I spilled water on my laptop. So, that’s working out well. I’m also moving over the next couple of weeks and I’m incredibly busy at work. I’m sorry if anyone thinks I’ve fallen off the surface of the planet; I’m obviously incredibly behind in my email. Hopefully by the weekend I’ll be more caught up.
This is a must-read for all of my right wing friends.
The problem with neocon thinking in a nutshell.
Been busy at the Clown Factory but productive here at home. I’ve done several paintings in the past couple of weeks that I’m very pleased with. Dahlia, I am particularly pleased with how that black and white shot with that glorious hat looks in blues and violets. I know I haven’t gotten back to you, but you’ve been on my mind.
It’s been a weird week. For one thing, I turned 40. People at work insisted on making a big whoop out of it that lasted pretty much all week. Work’s been great otherwise; it keeps me very busy these days and I am as fulfilled as any employee in the Clown Factory could hope to be. Of course, with employment rates over 1o%, I’m lucky just to be working. That I love what I do is just gravy.
I had a very good visit with my Grandmother this week. She’s going to be upset for a while but her spirit isn’t broken by a long shot, and that’s what I worried most about. I do so love and admire her. But then, I’m lucky to be a 40 year old man with a Gramma to worry over.
My cousin was released from prison last week. He’s back in jail this week. He missed seeing his parole officer because he was on a bender in a motel with some of his old acquaintances. This may actually be a good thing as it is becoming difficult to imagine him not institutionalized. He’s going to be 40 this coming June and I don’t know what to do about him. His parents have written him off and my Gramma is afraid of him. He is dangerous and unpredictable. I have sent him letters but he does not write me back because I tell him he has to get sober. I can’t tell him anything else. My cousin is not lucky.
Even stranger this week was a development with a good friend of mine that I have known for many years. He checked himself into a rehab clinic last week. Between the cocaine, pills and gambling he had created a rather nasty web of circumstance for himself. His wife threw him out and his family devasted themselves financially to pay off his debts, which were owed to the kind of people one must make financial restitution to if one enjoys being alive. He and his wife still owe the government tens of thousands of dollars among many other catastrophic debts. As I compared notes with close mutual friends this week, we realized exactly how much we had been manipulated by this individual. It was a jaw dropping conversation with more surprises than a season of ‘Lost’ as we put together the puzzle of our friends life of the past couple years and were amazed by the connections we made. The three of us in that room know about addiction and substance abuse. We have had extensive and intimate experience with how not only can a person can become possessed by a drug, but how others are then manipulated by the addict. Yet as we saw the past few years with the new light of information the mysteries evaporated like boogeymen transforming into sweaters draped over chairs with the dawn; except in this case the sweater draped over the chair turned out to be a monster. We realized that we had not even spoken to each other for over a year, and it was because our afflicted friend had manipulated us like puppets because the last thing he wanted was for us to compare notes. We think that in the end the maniac may have actually been dealing cocaine in casinos, which is the sort of thing that can get you into a special kind of trouble. It’s difficult for me to imagine the kind of crazy desperation that drives a person to seek those kinds of mad adreneline rushes, but then I’ve never touched cocaine. I don’t like to push my luck.
I’ve banged my head three times on a paint pallette hanging from the ceiling and my head looks like it’s been bitten by a shark. My car’s electric window suddenly stopped working this morning. Did I mention that the dog shit in the bed last week? The drain on the bathroom sink won’t open. My girlfriend is moving out and she took the PS3 right after I started getting into ‘Oblivion 4′ Still, I’m luckier than most people, and that’s pretty funny if you think about it.
Part i
Part ii
Part iii
Part iv
Part v
Vader emerged from his trance feeling his master’s cold mind caressing him. Through red lenses his scorched corneas reflected the crimson orb of giant Yavin and the collapsing yellow nimbus of the Death Star nebula in syzygy with a small moon; an eye within an eye. His Master was feeling through his senses and looking through his thoughts. His flesh spasmed as his suit dosed him with the cocktail of powerful drugs that replaced the natural chemistry of his ruined body. The burning started deep in his chest, rushing down to his leg, and then his capillaries, and he could feel the painful flush across his body as the Sith alchemy worked it’s way into his veins.
Inside his helmet, inside his skull, he felt Palpatine’s seeking thoughts discovering him. Then he saw the Rebels in the temple and felt their triumphant hope, and the scene became so vivid that he recognized the ones on the dias from the Death Star security holos. He realized he was looking upon his son, but before his own feelings could betray him the Emperor’s blind rage filled his awareness and the scene vanished, replaced by the sudden appearance of the Executor before him.
He was brought aboard without incident or ceremony, though in a maudlin display of fawning presumptous familiarity Admiral Ozzel grasped at the Sith Lord’s arm upon greeting him in the shuttle. Vader had just come through the airlock and steaming frost was forming over his armor.
‘Forgive me, my Lord.’ Ozzel gasped, cradling his hand, which had left several layers of skin cells frozen to the cyborg. ‘We had feared the worst.’
‘It is that sort of lack of faith which led to this disaster.’ The menace in Vader’s voice straightened Ozzel’s spine. For a long moment Vader sat steaming, his exhaltions filling the shuttle cabin with dread, his inhalations sucking the oxygen from the air.
‘As soon as we are aboard, make for the fourth moon and assault the base there. Deploy squadrons to preven escape.’
‘M’lord, the Emperor commanded we bring you immediately to Coruscant.’
‘The Emperor presumed I would be incapacitated. I am not. We have the opportunity to crush the Rebellion, Admiral, and we will take it.’
‘Of course, M’lord, but you may not realize that the Executor is not actually battle ready. We were conducting tests of the hyperdrive when the Emperor commanded us here. We were ideally located, is all. The fleet is on their way…’
‘We will immediately attack the rebel base, Admiral Ozzel.’ Vader’s voice rose to a terrifying tone, ‘and we will not fail!’
The Star Dreadnoughts had been Vader’s idea. He did not understand why Sidious and Tarkin were so keen on the Death Star project; he wanted to rule the Galaxy, not obliterate it. Alderaan had been a beautiful world; it had reminded him of Naboo. Still, he stood and watched Tarkin destroy it. But now Tarkin and his planet murdering machine were dead, and Vader remained, smiling grimly beneath his masque as he strode towards the bridge of his ship. The halls were empty save for the skeleton crew that had been running the hyperdrive trials. Next to the Death Star, the ship was small, but it was a dozen times the size of the Destroyer class. In fact, it could hold a Destroyer in it’s hangar bay, which was the point. The problem with the Death Star was that it was overkill magnified on an absurd scale; the Dreadnought was overkill on an appropriate scale. There was no planetary defence it could not overcome, no fleet it could not overpower. The Empire spent the annual output of several star systems economies constructing and supplying it, but Vader would make good use of it.
By the time he reached the bridge, Executor was bearing down on the fourth moon of Yavin. The tactical officer reported that there were a number of craft lifting off from the surface. “Open fire.’ Vader commanded, not breaking stride, ‘All weapons.’
The weapons officer began squealing that there weren’t enough crew to man the guns and then abruptly stopped when his trachea was crushed shut by Vader’s mind. Then Vader stood still in the middle of the deck. The reason Imperial ships were not massively automated was because it then became too easy to sabotage entire systems; a single R2 unit could hack a destroyer’s shields or weapons in battle. This meant that enormous crews were required to carry out orders, except for when a Master of the Sith was aboard. Vader’s awareness flowed throughout the entire ship; thousands of cannons and torpedo launchers twitched awake. His body stood eerily still while his respirator gasped and his mind grasped for targets. The officers on the deck gaped, not wanting to disturb him but unwilling to act without his order. After a moment, Vader found his targets and the Executor released its fire.
It was obvious to Vader why the rebels had chosen this moon for their base of operations. Yavin was an enormous gas giant with a great many moons and asteroids orbiting it; the mass shadow it projected prevented a hyperspace jump anywhere near the moon. Yavin also had a powerful magnetic field and so much scattered mass that sensors were easily baffled. Vader understood Doodonna’s tactics and took great satisfaction in turning them around on the rebels; the Force was not obscured by debris, and the mass shadow that kept the Empire from jumping in would keep the Rebels from simply jumping out.
The bridge was lit by the flaring of the great guns; flashes erupted above the moon and Vader felt terror and death across the vacuum. It gratified him but his vengance was not nearly sated; he could not sense his true quarry. He obliterated the temples in the jungle with a swat of thought; he annihlated the jungle just to be sure. No bombardment had ever been so complete; the surface of Yavin IV had gone from green to black, the thin blue envelope of atmosphere filled with smoke and ashes. Vader now concentrated fire on the fleeing specks. The torpedo tubes and missle launchers were empty, but the thousands of plasma cannons bristling across the Executor’s hull filled the space above Yavin with blazing death.
*(Thread still open-almost done)
My mother was 18 and unmarried when she concieved me with my father. I still support the right of a woman to choose. And even though I think Troy Newman is a twisted egomaniac who does his best to make the world a lousy place to live, murdering him would only make it worse.
******************************************
The above was a post I started last night. It was going to be a really cheery essay about abortion and the right wing. Then I fell asleep. Today I got home from work, fired up the TVC-15 and saw this horrible story about the girl being gang-raped at a homecoming dance. Then my mom called.
My Gramma got robbed today. She’s fine, she was not physically harmed, but a stranger came into her house and stole several thousand dollars cash and her wedding rings. I don’t know what else yet. I’m waiting for my mom to call me back.
Apparently a man came to the door and convinced her that he was a roofer. While they were out back his accomplice went into the house. I know, it’s the oldest scam in the book, and my Gramma has always been sharp as a tack, which is another reason I feel a sick knot in my stomach. She’s getting quite elderly.
I had been planning on moving to the upstairs apartment of this house as the Mayweathers have successfully purchased a home (and I am very happy for them despite the fact that I will miss having them so close) but right now I am seriously considering moving in with her. At least for a little while. Julia has a job she really likes and a car and was going to move back in with her father soon anyway. At the very least I think I will be spending Saturday at her house as all of the trick or treaters will be traumatic. I’m so worried about how she feels. I can only imagine, and it is breaking my heart. It’s funny how vulnerable I feel right now.
I have a lot to think about. I will keep you posted on developments.
It must be terrible to be certain that you deserve to be famous. I think the lesson that Richard Heene is offering us is that if you really desire something you will get it; it is not a new lesson and the irony it contains has aged longer than any wine but this only serves to give it a kick of surprising potentcy. While there are those who were convinced of Heene’s ‘genius’, that the whole scheme revolved around a six year old boy being able to convincingly lie smacks of desperate tragicomedy.
What made Andy Warhol such an important artist was his exploration of the concept of fame. The idea of celebrity is just that; it is nothing more than an idea in people’s heads yet it is a very real consideration when trying to understand the condition of modern humans. Like so many others, Heene wanted to be someone like Elizabeth Taylor, living life in front of an audience. Fame is one of those things, like being rich, that most people instantly assume is something they desire. It’s an old temptation; when the Devil took Jesus to the roof of the Temple and dared him to jump it was the promise of easy fame that lurked inside. Incidentally, I’m reading ‘Lamb‘ by Christopher Moore and I love it. I had liked ‘The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove’ but found it uneven. What I liked most about it was that Dahlia had left it here so it reminds me of her. I haven’t even finished ‘Lamb’ yet but it is an official addition to the canon.
It seems like an act of ego to say one doesn’t want to be famous. There’s a certain pomposity in declaring that one doesn’t want the desirable thing that everyone else seems to want. The truth is that it is incredibly easy to simply become famous; complete nitwits do this every day. The trick is becoming famous for the right reasons; famous writers write across our souls, famous artists make paintings in our dreams, famous actors give performances that show us ourselves, famous scientists discover and invent solutions to human suffering and understand the fundamental physical principles of the universe. Telling a child to lie while you cry wolf is not a good thing to become famous for, but when all you seek is fame you can’t argue with what you get.
Update: Apparently the wife of the man who drags his children towards tornadoes is coming to her senses. Good for her.
Yeah, it’s the 21st Century. You know, the Supreme Court decided this over forty years ago, which is longer than this Justice of the Peace has been not doing his job.
Kid, the answer to your question has something to do with why the people above had a problem getting married.
Why would anyone shoot at animal protection advocates?
The right wing’s crybaby frothing about Limbaugh not getting a football team is both plentiful and hilarious-here and here can be found a couple of nice takes on it. Joan Walsh’s line, ‘Even as he denies it, Limbaugh is making himself the face of the Republican opposition, and today that face is puffy and tear-streaked and red with self-pitying rage’ made me giggle.
This, however, will make you cry. That the stupid beliefs and prejudices in the head of some pissant administrator can interfere with the most intimate moments of a person’s life is not surprising; that US District Judge Adalberto Jordan thinks it’s okay is inexcusable. More information can be found here.
Conservapedia got me high. The irony that can be found here has a purity that can only be produced by people who have no grasp whatsoever of the ironic perspective. While the best satirists can achieve incredible hydroponic heights, the strains that occur spontaneously in nature are staggeringly potent. This blend is laced with some sublime silliness too delightful to properly identify; I took a hit of this thread and by the time I got to the part where Andy Schlafly wrote ‘It takes some getting used to, but I like “Holy Force.” The term may appeal even more to teenagers. It may also gain traction with the physics-students-headed-for-atheism crowd.’ my eyes were red and I was giggling uncontrollobly. It’s some good shit, that’s for sure.
Gentlemen, I concur with both of your assessments, but there is another aspect to this that is actually gratifying for me for this is essentially an admission that their political philosophy and worldview cannot be supported by their stated theology. When I saw what had become of the Gospel of Mark in their hands (consider this sample: Mark 3:6 becomes ’The Liberals then fled from the scene to plot with Herod’s people against Jesus, and plan how they might destroy him.’ ) I could not help but derive strange satisfaction from such hubristic blasphemies that do nothing but concede that the KJV and other extant translations of the Holy Bible do not support the politics of the far right wing. After years of arguing with conservatives who insisted on both the literal inerrancy of the Bible and immaculate perfection of their political ideology, it is shocking to see this sort of surrender.
Although I certainly have explained the problems of ancient translations and modern vocabulary (consider alone how many more words and concepts we have) to conservatives, I didn’t think they would crack quite like this. Consider; they have gone from thinking that the Bible was the Perfect and Holy Word of G-d to believing it is some kind of intramural squad rulebook that can be altered according to the whims of whoever happens to be holding it at the time. That’s quite a flip-flop, really.
It’s not a good idea to get too literal when thinking about contemporary issues in relation to Jesus. After all, he hung out with tax collectors and lepers; how do you think He really would have felt about the debate over health care? I suppose the folks over at Conservapedia must have finally figured out that you can’t reconcile conservative policies with a book that says ’And as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise.”
Here’s Michelle Malkin freaking out than an Alma Thomas painting is ‘an outright copy’ of a Matisse painting.
Here’s Ann Althouse with a post echoing the Michelle Malkin post with her own two cents added.
Of course, Malkin was riffing off a Free Republic poster who calls the Thomas painting a ’fraud’.
Stir. Sniff. Savor.
One of my more recent paintings is a copy of a copy of Da Vinci’s lost work, ‘Leda and the Swan’. The painting was lost centuries ago in mysterious circumstances; I spent a few months researching what happened to it and the best scrap I came up with was an anecdote about a French countess who burnt it as she thought it obscene and immoral. There are sketches for the painting in the notebooks and several copies were made by various students of Leonardo. I based mine upon Cesare de Sesto’s version, which is quite beautiful.
The conversation between artists across cultures is something easily distorted for cheap political propaganda; Malkin, Althouse, and the Freepers demonstrate this perfectly. They pass around the idea of passing around ideas for mockery and derision while congratulating each other for being original thinkers who all hate the same ideas. It should be no surprise that the fascist mind despises modern art; ironic ambiguity challenges infantile certanties.
I have a spare square white panel of wood 2 feet by 2 feet that I had primed but didn’t end up using in the last series I was doing. I also have a bunch of black construction paper that I haven’t done anything with. I believe I am going to create a piece called ‘Fascist Snail Watusi’ after lunch.
 | dr slappy on I am a genius |
 | dahlia on I am a genius |
| dr slappy on I am a genius |
 | Lily on I am a genius |
 | furious buddha on Bad News |
 | Empathian Tolerance on Bad News |
 | nignogh8ter is right on Bad News |
| Lily on lucky days in the life |
