Jean-Paul Sartre: he says he was #woke, about being #woke.

Consciousness,  Sartre's reality-sensing apparatus, itself existing with its own thoughts being manifestations: consciousness as he has an object, always.  That is not to say that it is like a table with something on it all the time, because one can be conscious of a lack or a nothingness, one could suppose.

"Conscious of being conscious" as Sartre puts it, which threads a needle between being and nothingness in that the person has nothing else, possibly but his own conscious to be made aware of, nothing else within or without.

"The pure event by which human reality emerges as a presence in the world is apprehended by itself as its own lack.  In its coming into existence, human reality grasps itself as an incomplete being."

"Human reality is a perpetual transcending toward a coincidence with itself which is never given."

Time itself, and this vague coincidence, a perpetual machine keeping man in some kind of motion, as he unknowingly floats through space, transposing across a period of time.  We can wince, take a moment here, thinking that if time were to stop, the coincidence would be made plain.

And then, as I progress through the pages, he keeps mentioning someone named "Peter" and claims also that Heidigger was on the hunt for a fellow named "Schmidt".  This first, a bourgeois and the second a common factory worker.  Would they find something, something so regular as a common state of mind, something they struggled to grasp from behind their own weird colored glass of perceptions, and to deify thought as reality?  Not the common person, they were seeking, some insight into the common soul, neigh, but to reach outward from within their own consciousness, writing their own thoughts into scientific canon, to be taught later at all the good universities.

Certainly they would rigorously defend the veracity of their ideas.  (?)

Jean-Paul Sartre and Existentialism: groundwork for On Being and Nothingness

I think; therefore I am miserable.  To have my thoughts made manifest, would surely unleash my daily terrors.  Those would soon overfill the world proper.  Therefore, doubly so, again, I am made miserable.  -Elkind Vernon Sipp

 Does the the "malaise existentiale" evidence a tension between reality and the consciousness that forms the inner world?

"Couldn't I try?  Of course, it wouldn't be a piece of music--but couldn't I, in another medium?  It would have to be a book.

....I don't know quite which kind--but one would have to be able to suspect, behind the printed words, behind the pages, something that did not exist, which would be above existence.  It would have to beautiful and hard as steel and make people ashamed of their existence."

 -There Sartre playfully offers up an analogue to the creative process of writing something like On Being, while both dispatching and affirming the material of that important book.

What post-Enlightenment dignity, to positively sanctify or gold-plate ones own inner world as reality, and what a dangerous precipice on which to dangle the rest of the world, contending that to look at a work of art, the subject/object is made real, and when the head is turned, the eyes averted, the subject/object ceases to exist.

People who are too serious for empirical proofs might damage themselves in the pursuit of such proof, beginning to realize that if mama puts her hands over her face to play "pee-pie", her face is, for the elapsed time, utterly destroyed, but not in the mystical realm of Sartre's "nothingness", but somewhere else entirely that he can't quite touch:

reality,

and that is kept wholly separate as if not entirely broached by the being himself.

whereas, the true mystical nothingness of Sartre is a mistaken impression, but you don't know that, because you are, as he said, mistaken.  Therefore anything taken on cognitive terms is suspect, even as he argues for its sake.

Halloween 1978, possible Hitchcock connection

I saw a man who was not there.

He didn't know, man, which of those babysitters was his sister, or at least he wasn't sure.

So.

Nothing else to do about it, but kill them all.

Anyway.  Hitchcock references in the film come along, with the one that started me thinking this being "Rear Window", alluding to the James Stewart, Grace Kelly film.  In Halloween, Michael looks through the rear window, seeing the pants-less Nancy Loomis, and immediately, Nancy Loomis goes to that window, Michael disappeared, and she tries to climb out that window, getting stuck.

I think of a big moment of Bernard Hermann, in the music of the Hitchcock film "Vertigo", when Kim Novak suddenly looks like the long-gone Grace Kelly.  The scene is pivotal to the film, presenting, "rising action".  Well, we have several Vertigo moments in the film, blunt in the subtext, for instance, the topless babysitter talking to Michael(who is cloaked like a ghost).

"Got your ghost?"

Meanwhile, Michael takes his sister's tombstone and makes a bit of scenery of his own, putting the dead pants-less babysitter in the bed, with the tombstone at the headboard.

He was quite muddled.  And always acting as the "moral enforcer", at first being offended in the 60s by premarital sex, but then carrying it farther, to killing the woman as she tries to start her car, then killing another as she tries to call someone on the telephone.  Later, he is stabbed with a knitting needle, then pursues his remaining sister into a closet.

"You're a Great American, Michael."

Also, of the two "offed" babysitters, I note one has no pants, while the other is shown topless.  If you put them together, you have a full suit of clothes, again remembering the knitting needle stab and the closet scene, referencing clothing.

The ultimate Vertigo moment is when Michael is shot, falling off a balcony.  The "upper porch" is one thing, but the balcony is something that was once fairly common in theaters.  Its as of a viewer, as we see from Michael's POV in the beginning, is eventually "killed" while watching the movie.  Which reminds of the opening of Scream 2. 


With Jada taking the knife in the bathroom, with film, like society, having marched forward into time without all of its old dignity.

I'm far from a Hitchcock scholar, or even particularly interested in his work, but other possibilities of references are Hitchcock's film Strangers On A Train, The Stranger, and The 39 Steps.

It's like, one almost suspects Dr Loomis to look down at his supposedly dead patient and say, "remember, we're not the liberal media.  Let not your heart be troubled."

I told him, I said:
Hoary cripple, go, go away!
Heedless,  he came back
twice more that day.

Whoa, mama! how the other half lives.

We talk of the national guilt, that is that, prior to 1864, we enslaved mostly an entire race of people, as if they were nothing more than animals.  Racial awareness has pervaded the mainstream in the interim, with all kinds of steps towards healing the divide.

Now.

Some 50-plus years after the Civil Rights Act, African-Americans have made a prefunctory step towards an equal footing with their Caucasian counterparts.  Behold:

Samuel Little, an African-American, now a senior citizen, has vividly and credibly confessed to some 90 murders across the United States from decades past.

This is just a small step towards that envelope that right-leaning middle America might refer to as "normalcy".  Just recently, we also see the social conservatism of self-identified "black voters" in the Democrat primary polls, as they almost entirely reject Mayor Pete, the quietly gay candidate.

T-Bone's Better Blues.

He was on lunch break, skirting around in the passenger seat of the Chevalier, his usual place opposite Ron.

They went in the french restaurant, where T-Bone got a Monster Burger, but didn't have money enough for a drink.  Luckily, he kept drinks around, which was a weird habit, but he had been raised in a household of constantly thirsty diabetics, so there it is.  He had a Dr Pepper in the door pocket of the little Chevalier.

From there, it was just like the voice actor from Williams Street, saying he drank Dr Pepper to voice the character of "Meatwad" on Aqua Teen.  He said the lingo was between urban street judiciously combined with redneck.  And yes, he voiced the character, but also wrote most of the character's dialogue.

"I want candy,
bubble gum and taffy;
skip to the sweet chocolate,
my sweetheart Sandy.
I'm her Hume Cronin;
she's my Jessica Tandy.
I want candy!"

Chris and Jason from work watched T-Bone leave with the giant sandwich wrapped in wax paper.  As T-Bone passed by, Chris was saying, "on Lifetime last night, that lady was talking about she had married a monster."

Ron smiled and followed T-Bone out the door, meanwhile T-Bone was rolling his eyes so much that he almost disoriented himself.

"Did you come here for forgiveness?
Did you come to raise the dead?
Did you come here to play Jesus
to the lepers in your head?"

Later in the evening, the drinking began, and the roiling around the Homecoming game at the varsity stadium, and the obligatory trip into the woods, off an abandoned driveway, one of those places that had a farmhouse on it, like a sharecropper shack, back years upon years ago.

And T-Bone would find himself again without his underwear, tied nude, except for his athletic socks, to a tree, with his semi-erect penis making obscure shadows all over the tries, shadows from the car headlights of the Chevalier, making shadows like two hands with only pinkie fingers, tickling across the leaves in prismatic diffusion.

softwall

here it comes.

"you hear about Ru-Jew butt-dialing?"

"The world deserves being destroyed" I respond.

How did I get to that point from here?  How many news articles and correspondent live spots have I leaped over to get there?  How much at once seemingly unimportant chit-chat have I labored through, waiting for something decent to happen?

The people closest to me tell me I can't sue, that I could never prove it.

Better hope it stays that way.

Because

if I get my shot

we'll see.

On the brighter side, Andy Brack of statehousereport.com wrote a book that compiles various bits intended to be advice for the state government.  I could get behind something like that, after a few years of reading the State "central edition."

"Everybody deserves to be destroyed?"

"Even the children?"

"Even the children, however sinless and innocent, are just little soldiers waiting to take their turn" I says.

Think I'll start carrying a 13mm deep well socket, something to wrapped around my fingers so if I hit somebody in the face it'll really make a dent.

Now I'm going to read a book.  Otherwise the world can go fuck itself.

2019 deficit: to tag Trump, or to "eat the piggie"

984 billion dollars!  Budget deficit on steroids in the United States.  Administration spending gone out of control.

Conservatives watched Obama try to spend the economy of a melt-down and consistently complained about the spending.  Now Trump touts his employment stats and ignores that he may be, in part, still "spending his way out of trouble".

Mnuchin recommends spending discipline next year, but who knows?  Such a remark might inspire butt-hurt from Trump, and cause Mnuchin to "decide to resign" followed by a catty tweet from the POTUS.

I was reading this morning a bit between Brian Stelter and Zucker from CNN disagreeing about Fox News being divided into a "news wing" and an "opinion wing".  I strike a balance between the two perspectives, believing there is a "news wing", but its much smaller than Stelter acknowledges, comprising currently only anchor Bret Baer and a handful of correspondents(that is one anchor after the departure of Shepherd Smith recently).

I note that during the Obama presidency, Fox News had the "debt clock" that began several of its shows on a regular basis, but since the Trump presidency, the impetus to debt oversight has slowed.  During their wall "barn burning" with "immigration crisis" reports almost hourly, they found that old heat to be directed towards a cause, but with the band aid of a small section of wall being built, the on-air talent seem to have forgotten their pet cause.

Rage on Fox for justice for Kate Steinle also quelled after the trial of the "murderer".

What pisses-off conservatives today, I ask?  Still the fake and phony news media?  The "destroy Trump media"?  I note the leftist media and those that pretend to be mainstream refer to the Impeachment as a "saga", with them seemingly, "in not so many words", committed to beating the horse for a long, long time, despite recent timetables being laid-out that would stymie media pretensions towards the long-haul.

But at least Trump recommends that some of his cabinet departments drop their subscriptions to his most hated news outlets.  This, just after I decided to subscribe to a few newspapers, being dissatisfied on the average with cable news coverage.

And almost completely estranged from Fox News.  I even watched Greg Jarrett, once one of my favorite anchors, who had a plumb spot on the weekends on Fox News, become a conservative pundit.  He even wrote a book.  And a lot of them write books.  Surely, Limbaugh laid-out the formula for Hannity and Laura Ingram years ago.  Just start out like this: "I'm so mad at the mainstream media."  Then explain why.  Dig if you need to.

I think I'll re-read "The Way Things Ought To Be", which was, as I remember, Rush Limbaugh's first best-selling book.

Anyway.  Enough butt-hurt about television-viewing activities.  What happened to fiscal discipline?  Now the Democrats, enamored with 800 billion dollar-each this-and-that freebie programs, become the deficit hawks?  Do we forget Clinton, on a swing to the right, balancing the budget, and then Dubya literally giving the money away?

I was an "under-employed" un-taxed employee back then, considered a dependent back then, so I got now brown check with my legal name on it. 

But I did get some takeout food from the deal, because, as I remind you, I was a dependent.

non-withholding

"under-employed".

Titans, the Augments: "Christina"(The Great American Success Story, Chapter 2, part 1)

Talk about your left-leaning, mainstream media spin, that there was "no more room in hell", as the dead begin to return to life and attack the living.

Rousseau knew had a valuable opportunity right in front of him.  He could make a very realistic zombie film, using things that were unfolding all around him.

As Ewie Bowl would say, "it has good action."

The two "film-makers" turned "strip-mine capitalists"  would exploit an emerging segment of the population, in the "existentially-disenfranchised", who at time of press, even lack voting rights, and are ineligible for driving credentials in all fifty states except California and New York.

Christina hired for points, put in an American flag bikini(after a buff, wax and polish job), sat on the rear of a 2-ton truck with a custom-built liquid cooled, rigid-mount 50 caliber automatic weapon.

And they let fly.  "Burning tape" as is said in the industry, just trying to get coverage of what was happening right in front of them, Christina wailing on the living dead.

There was a priest with a 400 dollar calf-skin copy of the Vulgate as a prop which was fitted with a squib, then detonated, sending burning pages scattering into the air all along the street.

Ewie Bowl was literally striking himself in the pelvic region, in a sense of prevailing glee at all of the footage that was being generated.

Until the truck took a quick turn, inadvertently pitching Christina off the flatbed into a sea of angry zombies.

Now.  The Great American Success Story continues.


"Gentleman.  We have the tools.  We can rebuild her."

"A gun for one arm.  A sword for the other arm."

"But how will she wipe her a$$?"

"Never mind that.  We'll have a Nazi intern wipe for her."

fake speech free speech, black on Facebook and keeping the other side in focus: the house financial services hearing.

So.  Mark Zuckerberg appeared before a house committee again, and this time, both sides of the spectrum in the media got something that could appreciate for later show material and article writings.

Among the takeaways, the "clinically-insane" Maxine Waters plopped out an unfounded allegation that Facebook disenfranchises blacks.  Its the first time this commentator has heard that charge.  Waters asked Zuckerberg to provide racial data of its users, data which Zuckerberg claimed is not compiled by the website.  Meanwhile, elsewhere across the internet racial data is given by users on a voluntary basis, with the end result or the usage of that data being kept shadowy, not-defined or specified to the user.

Alexandria Occasio-Cortez was more concerned with "fake speech" than "free speech", grilling Zuckerberg over how much Facebook polices its ads.  Zuckerberg referred to an automated process of vetting advertisements, with the process being largely automated because of the massive volume of incoming Facebook ads.  Cortez tried for her soundbites, referring to website "the daily caller" as having ties to white supremacists, and then fact-checking for Facebook, while Zuckerberg countered that the fact-checkers were chosen by an independent organization.

Unphased by facts, AOC asked something about white supremacists being okay, seeming to have missed the answer to her previous question, as if she were reading from a prepared script.  Meanwhile, the left-leaning press praised AOC for her quixotic assaulting of the technology mogul.

What they seemed to want was for Facebook to police their political opposition's advertisements, rather than protecting Free Speech.  The fact is, the process is largely automated because of the sales volume, with humans rarely, if at all, vetting the material to be placed in user feeds.  The larger concern then, is not bias of a human vetting professional, but rather "false positives" which would disqualify legitimate factual postings.

Any "false positive" is an infringement of Free Speech, says this commentator; or in other words, any legitimate posting barred by Facebook's automated system would be considered disenfranchised, as if having rights violated.  But what the concern seemed to be in the hearing was largely political content, particularly referencing postings by the political enemies of the interrogators.

What seemed to be wanted by the questioners was the policing of free speech by Facebook on its platform, to put in place more controls in order the face of the recent Internet Research Agency efforts to spread disinformation.

People that laugh at AOC had their material, afterwards, while the leftist press lauded AOC's passion during the questioning. 

Meanwhile, only political concerns were addressed, in other words, some entity helping the questioner's political enemies during the coming Presidential campaign season.

Soul Survivor: a poem

fearsickles
crisps at the nose
the corner of the eyes
even the crack of
one's thoroughly lost
and snowblind
buttocks

godforsaken blizzard
this prodigious chill
whats killing me
I could have like a
divine vision
telling me to just
go to sleep

warm at last

warm at last
and peaceful
as if at home

drifting
like the snow drifts
solidifying
like the waters
in this
silly
somber
blizzard

sleeping
atop the snow

A poem: "my anger-prone husband, most cruel of the deputies."

"You like them Trumpet Pitchers"
he said,
fumbling at his
G-Man necktie.

"That's what they are.
What I like."
she said.

"I'll leave a bait of them
on that there sill"
he said,
"for your lovely eyes
to savor."

"What of my
anger-prone husband,
who happens to be
the most cruel
of all the deputies?"
she said.

"Now,"
he said,
"I'm just a dumb
Tennessee boy
that made it
all the way to
being a regular
Jay Edgar,
probing the murder
of them
civil rights workers
what was from
the north,
with the lot of them
being several
young negroes
and one Jew,
but I take heed
what my Mammie
taught me."

"Soft heart,
hard ass."

"We was well-met,
irrespective,"
she said.
"A rich man
and a Jewess
wriggled-away
from the thoroughfare,
into the undergrowth
of the wood,
where the lonely yelling
of them coyotes
washed over us
like the aquamarine
brines."

Weiner bits that swim in the stomach mush. A Roald Pogue allegory.

In the Safe-Way, Roald Pogue saw a little kid wearing a "Cocky the Gamecock" shirt, the mascot livery of the University of South Carolina.

"Go cocks!" said Roald Pogue, giving the little kid a smile and a thumbs-up.  And for a brief moment there was wonderment in the kid's eyes, wonderment at being accepted by the cooler, older set.

Outside the store, Roald had his hotted dog and his iced drink, hands full, shuffle-stepping along taking a bite or a sip here and there.

Something caught his eye.

There was a short hair in his Fanta iced drink.

At the intersection of Front Street and Seaboard.

The varsity football set came along.  A Tacoma and a glowing green ricer hatchback.  Natural enemies of course, of the Chess Club and the Debate Team.  These guys were tough, but not quite ROTC tough, but maybe with some of that physical sensibility, but these jocks, without the mental discipline.

"Bust dick and rip sh*t!" They chanted.  Stupids.

At the sight, Roald Pogue felt his gorge rise, and leaped over the ditch into the bushes.  From there, he watched, sweat beginning to pour down his face.  He watched the snot green ricer expelling filth from a giant chrome exhaust tip that was easily as big as the entire engine that fed it.  The eaten part of his hot dog swam uneasily in his stomach, doing a kind of flip-flop deep-down inside him.

"I so wish you would.  Go on now.  Why don't you just go on now?"

The Meditations/Being the Friggin' Emperor of the Known World, from Book Four.

"That which rules within, when it is according to nature, is so affected with respect to the events which happen, that it always easily adapts itself to that which is and is presented to it.  For it requires no definite material, but it moves towards its purpose, under certain conditions however; and it makes a material for itself out of that which opposes it, as fire lays hold of what falls into it, by which a small light would have been extinguished: but when the fire is strong, it soon appropriates to itself the matter which is heaped on it, and consumes it, and rises higher by mean of this very material."

     -Marcus Aurelius, The Meditations, 4.1, Long Translation.

"...it always easily adapts itself to that which is and is presented to it."

-This much I find debatable, the adaption of "stimuli" or "circumstance".  It is the goal of the stoic to kind of "absorb" these matters without losing his or her "eudamonia".  Here the Emperor contends that we adapt easily to matters presented to us, which is what I question, for quite often people seem to "lose their sh*t" over the least little thing.  We lose our tranquility so often, is my point, and the process of absorption is not necessarily "easy" but sometimes either automatic or "natural", where the Emperor contends that our conscious reaction be natural, we have already absorbed, perhaps in some instances, and waiting for the next thing.

"....as fire lays hold of what falls into it, by which a small light would have been extinguished....." 

-This much, the absorption of the surrounding materials, as of things falling into a fire, the human fire, is a vague hint of "cosmopolitanism" or "worldliness" that the Stoics are said to observe.  And of course, the fire of the soul is usually not a small light, but a piece of divine glory that we carry around.

This all, this using of the material, hearkens to Ryan Holliday's modern take on Stoicism that so many of the readers of the ancient texts seem to criticize, with sort of a pragmatist's snapshot of philosophy, using a mode of thought, geared toward the efficient perspective, in the sense that so many obstacles and conundrums of life are broken down and tossed onto the hearth at the "fire of the soul".  In defense of the modern pragmatic Stoicism, we need not speak of half-formed ancient notions of "transmutation" or the vaguery of atomic composition, here with the hindsight of so much research that has occurred between then and now.

And we have not seen Stoicism applied through dignity, individual rights, and equality.  We lacked that post-colonial lens, save for some clear deviations in the writings of Thoreau, and instead, we see an MBA-minded venture capitalist take on the philosophy, in the shadow of Ronald Reagan, junk bonds, and shady Saving and Loan practices.  Those underpinnings are more Ayn Rand than Thomas Jefferson.  This is something in tension with the rising collectivism of Web 2.0 "the internet of things".   

Blowout!/Three Days at the Brink:the Reads that rock.

So Ray-Mad has a current bestseller in the book "Blowout".  I yearn to read such journalistic wisdom, evidenced in facts accompanying briefly by some generic moralizing.  I bet you wonder why a conservative cares about what Rachel Maddow does, but frankly, I'm amazed by her train of thought in her weeknight monologues which usually run about 20 minutes long.  I'd point out that the coverage is largely centered to the left, but her journalistic standards seem good, and in that respect, her work demands attention as a legitimate resource.

Bret Baer comes to us with a history tome "Three Days At The Brink" which I, with my armchair interest in history, look forward to reading.  I believe the conference detailed in the book had profound consequences on the world after 1945.  I also note that Baer tells CBS that he will take a turn in Shep's old three o'clock anchor chair on Fox Newes, and I rather look forward to that.

watching the watchmen, and being on the walls of freedom, and all that.

Clearly, to elevate care in America, expanding Medicare roles is required, but in a fiscally soluble, responsible way, which seemed contrary to Obamacare stabbing itself in the buttocks by attempting to make insurance available in some form to everyone, yet depending on the revenue from the "no-insurance" income tax penalties.  So clearly, it depended on a plethora of the populace being penalized for having no coverage, which by its very design, is light years away from the single payer socialist dream of many on the left........

Among the dog whistles, there is the popular myth of an entitlement class, sedentary, lazy, refusing to participate in the workforce, and the thought provokes anger among the workers of the country.  It may have been in the secret sauce of Donald's speeches.  We forget however there is a larger and larger swath of the populace entering retirement, taking to their "paid-in" Social Security benefits.  Those benefits were long ago robbed by other government agencies to pay debts both popular and unpopular.  George W. Bush took on an air of unpopular adult responsibility in addressing the entitlement debt crisis years ago, but it was and is the "third rail" of politics, with talk of any kind of change, any attempt to address the insolvency of the system and the looming emptiness of the entire matter, doing more damage to the one addressing the matter, as it evokes a kind of instant mistrust and anxiety among the payees, whom happen to be EVERYONE.

Trump acted against his own interests addressing another popular myth of the roving illegal immigrant hordes, with the matter becoming overtly theatrical.  One caravan was said by CNN to be "women and children" while Fox correspondents on the scene interviewed male "caravaners" and spoke on and on about criminals among the crowd.  One murder was cited, the victim being Kate Steinle, was considered by the right so heinous that they stopped talking about it after the legal ruling on the case.

All of their indignity and offense melted away, as if by magic.  To turn a great wheel, perhaps, by screaming into the wooden cups fixed along its circumference.  What we have seen, even in live interviews from the halls of Congress, is a fixed football game without the grace of a running clock to call it done when its finished.

Higher concepts have been perverted, traded for a Trump rally here or a Hillary soundbite there.

So with a gullet-full of this inconsequential soul-less nothing burger, I turn towards some music on the radio, continuing my amateur interest in the disc jockey profession, looking at the arcane art of playlist selection.

Smile today.... OR ELSE!!!! "unaffiliated" conservatives, and Free Speech in Social Media.

I was all set to do a soft piece, full of uplifting, fluffy words of comfort, but then I bumped once more against the "soft wall" of the boundaries that surround me.

Instead, I'm hearing these "unaffiliated conservatives" talking about the tearing-down of the Bill of Rights, just as if it were the rape-soiled underwear of Sally Hemmings.  They were going through a list of the Amendments, just by number, past the first two, noting how forces in the country have pushed back against first Freedom Of Speech and more recently, The Right To Bear Arms.

On free speech, the most popular medium by far in recent times is le media sociale.  We've seen foreign appendages engage in "psy-ops" "false-flag" and other sorts of campaigns, most notably with a lot of race-bating Pro-Trump advertisements and postings on Facebook.

The backlash from the other side of the aisle has been, shall we understate, TREMENDOUS.  Hillary still has butthurt from not winning the White House in 2016, and yet she was quite close despite all of the efforts on social media.

What they are not seeing is that controls must be responsible, so as to target only the bad actors, and impinging then NARY A JOT on the rights of John Q.  For instances, outside links were blocked on some posts, which knocked out a favorite blog/site of mine that posted about its website content on Facebook, which lead that webmaster to go nuts thinking, dramatically, that his website had been choked into silence, as if rendered suddenly invisible on le media sociale.

I note that I found his site through a popular search engine, and not through Facebook.

Again, responsible, responsive controls are needed, as so many of these advertisements are both cheap and not vetted by the judgement of a live human, therefore there must be some kind of intelligent programming code to do the work efficiently for the human overlords.  Luckily, there is technology already in social media that parses text AND photos for banned content.  Earlier in the year, it was my intention to post a still-capture of the blonde mini bike rider from Vanishing Point, and Facebook software realized right away that there was nudity in the post, then prevented the upload.

The Second Amendment seems geared toward "militia" and not "rich gun collectors", so that's a matter for another day and another longer posting.

Also cited by the commentators was the "unpalatable" nature of late-term abortion across a broad-spectrum of the country, while the governing class and the media paints the matter as settled in the opposite direction, a distinct divergence from popular opinion enough to give a nod of credence to accusations of bias by many popular commentators.  The matter comes down to somewhere between to around 25-33 percent of Americans supporting late term abortion, probably under the heading of "unrestricted choice", where those in the government and the media echoing lines to the contrary about "a woman's right to choose" and "reproductive rights".

The conservative likely sees the matter as a sort of a bail-out parachute on moral responsibility, but taking the matter that way initiates some looks into contrarian attitudes, the popular fight, generational biases and obvious gender bias.  Clearly, the matter when framed as the rights of the mother versus the rights of the unborn offspring takes another shade of light, and puts many of the popular political and media "actors" stubbornly to the contrary.

The bemoaned obligatory "stoic in the woodpile" gets misty-eyed for a simple fish sammich.

There is no widespread common-butted formula for a sandwich.  For instance, I took to putting leftovers in my beloved Pretzel Buns.

The sandwich of interest in the piece today had that simple bottom-of-the-line breaded fillets.

Its like a staple food, in the sense that its the basis, then I build around it, like Elton John "flowering" throughout the 1970s.

Or like the Walmart cheer: without the magic squiggle, its just a spelling lesson.  NOTE to Bentonville:  change the "competing with fellow employees" thing, please.  We don't compete against our co-workers, but instead we compete against goals set for us on the job.  In fact, you may be surprised to find that we actually may have to help a co-worker from time-to-time, rather than trying to see them fail.

For the good of the Enterprise, right?  Needs of the one; needs of the many, and all that.

In case you didn't know.

Did I just compare myself to Elton John?  Its a toss-away remark, really.

Mayo.  Real-Mayo of the south Duke's, along with salt and pepper.

Sometimes its the simple things that wake up the flavor.

So I went higher-end on the bread, low-end on the fill, and then took to the seasonings like a man that was bent on making a point.

In your face.

attention whores of a varying sort.

"put your hands in the sky,
wave 'em from side to side.
Its the first edition
with the men on a mission
if you hip enough to see
mckinnon is the place to be,
let me hear you say,
OH YEAH!"

"yo, this the best,
here a pic
of my breast.
got them bestie likes,
slip my drawers
on the Italian motorbike;
so much work being a ho."

"Got my French scoot,
with parachute pants,
got my dayglo thong
with the vinyl hip boots,
carousing and laughing,
drunk, fingers snapping,
a guy on Ebay
bought a dish of my doo."

The Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.

 "the snake, now, was more subtil and beautiful to look at than all the other beasts of the field."

"surely, I touched the fruit and did not die, so mayhap nothing so much shall come upon me if were to taste of it, save that I become as knowledgeable as God and the all the angels."

"you take a bite and then text me, if you're still alive.  I'll hit you back up and give it a few nibbles."

"freaking awesome!  We're gonna be as smart as GOD HIMSELF!"

How a throw-away piece about a "flightless bird" almost caused a journalist to get his ass kicked.

There is a "remote island", some miles from civilization.  There is a small bird, that supposedly just walks around this Inaccessible Island.

The bird is listed as a jeopardized species, and, in part, based on that, the island is registered as a FUTNUCKERY World Heritage Site, which imbues the area along with its various flora and fauna some special protections.

This article may seem disingenuous, taking a sort of Katt Williams tact on Ralph Waldo Emerson.  In that, you may have a valid point.

Let's continue.

Standing on the warm sand, letting the sea breeze caress the skin.  The bird lives a solitary life, unimpressed by so much, and how the whole world listened while he muttered to himself, as if it were a song, when all mushed together.

An anthem of a life.

"No man is an island."

I watched a Michael Bay film once, one that flopped in the box office, but I liked it.  Apparently, he had production difficulties, and kept going back to re-shoot and add pieces, even doing that on the very week of the film's release, which was kept on schedule thanks to digital technology.

"The Island".

They lived like kittens.  In a controlled environment, even with a little employment they did work-a-day, not unlike the stuff at Vocational Rehabiliation.  They 3D interactive XBOX, a technology which was basically like Star Trek stuff as far as people in 2005 were concerned.  A v16 Cadillac sports coupe.

Scarlett and Ewan.

Anyway.  They had a drawing, a lottery, with the prize being their release into an idyllic island.

Of course Buscemi was there, it being a blockbuster Michael Bay thing.

I thought, reading the original piece about the bird, that it had, not a dignified respect for a singular life, but kind of an insistent, pissy undercurrent, the robbed the stupid little "natural mistake" bird of all of its dignity, and put it into a different lens, as of taken through the ultra-violet end of the prism into the evening hues, in which we wind of talking more about Big Apple hook-up culture.  "meetings" and all that.  "eating a mess".

Certainly he was trying to feed his readers a mess.

"No man is an island."

The wish for flight has been, even in antiquity, emblematic of freedom.  Such as Cobain clipping Polly's wings, keeping her "tied-up".  In Ancient Greek moralizing, the waxen wings of the one who flies too high, soon melts and the man falls to his death from a great height.  Therefore, too much freedom can make a man seem like an island, in terms of emotional distance for a certainty.

"She's really good for a feel."

Fake Kane's "My Time Is Now" moment. "Arson-al of Freedom"

So they're are urban legends of alligators in the sewers, but really, who gives a crap about that?

The worse fear, by fear, is of the snake crawling through the plumbing into the toilet bowl.  Some among us would use the scatter gun on the offending creature, and here is some free and fair advice:

Upon pulling the trigger, turn away VERY FAST so that the richochet doesn't get you in the eyes.

 As I say so oft, "better safe than sorry".

Miss Missouri even developed a phobia of the matter, opting to even sell her house and move away, hoping for greener pastures.  (Miss Misery, I says. :)  And during the process, was never at rest without without a machete under her pillow.

Thats more dignity than most of us have.  "Warm and loving" says Nicholson.  "They welcomed me" he says, after first scurrying away, but then getting control of his better senses.  "This is a very open family" he commented to gathered visitors.

I'll remember you Doug, as if you were a favorite pet, carried-off kicking and screaming by the coyotes.

I told Doug, as he lay succumbing to a sort of acute hydrocephalic condition, that I would not forget him.

"I'll make sure there are, as long as I live, some nice Chrysanthemums on your grave."

So I went up to Richmond Country and lay the flowers for the belated dumbass, then I stopped off by Jones Creek Fish Camp.

Had some Perch, but then wanted some crab cakes.  I agreed, to not totally confuse everyone in the back, to order the crab cakes as a second entire meal, because there was no pricing scheme for a second entree.

I could have brought the establishment to its knees, but no, I accepted extra coleslaw and fries, with the obligatory packets of tartar sauce and cocktail sauce.  And like, they didn't even ask about the extra condiments, either.

I left the sides just sitting there with the condiments, as it was.

Meanwhile, the little lady was trying to gum some frog legs, while I ate the better part of two dinners.

I got the better of them, in the end, because through their hypocrisy of confusion, they should have brought an extra drink to me, because of the "second complete meal", but no.  They hold decorum for all that, but when it came to the big ticket items, like "too smart for their own good Teevees", they held the line.

For sake of convenience.

Because of a low threshold for their own discomfort.

alter-ego: cat o'nine tails

Ned was sitting in the attic office one afternoon, with the 110 window ac unit cranked.  There was a whole thing about that window unit, because it was too much a cost and a hassle to install central in a historical property in the town.  Anyway.

Dog and cat fighting.

As it happened, the dog was from down the street somewhere, a medium-size short hair, trying to kick the cat's a$$.

The cat belonged to Ned, as it happened, so he beat feet downstairs to calm them out.

The dog scampered away when Ned leaped off of the porch yelling, leaving the cat basically wondering what had just happened.

The tail of the cat, it's very pride and a necessary sensory apparatus, was hanging by a thin piece of mangled meat.

Ned was but powerless to grab his stapler from the third-floor workspace and then staple the tail of the cat back on, like it was poor Eore from the Winnie the Pooh stories, to have some modicum of dignity restored, a piece of "flourish" re-established.

darts at the oasis.

"These filthy Rosado brothers, they spit in our faces Cousin Mike."

myriad: a sin stack

I was thinking, and its like the impeachment inquiry is something of all our sins, that we all brought this upon our stupid heads, with Trump being powerless but to represent the ghouls along the lines.

I once said somewhere online that I would let myself be permeated by sin-consciousness, I would shed it like a snake skin, but still, time marches on and those familiar sin "dinner plates" stack-up again.

Then I'm ready to boil once more.

Me and Danica in the Abarth 500?

Styrofoam cartons, two, each with a foil wrapped prime rib.