Thursday, March 6, 2008


the hack Italian film director- 'thrust your peeniss owoooot Giuseppe' (god, that failed more miserably than any of us thought possible; let's just disband this small militia of unrequested humour and skulk home)

1 jester a jestin'

2 pipers a pipin'

3 knaves a knavin'

4 knights a knightin'

5 trouveres a trouvin'

6 fools a foolin'

7 wenches a wenchin'

8 hangmen a hangin'

9 paupers a paupin'

10 seers a seein'

11 alchemists a alchemin'

12 despots a despitin'

13 \vitches. a witchin'

14 queens a queenin'

15 kings a kingin'

16 attendants a attendin'

17 marksmen a markin'

18 robbers a robbin'

19 jackanapes a jackin' & a napin'

20 catamites a catin' & a mitin'

21 princoxes a prinin' & a coxin'

22 fops a fopin'

23 coxcombs a combin'

24 maids a maidin'

25 innkeepers a innin' & a keepin' 4073 lords a lordin

...where does one draw the line?


future Geraldo topics-

'Why I avoid the hair spray pole and dress to shine away death' 'Circumcision and the american male' 'P.T.S.D. & your houseplants- helping them cope' 'How to make love with your spouse via voice mail' 'Muffy in cyberspace: teaching pets to log onto the internet' 'How to tell if you were sexually harassed while in your mother's womb' 'Doctors who don't wear shoes' '7 flashy condom styles for the spring season' 'Roseanne's personal fatback-chittlin makeover' 'Guys who like their acne'

'Geza X's 'Mean Mr. Mommyman'- corrupting our kids?'

'Shocking expose- public offlcals who read 'Playboy'

'He says they were dancing, she says they were fucking. Who's right?

Who should be arrested? Next week.'

'Comedians who rely on 3rd rate celebrity references'

'Pearl Jam- alternatives mainstream? Eddie Veder- the new Morrison?'

'Elle MacPherson discusses makeup tips and her new child welfare

reform proposals'

'Favorite celebrity sex games'

'Richard Simmons on God'

'part 9 in a series- Madonna's old boyfriends'

'How bald is too bald? A panel of twenty somethings decide'

'Fat women who get respect- how do they do it?'

'Dating tips for cybertemps'

'Politicans with Attention Defecit- ok or not ok?'

Wily Welshman, Fatuous French, Loquacious Libyans, Insipid Irish, Sarcastic Sudanese, Mocking Mongolians, Satirical Spaniards, Tenacious Turks, Jocular Javanese, Antagonistic Afghans, Ribald Russians, Exacerbating English, Truculent Tanzanians, Auspicious Australians, Blustering Burmese, Chiding Chinese, Conspicuous Costa Ricans, Borrowed Borneans, Flustered Finish, Jolly Javanese, Satiated Sumatrans, Sentimental Samoans, Corpulent Columbians, Cutthroat Cubans, Kooky Koreans, Assinine Armenians, Gentrified Germans, Sublime SanSalvadorans, Irate Italians, Bothersome Botswani, Prurient Poles, Apologetic Americans, Attenuated Algerians, Testy Thaiwanese, Inscrutable Indonesians, Kranky Krauts, Melancholy Madagascarians, Trendy Tibetans, Jiving Javanese, Unctuous Ukranians, Cantankerous Canadians, Misanthropic Mexicans, Guiless Guatemalans, Corpulent Cameroonians

Summation of a few Observable Urban Motorists One Sunny Tucson Day

-fair haired women in compact Nissan Nxs

-blustery mustached muchachos in low rider convertibles

-harried housewives in '94 minivans

-wiry Jewish intellectuals in green Volvos

-sleek sharp toothed businessmen in small red Mazdas

-prosperous, well-fed Persian rug dealers in spotless black Lexus

-tatooed strippers in neon pink & green Pontiacs

-1st string freshmen QB's in '97 Red Corvettes

-sedate New England therapists in impenatrable green Cadillacs

-downtown janitors on the public bus

-art fags on bikes

-pimply high schoolers in mom's blue Civic

-low key weapons experts in white Range Rovers

-tense athletic directors in Japanese 4-wheel drive jeeps

-peppy aerobic instructors in yellow VW Bugs

-and who among us still drives those pitch black, block long tinted Cadillacs? G-men?

-public school substitutes in rickety brown Hyundais

-Marlboro poster boys on roaring chrome sunflashing Harleys

-Homeys in those purple flatbed trucks with the disproportionately inflated tires & chest cavity basslines

-Uptown jazzers in 1930 MG's

-talent scouts who really should know better in ostentatious pink Cadillacs

-waiters with serious airs in red pretend Ferraris

-the clueless single guy wearing yesteryear's leisure suit in the silver Delorean

-the homeless on foot

-acerbic a.m. talk show hosts in the company's white Buick van

(at what point are two words hyphenated, and at what point are they

joined together? Footloose vs. High-School)

We've invented a bionic soap capable of cleansing pores at up to top

speeds of 200 miles per hour.

I've heard tell of a bionic beer bong capable of delivering a high

powered uninterrupted rush of beer for over two hours at

approximatley 79 miles per hour (209 gallons per minute)

There's a new bionic silicon job capable of giving a starlet's breasts

complete muscular autonomy, functioning with the same array of

possibilites as would an arm or a leg.

They've come up with bionically regenerating pizzas. Eat all but the last

piece, place said slice in specially engineered solar powered box .under a

200 watt bulb for 6 hours, and the pizza engages itself in a process of

photosynthesis, completely regrowing itself back to original size (12

pieces, pork & anchovies only- some kinks still to work out).

Bionic Toupees are all the rage in Nashville. They're capabe of shaping

themselves into a variety of predesigned forms, 8 in all- Elvis

pompadour, George Jones Muttonchops, Jerry Lee Lewis blond curls,

Lyle Lovett hedgerow (a concession to the newer generation), Sid

Vicious spiketop, Johnny Cash oilslick, Little Richard kink, Glenn

Campbell everyman- hence suitable for a variety of performance

situations. A few unfortunate accidents have been reported, due largely

to the owner's indecisivness. Programming too many styles in a short

amount of time overloads the toupee's circuitry and results in a most uncomfortable process of shrinkage and overheating. The English, in their characteristic strangeness, have elected to champion the development of the world's first bionic teapot, but alas, to little avail. Based on preliminary reports, it seems there would have occured a potentially hazardous chain reaction with the bionic circuitry and those little bits of lime which float so distastefully but alledgedly harmlessly in all English kettles. And just what exactly a bionic teapot would really do was a mystery to all but the most British of minds. Finally, there exist plans for bionic penal implants, allowing the owner to copulate at 120 miles .per hour for 73 uninterrupted hours.

Shawn Colvin, Sarah McGlaughlin, Lisa Loeb, Poi Dog Pondering, John Gorka, Suzanne Vega, Natalie Merchant, et al belong to a newly emerged genre of popular music I'll refer to as 'StarBuck's Coffee Music'. So unobtrusive it just bleeds right into the java-oak-earth-tone to prevelant in those places. Backpacks, sandals, earthmugs, noserings, patchouli. This genre also unearthes voices from yesteryear- Van Morrison, Joni Mitchell, Joan Armatrading, and whomever else might provide a bit of clean soul. Not that these artists are without's just so unobtrusively nice, careful, and, with the notable exception of Mr. Morrision, so hell bent for insight. The Vermont-Conneticut Aesthetic, or something like that. "Pull Out the Pin" by Kate Bush or "Fish" by Throwing Muses would be a bit much for this setting.

"Fish" (Doktor Death Version) by Throwing Muses

Kristen Hersh fairly comes swooping in on that first note, executing a

perverse series of vocal gymnastics around the following notes.

...quivers, elongations, growls, swipes, Slyvia Plath neurosis,

shivers...The music churns mercilously along with intermittent swipes of

razor guitar arpeggios, adam's apple bass, high school marching drums,

and chiming spoons. This music is sick, intense, asserting itself.

"the feeling describes itself..."

maybe the sickest dream Plath never lived to describe, as if HP

Lovecraft's story "From Beyond" were to have informed her chill

landscape. Sick Sick Sick bulging eyes and Hersh, our vocal tightrope

walker showering down nuerotic visions for us her public we've paid to

see. Can a razor slice her wrist an ink pen stab her eye a shaking image

break her heart?

"plus six plus six plus six plus six..."

"lonely is as lonely does, lonely is an eyesore..."

Hersh hits me her words hit me

her emotions hurt, her thoughts are fucked, her portrayal unkind

hersh is in our fucking face

hersh is marking four minutes of time with one melting eye

hersh is dribbling viciously into my consciousness

hersh is laying down a cover of vocal vibrato like soldiers do mustard


an eel is squirming on her couch

she's talking up a storm

red wine breakdown on an overcrowded train rushing far too fast

way too fast

as an eel writes "plus six plus six plus six plus six plus six plus six"

hersh is a barbed wire bramble of spit slicing the tender meat of my


she collapses in a heap on the floor and we get off

why so obsessed with our own representation?

our culture seems a hommage to self-reflection, so much of our art

stares us back upon ourselves, technology with its talking heads,

literature with its psychological portraits- all these mirror back at us

reconstituted portrayals of ourselves in various stages, from heroism to

fallibilty, but more often than not just being. External foci (nature,

space) sometimes seem in part to provide a moments respite from our

constant scrutiny of the human face.

we're like Narcissus, forever staring into a pool of our own distorted


and seeing another often serves the purpose of roseying the hue around

our own visage

the face can never be blank, never empty after seeing an endless

stream of others, all with disparate contexts, associations, implications...

David Byrne wrote an interesting song "Seen and Not Seen" concerning

our relation to our face in and amongst a world of other faces, and

indeed, now we are capable, we are more inclined to surgically alter our

natural facial features to match whim or ideal, not merely necessity.

Is our constant self-reflection a form of our proving to ourselves that

'yes' we really do spiritually exist within a universe which sometimes

seems to have little need for us, constantly reminding us of our own


and always and forever tweaking, stretching, altering to improve or

salvage, the process of distortion...

copies of copies...a person so enamored of a specific representation that

they actually adopt attributes of the copy, truly now 3rd generation

copy, a caricature of a caricature. Silicon implants, fake hair, plastic

surgery, colored lens's, etc. Using a recent example- it would seem that

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