Saturday, February 29, 2020

Ticklefight Holocaust!

At the beanfield, the situation was going on, as mentioned earlier, and yet, other matters were afoot.

All tied up by the Nazi's, the handpuppet Hitler was telling Riggs, "I am going to hit you wis zis pencil."

"It's goan hurt, bro."

Socialism was washing over the land like a plague, as it were, anno domini 2020.  There was a certain air of menace about the land.  Uncertainty.  F.U.D.  Kareem Abdul Jabar was in his Krishna outfit again, walking around in the city yelling "Bring Out Your Dead!"; Flagg, the walking dude, would get at him in due time.

During the tribulation there would come three witness: is this Jesus, Peter, and John?  Elijah, Moses, and Abraham?  Kim, Kourtney and Kloey?  Is the 12 headed beast the Dem primary?

the plague is the thing/to catch the conscience of the king!

"look at us baby,
tearing ourselves apart..."
and while there is lovin' to be made,
with all my time spent making love,
and all my love making time spent.

Hell, yall.  Let the bass player sing one, why don'tcha?
What's the worst that could happen?

*note: I hesitate to use the "audience participation" tag, however many people sing along with Timothy B. Schmidt, because the whole subtext is the current health "scare" or "anxiety", so do I call it participation if I mention plague and half the world catches the Coronavirus?  Sounds too authoritarian, to me, like I'm trying to lay claim to something for myself, something that already belongs to the world proper.

Tuesday, February 4, 2020

"P.E.A.C.E. On Earth" from our better living through biochemistry department

Hell Of The Living Dead (1980) movie trailer

The intense marauding duality of the "Bruno Mattei/Andrew Dawn" dichotomy.

It was called "Operation Sweet Death" or "P.E.A.C.E.".  The white lady appropriated bushmen culture by getting naked and painting herself up, in order to make contact with the villagers.  The idea was that those bushmen could relate to her better, talking to her while staring at her star insignia on both of her nipples.

Its a whole thing, the earth mother, dust calling to dust, man being but blood and dust, and then turning around, and the dead get up and kill.  Then the people they kill get up and kill.  Again, its a whole thing.

Bernie, throwing his chicken wing bones out the VW window, talking that "mad $hit" about Mayor Pete, vows to give us a plan, something maybe that everyone could fit into.  Talkin' that mad $hit.

The rub, you kill them off in a couple of generations by providing sub-standard health care and starvation wages through entitlements, the unsavories, the unproductive, so then the workers may rise unhindered, save by a stray grannie or grampy, in order to seize the means of production from the wealthy elite.

And that plan, brought to us, by the political elite.

Also note the following: the cat was IN the old lady zombie's belly before she revived.  That much makes it worth a watch.  Otherwise its a rip-off: stealing soundtrack and various other elements from other films.  Although I also observe that there are workable elements of the trailer that may be conformed into one of those big zombie apocalypse things, and yet the whole thing falls flat because it drags on a bit too long before the boobies make an appearance.

Its a form I saw with Vidmark/Trimark Pictures, in which the trailer gives away the entire plot of the film.

Monday, February 3, 2020

Poetry minute: "I know why the rotting Druid sings."

Not in the face, Drew!
A fine "how do you do?"
to the elevator of the sport
the man with fusion reactors
in his moisture-wicking shorts
such a way to greet the savior of the sport
such a way to show gratitude
then there was Mike Moh
planting one on Bradley Pittcairn,
a fine way to do,
then to be slung nonchalantly
into the side of a nondescript Mopar.

Where was I?
Oh yes: the rotting Druid
and his morose singing.
"In the face, Teddy".
How he remembered his bygone youth,
misspent summers at the trestle
and all the yelling
all the misbegotten Jello shapes:
the visages of days wasted,
growing taller little by little,
nose already pointed at the sky.

Mental knitting and weekend of loafing. "Into our lives, a litte rain..."

It's like, I was stuck in a music video, George Harrison's What Is Life, as I started the weekend on a somewhat dubious note, at an ...