This is a perfect world
If it weren’t broken,
there’d be nothing to fix
Which seems to be, me,
Exasperated
With the laundry list
Of stuff to be fixed
If this wasn’t a perfect world
What the f#@k would we do?
Take Harp lessons from angels
See, perfect still
I don’t know how to play the Harp
“Perfect World” by “Talking Heads”
Well, I know what it is
But I don’t know where it is
Where it is
Well, I know where it is
But I don’t know what it looks like
What it looks like
Well, I know what it looks like,
But I don’t know where she comes from
Well, I know where she comes from,
But I don’t know what’s her name.
(and she said) This is a perfect world
I’m riding on an incline
I’m staring in your face
You’ll photograph mine
And I’ve been walking, talking
Believing the things that are true
And I’ve been finding
The difference between right and wrong…good and bad
See me put things together
Put them back where they belong
Am I just like the others
Have I always been singing the same song
[CHORUS]
Somebody said that it happens all over the world
I do believe that it’s true
And the sun’s coming up
And we’re doing all the things that we should
Doesn’t everbody here believe in the things we do?
(And she said) [CHORUS]
It’s a strange situation
What’s wrong with you?
Baby…baby…baby
What you doing in my house?
And it’s all true
There’s nothing wrong with you
Those in “power” are already conquered by their own weaknesses.
Damn it!!
Not sure what Jesus would do, for one, not sure Jesus existed, or is just an archetype of the potential of high ideals projected into a story, of what good an individual could manifest with clear thinking and kind behavior.
“In truth, there was only one christian and he died on the cross.”
Friedrich Nietzsche
Yes, the same philosopher, that said
“God is dead.”
Am relatively sure, some one professing to be a Christian while painting hateful targets on other than himself, bipedal earth creatures (Muslims, Mexicans, etc. ) is not something Christ would do.
Let alone be a salamander in grief for authorizing the use of deadly weapons of Tomahawk missiles.
Must use the old inventory before ordering new ones. Keeping the militaryindustrial complex happy and pockets padded.
To strike paper * targets as a precursor on how he might solve the violence in Chicago.
Be aware and wary of the bully who advises bullies to stop bullying.
NPR
* This action is a feel-good kind of thing for Trump. Blow away aircraft; you don’t kill any Russians, and that’s it. It’s good optics, like the Carrier deal.
From “Amused to Death” by Roger Waters
“The Bravery Of Being Out Of Range”
To squeeze off a shot
You’re good fun at parties
You wear the right masks
You’re old but you still
Like a laugh in the locker room
You can’t abide change
You’re at home an the range
You opened your suitcase
Behind the old workings
To show off the magnum
You deafened the canyon
A comfort a friend
Only upstaged in the end
By the Uzi machine gun
Does the recoil remind you
Remind you of sex
Old man what the hell you gonna kill next
Old timer who you gonna kill next
I looked over Jordan and what did I see
Saw a U.S. Marine in a pile of debris
I swam in your pools
And lay under your palm trees
I looked in the eyes of the Indian
Who lay on the Federal Building steps
And through the range finder over the hill
I saw the frontline boys popping their pills
Sick of the mess they find
On their desert stage
And the bravery of being out of range
Yeah the question is vexed
Old man what the hell you gonna kill next
Old timer who you gonna kill next
Hey bartender over here
Two more shots
And two more beers
Sir turn up the TV sound
The war has started on the ground
Just love those laser guided bombs
They’re really great
For righting wrongs
You hit the target
And win the game
From bars 3,000 miles away
3,000 miles away
We play the game
With the bravery of being out of range
We zap and maim
With the bravery of being out of range
We strafe the train
With the bravery of being out of range
We gained terrain
With the bravery of being out of range
With the bravery of being out of range
We play the game
With the bravery of being out of range
Face the mirror
Get closer
Closer
Closer
Now
Which side are you on?
Where will you be
When you turn
Your back?
Too many titles otherwise
Defense stocks rise
Beating swords into more swords
Hypocrisy at the helm
Dwight Eisenhower
“In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the militaryindustrial complex.
The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist.
We must never let the weight of this combination endanger our liberties or democratic processes. We should take nothing for granted.
Only an alert and knowledgeable citizenry can compel the proper meshing of the huge industrial and military machinery of defense with our peaceful methods and goals, so that security and liberty may prosper together.”
Peaceful revolution is dead
Pony up to self destruction
Because you’ve been told so
War is Peace
Freedom is Slavery
Ignorance is Strength
Trump is President
America is
Graving again
To whomever
seems to fit
The bill,
Invoicing our soul
Through aeons of debt
No piper to pay
The Ferryman
Has vanished
George Carlin
“We’re a warlike people. We can’t stand not to be fucking with someone. We couldn’t wait for the Cold War to end so we could go play with our new toys in the sand.
We enjoy war. And one reason we enjoy it is that we’re good at it. You know why we’re good at it? Because we get a lot of practice.
This country is only 200 years old, and already we’ve had ten major wars. We average a major war every twenty years, So we’re good at it. And it’s just as well we are, because we’re not very good at anything else.
//
You needn’t be a historian or a political scientist to see the Bigger Dick Foreign Policy Theory at work. It goes like this: ‘What? They have bigger dicks? Bomb them!’ And of course, the bombs, the rockets, and the bullets are all shaped like penises.
Phallic weapons. There’s an unconscious need to project the national penis into the affairs of others. It’s called ‘fucking with people’.”
From the “American President”
President Andrew Shepherd:
“What I did tonight was not about political gain.”
Leon Kodak:
“Yes sir. But it can be, sir. What you did tonight was very presidential.”
President Andrew Shepherd:
“Leon, somewhere in Libya right now, a janitor’s working the night shift at Libyan Intelligence headquarters.
He’s going about doing his job… because he has no idea that in about an hour he’s going to die in a massive explosion.
He’s just going about his job, because he has no idea that about an hour ago I gave an order to have him killed.
You’ve just seen me do the least presidential thing I do.”
Will any of this ever register with our collective psyche, or will it continue to be “business as usual”, till annihilation?
Though suicide my mind does drift
I use it to paradigm shift
I’m here to be here, not to be gone
Early cessation would be wrong
I’m not doing this for the drama
For I think I understand karma
Will stick around just to make sense
Determined to figure out the pretense
For everything there is a season
I’m always looking for the reason
Just want to end this godless charade
Forgot, god and godless are man made
What is an over thinking nitwit to do
Been here before, must see this through
Life is filled with stress and strain
From an early demise it’s easy to refrain
Knowing full well you get to do it again
From head to toe, a new heart and brain
Iron Maiden “The Clairvoyant”
There’s time to live and time to die
When it’s time to meet the maker
There’s time to live but isn’t it strange
That as soon as you’re born you’re dying…
…and reborn again??
Or at least out of place. A pervasive feeling of not belonging, a contrarions, contrarion.
Being a parent, but not really being a parent. The nonbiological kind, I had/have no clue a “best” way to “parent”. Nothing instinctual other than learning from books, radio and TV programs.
Having had parents, but not really having had parents. Both accepting some vague notion of responsibility for the creation, yet with some underlying conception that they would have been equally satisfied with robots or monkeys.
Being a son, but not really being a son. Heavily influenced on how to be and behave as expected, opposed to “knowing” from internal emotions and genuine respect.
Being educated, but not really, save knowing how to balance a checkbook and read. That and being just smart enough to know how dumb I am.
Any perceived intelligence is gleaned from my awareness to keep mouth shut appropriately.
Being kind, but not really kind as reading this proves I can’t even be kind to myself. Externally learned, internally churned.
Being funny, but not really being funny. More often than not, I’m the only one laughing as to what comes out of my mouth, or thoughts that seep into my consciousness. Stuff no one else would find remotely amusing.
Being human, but not really, save the skeleton, blood, oxygen and digestion converters. Tortoise shell epidermis, protecting fragile hypersensitive core.
However, taking advantage of this time to set a course so that next time I come around won’t have so many inefficiencies to overcome.
Innate sense that I am not supposed to be here, but since I am. ..
The Self realization is.
That I’m
Stupid weak paranoid = angry
And striving to be
Intelligent strong enlightened = happy
Must first rid myself of of the dark and venomous thoughts about myself.
That the boy who cried wolf, would be president one day?
Wikipedia
The tale concerns a shepherd boy who repeatedly tricks nearby villagers into thinking wolves are attacking his flock. When one actually does appear and the boy again calls for help, the villagers believe that it is another false alarm and the sheep are eaten by the wolf. In later English-language poetic versions of the fable, the wolf also eats the boy.
This happens in Fables for five year olds (1830) by John Hookham Frere,[4] in William Ellery Leonard‘s Aesop & Hyssop (1912),[5]and in his interpretation of Aesop’s Fables (1965) by Louis Untermeyer.[6]
The moral stated at the end of the Greek version is, “this shows how liars are rewarded: even if they tell the truth, no one believes them”. It echoes a statement attributed to Aristotle by Diogenes Laërtius in his The Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers, where the sage was asked what those who tell lies gain by it and he answered “that when they speak truth they are not believed”.[7] William Caxton similarly closes his version with the remark that “men bileve not lyghtly hym whiche is knowen for a lyer”.[8]
Just for fun.
The tale concerns a priveleged boy who repeatedly tricks American voters into thinking ex Presidents were wiretapping his tower.
When no proof actually appears and the Petulant of the US, again retweets misinformation to distract, some villagers believe it is true regardless that it is another false alarm and those sheeple are eaten by the wolf.
He’s not a wolf in sheep’s clothing, rather a sheep in wolf’s clothing. Desperate for attention, tough exterior, internally wanting to be loved.
Nobody knows
Nobody I know
Knows I’m writing
This blog
Sometimes I don’t
Even know
A word or a phrase.
Will capture my attention, I’ll jot it down, let it ruminate for a while. Like a seedling for a tree and all that it will evolve into from practically nothing.
Then as if I blinked, or traversed another dimension, look back and find a myriad of words in place that “I” never typed.
Yet, from its perceived incipiency, has all the characteristics in it, from the trunk to the branches to the leaves, its base nature always there.
How “old” it will be, how strong it is becomes a matter of coincidence and words that spill out in some apparent context.
I’d like to think judgements are nill, as (hopefully) at least two sides are presented in any given rant, or obscure meaning in some convoluted poem. Always trying to end on a positive note.
Fortunately or unfortunately, everything makes it to screen. The quality filter is missing, or is such an open sieve, it knows no bounds to trap and alert brain, controlling fingers to not “hit” publush.
Reading this post is the proof, or I’m sure the last 5 posts, or any 5 random posts. Quite frankly, all posts should have been left in my brain, or printed out and swept up off the cutting room floor.
The worst of it is, I just typed in something brilliant, forgot to hit save. Now it is gone into the ether.
I’m guessing that it might resurface if I keep typing long enough, or perhaps re-hear a song, and the lyric that jumped out to inspire, or maybe replay a comedian’s “bit”.
I suspect, not yet sharing this blog has a lot to do with sin, not the biblical useless meme of printed words, interpreted wildly to control the populace, through manipulation, righteousness and fear.
I mean sin as in the acronym of Safety In Numbers. Figuring, that if I type enough, although some may be reprehensible, it will be balanced out by something clever, witty or inspiring.
Knowing most all of these posts landed in/on this blog with nary an editor for clarity or hilarity.
Just random thoughts, hoping that enough will either make sense, be remotely funny, or at least not too dark for general consumption.
All the while maintaining my balance of 51/50
51% kind, genuine, sincere, helpful.
50 % Befuddled, poor communicator, stubborn, goofy, narcissistic, sui generis, arrogant, socially awkward and inept.
Functioning, just barely in a small group of people almost entirely family who because I’m part of the family that likes the 51% and tolerates the other 50%.
I suppose the real motivation behind writing this is, to be published in a book.
Kansas
“Carry On Wayward Son”
Carry on my wayward son
There’ll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don’t you cry no more
Ah
Once I rose above the noise and confusion
Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion
I was soaring ever higher, but I flew too high
Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man
Though my mind could think I still was a mad man
I hear the voices when I’m dreaming,
I can hear them say
Carry on my wayward son,
There’ll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don’t you cry no more
Masquerading as a man with a reason
My charade is the event of the season
And if I claim to be a wise man,
Well, it surely means that I don’t know
On a stormy sea of moving emotion
Tossed about, I’m like a ship on the ocean
I set a course for winds of fortune,
But I hear the voices say
Carry on my wayward son
There’ll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don’t you cry no more no!
Carry on,
You will always remember
Carry on,
Nothing equals the splendor
Now your life’s no longer empty
Surely heaven waits for you
Carry on my wayward son
There’ll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don’t you cry,
Don’t you cry no more,
No more!
Selective hearing, I get.
If someone mumbles that I’m badly useful, I interpret that as I’m beautiful.
If someone whispers my essence is like smelly farts, my mind hears my presence is like smiling hearts
Taking that, a quantum leap further, to what you get, if you become an alleged leader. Reality not only flies out the window, it jumps off the tower roof into a white house.
Palpable proof presented purely, perfectly and plentifully to garner the response of plausible deniability, by determined distraction and dereliction of constitutional duties.
Constitution smonstitution, ruskie regurgitation, masterful manipulation, decency desertion, reputation repudiation.
Wasted walls, that “they” are going to pay for (through higher “duties”) which is passed on to the consumer of the goods.
Oops, forgot to mention, that will be the Americans paying for it in higher priced imported consumables. Shit…..
Scapegoating immigrants without substance other than deflection from whatever makes him uncomfortable.
Expressed with a vanilla vernacular vocabulary, bordering on the simplistic dialogue of dull doublespeak.
Great, fantastic, bad, wonderful, not good, incredible, simple, easy, hard, quick, etc.
Over and over again. Quick, get that goofball a dictionary and a thesaurus.
Not too far off from ungood or plusgood, which is doubleplusungood.
Must be nice to constantly chameleon character to rearrange reality to fit personal pathetic perceived person.
A selective reality that is creating chaotic consequences to innumerable to categorize.
Looking at the world through a windshield. 