It is not something alien to modern government, but the sketchy foundation on which later forms of governance bear. It has however been resilient and easily deposed any of the sweeping utopian models proposed to displace it, such as Marxism.

It has always used your noted "siege mentality" to control the masses and deprive them of civil rights. It persists because it is based on the most profound me-first instincts of the human animal. It favors psychopaths as rulers, because it favors rash action over any other means of governance.

It means endless warfare and weak central government because it is based on the identity and ownership of individual nobles with plots of territory. Or in today's parlance, commercial hegemonies. Hello Bill Gates et alii.

This is the world we already live in. Democratic institutions have proved inept of late at controlling or moderating these always extant, titanic forces. The veneer of democracy is but a hyaline membrane, and we are beginning to see the viscera exposed which it had been sealing off.

Why do i insist on making a connection from your 2005-focused awareness to the historical situation, as i have before? Because despite the cornucopia of novelties in our age, the patterns of governance depend ultimately on the same old same old, human psychology, Man Against Himself as K. Menninger noted. And because the historical remedies to the feudal sociopathy are known as well.

Feudal strife increases in direct proportion to the sudden increase of wealth in controlling individuals. A wise society, one which values peace, makes it extremely difficult then for huge fortunes and monopoly positions to be acquired not merely in one lifetime, but in the time of a decade or two, as is the case now. In other words, that deity which this America worships, instant grandiose wealth, is at the very heart of our feudal outbreak. Cut the mega-rich down to size and the feudal infection recedes of its own accord. The sooner the better, regardless of who becomes Prez.

And if that is not done? Well, it appears to me that the economic lords of the Orient have stolen a huge march on the wealth and hegemony of N. America as it sleep walked under the cockatrice of Bushbreath. Nor, it is clear, do they intend to be minor liege lords to 'massa whitey'. The American plutopaths, in their attempt to carve up and control the world markets, have sold us all downriver already. The rafts await. Gimme dat ol' time religion.

Mon, 27 Sep 2004 01:36:10 GMT

04W Looks for the "Daddy" in BaghDad's i Ad

Bo does not watch much television. But Bo did happen to see on CSpan overnight the incomparable comedy routine of the duplex appointed rulers, from Thursday, Sept. 23, about 25 minutes on the White House lawn. Two identical podia. Two guys of similar height, or "lowth" if you prefer; edge to Allawi. Iyad Allawi from the bleeding sands of Iraq and Buster Bob Bonobo from the bronc-less, steer-less sod of Crawford. In similar dark blue suits and bright ties; Allawi adding charcoal banker stripes, plus ca change, but mustn't upstage the Belle. Allawi had by rote the Repug electioneering script prepared for him. He was so "on message", so likeable, that Kingmaker Karl is probably thinking about running Iyad for Prez in Ought Eight if the Gropenator or Brudder Jeb fail to make the grade. He even auditioned a charming little proto-smirk. And touched the side of his nose a few times in good grifter acknowledgement, also to see if it had grown any in the process of telling one lie after another. His was otherwise a seamless, shameless performance.

The Bonobo on the other hand had but 30 good seconds, which brief interjection just happened to be the "coverage" which appeared over and over on Fox. CNN had to live with the seconds, the leftovers, the shakier rants, and those pretty much exhausted the pitch potential of the supposedly scripted performance du Dub. For the remainder of his time outdoors with the big kids, Dubbunkport was in a panic. He got four hard questions from the exact newsmen he wished to call on. Who in hell took the cuffs off of these castrati anyway? he seemed to wonder. Each question demanded that our boykin tell the people why the rosy scenarios spouted by the twa Allawi, on the spot and earlier before the Congress, seemed to be just opposite to the nasty case of reality diagnosed elsewhere in re Iraq, or throughout the livelong week from a number of Agogo's own insubordinates. And even from goose-steppingly loyal Repug Senators and Reps. Rather than answer those questions, Darth Invader repeated his campaign spiels over and over. And turned repeatedly towards Allawi's lectern for surcease, as if towards Mecca , begging for a Daddy to save him from his public disgrace.

One wonders why a man so supposedly triumphant in recent polls, so practiced at hiding his poltroonery, should appear so flubberly. Did he perhaps want the whole stage unto himself, as usual ? Was he confused by the precisely parallel setup, into thinking that his fellow appointee/sycophant must likewise be honored as a Comandeer in Chief ? When the debacle became unbearable, Dub abruptly cut and ran. Ah, a true if unscripted theme in his life. He tried to exit stage left, directly behind the lecterns, before someone signaled him that per the choreographing, he and Allawi must to walk in right profile the long veranda back to an actual unlocked White House door. But prior to that time, the Hatriot provided even the casual interpreter of body language with an encyclopedia of signs, each untoward move telegraphing his true distress.

One routine, which The Great Simian Hope practiced without making it perfect, was switching his formulaic demeanors multiple times while trying to spit out just one canned phrase. Bo was almost tempted to sympathy, just as Bo wept for the merciless Son of Terminator, while that worthy bot lathered up a manly sweat in the vat of molten steel, surfacing again and again in contorted capitulation to each of the faces his liquid metal self had killed and appropriated during his chase to waste the damsel. The ever "decisive" Frutex squirmed and twisted and stepped backwards many a time. He put first one arm then the other in front of him in a primal defensive posture. If only the S.S. would just arrest one of those newsy guys, then wouldn't they all back off? He touched his face like an ingénue in her litany of moves, his repertoire that of the needy infant barely cloaked under mantle of tough guy. These caricatures of the moves that Puddin & Pie always uses to beg for our approval, for the Prodigal Son vote. Except that these moves also lasted too long, and were not sandwiched in as usual, so as to be ignored. Meanwhile Allawi was calm and nearly immobile.

What we may have seen here, oh sanctified brethren, was an imminent psychotic break. If only the "familial" intervention had been allowed to proceed another five minutes, HumptyDumpt would have broken down on camera, and the citizenry would not have to worry about his state of mind over the next four months.

Bo confesses he was so intrigued with the signifying that he subjected himself to the trauma of watching the spectacle at the White House four or five times, as the compliant CSPAN repeated through the night. What mastermind ginned up this public debacle ? If Japetto's Blunder can so compromise himself in the midst of the triumphal parading of his murderous toady, why cannot the feckless Dems manage to get the message out that the Unelect is a basket case ?

At any rate, one of his oft-repeated tics, a shirking move, particularly intrigued Bo because Bo has seen it before. In another little man. I mean the move of stretching his neck out of his typically tight fitting collar. It is sort of like shooting one's cuffs, except that the neck seems to shoot up out of the cuff of white collar that normally restrains it. The face goes a bit red; some high blood pressure perhaps. This is a boy baby, about to fight off his clothes. This is the head disjoint from the body, despite using the apotropaic of the two torques ( torc ), the buttoned collar with the looped and knotted tie doubling the safeguard. This is the basic paranoia of the unlizard part of mind, the forebrain, the superego if you will, the fear that manifold entities of the body are uniting in revolt against particular dominance, against its resident complex, against hominoidal inflation. The symptoms bare a resemblance to those of formication.

So what we see is what we get, what the electorate have got and what the electorate will get, the very picture of a man coming apart at the seams. The impact wrenches have found the bolts, and the psyche of this Frankenstein's monster is being unbolted. But Bo is thinking about that other little man who used to, when stressed or caught in a lie or a con, shoot his red neck repeatedly out of the comforting chokehold of his white collar. That little man was a drinker, folks. A nighttime tippler and a daytime tranquilizer.

A functional alcoholic. Bo has seen this act before.

Haven't the rest of you also seen it also, my Brethren of the Mississippi Valley ???

P.S. Bo also viewed Allawi's 40 minute speech to the combined venue of House and Senate. Iyad, the "go to" man, projected that quintessential Repugnican craft of video-sincerity while laying down a steaming pile. More interesting though was the audience. CSPAN did not pan, but returned ever to the small clique of generals in their palest masques holding down the floor level center of the apparent 150-200 members ( out of a potential 535 plus ) who bothered to show up for the farce. Most were Repugs, though a smattering of top Dems and a number of Dumbocrats showed their faces. Holy Joe Lieberman and Allawi demonstrated the 'shuffling of the deck of two faces' complete with Joe's air kiss at his left ear, on the Baghdadian's way to the rostrum. One guesses [ or what is that proper word for "guess" ?? ] he with the stoutest stubble wins these face offs.

The "crowd" tried to make up with scripted enthusiasm and timing for its lack of size, giving Iyad's absurd one liners long loud claps. No finer example to be seen of what one can get for cheap in the way of a Senator or Houseboy these days -- a trained seal with a musical ear, en masse comprising a pack of pinnipeds putting their flippers together on command from the plutopaths and fishmongers. The casual viewer would ascertain from this simpering chorus that the Congress of the U.S. of A. had not the slightest doubt of the correctness of its approval and financing of an imperialistic invasion, nor is that frying-pan-into-fire support likely to diminish regardless of who occupies the Blanc de Blanc House. Lookout boys 'n girls, its draft time.

And can't ya just cry a little tear for the KarlieMan, with the wheels falling off his life's project ? But hey, there is no man like Karlieman for loving a challenge.

And where are you, shrinks of 'Murka ? Now's the time to vault onto the bandwagon. Not that it takes a shrink to grok the disintegration of our Fearless FickleDick.

And might it just be that one immediate cause of Pinnochio's stagefright is the similarity of Thursday's White House mise en scene to that which he will face in one week, no Dadda-Wee there to lean on, only the Yankee Avenger, an Alphamale Not Al with perhaps some beta- release teeth to use on Zero for Four, a Mr. MonkeyMaster himself, the opposing debater Senator Kerry ?

Does anyone doubt that Rove's Fool Tool could cite the Precedent LBJ and renounce his candidacy tomorrow, while the psychosis this nation has chosen for itself goes on and on ?

Fri, 24 Sep 2004 04:17:38 GMT

From a speech delivered 8-20-04 by Bo in one of his alternate personas.

Growing Older

I am growing older. Not necessarily wiser. Nathan asked me to channel Walt Whitman for this videotaping of poets who are expressing their hopes for the future of the U.S. I did that. Like this:

You are drunk with unearned privilege, country, and i am not evacuating your inebriate form to the recovery room, the......... my words swarm you, every one an ant, a tardive ant on your every cell, on each platted mite of your skin organ. Formication. This poem your formicary. Do they itch ? You have not enough nails to scratch them all. You are subverted. There is no anti-pruretic for you. No papal blessing. No apostolic creed, no calamine of lies, no religion, no nationalism, no armoire of ideologies, nor no apathy yet invented can save you from my words. Itch you shall. Itch you Are.

And so on. Then i set this effort at poetry aside.

I am a lifetime resident of this country. And a poet. But i do not come today to speak as a poet; i do not come to wax wroth, to skewer the manifold errors of our society or to raise you up by the engine of hopeful words. I come rather to address the future, to speak of the practical and the possible, and that is a task for prose. Dry prose. Dry words. The sane man maintains a healthy disbelief in the power of, the efficacy of, the spirituality of, the primacy of words.

I do not have children; that does Not mean that i do not have an intense need to pass on something from my success and my failure, something for the future generations. I have not now given myself over to belief in any ideology, any party, any method, any great individual, any overweening pattern of history, any force or any act of Nature – outside of that which lies within myself. Having so given myself over to such beliefs in past, i have learned that the process of belief is faulty in and of itself. I have learned that one's belief should not exceed the force of action to be found within oneself. May that force within me be sufficient; and if it is not, may the best force within yourself be sufficient. What i say here is the fruit of one man's experience, and no more defensible as "truth" or as "justice" than a will o' the wisp. I ask you, do not subject yourselves to the error of "believing" or "disbelieving" what i am about to say.

Nor to the error of believing what you yourself say. Simply act in the best interest of others, of all the other life that you can possibly comprehend, and then the future of this country, the positive change of this country, will be assured, regardless of method, regardless of who is in charge, regardless of intervening failures.

May we insist that every person have access to a small, adequate, healthy family group, recognizing that such families cannot be based alone on the accident of inheritance, of genetic similarity, of common household. Every person must have a place to belong.

May we share fairly the wealth of our continent and of the globe, accepting full well that this means we must share out the poverty as well. Let no one live in luxury until the least are safely fed, housed, educated.

May we disassemble the corporate media monopolies, and restrict the size of all organizations of communication to the least size of their survival.

May we teach ourselves to forego the false luxury of Deity. History has shown that all deities are man-made, in that every one of them has proved to embody and project the worst of man as well as his occasional better aspects.

It is a terrible thing to go through life without the consolation of an all-powerful religion under the aegis of an omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent and personally-related rewarding/punishing Deity. Perhaps the only thing more terrible is for an intelligent uncoerced person to believe in such nonsense, and act upon those beliefs.

Why do we need a god anyway? to reward us ? to punish us?

Surely the lassitude of the American public will be punished by ordinary results of reality, no penalizing God needed.

May we teach all persons the history of mind, the archetypes within themselves, so that we are not forever surprised at the external outbreaks as leaders and citizens revisit our cataclysmic past, and project old disaster into the present.

May every person obtain mental health through some physical work, through the hand crafting of personal tools from simple materials, and through constant access to physical touch. May we eliminate our American unspoken class of untouchables upon whose suffering depend the fondest excesses of pride and privilege.

May we root up like shoots of sumac the inevitable failure of heroism; may we start by accepting first and always not the possible herohood of persons, but the assured failure of each of us, and thereby have rock under our feet, and not quicksand. Let us pretend no heros and study no lineages of supposed nobility.

May we entomb any and all religions within the encasement of a Chernobyl, so that their ongoing pathologies do not corrupt any further the practice of our practical politics.

It is not by bombardment, but under guise of business and by breeding,

bolstered by the bonafide bombast of religions, that most warfare is carried on in this world. The outbreaks of armed hostilities are but the visible buboes of the underlying infection.

May we give up our foolish belief in the goodness of organizations. No corporation, society, bund, church, state, or Boy Scout troop for that matter has any hope of acting ethically. Only individuals can act ethically.

May we starve out our Dept. of War until it is forced to give up the vile imperialism it enforces around the globe.

May we have the strength and steady purpose to reform that antiquarian document of legal fictions known as the Constitution. And to keep rewriting it as required by exigencies of our own days. Do we want to continue to run 21st Century law as if on the engine of a James Watt, as if on the curiosity of an Alexander Bell?

May we punish greed and thievery wherever found, starting with perpetrators of the biggest crimes first, since theft is the one motivation common to every criminal and psychotic enterprise bedeviling the country. Theft is an ebola virus, there is no such thing as a small taking, the error of it blooms and floresces through every person. "Pass it on" the most common mantra we have, if unspoken.

May we agree to reduce our population numbers until such time as science demonstrates the true and limited capacity of the planet to carry the burden of the one animal species which destroys all its natural predators.

The act of breeding into a finite world will eventually be recognized for what it is, a primary act of competition, of aggression, guaranteeing in utero that eventually sides will be chosen up, enemies created and demonized, weapons secured, etc.

May we return to all places in Nature the natural vigor which our ancestors found there, using whatever science and resources are required. At the very least, may this country return to exacting no more than its ordinary share of resources from the common resources of the world.

May we base our political assumptions firstly not on the rights of individuals, but on their duties; may we insist that all men share an overriding social compact.

May we deconstruct the error of nationalism in all countries.

May we estop the gross crimes and excesses of corporations, hammer to pieces the corporate shield laws, and develop means to insure that sociopaths can no longer find their sure means to vicious power by means of corporate executive suite. May we no longer allow these insane persons to play their zero sum games with our economy.

Do you want to bite that bullet, the recognition that there is but one battle worldwide, not at base between religions, not between nations, nor between classes, but only between the self-appointed porcine masters of each territorial, resource, and technologic demesne and the entire population of those with whom they refuse to share the fruits?

Who then appointed you satrap, America? Who gave you sway, American ? Who made you liege lord of the globe ? By what grace and purpled mountain do you claim yourself master of mankind ? By dint of consuming what porkrind have you ascended to dominance ? Give it up. You did not inherit, America, you are not appointed. You are not even the first violin, giving out 440 cycles on the A note. You are flotsam in the Johnstown flood; stop making religion of your temporary float, of your beatified survival of the moment; you can and will submerge if you do not change.

Americans, when you view the outline of this country, when you imagine the fictive boundary of your own state, do Not think of that circumference as the lip of a funnel, do not think of yourself as mere gasoline poured through that funnel. This country is not a place to be trod, a thing to be owned in parts, it is not a collection of owners lassoed en masse by the line of their border. Not a place. Not a thing. Not a group nor even just the useful fiction of a group-think. No. This country is but one of many funnels floating freely through the void; and you, citizen, if you are but cosmic debris, orts of fuel sucked by accident, not by your own forethought, past the lip, through the venturi of this funnel. You are not here of your own accord. God did not favor you, crumb. You did not favor yourself. Accept your passage; do some work along the way. You favor with a will the crumb next to you, for it is not the nature of funnels to segregate, remove, exalt one over the other. You are just passing through; how you entered the tubular agitation, exactly that is how you will leave it, a slippery molecule in a fume. To imagine yourself otherwise is the great American fantasy.

End.

Sun, 12 Sep 2004 20:24:11 GMT

The Tyranny of the High Born

http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&;cid=574&e=3&u=/nm/campaign_world_opinion_dc

"Only one in five want to see Bush re-elected. Though he is not as well known, Kerry would win handily if the people of the world were to elect the U.S. president," Steven Kull, director of the university's program on international policy attitudes, said.

The only countries where Bush was preferred in the poll of 34,330 people that was conducted mainly in July and August were the Philippines, Nigeria and Poland. India and Thailand were divided.

Extrapolating from this survey, about 4 to 5 billion persons, humans, sentient beings on this holy rollin' planetoid of sorrow and delight want the Orbicide and his Repugniscum jacked out of the Elllipsoidal Office and out of their lives. ASAP. And yet on November 2, some 50 million right-thinking clerisy of the Most Favored Nation, some 50 million Aesir mostly of the Red States, some pluperfect if miniscule moiety, some Homeland Braintrust of the Hinterlands, some sagamores of the Monoglot Horde of the Mississippi Basin, will queque up to their parochial polls to exercise their video-coopted right to negate in one fell swoop that geocommunal will, to inflict another quadrennium of calamity upon the 5 billions. A singleton cream of the Murkan crop, one Son or daughter of the Middle Border, shall blithely smirk at the aspiration of one hundred mere hominoidal imposters, one hundred mere cyphers of alien persuasion, shall throw off that ingermane zoonosis, and trumpet again the manifest destiny of the american aethling. An act of faith, whirra. And then, God willing, "All, all are punish-ed" that one Thief in Chief may continue to steal and suck the fig of plutocracy.

Sat, 11 Sep 2004 21:24:38 GMT

On First Looking Into Blogdom's Gomer's

Why do the good guys, the concerned intelligentsia, waste so much time attempting to instruct the latest nitpicking tortfessers of Commentary who hang the bar sinister of their agitator's Shields in illegal surveillance over the last estate of proletarian free press ? These jivejohns and their tiresome doppelganger(s) who infest the circuit of liberal blogs appear to be working for a living. Shilling for the Man. Les enfants in potty training by Big Brother and the Holding Company. Abecedarian apparatchiks of the Feudalists. Dull es wannabes. Prime examples of why the annual billions of "black budget, black hole" dollars in military intelligence spending need to be tugged toward light of day. The FBI at least sends some of its suckling babes and journeymen inepts out to the local coffee houses in the flesh.

And to you "patriots" of the intel brotherhood, here's a request from John Q. Citizen -- get off your duffs, go learn Farsi, Telugu,or Bhojpuri, etc. Spend more time reading foreign connivance and less time interjecting your puerile contrivance into the ordinary English exercises of freedom guaranteed to your countrymen by that Constitutional document you agreed to uphold when you first signed up. Stop trolling for the ineffectual intellectual. Get a job.

Sat, 11 Sep 2004 15:08:02 GMT

Zell Miller, Home Fries, and Georgia Apartheid, Shrink-Wrapped

Who heard Zel give 'em Hell at the RNC?   Bo did. And unlike those pundits of Progressive Radio [ Air America ] who condemn the zealotry of Zell, unlike those who excuse Zell for possibly being in the throes of familial Alzheimer's, unlike those who stand in loco Johannis K. to decry Soilin' Senator Zell's lack of Senatorial comity—his failure to adhere to the unspoken decorum of the Old Boyz Club, unlike those, Bo wishes to congratulate Zell on a stunning performance.

For not in Bo's lifetime has he heard an orator bring a large crowd not just to its feet but to such a solid undulant roar of insanity, to such a well tuned borborygmus of hatred , to such self pitying and yet threatening grumble from their low dark chakras, to such a horrific augury of true mass destruction staggering up from the timpanic bowels of "the least erected Spirit that fell", to such a pack-ugly snarl of hyenas over the warm and twitching carcass of a baby wildebeeste, to such a blessed moment of Repugnican mumbo jumbo, their Pandemonium in eldritch timbre of death lust, to such a tipping point of mobocracy—viicide their fondest object, to such a jack-yammering after the gotterdamerung which Zell roused out of his RNC crowd.

Congratulations, Zell. Give 'em Hell, Zell. Give 'em hell's bells, Zell. If your bestest good ol' Baal can't evoke some Hell, what good has come of your 72 years' pursuit of the arts of deception? No, congratulations. For never has any changeling son of the antebellum South ever so succinctly put proof to Bo's belief that people do not change.   Apartheid it was, apartheid it shall be under the Spell du Zell. Bo would hardly have batted an eye if the ghost of a young and unrepentant Leni Riefenstahl had executed a glissade across that stage in Wagnerian breastplate and flaming battledress to award the Senator manque his bouquet of black roses. Well done, Zell.

For not in Bo's lifetime, not since the last incarnation of Moloch in Nuremburg, 1936, has the world witnessed such a spectacle—a master devil intussicating the bunched souls of former humans well on their way to wreaking the next Shoah. Nor could any better proof be demonstrated of numerous conclusions heretofore evinced in La Lanterne :

-        Is not the so-called Democratic Party packed with the Irredenta composed not just of Repugnican fifth columnists, but with the evilest denigrators of the progressive spirit, emerging at last from their spider holes to rally their Cadmean army of spooks in the rear of the populist advance. Turn vanguard, turn and face your whilom "allies", the Dumbocrats and vampire Dixiecrats, the Pachydonks and slimy Nawops masquerading as support troops within your tracks.  The time has come for a litmus test of native spirit, a "scrapegoat's gate" that sifts out the frauds.

The time has come moreover to deconstruct in a flash the blasted hulk of Roosevelt's Party. Don't even bother to extirpate the legion of Millerites.   Form up under a new name as the actual party of the Center. When? No time like the present! But certainly come the second week of November. And this time, set some standards of membership, work up some shibboleth that serves to sunder the unworthy, the Millermen and Liebermen, the servants of racism and all fundamentalisms, the silent auctioneers of militarism, feudalism and plutocracy uber alles, the walkin' talkin' WMD who have so long insinuated their hissing tongues and longish cranks into the vulnerable seams of the "Democrat" Party.

Is it any wonder that the Party of Veepster Henry A. Wallace has fallen into decline after nurturing at its breast such vicious turncoats as Miller, and worse, those who have not yet turned themselves out?   J. Edgar Hoover had the right concept in his paranoia about Chinese Communist infiltrators, The Masters of Deceit, but he got the species of parasite wrong. Think instead, oh fairest of Repug Girlie Men, of cadres of fascist Repugs colonizing the tenderloin of the DLC.   Think of Red inserted into Blue, as once you imagined yellow into the green—

THE YELLOW PERIL

A poem written while experiencing a migraine attack at Echo Lake, Colorado on 9-13-86, and viewing the aspen turn.

Driving up Squaw Pass Road from Bergen Park

On spackle and the gloss of fresh tarmac

That feints and feels its way through ranks of pine,

We crest near Eagle’s Aerie and go giddy

With looking down. We become tubular bells

Stunned by the hammering strokes of deceit,

Our very voices wrung from our throats

By the caffeine of color, of copper.

Slopes full of sleepers expose themselves

As deep plants, while those upright guardians

Of the green way, those patriotic firs,

Point long fingers as if at chimeras

Of their xanthic phobia, come to flesh.

Nor do they fail to gape tartars, aspens

Not yet yellowed, fifth columnists of lime

Whispering treason in pale litotes,

Slipping quick hints to we the polarized,

Chords of spring rubato to our eyes.

Copyright 2003



-        Are not the Repugnicans, and indeed the body politic experiencing a mass psychosis?   Where are those legions of pampered shrinks quivering within their bankamerica-pyramid schemes of unearned preferment, the lot of them whose secular duties ought cause them to identify and raise larums against Miller's Complex, against the Fundy high tide of insanity drowning this nation, no matter the kidney of their practice?   Where are the priests unhived from their sacristies and fornicatoria to condemn the pure mortal sin of disciplined block voting by Repugnicans who have leant thereby their honor [ and soon their precious fortunes as well, Bo predicts ] to the current Black Sabbath of the GOP? Where are the so-called journalists whose job it once was to segregate fact and sense from error and deadly nonsense?   Where are the teachers at every level, whose chosen profession of missionary to the unschooled heathens demands of them the sacrifice of public truthing? Where are the executives of business who feel some reality with the exquisite sensitivity learned by capturing wee increment of markets? Who feel their leashchains of excessive privilege to act under aegis of corporate shield law now beginning to garrote themselves under the yank of Millerism?

-        Have not Repugnicans become the destroyer of worlds? In Millermania, one sees their complete trashing of the Constitution. And from that victory, Bo suggests, they will rise up shining to inflict their necrophilia upon the entire planet. Lookout Alderaanians, here comes Darth Miller and his RNC Death Star. Some kind of mean old man.

-        Where are youth?   Why should a society tolerate its teens at all if they cannot even perform their singular traditional function of mocking the Zell out of ancient and evil fools? You have a job to do, guys and girls. Get cracking.