Loving the Alien

LOVING THE ALIEN….Geordie Pleathur Rants at Length About All The People Who Died, Shaving His Eyebrows, Grease Painted Lightning Bolts, The Endless War Police State, Rampant Affluenza  & Disgraceful Two-Tiered Injustice System, Leftish Gentrification Authoritarians Who Only Care About Themselves, Dumb Cable TV Racist Wingnut Blowhards & Eventually Raves About Vasoline Tuner’s Surrealistic New Glittery Space Aged Offering, “FREAKY ACTION”…..

“The truth is of course is that there is no journey. We are arriving and departing all at the same time.” (-David Bowie)

“I want an end to hubris. No, we can’t bring peace through war. No, we can’t force our way of life or our way of thinking on seven billion other people. No, we aren’t going to end the 1200-year-old civil war between the Sunnis and the Shia. No, we aren’t going to go and kill everyone everywhere in the world who harbors some harsh views of us. And no, they won’t greet our soldiers with flowers, bake apple pies for them, and salute the American flag with a hand on their hearts. They want to be them, not us. We can care for victims, protect ourselves, and help our friends without sticking our nose into everyone else’s business.” (-Alan Grayson)

“I barely slept a wink last night. Couldn’t stop my mind from thinking about the trajectory of the path ahead, leading from violence to violence. Cause and effect. The consciousness of the world, as portrayed through the media and those who represent us politically, seems to be heading into a new Dark Age.

How can it be that at this point in our social evolution, when we have universities filled with psychologists, historians, strategists, social scientists, human relations professionals – that our response to complex issues isn’t thoughtful or intelligent? As a society, our official response is to simply reach for war.” (-Elizabeth Kucinich)

“Only in America can a dead black boy go on trial for his own murder.” (- Syretta McFadden)

“How satanic do you have to be to justify the killing of a 12 year old boy playing alone in a park? With every non-indictment and every not guilty and every ‘justified homicide’ they return, we inch closer to rage. ‪#‎TamirRice” (-Rahiel Tesfamariam)

“Terrorism will never cease in a country where the so-called leaders are criminals and terrorists in disguise. (― Michael Bassey Johnson)

A poem for Tamir Rice, “In Two Seconds,” by Mark Doty.
Tamir Rice, 2002 – 2014

the boy’s face
climbed back down the twelve-year tunnel
of its becoming, a charcoal sunflower
swallowing itself. Who has eyes to see,
or ears to hear? If you could see
what happens fastest, unmaking
the human irreplaceable, a star
falling into complete gravitational
darkness from all points of itself, all this:
the held loved body into which entered
milk and music, honeying the cells of him:
who sang to him, stroked the nap
of the scalp, kissed the flesh-knot
after the cord completed its work
of fueling into him the long history
of those whose suffering
was made more bearable
by the as-yet-unknown of him,
playing alone in some unthinkable
future city, a Cleveland,
whatever that might be.
Two seconds. To elapse:
the arc of joy in the conception bed,
the labor of hands repeated until
the hands no longer required attention,
so that as the woman folded
her hopes for him sank into the fabric
of his shirts and underpants. Down
they go, swirling down into the maw
of a greater dark. Treasure box,
comic books, pocket knife, bell from a lost cat’s collar,
why even begin to enumerate them
when behind every tributary
poured into him comes rushing backward
all he hasn’t been yet. Everything
that boy could have thought or made,
sung or theorized, built on the quavering
but continuous structure
that had preceded him sank into
an absence in the shape of a boy
playing with a plastic gun in a city park
in Ohio, in the middle of the afternoon.
When I say two seconds, I don’t mean the time
it took him to die. I mean the lapse between
the instant the cruiser braked to a halt
on the grass, between that moment
and the one in which the officer fired his weapon.
The two seconds taken to assess the situation.
I believe it is part of the work
of poetry to try on at least
the moment and skin of another,
for this hour I respectfully decline.
I refuse it. May that officer
be visited every night of his life
by an enormity collapsing in front of him
into an incomprehensible bloom,
and the voice that howls out of it.
If this is no poem then…
But that voice –- erased boy,
beloved of time, who did nothing
to no one and became
nothing because of it –- I know that voice
is one of the things we call poetry.
It isn’t only to his killer he’s speaking

“We’re the most captive nation of slaves that ever came along. The moral timidity of the average American is quite noticeable. Everybody’s afraid to be thought in any way different from everyone else.” (-Gore Vidal)

“As was the case with Ronald Reagan and George Bush’s outrages against common sense and common decency, when Democrats enter the Executive Branch, Donald Trump’s outrageous campaign declarations will be normalized and codified into law, and rank and file Democrat hypocrites and denialists will become the policies apologists e.g., Wall Street and corporate crimes, drone murders and other acts of the empire’s perpetual War Machine, and trespasses against human rights and civil liberties.  Reagan trafficked in racist demagoguery against Welfare recipients but Team Clinton codified his mean-spirited talk into the punitive legislation cynically termed Welfare Reform as Obama has doubled down on the worst of Bush/Cheney. How can one predict what a future Democratic president’s agenda will entail? Hint: Take note of which Republican declarations Democratic partisans are fuming in self-righteous outrage against at present.” (-Phil Rockstroh)

“The X Factor it’s not music anymore, it’s karaoke. They are training them to be part-timers on a cruise ship. I despise the wickedness they put those people through. It’s a serious painful endurance course that they could all do without. It’s hard enough to be a singer in the first place but then to have to go through that judgmental sarcasm is quite appalling. Usually from people who aren’t up to the top notch they expect the participants to be in. And introducing that vile element of competition in music. Surely that’s soul destroying in itself?” (-John Lydon)

“Looking back on the National Defense Authorization Act of 2012, which gives the President the power to to detain indefinitely and even to execute without a trial anyone the government considers a threat to national security and stability, the rhetoric of Trump becomes even more scary…beyond scary.” (-Dale Crum)

“There is always a certain insolence in being well-fed, as in every aspect of power. And that element expresses itself chiefly in the well-fed preaching to the hungry.” (-Anton Chekov)

“If you don’t give to the homeless because you are afraid they might be drug addicts or alcoholics, I’m curious how that works practically in the rest of your life. Do you ask the cashier at the gas station if he smokes before you make choose that station? Have you done your due diligence to make sure that no CEOs of any companies you support struggle with alcoholism? How far does this supposed ethic not to enable really go? My guess is that it begins and ends with those who are struggling on the streets. So, instead of pretending that you care about these issues, I think we are overdue for a legitimate conversation about how society needs to stop demonizing the poor. The reality is, the data shows there is little difference between the housed and the un-housed in the area of substance abuse. The only definable difference is that one can do it hidden in their home… and the other can’t.” (-Father Nathan Monk)

“The seizure of political and economic power by corporations is unassailable. Who funds and manages our elections? Who writes our legislation and laws? Who determines our defense policies and vast military expenditures? Who is in charge of the Department of the Interior? The Department of Homeland Security? Our intelligence agencies? The Department of Agriculture? The Food and Drug Administration? The Department of Labor? The Federal Reserve? The mass media? Our systems of entertainment? Our prisons and schools? Who determines our trade and environmental policies? Who imposes austerity on the public while enabling the looting of the U.S. Treasury and the tax boycott by Wall Street? Who criminalizes dissent?

A disenfranchised white working class vents its lust for fascism at Trump campaign rallies. Naive liberals, who think they can mount effective resistance within the embrace of the Democratic Party, rally around the presidential candidacy of Bernie Sanders, who knows that the military-industrial complex is sacrosanct. Both the working class and the liberals will be sold out. Our rights and opinions do not matter. We have surrendered to our own form of wehrwirtschaft. We do not count within the political process” (-Chris Hedges)

“Let us look at the world as it is now…ISIS armed and monied by the US/Saudi Arabia/Turkey/Israel, paid to overthrow Assad, moving into the US/France (Europe) still being paid by the above mentioned countries, France under Martial Law, citizens being prevented from protesting under house arrest, US going after gun control, While the US/England/France/Germany supply the very “terrorists” who are blamed for horrific civilian army coordinated attacks. US has a Patriot Act undoing Constitutional Rights of the people, Economic terrorism around the Globe/Greece already occupied by foreign economic force, forced migration from unnecessary war in Syria, China & Russia making economic gains threatening the dollar, the US about to economically collapse, food scarcity/water scarcity/journalist threatened and imprisoned, whistle blowers of government malfeasance imprisoned…does anyone believe this is not by design?” (-Amy Loyd)

“And when I speak, I don’t speak as a Democrat. Or a Republican. Nor an American. I speak as a victim of America’s so-called democracy. You and I have never seen democracy – all we’ve seen is hypocrisy. When we open our eyes today and look around America, we see America not through the eyes of someone who has enjoyed the fruits of Americanism. We see America through the eyes of someone who has been the victim of Americanism. We don’t see any American dream. We’ve experienced only the American nightmare.” (-Malcolm X)

“You control our world. You’ve poisoned the air we breathe, contaminated the water we drink, and copyrighted the food we eat. We fight in your wars, die for your causes, and sacrifice our freedoms to protect you. You’ve liquidated our savings, destroyed our middle class, and used our tax dollars to bailout your unending greed. We are slaves to your corporations, zombies to your airwaves, servants to your decadence. You’ve stolen our elections, assassinated our leaders, and ab…olished our basic rights as human beings. You own our property, shipped away our jobs, and shredded our unions. You’ve profited off of disaster, destabilized our currencies, and raised our cost of living. You’ve monopolized our freedom, stripped away our education, and have almost extinguished our flame. We are hit… we are bleeding… but we ain’t got time to bleed. We will bring the giants to their knees and you will witness our revolution!” (-Jesse Ventura)

“There has never been a terrorist organization before that just sprang out of the desert , fully armed and equipped, with a PR and marketing campaign straight out of Madison Avenue.” (-Derek Durkin, on ISIS)

“I haven’t posted about the recent shooting yet. I know, which one, right? I’m talking about the one that has three tall white shooters in tactical gear as culprits according to the initial witness accounts. It also accompanied big media field trips cerebrating the identity of the official suspects, which does not resemble the witness accounts at all. I still don’t know what to say about it. Because, sadly, it’s one of those events again. You have a bunch of dead people. They are supposed to be killed by enemy sympathizers. You have so many contradictions between the witness accounts and the official narratives. You have impending colonial war agendas lined up across the globe. You have media basically saying that “this does not make sense, we know, but what can you do? Aren’t you with us or with them?” At least it’s consistent though. The whole machine is pushing the nation toward psychopathic foreign policy of breaking nations from their foundations along with their citizens’ lives, cultures, histories and traditions in order to secure natural resources and protect the western financial structure. The method to bring about the criminal projects is also psychopathic. It’s called gas-lighting. They’ll lie to you and they call you crazy if you react to the lies. See, it’s hard to say anything.  All I can recognize is that anyone or any people that resort to gas-lighting to commit mass murders are psychopaths and they can’t be trusted. And, I will not attempt reforming them. They need professional help and legal consequences. This is yet another evidence indicating that the system is broken beyond hope. Perhaps more people will see through the sad scheme this time and join the efforts in bringing the criminals to justice and putting efforts in building another world based on sharing and humanity.” (-Hiroyuki Hamada)

“The illusion of freedom will continue as long as it’s profitable to continue the illusion. At the point where the illusion becomes too expensive to maintain, they will just take down the scenery, they will pull back the curtains, they will move the tables and chairs out of the way and you will see the brick wall at the back of the theater.”  (-Frank Zappa)

”I mean in England we have a Queen for fuck’s sake. A Queen! We have to call her things like ‘Your Majesty’ YOUR MAJESTY! Like she’s all majestic, like an eagle or a mountain. She’s just a person. A little old lady in a shiny hat – that we paid for. Or ‘Your Highness’! What the fuck is that?! What, she’s high up, above us, at the top of a class pyramid on a shelf of money with her own face on it. We should be calling her Mrs Windsor. In fact that’s not even her real name, they changed it in the war to distract us from the inconvenient fact that they were as German as the enemy that teenage boys were being encouraged, conscripted actually, to die fighting. Her actual name is Mrs Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. ’Mrs Saxe-Coburg-Gotha’!! No wonder they fucking changed it. It’s the most German thing I’ve ever heard – she might’ve well as been called ‘Mrs Bratwurst-Kraut-Nazi’. (-Russell Brand)

“As I approach my 35th year of life, I’m struck by a number of things. 35 years I’ve been in debt. 35 years since that original sin of humanity kissed my lips, burdened my caretakers, and follows me still with it’s thick chains. To experience the joy of breath without worry of it’s cost is nothing I’ve known. The compulsory nature of the debt is astounding. To be born into something the gods themselves cannot wash away.  To exist is to provide evidence of your value. To boast that somehow you, or those that came before you, found a way to triumph over the red, to ride close enough to the edge to bring you to this moment. At 18 we celebrate the transfer of this burden. That moment when you assume the weight of your birthright. At 18 I’d been well into that. Birthed an indebted child already. By 24, I’d birthed four. From 17 to 30 I was compelled to add to that debt. To attempt to wager that my existence could be valued in paper and flesh. After thirteen years I clutched that paper in my hand, realizing that perhaps the 24lb bond was not thick enough to hold the $80,000 of debt it invoked. Sacred seal and all, it’s done little to improve the plight. So I pressed on. More paper, more debt, more speculation of my value. And I’ll have the ticket stub this December. Half of the paper that increases* my value. I’m a pink sheet, trading in coins. If I’m jostled enough, perhaps something might fall out and provide a return. And still, I am nearly 35. Worth less than when born, and still without all the papers to prove it. At some point, someone calls it. Someone realizes that this is a house of cards, and the entire structure of me comes toppling down. There’s nobility in being that someone. Perhaps it’s time. We do not choose to be born. To inherit the expense of living. Most of us feel the brittle intensity of this weight. Each inhale an act of fortitude. 35 years feels like a long time to drag something behind you, and I’ve barely begun this journey. My breath, it quivers.” (-Sylvia Plath)

“The American fascists are most easily recognized by their deliberate perversion of truth and fact. Their newspapers and propaganda carefully cultivate every fissure of disunity .…They claim to be super-patriots, but they would destroy every liberty guaranteed by the Constitution. They demand free enterprise, but are the spokesmen for monopoly and vested interest. Their final objective toward which all their deceit is directed is to capture political power so that, using the power of the state and the power of the market simultaneously, they may keep the common man in eternal subjection.” (-Vice President Henry A. Wallace, April 9, 1944)

“Some papers are talking about an ‘escalation in the “War On Terror’ because of what happened in Paris, and the need to step things up. The way to fight ‘terrorists’ is to stop creating them by destroying their countries and killing their people, and giving them reasons to hate. The way to fight ‘terrorists’ is to get all troops out of everywhere and pay reparations to countries we’ve harmed. The way to fight ‘terrorists’ is to stop directly supporting and training them. The way to fight ‘terrorists’ is to stop supporting countries that support ‘terrorism.’ The way to fight ‘terrorists’ is to hold those responsible, accountable, that made the decisions to destroy their countries, and kill their families. It would be a helluva good start.” (- Jon Gold)

“I’d like to see a lot more activists own and deconstruct their own internalized privilege and oppression before deciding they have a right to define the parameters of someone else’s blend of privilege and oppression, the correctness of their language or the level of justification they are entitled to.” (-Sabra Marcroft)

“Resistance will begin locally, with communities organizing to form autonomous groups that practice direct democracy outside the formal power structures, including the two main political parties. These groups will have to address issues such as food security, education, local governance, economic cooperation and consumption. And they will have to sever themselves, as much as possible, from the corporate economy.” (-Chris Hedges)

“Something is profoundly wrong with the way we live today. For thirty years we have made a virtue out of the pursuit of material self-interest: indeed this very pursuit now constitutes whatever remains of our sense of collective purpose. We know what things cost but have no idea what they are worth. We no longer ask of a judicial ruling or a legislative act: Is it good? Is it fair? Is it just Is it right? Will it help bring about a better society or a better world?… Those used to be the political questions even if they invited no easy answers. We must learn once again to pose them. The materialistic and selfish quality of contemporary life is not inherent in the human condition. Much of what appears ‘natural’ today dates from the 1980s: the obsession with wealth, creation the cult of privatization, and the private sector the growing disparities of rich and poor. And above all the rhetoric that accompanies these: uncritical admiration for unfettered markets, disdain for the public sector, the delusion of endless growth.” (-Tony Judt)

“For all their insistence to the contrary, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve noticed a contempt for communal and political engagement and a yearning for fascism squatting in the psyches of an unnervingly large percentage of the people of the U.S. How did the situation come to be? To persist, the capitalist order demands submission to ruthless authority and must peddle fear of an alien other. Angst and anger, engender by relentless economic exploitation, inequity, and u…ncertainty, must be directed away from the system’s elite. The order does not gain agency from the vitality of freedom and innovation, as the state’s propagandists maintain, but is recklessly propelled along by combustible energies of rage and resentment. Racist demagogues, Trump, Le Pen et. al., are not outliers but inevitable; they are the embodiment of the unfettered and noxious id of capitalism’s economically — thus psychically — shackled citizens. Capitalism’s sterile carnival, when panicked by internal uncertainties and outward threats (real or imagined) become transformed into a vicious bacchanal of hate and mindless aggression. Withal, cops become militarized and can kill with virtual impunity; the nation’s political class, aided by the capitalist media, will direct the military to wage imperial wars based on lies; the public will be induced to hate an enemy du jour; dissenters will be demonized, marginalized, jailed, and worse. The question is not if the trajectory of capitalism will trundle fascist: It has and will continue apace. Moreover, the situation, in its entirety, has not been caused by opportunistic, right wing politicians and their spittle-frothing, sorehead followers. Liberals, who insist capitalism can be reformed, as, all the while, they continue to cast votes and act as apologists for the Democratic Party, carry an equal share of blame. Racism and resentment are an inherent and unremovable element of the capitalist soil. Fascism is its bitter harvest. The scorn directed at Syrian refugees and the bigotry spewed at Muslims, Mexicans, and dark skinned people, in general, should not cause bafflement. When empathy and imagination are banished by fear — the modus operandi of the capitalist order — the hearts of the people will wither to dust and the world will wend towards wasteland.” (-Phil Rockstroh)

“Modern American democracy is a tyranny whose borders are undefined; one discovers how far one can go only by traveling in a straight line until one is stopped.” (-Norman Mailer)

“The movements which work revolutions in the world are born out of the dreams and visions in a peasant’s heart on the hillside.” (-James Joyce)

“Check ignition and may God’s love be with you…” (-David Bowie)


I awoke in the middle of the night and drifted to the computer to discover Bowie has died, like so many of my other loved ones, collaborators, and heroes. “I miss ‘em. They died”. I was just laying awake earlier this evening, sending out psychic signals to many far away former intimates and amigos, the blackhole kids and planet girls, hot tramps and all the old dudes, and thinking about all the irreplaceable diamond dolls we’ve lost lately, and how nothing would keep us together, and how lonely it’s gotten at the Friday Night miniature golf game, here at the local field office of Motherfuckers Inc., located in scenic, historical, beautiful, downtown Des Moines…I keep having to mark all my sentimental favorites “absent” when we do roll-call each week, before the horse shoe toss and clambake…If you ever knew me, you know I play Bowie’s music everyday, it’s just been the music of my life since I was a young teenager–’see, I never had no kinda luck or acceptance among the tv watchers of smalltown Amerikkka-as a skinny waif, I lived in the awful suburbs of a dead end town, and even before I’d took my first hit, or nip, or trip, the squares were already calling me a stoner and a burnout because they were appalled by my lack of interest in their capitalist struggle to become “popular”, and by my offbeat appearance, and enthusiasm for weird music and books, even Pre-MTV. I did not fit in their squarehead box, I was always, always an alien, an other, I did not belong to their sporto mall culture. I was back at home with my Beatles and the Stones while they were into football and hunting. Before I even thought much about the stack of Playboys in Grandpa’s basement, or copping my first feel from Crystal in the woods behind the movie theater, they were already calling me a fag because I was not good at dodge ball and had a more gentle countenance, and was somewhat more reserved and bookish, than all the bullies and the brutes, I begrudgingly attended school with, for a short but traumatic and eventful time. I took solace in my stacks of records and comic books and old magazines I bought at garage sales and flea markets. I was not really interested in that many of my so-called peers and their collections of golf shirts and Swatch watches, designer jeans, or Trans Ams. They were all into headbands and muscle shirts-Journey and Loverboy, while I was discovering eye-liner, “Suckin’ In The 70′s” shag haircuts, the Pretenders, and “Ashes To Ashes”. Old people who grew up in the seventies don’t get it, but Adam Ant and Boy George and Duran Duran meant as much to my age group as Roxy Music and the Sweet did to theirs. It was my early love of MTV and KROQ commercial eighties new wave that allowed me to discover Japan and trace that back to Bowie and T. Rex and later the Cuddly Toys and Slade. I never wanted to be like the squares. I wanted to be like Jim Morrison-with Robert Smith makeup! I vividly remember how enraged the straights were, when Annie Lennox and Boy George and Michael Jackson and Cyndi Lauper first started appearing on magazine covers at the grocery store checkout line. They were enraged! The braver, artier, weirdo misfit kids started discovering new wave and seventies punk and glam. “I never got my license to live….” I knew lots of sensitive, smart, tormented and abused people in my bitter youth, and once my true friends started dying young, it was always the first instinct of the small town Catholic church community to pin the blame on me, whether it was by moped or motorcycle accidents, or murder at the hands of dope dealers, and overdoses, as we got older, whatever. It was strange always being the scapegoat, the sin bearer, the hicktown blamehound. I was the local oddball, the one who did not fit, was not like the others, I was an outsider and an outcast, so whenever something went wrong, or the other kids got in trouble, it was the habit of local authoritarians to point their fingers at me and scream “WITCH!”, ya know? ‘Cause I wore a black hat and did not play golf, or want to wrestle their mullet headed sons on those vinyl mats in their squeaky gymnasiums and stinky locker rooms. I encouraged the smart kids to be different, read, paint, think for themselves, dress however they wanted, start bands, make art, and always discouraged everybody from being dickheads, or following the followers, or joining the army, or going to war. Smalltown screws absolutely hated me. ‘Still do. First chance I got, I packed up my parachute pants and purple bandanna, and made a light for the big city, where everybody looked like extras from “Breakin”, or the “Dancing With Myself” video. I wanted to make the transformation-as a rocknroll star. I got a girl, like ya do–my older, girlfriend used to sing me, “Drive-In Saturday” all the time, when I was still but a slip of a wisp of a gutter punk street brat in eighties NYC, we used to listen to “Transformer”, “Lust For Life”, “Hunky Dory” and “The Rise & Fall Of…”, all day and all night long. I am crestfallen he is gone—plus, the guy who was once hyped as the “Next Bowie”–seventies glam icon and the subject of an essential Nina Antonia bio, and an original OCCUPY WALL STREET protester, Brettt Smiley, has also passed away. I had asked Santa for a Brett Smiley embroidered patch, from some Mexican company online, for Christmas this year, even though I knew Brett was bummed out about all the online bootleggers making money on his name, I still wanted the patch. I don’t think Santa could read the Spanish ordering instructions on the patch company website. In recent years, Brett Smiley had been struggling to pay bills and buy medicine and get paying gigs in Post Billionaire Gentrification NYC. It’s fuckedup when even Andrew Loog Oldham discovered, big name rocknrollers can’t afford to live in that city, anymore. Just the Wall Street mobsters, endless war neo-con criminals, models, and billionaire bullies like Trump.

TRUMP is the ugly personification of capitalist hierarchy- the bloody, scepter stroking, bully blowhard bragging essence of skyscraper Amerikkkana—way more so than jazz, or Davy Crockett hats, or that fake country music that rich people love, or the Beachboys, or rocknroll, or beat poetry. A vulgar, mean spirited, fortunate son  who rules others with his lawyers, cruelty, lying, blacklisting, slander, violence, sabotage and dirty tricks. That is what Amerikkkans worship-money and murder, power and prestige, or as middle class women call it, “stability”. We all know some awful rich man who treats everyone with malice and meanness and malevolence and disdain, whose kids get to burn everyone they ever come in contact with; and who never have to contemplate anything like fairness, or reason, or what is just, or right, or decent, it’s all about being unaccountable greedhead untouchables with entrouges of paid yesmen, suckup groupie cronies, masseuses and Daddy’s shifty accountants and bodyguards-they get to fucking shit down all of our throats and there is nothing any one can do to stop them, because they control the lawyers, the courts, the media, they own the jails and the brute enforcers. The merciless rich and gentrification honkies don’t believe in charity, sympathy, equality, or good sportsmanship-they only respect ruthlessness, wrath, monopoly, and war. In the 60′s, fictional super spy, James Bond, had a silver screen license to kill. Now, it’s any racist, two-bit, cop, anywhere. Any goon in a uniform can brutalize children on film and investigate themselves and find they did nothing wrong, while millionaire media whores will say they were following proper procedure and protocol and the victimized children were somehow to blame. Killer cops and cover ups. Media domination and endless war. Project for a New America’s false flags and completely legalized propaganda in the so called homeland. Hillary is a slightly more pro abortion Trump, but has the same exact giddy enthusiasm for regime change wars and deep state domestic fascist Orwell operations, and having her own brutal attack dogs drag protesters out of her bankster rallies, and pro war speeches, like CIA analyst Ray McGovern, who was bruised and bloodied by Hillary goons for silently protesting her bullshit speech by turning his back to her and making a peace sign. Her thugs remove Black Lives Matter activists, just like Trump’s private Pinkerton Thugs. Same $600 haircut, pantsuit, insatiable greed, racism, and lust for always more war. She is also the vast rightwing conspiracy, the man, the one percent. Republicans got even loonier, competing with one another about who would be the most brutal war president, but sadly, Democrats are also Wall Street warpigs, closing schools and health clinics, accelerating mass surveillance and cracking down on peaceful dissent. Cheney’s Muslims With Boxcutters Story is still the all purpose justification for state violence, swat team evictions, torture, gun grabs, airport molestations, shadowy gulags like Rahm’s Homan Square, police state tyranny, lies, propaganda and genocide. Hillary was asked about her crooked bankster donors, who also finance Jeb, and she pivoted immediately to “9/11″ and her gender. It should be obvious by now that the Dick Cheney Deep State is still running everything no matter what puppet they select to stand behind the podium. Those dickheads on “Fox & Friends” wax hysterical about women who wear hijabs-you should have seen what me and my crew wore when we were kids. Shit. Sigue Sigue Sputnik were our Bay City Rollers, Morrissey was our sensitive singer/songwriter,  and the Jesus & Mary Chain were our Velvet Underground! We used to wear full Pete Burns make-up to the fucking corner store. This warpig police state sucks ass. The drug war was invented by Nixon to keep the hippies and civil rights activists down, but now even self proclaimed liberals spew that nutty drug war bullshit Nancy Reagan rap. Often, while they are high on whitey whiteman cocaine. It’s so fucked up how mean rich people are-and their awful, shameless, terrible kids, who feel entitled to ruin anybody’s life they choose, just because they also have a balls out, blank check license to abuse the poor-the limitless privilege of being above us peasants, the last class, and no class citizens. Amerikkkan cops are trained by the IDF Occupation army that brutally rules Gaza. Absolute power corrupts, absolutely. We are enslaved by sultans and arms dealers, bankers and psychopaths. White tv watching sports hicks cheer for their masters. It’s sick and twisted. Rich billionaires like Haim Saban, Sheldon Addelson and the Koch Brothers own the politicians, the lobbyists who write the laws, the think tanks that select which other nations we are supposedly threatened by, the jiveass consolidated media, and all reason, mercy, compassion, and human rights are gone from public discourse. They’ve used media and the traditional educational systems to dumb us down into a nation of bloodthirsty talkshow audiences, rowdy sports fans, haters of the poor, Black Friday rioters, whores for war, prisoners of the greed machine, backwards looking suckers addicted to rehash, permanently nostalgic for Grease and Star Wars, and kept in a frightened spell of servitude and conformity, consumer desire, and unthinking acquiescence.


The rich buy up all the working class neighborhoods, jack-up the rent, put in private security gestapo, in addition to broken window theory police policies vilifying the poor. They pretend they are contributing some public service by hiring fine arts majors to spraypaint hip-hop derivative graffiti on the sides of their hipster trap honky gentrification businesses. Where I live, the white women are the management class and are often way more upset about encountering supposedly ill mannered houseless people smoking near their new-agey day-spas; and sexism at Comic-Con, or nerds staring at their body painted boobies at high dollar cos-play reefer events in the woods; than they are about the epidemic of cops killing black children in this country, or their beloved black prez who admittedly looks dashing in taupe, bombing Muslim babies, or the fact that so many humans are outside in the cold, but they tell themselves they are “creatives” and “earth goddesses”, while elderly people freeze to death in the winter, and black children are gunned down by trigger happy cops almost daily. Out of touch rich people suck, even if they pretend to be liberal once a year at the dope orgy in the desert. They hoard every resource, refuse to pay us a living wage, push us into deep poverty, reduce us to beggars, delight in evicting us, yelling,”You’re Fired!”, exiling us out into the harsh elements, strong arming us into the mud puddles down by the railroad tracks, excluding us from entry into their heavily guarded, trendy shopping zones, call the cops on us for existing, and have us beaten down by paid goons and arrested–then, talk smack about our character. Dumb rednecks and quarterbacks parrot their lies and take jobs as bouncers and small time sadist torturers. “We’re #1!” They tell themselves. “Making Amerikkka great again”. Dennis Miller, Bill Cunningham, Bill O’Reilly, and all those rightwing racists dominate tv and radio. Phony baloney, vegan, crunchy granola, bossy, ”got mine” liberals dominate the schools. Both Democrats and Republicans have the same exact puppet masters and we are all educated to only identify those who wear our home team uniforms. Polite white liberals cry and wring their hands that black folks dare disturb their Great White savior, the Berningman’s feelgood white folks pep rallies, in spite of the fact that he is highly likely to throw in the towel and endorse the military industrial complex favorite, Hillary “Bomb Iran” Clinton. They don’t care how many women or children she and Obama have killed in Libya or Syria-only that they are black or female figureheads commanding the massacres. White rich, identity politics fixating, college people are only upset about fake scandals like reruns of the “Dukes Of Hazard”, or bird flu, or madcow, or Y2K , or Zika, or buying duct-tape for orange anthrax alerts. They fret about Ebola and gluten and Isis and Cliven Bundy’s “Bonanza” buffoons; and baggy trousered teens in hooded sweatshirts, and redneck homeschoolers, but totally believe the answer to social problems is better etiquette, a carefully learned pretense of being free from all prejudice and bigotry, more GMO foods, fluoride, chem-trails, aspartame, and thimsersol-more shots and more pills and more pills and more shots, more rules governing free speech on college campuses, and what may be said in our public spaces, oh yeah, and manifesting more high end organic products with creative visualization, hot yoga, and on-line shopping…They don’t say shit about the politicians poisoning all those kids in Flint, or the plume of methane gas over L.A., but will reliably all go berserk over any gender identity issue, like if a drunken British comedian mocks Caitlyn Jenner on some bullshit awards show–they think Hillary is a “feminist”. They tell themselves that women in combat roles in the military and lady marines giving thumbs in glamour shot selfie photo-ops, next to cadavers and piles of naked, tortured, male Muslim bodies is “progress”. They are “ready for Hillary”. Rich, white, self proclaimed hippie progressives–but most have never even heard of Jill Stein. They are preoccupied with health and grooming. Their personal conveniences and personal preferences, “relaxation” and being boss. They’re turning the old Trash & Vaudeville into a yuppie cupcake space. CBGBS is now a shitty tourist trap Hard Rock Cafe at the Newark airport. The Rat in Boston is a luxury hotel where you can see Evan Dandos’ crackpipe, Mary Lou Lord’s wigs and Hello Kitty lunchbox collection, and wipe your ass with Mighty Mighty Bosstones plaid toilet paper for $500 a night. Lemmy’s warts had more character and better hair than Trump, OR Hillary, OR Jeb….etc., etc., etc.


Both left and rightish people are baffled by bullshit, non-stop, mostly manufactured, terror alert dramas, and big-media narratives, into foolishly supporting fascists and warpigs and voting against our own fundamental best interests through manipulative misinformation streams, preferred hats, superficial appearances, clever slogans and bogus news. It’s sad nobody can stop arguing about petty, cosmetic, surface bullshit and unite to overthrow the evil elites mercilessly profiting from our collective ignorance and oppression. We’re all stuck in high school. When you’re a kid and a teenager, you mainly have to worry about getting harassed by conformist cows, predator jock sadist richkids,  bullying sports people, petty authority figures who put you down and say you’re wrong and hate you tacky things for your provocative questions, independent flair, juvenile styles, that kinda shit, and you always think things will get better once you get your own money, so you can be your own boss, but instead, it gets ever more treacherous, as you cope with dickhead employers, unscrupulous landlords, racist and classist enforcers, low level bureaucrats, bullshit laws, jealous hard-ons, middle managers with clipboards and clip-on ties, the shit never ends. It’s unrelenting. You  get a band and get blindsided, ’cause the rest of ‘em think it’s sports, and operate like they are on that tv show, “Survivor”. Get a girlfriend and you take on all that tribal childhood baggage from whatever her dad supposedly did wrong before the divorce, whether it was adultery or the religion, the patriarchal demands for more Pabst and pot-pies, a mid-life crisis with a younger blonde and a sports car,  his failure to update the appliances frequently enough to satisfy mom’s tanning bed demands, or provide enough rental properties, the bitter sibling rivalries for control of mom’s purse-strings and the family fortune and hot tubs and hotel parties and vacation homes, and lookout–here comes the bullshit blaming: you get her sisters always hissing about their sugar daddies and plane trips and designer boots and plastic surgeons and their cougar moms with their short skirts and Ab Fab boozer opinions about condos, cars, cable, cut-throat competition to behave like twerking tweens in their mid-fifties, jello shots, shopping, trips, and how you don’t make enough money. Try to go it alone….and well, that’s a tough gig, especially if you suck at making money-you better be skilled as a surgeon, or computer tech nerd, or mechanic, or something, cause minimum wage don’t pay rent in Hunger Games Post Bush/Cheney Amerikkka. You seem to get evicted and punched in the eye, a lot. If you’re poor, you are always highly vulnerable to getting physically harmed in shitty neighborhoods, hassled by the man, stopped and frisked, overcharged for everything, always treated like a suspect, urine tested, triple background checked at your own expense, ripped off everywhere you turn, by predator week to week landlords and payday loans and shit, you can’t hold on to anything of material value because you are always forced to move with the clothes on your back, or pawn your collector’s items to pay electric bills, or buy food. You get ripped off by the system for non crimes like loitering tickets, and jaywalking fines, and rent-to-own scams and watch helplessly as your associates get caught in the system, drug war mass incarceration, tricked into military service, or die one by one, in stupid accidents most often related to poor healthcare and poorer education, or the bogus drugwar sham. The bars are for rich drug dealers and their rip you off kids-the promoters and barowners, the thug bouncers and criminal cops. As Eric Burdon sang, “it’s a hard world to get a break in, all the good things have been taken.” Half the country’s living in tent cities, their cars, or barely getting by, the other half is brainwashed by tv and worships corrupt power as represented by big pharma price gougers, weapons of war manufacturers, ranks and titles, everyone is enslaved here, blindly worshipping at the feet of whiteboy DJ richkids, “Got mine, Jack” new age ladies, pharma bros, and false faced pharaohs. Longtime relationships are even adversely impacted by the post Wall Street crash, class-clash, as most of us are scrambling and hustling and only just barely managing to stay mostly indoors, and our former flames and funky fellows are moaning about how they deserve more massages and shit, more day-spa visits, longer doped up, deeply felt, loving gazes deep into their own vanity mirrors, more Botox, bigger titties, bigger sundecks, hotter hot tubs, more, more, more.  In the meantime, “activist circles” are dominated by know it all rich kids who get their feelings hurt everytime they see an old “Sanford & Son” rerun, or hear third hand rumors about a world that isn’t a consoling yuppie gentrification, Honkytopia, medical marijuana carded, politely white, tone policed, rainbow tribe, fairy festival fairytale. Corporations dominate our public spaces. Malls can sue protesters for handing out leaflets, or staging flash mob dances, corporate gentrification groups pressure local governments into writing jiveass laws where you have to be spending money to be present almost anywhere, or subject to random brutality, kidnapping, or murder at the whims of steroid crazed, killer robocops. You can’t even organize a rebellion, or effective demonstration anymore, because the media ignores any protest that is not rightwing astro-turfed by big business, and “self made” bragging loudmouth muscleheads who feel their inheritance of two or three mill to “help them get started” was hard earned by the sweat of their American tortured brows, you know-the cologne drenched white truck drivers of douchebag nation. Meanwhile, on the Left, the people are so divided, by cable, class, and college–the college people have to stop every five minutes to have another pass the feather, non violent communications, call out, feelings circle, and meditate about horoscope, gender, and dairy crimes, and go home and journal in their pain blogs, after encountering a coarse blue collar person not hip to their precious feelings rulebook from the university, and taking agonized offense. We have to quit mollycoddling precious college kids, even if they are also getting obscenely ripped off by evil predators, creditors, and infiltrated institutions, they are being duped into believing that whining about being “offended ” is how one gets ahead in life . They are the gatekeepers who convince others that the system is right and just and reliable. Just trust big pharma, “peer review” they say.  Of course, they are all on insurance company government pills. “Don’t worry about the methane plumes or lead in the water–the EPA is looking out for you!” The universities have engineered a crybaby generation of Tipper Gores, sensitive complainers, etiquette cops, and gentrification honkies. While they wring their dainty hands about blue comedy and this-ism and that-ism, cowering in their warm and dry, climate controlled, ivory towers, real people are outside in the cold drizzle freezing, while these insipid, navel picking,  knitted capped, upper middle class white kids play victim. What distinguishes gentrification honkies from the more traditional rightwing “greed is good” capitalist pigs and douchebags is honky gentrification brunchers love to mask their despotic tendencies, selfishness and greed behind a curtain; like maybe, an elaborate festival contraption, rainbow flag, some mustache wax, some trappings of cos-play, or steampunk couture, or Hindi, or the Dali Lama, or nutrition, or home improvement, or….worse still, “community building” or “activism” that excludes the poor huddled masses,”for the greater good”. The beard fondling brunchers were furious, absolutely livid, for months and months, that some black females “rudely” interrupted a speechifying Bernie Sanders to draw attention to thousands of black folks being extrajudicially executed by out of pocket cops in the streets. How dare these ladies interrupt our great white savior-machine when he is doing all that feel good pep-rally speechifying before he endorses white female Wall Streeet warhawk, cackling Hillary? I don’t understand the P.C. community college ranking system–how are rich, venal, white ladies beyond criticism, even as they govern exactly(!!) like their extremist rightwing male counterparts? Why would anyone be at all interested in Gloria Steinem who dated Kissinger and was funded by the CIA’s opinions? Or “Special Place In Hell” Madeline Albright who casually dismises a half a million dead children in Iraq as being “worth it”? How are middle class white ladies able to insist that civil rights pioneers and inspirational icons like Jayne County and RuPaul not refer to themselves as “trannies” and how is it any of their business, again? Who makes all these rules? Only things I hate as much as gay-bashing and homophobia are people trying to tell me what to do, or how to think, or what I am allowed to say. I had a lady sternly admonish me for wearing my pink feathered earrings, dyed black hair, and Adam Ant make up, because I was supposedly “culture appropriating”, well, that was what the melting pot weirdness of the Lower East Side was all about, a gumbo, a mish-mash, a mixed drink—back before we were all forced into permanent exile by sleazebag landlords and subject to the petty rule mongering of small minded, sourpussed, middle class, community college, smalltown, fauxgressive, rule mongering, text-book, politeness enforcers. When I was growing up knee-deep in gender bending eighties subculture, all the girls at Neither/Nor and Patricia Field and my friendly neighborhood Wigstock event and at the annual Halloween Parade Parade called each other drag queens and trannies, so where do all these new p.c. codes come from? What happened to yesteryear’s fantastic freakery, when we burned the rulebooks and the bras and wore glitter on our brows and did the time warp again? “And if the homework brings you down, then we’ll throw it in the fire and take the car downtown…” I still hate school and all those obediently fascistic, trains on time rich kids, who take their precious culture studies classes, hear about the Alan Lomax archives, and form all these straw-hatted, piece of hay chewing, 12 piece chicken dinner, faux bluegrass, richkid hillbilly fiddle and washboard mandolin and banjo yodel bands, when not busy in their classrooms, tediously demonizing Southerners. But I ain’t following them around to their outdoor festivals, screaming about how they have no right to co-opt Appallacia’s musical traditions to enhance their Pacific Northwest homesteader outdoorsman Amish fantasy-play scenes. I mostly don’t care, because I can’t afford to go their sucky concerts, anyway. Yodel on, poseur rich people. I can’t stand a whiteboy gangsta rapper from the meanstreets of Honkyopia.


When I was a kid, the coaches and counselors were there to convince us we weren’t being bullied by the insanely violent and racist, Tecumseh hating history teacher who manhandled us into closets (Heil, Heimer) for having on the teensiest bit of eyeshadow and Duran Duran haircuts for beginners like say, John Waite in his “Missing You” video, or the lead singer in the Human League’s “Fascination”–and the popular, upperclass, athletes, whose Dads owned coffee bean plantations and cheese factories and downtown bars smashed our faces into lockers and knocked us down stairs and kicked us on the ground for having styling product in our hair and piercing our ears-they brazenly bashed us right in front of teachers and coaches with no repercussion, zero administrative consequences because all the adults agreed we “had it coming”, that we were “asking for it” by wearing shiny clothes and dangling skull earrings and it supposedly wasn’t abuse that we were enduring and we just needed to buck up and take it like a manly man; so the sensitive people who take out big loans to go to university and study about how they are oppressed, in hipster liberal gentrification towns, I dunno, to me, their childhood could not have been that traumatic, if their parents are paying for them to discover it, and some mousey tweed professor has to convince them of it. Gentrification brunchers are lighting scented candles and getting massages while regular people are getting evictions, shut-off notices, receiving threatening phone calls from gravelly voiced collection agents. The gentrification crowd is real big on silencing voices that don’t just make them feel good. Similarly, they were incensed when Chrissie Hynde said in her book she could have made better choices as a kid rather than being shitfaced in public. Hell, they told ME when I used to wonder around big city ghettoes and redneck smalltowns dressed in sequins and feathers like Elton John and Michael Jackson, and always, always attracting brute violence, that I needed to see my part in it. So, I got fat and stopped wearing Boy George make-up to the convenience store-but I never stopped identifying with “Scream Like A Baby” or “Lady Stardust”or “Queen Bitch” or Bolan/Bowie’s “Madman”. Ahhh…Bring back the rebels and the rule breakers. I LIKE when people confront public officials. Even, and especially, feel good, name brand figureheads, that seem to represent vaguely liberal, Oprah style, Gaiam shopping network, Ben N Jerry’s, see no evil, vanilla bean, gentrification-flavored feel goodism. Gentrification folks usually own property with bamboo gardens and have college degrees and either own businesses, or don’t work because they are rich enough from the inheritance or divorce to spend their time lobbying local politicians for more law and order protections and cop policies that target the supposedly nefarious poor, to prop up the ceaseless and energetic egomania of the entitled affluent. Left, right, left right, company, halt.


As a blue collar worker, I’ve had to hear hundreds of hours of rightwing Rush Limbaugh talk radio programming on work sites while dry-walling and painting and let me tell you, it’s hard to persuade other general laborers with bad backs and bad knees that the college folks ain’t full of shit, when the college folks really are so pushy, annoyingly entitled, and ceaselessly, gratuitously, selfish–it’s hard to effectively skewer the wingnut, Koch-slut, hate-pig politicians who say poor people just want free stuff, while all the white educated college people actually demand free stuff. The college honkies expect to be able to cut to the front of every line, because they learned some slick talk about Archie and Edith Bunker traditional marriages from the fifties and how breeders are to blame for over population. It’s an admittedly clever shell game of three card Monte they perform using misdirection and complaining about being triggered, or feeling violated, while ALSO holding all the power and owning all the property. You think it’s rude for black folks to bug your Great White Father Figure, the Berningman? I think it’s wrong to hijack every discussion and pivet perpetually back to gender because you happen to be vain, rich, and white, but female, and therefore oppressed, whenever we are talking about race and class, or police brutality, or rigged elections, or Wall Street corruption. I wanna stop the wars, you want a war on gluten. I’m waxing moral outraged about our First Black President bombing hospitals, you want to make excuses for him because he is your imaginary black friend and you mistakenly believe it proves how you are “not racist” by unconditionally supporting the white power structure killing off all these indigenous peoples under cover of their part-black figurehead’s non existent liberalism and all these uptight supposedly polite whiteys always appoint themselves as the officially unelected spokesmodels of the oppressed, with all their scolding committee checklists, clip-boards, economic power and class privilege. Unbelievable. White folks don’t mind that much when crazy gestapo cops beat the hell out of black teenage orphan girls for no reason, or bodyslam teenage black girls in bikinis, but gently skewer their honky gentrification vegan dietery fixations or excessively decadent pet pamperings and they lose their damned minds. Brunchers are all about self aggrandizement and imagined rivalries with people who couldn’t care less. Getting ahead and winning, but with a glossified patina of “good karma” and “spirituality”, and a clever glossary that says up is down and down is up. They mostly care about dogs-we actually see white middleclass women kidnap dogs from homeless people and call it public service. I think they are all crazy. They only rent to sensitive, rich, health nuts who love outdated hip-hop; but pamper their pets, worshipfully. Whenever we talk about sheltering the meek, or the emergency need for housing first shelters, and affordable housing, all the haves on the hill start reciting Nancy Reagan drug hysteria.

Yuppies in big white trucks who bellow “get a job” at homeless veterans have obviously not been hittin’ bricks in the real job search market for decades-often, they think you still eagerly pump a grocery owner’s hand and talk about what a hard worker you are and get steadily promoted to the top. They ain’t even hip to psych profiles and sixty dollar urine tests and human resources vermin and multiple morning appointments and more background checks and lengthy, time-consuming orientations that go on for months. Gentrification people are unaware that general laborers can never be promoted to management positions without four degrees at big boxes, even with decades of retail experience. There is no golden elevator where you get to become manager just because you are the squeakiest wheel. In the trendy college towns, white ladies own a lot of the businesses and often make more than their partners, but in the flyover states, it’s still the good ole boy network with the 24 year old, clip-on tied, clipboard carrying, eager beaver, fratboy state college business management graduates who get to harass all the busy, hard working, bakers and minimum wage earning Latina grandmothers forced back into the work place. The middle class teenagers and stay at home honkies think it’s cool to drop all those halter tops carelessly on the floor of Target because “that’s what those people get paid for”-to bend all day to rehang halter tops. Brunchers are only thinking of themselves, while loudly narrating their shopping spree on the phone, telling their always competitive sister-in-law how some advertised item is unavailable and they are going to raise some hell at customer service, browbeating a minimum wage earner because actual managers are never available anymore, until they are given a discount price on some trendy espresso machine. Honky brunchers say shit about “shopping local and supporting independents”, but they all seem to love having their asses kissed by salaried assistant mgt. smilers with walkie-talkies at fucking Target. Honky gentrification brunchers want to give more “discretionary tools” to armed enforcers to arbitrarily determine who is a “threat to public safety” based on their appearance. Softball jocks can drink openly in city parks all summer long, homeowners can tear up the city park landscape with three wheeler recreational vehicles in the winter now, freely as well. The braless candle stick maker may smoke a doobie in the public spaces if she has the image of meddle class respectability, yeah that was initially a typo, but it applies here: the meddle class– whereas, a Latino male would be endangering the community and corrupting the youth by lighting a j. The affluent, tailgating, Republican chickenhawk, armchair “Call Of Duty” G.I. Joes can get shitfaced drunk and drive while intoxicated, roaming in brutish packs at weekly sporting events, but the scrawny homeless kid fleeing abuse in the raggedy surplus jacket is confronted by twelve cops and four or five private security professionals who all surround him and take turns roughing him up, while scaring away potential witnesses, like they do in the Gaza strip. That’s the bloody bullshit work of capitalist pig honky gentrification brunchers, some of whom are not necessarily rich white conservative men. Many honky gentrification pigs are even reefer smoking yoga moms and health food store elitists who complain and complain to city hall about being afraid of those ghastly “travelers” lurking outside of the public library or occult bookstore. I wish my righteous advocates for the homeless allies would frame being houseless as a feminist issue, since so many powerful females are lining up on the side of the developers and gentrification security contractors. Honky gentrification brunchers believe that freedom is something that lily white people with vast discretionary incomes streams and good karma and alimony from multiple rich men may purchase in increments and no rights should apply to anyone who “offends” them, or threatens their proclaimed domain. If you stand out, or talk back, you are sent to exile island. Even if you are a huge asset to the tribe, they will vote your dumb ass off the unreality show that is their local turf, for being a threat to the dominant alliance-we have been effectively programmed by brainwash tv to banish anyone with any unique strength of character, OR perceived weakness-they have turned us into a nation of generic, faceless, mediocre, middle of the road, I-phone clone stormtroopers, all hoping to win the million dollar popularity jackpot, but the house always wins. Race to the top psycho stalker personalities think everything is a bloody competition. Art, music, food, everything is a boxing match to these annoyingly indoctrinated Coke and a smile Superbowl capitalists, always speeding to the fucking redlight.


Honky gentrification brunchers make sucky art and are usually fairly confident that their own diet, drug of choice, spiritual practice, preferred dress code, or funny hat, pet, selfie, supper, surfing vaca, massage therapy, past life, mancave, gofundme campaign, demo tape, dj night, trips to Ibiza and Dubai, or personal hardship is somehow always, always more pressing and center-stage essential than even the most basic needs of everybody else. Stop what you’re doing while I reenact my civil war drama, again. Many honky gentrification brunchers seem to care about the environment or spotted owl, but everywhere they go, they coincidentally, must immediately locate a random stranger and force them to apologize to them for some real or imagined sleight, after a mandatory drama-seeking feud like on the unreality shows, there always has to be a public scene with a lynchmob trial, and special attention and extra credit nurturing from adult authority figures. If you religiously attend your old alma matters’ rah-rah sporting events, no matter how badly behaved it’s college athletes, or billionaire sugar daddys are, you might be a honky gentrification bruncher. If you flagrantly, unremorsefully steal from your competition and leverage your social status to silence other voices, you are a honky gentrification bruncher. If you invest more energy into yarn bombing parking meters than making winter scarves for poor people, you are UNDOUBTEDLY a gentrification bruncher. If you own property and only rent to rich people. If you are an employer who only hires green young people you can sexually harass, or immigrants you can underpay, you may have all the trendy breakdance influenced spraypaint murals in the world painted by GEN-U-INE people of color on the side of your business, but a capitalist pig with an Om tattoo is still an oinking oinkey oinker. The honky gentrification brunchers believe, in their hearts, that they have worked harder than you to get where they are today, and to see the undeniable proof of their infallible virtue, one must only glimpse their shining house on the hill, material belongings, scholastic achievements and show-biz guestlists, though I sometimes question the science of that theory. Most gentrification brunchers got their shit from their Mom and Dad. Gentrification brunch honkies love to tell you that “causality is not causation”. It’s one of their dearest status quo preserving mantras-it’s code for, “don’t question big business”. Or “us college peeps know what’s best for you”. Or “I’m a pharma-rep”. Honky gentrification brunchers want to cleanse their environment of unsightly undesirables such as ourselves to make more room for rich computer geeks and their friendly pitbulls. “He doesn’t bite”. The only thing more unforgivable than being a poor male in this country is being a poor minority male…or worst of all-being an “angry” poor male. Even if you are angry about black women being suicided by racist cops in the white man’s jail, or rigged elections, or houseless children, or being personally subject to a lifetime of injustice because you are mired in deep, no hope poverty, while having to listen to loudmouth upper middle class people creating new labels, divisions, diversions, and demanding you do more chores for them. That’s fucked, and I’m beginning to suspect it comes from the Ivy League think tanks, who have developed this political correctness and privilege theory, to divide the left. It really goes hand in hand with the rightwing’s “broken window theory”. Keeps the middle class arguing and snubbing the unenlightened slaves; and the gentrification pigs discretionary tools and prison profiteers and private probation companies and telephone companies keep the incessantly stopped and frisked poor and black and Latinos on probation, in jail, or in prison, forever paying and paying more fines and fees for non crimes that white people from middle class homes do freely everyday. Like reefer smoking. Precious correctifiers scold and nag the less white gloved among mass movements and only really care that they are able to be the self appointed Judge Judy presiding queen of etiquette that punishes heretics and promotes assimilated conformists. Cable tv always calls graffiti or vandalism, “violence”. But not state-sanctioned ACTUAL Violence. You know how rightwingers freakout when they watch Bill O’Reilly fear mongering about “The New Black Panthers”, and the Nuge crazies all want the right to bear arms to only apply to wealthy WASP property owners? That’s how brunching honkeys are with dope-they all do dope, they all like dope, they all pay good money to attend big festivals to cop dope, but the idea of poor people on dope makes them upset. Brunchers parrot Dr. Drew drug scare hysteria talking points and typically characterize homeless folks as “tweekers”, because they got spookified watching that “Breaking Bad” tv series, or got a bicycle stolen once and suspect “CRACKHEADS”–they are resentful that homeless people drink or smoke, but they, themselves, pride themselves on their esoteric dope expertise and pharmaceutical encyclopedia, and hot-shit Deadhead drug connections. There’s a fucking growler boutique, a pot clinic, a vapor boutique, a smoke shop, ten bars, and a pot clinic on every corner, the left obsess about their hippie fairs while the right look forward to their Hitler Youth drunken sporting events, everybody’s mom is strungout on the prescription dope, but they all agree: poor people should be punished for ever altering their consciousness with malt liquor or pot. Some so called liberals insist we should ban outdoor smoking, like they did at the coffee shops and pubs. Others call the cops when they smell someone burning a Marlboro Red in the alleyways. What the fucking fuck? Even the brainwashed smarty pants cult-fauxgressives wanna be snitches and cops.


I was just thinking about how beautiful my Ziggy Stardusted, After-Hours, “Liquid Sky” Downtown NYC used to be, back before Rudolph Giulliani and Trump and Chertoff and Bloomberg and all those billionaire police state goons killed the cool—it was the most vibrant and festive and soulful melting pot carnival of non stop bohemian geniuses I’d ever glimpsed, the Bauhaus video from “The Hunger” played on stacks of tv screens at every bar and all the people were beautiful glimmering New Romantics…the whole town looked very “Bat-Cave” when I lived there–very “Rocky Horror”…but Stiv and Johnny and Warhol and the Ramones and Lou Reed died and they closed CBGB’s, and now, it’s just some booj playground for rich poseurs…Losing Lemmy from Motorhead similarly feels like the final coffin nail of hedonistic hightimes in Hollywood-what’s the point in even having a Rainbow Bar & Grill without Lemmy? Gutted tonight, all my favorite hangouts in all my favorite cities have been replaced with bullshit yuppie hives, who wants to imagine a world without Bowie? Someone said it’s like a sky without stars. Rocknroll is dead, the Constitution is eviscerated, there is nowhere to go to get away from all the nagging, daytime tv programmed buffoons and sports dummies, even if you can afford a tank full of gas and an old van, where can one even flee anymore to search for liberty, and to frolic freely, and to dream of making class transitions as entertainers, like we did as eighties glam kids? It’s all gone. NYC, Boston, Hollywood, Detroit. The Bush family destroyed New Orleans, drove all the black people out of town, did the same disaster capitalist city manager privatization scheme in Detroit, all my favorite hellraisers and hoodlums are dead. Most of my old pals were hyper-literate anarchists and self-taught scholars, defiant non conformists and dangerously poetic drunks, but now they are gone, all I see are really wussified wimps and asskissing greedheads pretending to be shit they’re clearly not, and twisting themselves into absurdly unbecoming yoga shapes to fit in with a jiveass culture that only values war and winning and piles and piles of disposable shite. The crass suburbans don’t give a fuck about people, but they love their stuff. How they love their fucking stuff. Where is the soul and integrity and compassion and guts and imagination? Music with any meaning or message or mood? You hate politics? How insulated and cozy that must be, to rest assured everything’s a V.I.P. Lounge with a throbbing, robotic, stripper beat. I hate the shallow poseurs and the honkie gentrification brunchers. I really do. I always did, but nowadays, the racist greedheads and phony hipsters are all surface and no feelings, out for blood and off the leash. They get their big fat loan and buy a fixer-up house in the working class hood and immediately start moaning about poor people. They all wanna turn the urban hoods into cute little fucking sports nooks, Leave It To Beaver white bread courts, and cutesy fucking unicorn wallpapered, Tibetan prayer flagged, 90210 fucking popularity spas. Go back to fucking Peoria, white piglets. I wanna run away, but there’s nowhere to run to, anymore. It’s all a big slave plantation, with no refusal blood draw checkpoints, and airport molestations, and no fly lists, and urine tests for minimum wage jobs, and laws against homeless people having blankets. I’m afraid of Amerikkkans.



What possesses this demented and depraved highpriest of headshop hip, and mad genius, musical juggernaut, Mad Billy Tsounis, to record these simultaneously sacred and profane works of sci-fi dementia, like his absurdist cover of “Macho Man” that sounds like something cartoon chicks like Josie & The Pussycats might rollerskate to, in some fuckedup Ralph Bakshi film like, “American Pop”? This prolific space cadet virtuoso acid-punk flame thrower, Bad Billy Tsounis, is obviously from another planet, entirely. He’s perhaps best known for his spin art, melted crayon box, sonic revelries in collaboration with CIRCUS OF POWER’S legendary white wizard wolf lord, ALEX MITCHELL, in their dangerous hoedown throwdown psychotronic space innovations like FAT NANCY & CAPTAIN ZAPPED. This brother is like, Steve Vai talented, just insane. It’s hard to describe his menacing, hallucinogenic, Close Encounters revelations without referencing arcane influences like early Clockwork Orange and Alice Cooper and King Crimson and Roxy Music, and the Spiders From Mars, or more recent grebo hitch-hikers like Crazyhead, Gaye Bikers On Acid, The Ultras, or Butthole Surfers. Onstage, the Dangerous To Know dandy, Billy Tsounis, emanates a regal guitar hero elegance like classic Jimmy Page, but his loony lo-fi get high galactic explorations are the stuff of bizarre Zappaesque visionary greatness. If the Wall Street one percent landbarons had not killed the soul in all our big cities with their evil rent gouging and gentrification cops, there might still be some spooky warehouses where punks and goths get together to snake dance all come hither-like, under black strobelights, and Billy’s weird eighties death rock version of “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy” might be a twelve inch vinyl club hit. “Bake Baby Bake” is a silver rocket  thrill ride through Vinnie Vincent’s pink smoke that crash lands in Captain Beefheart’s trailer where his Casper like ghost is calmly chatting with Vincent Price and William Burroughs about guns, robot women, and how to properly carve pumpkins. Before the Flaming Lips got rich and wanked out with MK Ultra puppets and contrived, carefully stage managed and painstakingly choreographed performances at overpriced honky festivals and the Peach Pit of Beverly Hills, they used to make music this exciting, exhilarating, and fun and dangerous. Vasoline Tuner are a modern day ALIEN SEX FIEND with the potential to crossover into Monster Magnet and Marilyn Manson’s fanbase, if such a thing still exists. Vasoline Tuner make music that is more textured, layered and picturesque than the U.K.’s dreampop, or shoegazer movements, and as fun as old Hanna Babara cartoons. “Sucky Foodtrucks” reminds me of a stomach curdling smell I’ll  never forget at my old record warehouse job in the nineties. He does some unexpected covers and they make up about half of the new release, along with his signature originals that are reckless experimentation and debauchery warped, frenzied forays into Ralph Steadman or Robert Williams or R. Crumb terrain. You really have to compare him to other visual artists like that Thomas Kinkade guy who did those cheesy pastoral calenders, because Billy Tsounis basically paints with light. If you liked the Chainsaw Kittens, or Robert Fripp, Robert Quine, or Brian Eno, checkout this creepy psychedelic evil stoner masterpiece-”FREAKY ACTION”–it’s swirling, dizzying pyrotechnics remind me variously of Love & Rockets, Steve Stevens, Boston darkwavers—Dreamchild, vintage singles by The Cure, Bowie’s “Scary Monsters & Super Creeps”, and old school comic book stores that smell of incense and catpiss, if you ever find yourself yearning for some escapist kicks and weird trouble, turn up Vasoline Tuner’s renditions of “Psycho Killer” or “Whip it”, right when your dose kicks in and you might find yourself flying through the desert in a mink dunebuggy full of topless urban guerilla chicks with ammo belts and knives clamped between their teeth. Cosmic rangers, space suited rocketeers, and psychedelic stooges of all ages will go full-gonzo for these fuzzedout, fargone grooves. “FREAKY ACTION” is what you need to make your trip peak. A helladose of kooky spacedout futuristic psychedelia for kabuki faced androgynes and wildeyed starmen pretty things of all backgrounds and zodiac signs. So paint a lightning bolt across your face and spraypaint everything silver. And don’t forget to bring some cucumber sandwiches. *Don’t be like those rich rightwing ranchers and forget to bring snacks. Totinas pizza bites and Vasoline Tuner. Maybe some Yahoo. Rumor has it Billy Tsounis will be jamming with a resurrected CIRCUS OF POWER in Hollywood, on a super sleazepunk bill with Junkyard, soon, and for many of us  real rocknroll people, CIRCUS OF POWER are a religion, a mystery cult. Tsounis and Mitchell are like a holy barbarian version of Ronson & Bowie from Beyond The Thunderdome. When you’re in the mood for magic and madness.