Eyes In The Sky

The FAA announced plans to allow Alaska, Nevada, New York, North Dakota, Texas and Virginia to test drones for commercial use starting in 2015.

The BBC reported that the head of the FAA, Michael Huerta, said safety would be the priority as it considers approval for unleashing the unmanned aircraft into US skies to provide luxury realtors to show off multi-million properties with aerial views, deliver beer to music festival-goers, and make movies such as the recent SMURFS PART 2.

I like the idea of beer delivery, however my Chinese take-out delivery man will stop at the bodega en route with my moo she pork.

Truthfully drones will be used to spray poisonous pesticide over farmlands and aid police surveilling the public.

Hundreds of thousands of young men have already been trained as drone pilots thanks to AR PURSUIT and their kill counts number in the billions each day.

Drones, stay-at-home video geeks, Diet-Pepsi, and fast food are a perfect formula for the new fascist state.

"We see all, we hear all, and we are all."

Jeff Bezos of Amazon loves the idea of drones.

Drones will cut out Fed Ex and UPS.

Less humans = more profit.

The ACLU complained that, "Giving drones access to US skies would only ensure "our every move is monitored, tracked, recorded and scrutinized by the authorities."

Not that anyone listens to the ACLU.

"We are Devo."

To hear MONGOLOID, please go to the following URL

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F2tZqXWa7no

THE GIFT OF UNGIVING by Peter Nolan Smith

Most of my landlord's friends are married couples with kids. His wife and AP regularly invited them over to the Fort Greene Observatory for weekend lunches and evening drinks. I keep my distance from his guests, since my marital status is an enigma and after a few glasses I tend to recite a litany of my tales from around the world. AP and his wife have heard enough of these to last them a lifetime, so whenever I do join them at the kitchen table, I am mindful to only speak when spoken to. Silence is golden in children, but in older men reticence was a platinum hit to be rewarded with another glass of wine.

Last year AP, his wife and another couple were discussing their favorite toys.

"I would give anything to see my old toy boat." I had lost it in the early 60s. "It's probably in the Closet of Lost Things."

"What's that?" asked our neighbor's young wife.

"My 6th grade nun had comforted our sorrow over lost toys by saying that a closet of lost things awaited us in heaven." I had been too old to believe in miracles, but young enough to still expect miracles from the unknown.

"I have something like that in Chicago." The wife filled my glass with a clear Pinot Grigio. The woman was a doctor. Her husband worked for the NY Times. AP had smart friends. "Every Christmas my mother would put all the gifts under the tree. One each present had the contents written on the wrapping along with our names."

"Did your mother do that to keep you from opening the gifts?" I drank half the glass in one go. My kids were on the other side of the world. I missed them more than words could explain. This was going to be a sad Christmas.

"Let her tell the story." AP's wife scowled at my interruption with disapproval. In her eyes I would never change and she didn't want me to change too. We liked each other just the way we were.

"No, my mother wasn't that kind of woman. Christmas morning would come and she'd give out all the presents one by one. We had to read out our names and the contents. Halfway through the distribution she would give us a gift and then take it back saying, "You're not getting this one this year."

"No."

AP, his wife and I flabbergasted by this maternal Indian-giving. Her husband said nothing. They had been married over ten years.

"She'd take the gifts and put them in a closet with all the other gifts that she hadn't given us from previous Christmases."

"Did she say why?" AP's wife poured everyone some more wine. I had a thirst.

"No explanation. Just put them in the closet and locked the door."

"Were they empty?" AP was stunned by this admission.

"No, they felt like whatever she had written on the wrapping was inside the box."

"Wow." I was speechless until I sipped my wine. "And does your mother do that to your children?"

"The tradition lives on to this day."

"And your husbands don't say anything?" AP was looking at the NY Times editor. He was a big man in media.

"You don't mess with tradition." He must have tried to break the string of ungiven gifts without any success. Any man in his right mind would have tried to free the teddy bears and dolls. "Mother-in-laws are a world onto their own."

The three males at the table had at least one mother-in-law and we lifted our glasses to toast our wives' mothers. I excused myself from the gathering. It was morning in Thailand. My kids would be waking for school. Later in the day I would sent money for gifts. After all it was the season of giving and my toy boat had to be somewhere.

If not in this world, then the next.

AREA - NYC

Last month Area held a re-union party to celebrate the lives of the club-goers.

I skipped the event to babysit my landlord's two children.

Area wasn't really my scene.

I was living in Paris throughout its heyday.

The doorman Joe Breeze couldn't stand me, but the bouncers were part of my crew.

I entered without paying and drank for free.

I can't remember anything special happening there.

But most people can.

Both owners Eric Goode and Sean Hausman had a touch for fun.

Santa’s The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly

And we all know who's been naughty without Santa shitting down the chimney.

At least I hope we do.

Richard's Ride

Back in the 90s I ran into Richard Hell in the West Village. He was getting into a purple Barracuda. Cynthia Sley from the Bush Tetras was wowed by the car.

Me too.

It was very cool.

Duck Dynasty Demise

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Why Then Matters

Several months ago I was at a party in Williamsburg. My tales of hitchhiking, bareback sex, and cocaine nightclubs mesmerized a clutch of true believers and a young girl holding a PBR asked, "When did then end?"

"Then?"

"Then." The question was shared her friends' inquisitive eyes. "There is nothing like then now."

"Nothing like it? You're young. You must have fun."

"Not like you did." Her words dripped of worship.

Not for me, but for time glazed by myth.

"Then ended in 1994 with the internet. It could come back, but you would have to give up your cellphones, cash cards, big screen TVs, and start living in collectives instead of paying $2400 a month to live alone." I was asking for a sacrifice which I wasn't willing to make.

They looked at each other and murmured, "Then."

"Yes, then." I joined them, because at their age I had a 'then' too.

TIME Man Of The Year 2013

I was baptized a Catholic.

I have been an atheist since the age of 8.

The scandals of Holy Roman Church has reinforced my decision over the years, however I like the new pope.

Francis I was once a nightclub bouncer in Buenos Aires.

I worked that job for over twenty years in New York, Paris, Hamburg, London, and LA.

Francis I is one of us.

I got his back.

He supports the poor.

"Human beings themselves are nowadays considered as consumer goods which can be used and thrown away. We have begun a throw away culture. This tendency is seen on the level of individuals and whole societies; and it is being promoted! In circumstances like these, solidarity, which is the treasure of the poor, is often considered counterproductive, opposed to the logic of finance and the economy. While the income of a minority is increasing exponentially, that of the majority is crumbling."

No pope has spoken like this in my lifetime.

None dared to challenge the rich.

Even the Pirnce of Rome knows the price of questioning the status quo. I know the cost of silence. Pacem in terris. Free the world.

Big Ears

The NSA has existed as an electronic intelligence organization since World War I. The Cipher Bureau sought to analysis the coded messages of the German High Command for the naval convoys seeking to evade U-boats in the North Atlantic. According to Wikipedia on July 5, 1917 the unit consisted of Herbert O. Yardley and two civilian clerks sitting in a townhouse on East 37th Street in New York City.

M-18 or the Black Chamber was disbanded in 1929 by the Secretary of State.

"Gentlemen do not read each other's mail."

The Communist threat changed the moral code.

American agents listened to everything with interest.

The NSA backed up the allegations of a North Vietnamese attack on the American destroyer USS Maddox during the Gulf of Tonkin incident as well as illegally wiretapped the phones of Senators Frank Church, Howard Baker, and Dr. Martin Luther King.

They learned nothing.

After 9/11 the NSA was given carte blanche to investigate the world.

Eric Snowden blew a whistle on the agency.

He gave his files to the Guardian.

We learned that the NSA listened to everyone. No one really cares about this intrusion of privacy. They have nothing to hide. Communications over the cellphone are bullshit judging from my eavesdropping on inane monologues of mobile phone users.

I regard them as victims or potential zombie food.

All their senses have collapsed into an atrophied coma.

See nothing.

Hear nothing.

Feel nothing.

Same as the NSA and the US Government.

No one can see the light when they stare into the darkness.

RICH BITCH Die Antwoord

I love Die Antwoord.

Happy Holidays from the Rich Bitch.

To listen to RICH BITCH, please go to the following URL

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8bdeizHM9OU

John Water's 25 Days of Xmas

Day 1… Get naked and smoke.
Day 2… Ask a neighbor if they find it funny that every man in the neighborhood has a penis.
Day 3… Flash someone.
Day 4… Get your hair done.
Day 5….Go to a porn theater (or rent a porno movie)
Day 6… Whenever you hear someone say “shit” tell them you hate the brown word.
Day 7… Exclaim “What a day for an execution!” to strangers.
Day 8… Stomp on someones foot – laugh maniacally.
Day 9… Play “car accident.” (Be sure to have plenty of ketchup on hand.)
Day 10… Get a baby sitting job – throw wild destructive party. Trash everything.
Day 11… Admit to God that you are a whore.
Day 12… Tell your nephew (or other younger male relative) you’d be so happy if he turned nelly and found a nice beautician boyfriend.
Day 13… Seduce a bus driver.
Day 14… Refer to your daughter (or young female relative) as “that little MF”
Day 15… Write “I sniff jury underpants” (or other obscenity) in a bathroom stall.
Day 16… Have sloppy joes for dinner.
Day 17… Go to doctor and demand “a wang.”
Day 18… At the dinner table exclaim loudly “I’m so hungry I could eat cancer.”
Day 19… Tell someone that you’re a thief, a shit kicker and that you’d like to be famous.
Day 20… Condone first degree murder. Advocate cannibalism.
Day 21… Have sex with a midget in the back of a car.
Day 22… Be celibate for celluloid.
Day 23… Watch “Christmas Evil” with JW commentary.
Day 24… Send someone a bowel movement.
Bonus day – Return all your Christmas gifts for money because-”you can do that you know.”

Pagan Winter Solstice

2008

Today will be the winter solstice.

The shortest day of the year.

On December 21th I will wake at dawn and climb onto the roof of the Fort Green Observatory to bathe in the distant sun's light. The frost on my skin will the only human sacrifice within sight. After 30 seconds I will retreated to my bed and shivered myself to sleep for another half-hour before heading into Manhattan to work in the Diamond District.

Few people in the modern age and even fewer Christian realize that Christmas was lifted from the ancient pagans celebration of the winter solstice as the rebirth of the sun. This last chance to feast before the months of winter starvation coincided with the final stages of fermentation of wine and beer.

My friend the ex-model from Paris abhors Christmas as an orgy festival. Brigitte is a devout fundamentalist. The Bible is fact and she recently wrote on Facebook.

"Christmas is a disgusting pagan holiday that comes from Roman orgies where they would choose a scapegoat torture them by forcing them to eat and indulge in all sorts of excess and then brutally murder them."

She later added, "Some of the most depraved customs of the Saturnalia carnival were intentionally revived by the Catholic Church in 1466 when Pope Paul II, for the amusement of his Roman citizens, forced Jews to race naked through the streets of the city. An eyewitness account reported before they were to run, the Jews were richly fed, so as to make the race more difficult for them and at the same time more amusing for spectators."

Sounds like a good time had by all.

So happy solstice one and all.

I'll be drinking me some beer and not a little either.

Supreme Snow Lord

Last week North Korean leader Kim Jong-Un executed his uncle for treason. His crimes included not applauding his nephew with enthusiasm. Jang Song-Thaek was killed by a machine gun firing squad after the state media had declared that "despicable human scum Jang, who was worse than a dog, perpetrated thrice-cursed acts of treachery in betrayal of such profound trust and warmest paternal love shown by the party and the leader for him."

The execution was condemned by foreign governments.

"While we cannot independently verify this development, we have no reason to doubt the official KCNA report that Jang Song Thaek has been executed. If confirmed, this is another example of the extreme brutality of the North Korean regime." was the USA response without ant mention of a drone strike on a Yemen wedding party.

Meanwhile North Korea's Supreme Leader spent today touring the country's ski project at Masik Pass.

There are no ski lifts.

There is no snow.

North Korea has 5500 skiers out of 24 million people.

Even less people play hockey.

Kim Jong-Un is not one of them.

Opps - Wrong Email Address

My hometown south of Boston had ten churches, two temples, and seven traffic lights in 1960.

Milton was a dry town without a single bar within the boundaries of the trolley suburb.

My parents considered Milton a good place to raise kids.

People believed in God and America.

As an atheist and an anti-war radical I fled this town for Boston in 1970 to return only to visit my parents.

Only my older brother lives there now.

I travel north for holidays and keep explanations about my life in New York, Europe, and Asia to fifty words or less.

Some family members think I belong to the CIA, but my cover was blown by a sexually explicit email to a Pattaya friend attached to the address of a family friend.

I had asked my ex-babysitter to delete the email.

Being female Layla opened it instead and responded with vitriol, "What I read made me sick."

She was a true believer in God.

Whatever I wrote had nothing to do with perversity, because I have become a sexual square in my old age, however the passage must have been graphic and I apologized to her, especially since I had carried a decades-old torch for Layla.

"You are not who I thought you are. If you are in Boston for the holidays, it would be best if you didn't come to my sister's house for Christmas."

I was 'persona non grata, which is Latin for 'unwelcome'.

I have to be more careful about those emails in future.

Once more 'mea culpa' to my family friend.

That's Latin for 'sorry', which I learned it as an altar boy.

I looked pure in my cassock and surplice.

It was all a show.

Unlike my crush for Layla.

Peter O'Toole RIP

A great Irishman has joined the clans of the Connemara.

His name shall ring in the Seven Pins forever in the Here-To-Come.

O Toole.

To view a great bit from THE RULING CLASS, please go to the following URL

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LWdxezzDHKo

Nelson Mandela ad infinitum

Some people aren't scared to speak the truth and their voice lives on forever.

“If there is a country that has committed unspeakable atrocities in the world, it is the United States of America. They don’t care for human beings... If you look at those matters, you will come to the conclusion that the attitude of the United States of America is a threat to world peace.”

“Israel should withdraw from all the areas which it won from the Arabs in 1967, and in particular Israel should withdraw completely from the Golan Heights, from south Lebanon and from the West Bank... The UN took a strong stand against apartheid; and over the years, an international consensus was built, which helped to bring an end to this iniquitous system. But we know too well that our freedom is incomplete without the freedom of the Palestinians.”

“From its earliest days, the Cuban Revolution has also been a source of inspiration to all freedom-loving people. We admire the sacrifices of the Cuban people in maintaining their independence and sovereignty in the face of the vicious imperialist-orquestrated campaign to destroy the impressive gain made in the Cuban Revolution….Long live the Cuban Revolution. Long live comrade Fidel Castro.”

LITTLE AMERICA IN HOT WATER by Peter Nolan Smith

In September 1973 Nick and I stood on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley with a horde of other hippies flocking home after a California summer. Nick was headed to Oklahoma, where his BMW had been repaired after a crash in Tulsa. My destination was Boston to complete my final year of university.

I sat on my bag and surveyed a road map of the USA.

Our paths would separate either in Cheyenne or Denver and I pointed that out to Nick.

"Wyoming is one-third the way across the country." Nick glanced at the map and lit a cigarette.

"Looks a long way from here." No one was stopping for the hippies.

"We can crash in a hotel."

"I don't think so." Staying at a hotel tonight was out of my budget. "You want to lend me $50."

"Not right now." He had about $100. "But once we get to Tulsa, sure."

"Tulsa's out of my way."

"Not yet."

"You're right about that." I stuck out my thumb, hoping to get a ride coast to coast.

A battered Ford Maverick stopped at each set of hitchhikers. Each one shook their heads. A woman with long brown hair was behind the wheel. A young girl sat beside her. The small car was packed with bags. It rolled up to us and the driver said, "I'm going to Denver. I have space for one person. Either of you want to come with me? I need someone to help with the driving."

"Nick?"

The woman was attractive.

Her daughter looked scared of me.

"You want me to take the ride?" Nick's girlfriend was waiting in Tulsa. Vickie was a tall blonde. He didn't have to be anywhere for two weeks.

"Not really, I have to start school in four days. There's no way I'll make it, if I go to Tulsa."

"So you want to ditch me?"

"I only have $20." The cross-country trip took at least four days and $5 a day was starvation rations.

"Go. I'll see you in Boston." His smile was a green light and I threw my bag in the back seat of the Maverick.

The woman's name was Marilyn. She told me her story within ten minutes. Marilyn was leaving San Francisco, because her husband had joined the gay dance group THE COCKETTES.

"He's more a woman than me."

"Mommy didn't like his boyfriends." The daughter had seen too much for an eight year-old.

"We're going to see a friend, Dorothy, in Denver, then stay with her for a month before heading out to Boston."

"I'm from Boston." I had a cold-water apartment in Brighton's Bug Village. "If you need a place to crash, then you can crash with me."

"Cool." The daughter liked my hair.

We drove over the Sierras and crossed Nevada at the car's top speed of 92 MPH.

That night we stopped at a rest area in the Bonneville Salt Flats. A few semi-trailers were parked in the desolation. The salt pans stretching in every direction shone under a crescent moon.

Marilyn put her daughter in a sleeping bag, then took out a joint. We smoke the weed and admired the stars. Trucks

"Weren't you scared asking for someone to share the driving?" I traced Orion with my finger. The belt was easy to find in the cosmos.

"I was scared, but I spent the last two years with a man who didn't want to be with a woman, because he wanted to be a woman and ended up looking like Peggy Lipton."

"From MOD SQUAD." Everyone wanted her.

"Yes, and no one touched me in that time. San Francisco is going gay. They made me feel ugly. Am I ugly?" Her voice warned of tears.

"You're not ugly." Her face was kissed by the beauty of starlight and I touched her shoulder. I knew how gays treated women. The 1270 in Boston was my secret pleasure. The boys at that gay bar passed me off to the fag hags as 'on the fence'. I stroked Marilyn's neck. "You're beautiful."

"You're only saying that for one reason." She was thinking that reason was sex and shivered under my touch.

"Two reasons." I pushed her down on my sleeping bag and looked over to her daughter. She was dead asleep.

"Which are?" Marilyn hadn't resisted my slight show of force.

"That you want it as bad as me." I unbuttoned her shirt. Her nipples were hard. I licked them.

"More," she moaned under the blessing of the stars.

And I gave her more.

The next morning I woke with the sun rising over distant mountains. I pulled up my jeans and tapped her on the shoulder.

"It's time to go." Sleeping in the open wasn't safe.

"Give me a minute."

She got her daughter up. Marilyn understood the danger. We were in the Mormon lands.

Later that day we stopped at the truck stop in Little America Wyoming. Marilyn and her daughter went into the ladies showers.

The men's section was filled with truckers. Some of them were not straight. I stepped into a shower stall and turned on the hot water. It came out cold and then hosed my back with a scalding outburst.

I hit the wall like spam chucked from a catapult.

The man in the next stall asked, "Do you need any help?"

He was only wearing a smile and suds. His cock was enormous.

"None." I had been in a hot shower before and I knew that his smile was an invitation.

I exited from the showers without toweling dry.

"You ready to go?" Marilyn and her daughter were sucking down a milk shake.

"Whenever you were."

Cheyenne was only three hours away.

Marilyn dropped me on the highway.

"See you in Boston."

"See you then."

She drove south and I headed east.

I never expected to see her again.

As usual I was wrong.

The Arthur Of Light

Arthur Weinstein was a master of light.

His gift was to transform empty space into cathedrals of color.

His miracles remained entrenched in my memories of Hurrah, the Jefferson, Continental, and Milk Bar.

Tomorrow is his birthday and anyone who was his friend will know how to celebrate his joyous life.

Long live Arthur Weinstein.

You Bet I Would - Hot Blonde

Islands Of Nowhere

In the winter of 1991 I spent a month on the Pulau Weh at the westernmost tip of Sumatra.

The quiet island was remote. Few westerners ventured north from Medan. There were better beaches in Thailand and an ethically more interesting culture around Lake Toba, however I was drawn to this destination knowing it was the end of the great Indonesian archipelago.

One evening I rode a 115cc motorcycle to the highest point of the island.

I was surprised to see distant island floating on the sunset's horizon.

They were not on my Nelly map.

Upon my return to New York, I visited the map room of the 42nd Street library. The woman at the desk provided e with several maps, both nautical and topical.

No islands dotted the Indian Ocean so close to Pulau Weh other than Great Nicobar.

Google Maps shows a single island between the two.

It has no name.

Neither had the Senkaku or Diaoyu Islands in the South China Sea. The unpopulated were terra incognita until a recent territorial spat between Japan and China introduced the desolate five islets and three barren rocks to the world.

At stake is an expansion of fishing and oil rights.

None of the islands have water and they cannot support permanent human habitation, but unlike those islands north of Pulau Weh they are on the map and no nation owns them.

Same as Antarctica, however China has claimed air rights and international flights have been diverted from previous air traffic routes to avoid confrontation with a resurgent Middle Kingdom.

Both nations have naval ships cruising the waters.

Hopefully the winter weather will force the navies back to port and the Senkaku Islands will return to oblivion.

The Pacific Ocean almost looks clean this far from Man.

I hope it stays that way.

MANEATER

From my sister about my brother Michael Charles Smith.

"I was driving home tonight listening to vintage Hall & Oates and thinking of Michael.

Their song "Maneater" came on.

It had been was a hit around 1984.

I came home to Milton from DC a few days before Christmas.

Mom and I were chatting in the living room and Michael came in as this song came on the radio. It was new and we both jumped up and started dancing all around the living room. Mom was sitting in one of the high backed chairs near the fireplace, laughing and smiling at us.

The song finished and we went back to our conversation. It was, to use an expression of Tara's, a "brain burn", which stayed in my memory, not because my recollection was a particularly special event like a birthday or a weddding. It is a brain burn because it was a casually happy, spontaneous dance with fun Michael around the living room.

My sisters loved dancing too.

Cops In The Good Old Days

Nightclub raconteur Steve Lewis wrote on Blackbook.com that the NYPD harassment of the nightclub GREENHOUSE appeared to be blatant racism.

http://www.blackbookmag.com/racism-core-greenhouse-harassment/

That certainly seems to be the case.

The police hate nightclubs, because they don't get payoffs like the 'good ole days' unless they put pressure on the joint and then the 'bagman' comes to make an arrangement.

Back at the Jefferson the local mob visited the after-hour club and asked for the management.

I asked if they were there to provide 'protection'.

They said 'yeah'.

I told them we have a problem.

"See those guys over there. If you can make them leave, then will take care of you."

"Who are they?"

"The 9th precinct."

The gangster left without a word.

There was no racism involved in that incident.

Only corruption.

Those were the gold ole days indeed.

A Lack Of Trust

Last night I stopped into Mullanes on Lafayette Street to watch MNF with Irene. The young poetess was seated with two friends. I thanked the redhead for letting me stay at her place several nights earlier.

"Why you stay there?" the young bearded man asked with indignation.

"I lost my keys and Irene was going to her parents." I figured that he was her boyfriend. "She did me a mitzvah."

"Mitzvah?" Bob obviously wasn't a scholar of Yiddish.

"Yes, a blessing," said Irene, smiling that a goy knew the old lingua franca of the wanderers.

"And I got to try on her underwear."

Irene and her girlfriend laughed, but Bob scowled and left abruptly. Irene's Saints were getting annihilated by the Seahawks. She reached for her phone. Someone was texting her. She smirked with contentment, "That was Bob. He wrote that he didn't like you at all and that I shouldn't trust you."

"Really?"

"Really."

"I guess he was being protective."

"Of you? You're not danger. You're my friend."

"You're right. I am no danger." Other than to myself. "But tell Bob I said 'thanks'."

61 was not 16 and it was nice to think Bob considered me dangerous.

Maybe I am too.

But only to myself.

"I will," Irene said, then groaned, as the Saints gave up another TD.

She was happy someone cared enough to warn her about me.

And I was happy Bob was a nice guy.

Blonde Snow

Blondes make the best victims. They're like virgin snow that shows up the bloody footprints. - Alfred Hitchcock

Shannon's On The Case

Shannon woke with a hangover. It had lasted two days.

The phone rang.

Bill, his partner said, "I need you."

The next sound was a death rattle.

Bill was now his ex-partner.

Shannon got out of bed with his hangover intact. He picked up his gat. Someone was going to pay for Bill.

Outside in the night air he stopped at the newsstand. "Cigarettes."

Ali said, "You stopped smoking three years ago."

Shannon lit up and said, "It was three years too soon."

The taxi to Bill's place cost $10. He told the driver to wait. The cops had yet to show on the scene. It was the change of shifts.

Bill was lying on the floor. A gun in his left hand. Blood stained the floor.

Someone was in the other room.

It was a girl.

Not a woman.

She looked at Shannon and asked, "Is he dead?"

Shannon looked over his shoulder. "Yes." He believed in telling the truth only because he was too lazy to tell a lie.

Shannon was no cut-out detective. He was the real thing. There wasn't many of them left around.

RICH BITCH - Die AntwoorD

/3.bp.blogspot.com/-SSo0GAfvFaw/UpVV0RFpl9I/AAAAAAAAV2k/70AAh0lNuDY/s1600/Die-Antwoord-Rich-Bitch.jpg" imageanchor="1" >

I love to hear her say FUCK THE UPPER CLASSES.

To hear RICH BITCH - Die AntwoorD please go to the following Url

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8bdeizHM9OU

Arthur Lee ALONE AGAIN OR

In 2002 I caught two shows on Arthur Lee in Brooklyn

I was with Andrew Pollock from Andrix and Ivan Julian from the Voidoids

We sang to each song.

Everyone in the audience sang to every song.

With each stanza, with each chorus, with each word we realized how much we loved LOVE.

And this was not only people of age, because the audience was young old and then some.

Recently I cried listening to his music thinking how much I miss Arthur Lee.

Especially when I think about him coming out of prison and the Lemon Drops approaching him to say let's do a tour.

And him saying "Yes."

Beautiful.

To hear Arthur Lee perform ALONE AGAIN OR, please go to the following URL

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RdPLlxoT_as

OLDbOY 2003

This afternoon I watched OLDBOY, a Korean revenge thriller directed by Park Chan-wook adapted from a Japanese manga of the same name written by Nobuaki Minegishi and Garon Tsuchiya.

I was mesmerized by the movie.

It rips part the soul and plunges deep into the heart.

Nothing is spared in the search for the truth.

OLDBOY won the Grand Prix at Cannes.

I give it five *****

To view OLDBOY please go to the following URL

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FBXow2W8w-Q

The Birth Of Puberty

The temperature in New York is below freezing.

This afternoon my longtime fiend AK phoned from Jupiter Beach.

"It'll be in the 80s later. We might go to the beach."

Not a chance I'm swimming at the Rockaways till next summer.

"I called to tell you a funny story. My younger son came into my bedroom this morning and said he had two hairs near his penis. I told Reese about puberty and that his body was going through changes and at the end of my explanation he asked if he could start dating girls."

"What's wrong with that?"

"He's only ten."

"And what's wrong with that?"

Kids grow up so fast.

My youngest boy is five.

That is too young to date.

Happy XXXMas

Bordelle, the high-end lingerie line, came out with Christmas delights. One 18K-plated girdle dress will cost over $7000 in London's Selfridges department store.

There are less expensive options for a rich man to offer his mistress.

Fashion stylist Sasha Lilic asked, "Would you spend $7000 on lingerie?"

My answer was simple.

"I'd spent it to take off lingerie."

But I only have $200 in the bank, so for now I have to be happy with looking at $7000 on the flesh.

I have a good enough imagination to furnish the pleasure of giving and taking.

Lars Von Trier's NYMPHOMANIAC

Nymphomania - Excessive sexual desire in and behavior by a female.

Lars Von Trier's new film NYMPHOMANIAC begins with a scene in which the female lead Joe (Charlotte Gainsbourg), a self-diagnosed nymphomaniac, is found beaten in an alley. The older man takes her home and Joe recounts the story of a life driven by sexual desire.

CHAPTER ONE

The Compleat Angler

How does an ordinary bag of chocolate sweets become a symbol of sexual victory?

As Joe and her experienced friend B embark on a train trip, they bet on how many men they can seduce on the ride.

The grand prize is a delicious bag of chocolate sweets, and it soon becomes clear to Joe that in order to win, she needs to lure the prey into biting the hook like a skilled fisherman.

Von Triers went hardcore on the trailer. Youtube pulled the segment due to a micro-second shot of fellatio.

At five hours long NYMPHOMANIAC promises to be an endurance test of will not to masturbate in the theater like the old days in Times Square.

Raincoats are optional.

To view the film clip of NYMPHOMANIAC, please go to the following URL

http://www.nymphomaniacthemovie.com

Sort Of Justice from the Scottsboro Boys

On March 25, 1931 a fight broke out a freight train traveling the Southern Railway line between Chattanooga and Memphis. Nine black hoboes battled a few whites and two women. According to Wikipedia the whites were kicked off the freight car and a posse stopped the train at Paint Rock, Alabama and arrested seven teenage blacks for assault.

Olen Montgomery, age 17, Clarence Norris, age 19, Haywood Patterson, age 18, Ozie Powell, age 16, Willie Roberson, age 16, Charlie Weems, age 16, Eugene Williams, age 13, and brothers Andy, age 19 and Roy Wright, age 12 or 13.

The two white women, Ruby Bates and Victoria Price, said they had been raped by the black teenagers.

A lynch mob assembled before the Scottsboro jail intent on exacting justice for the violation of the white woman. The accused survived the night thanks to the courage of Sheriff Matt Wann, who threaten to shoot the first person to come through the door.

According to Wikipedia he then removed his belt and handed his gun to one of his deputies. He walked through the mob and the crowd parted to let him through. He was not touched by anyone. He walked across the street to the courthouse where he telephoned Governor Benjamin M. Miller who then called in the National Guard to protect the jail before taking the defendants to Gadsden, Alabama, for indictment and to await trial by the all-white jury. Although rape was potentially a capital offense, the defendants were not allowed to consult an attorney. Most were illiterate.

The proceedings were held in typical Southern fashion.

"The courtroom was one big smiling white face." - Haywood Patterson.

Victoria Price took the stand. Her words condemned the boys.

"There were six to me and three to her....It took three of them to hold me. One was holding my legs and the other had a knife to my throat while the other one ravished me." - Victoria Price

The trial convicted the seven of rape and the judge sentenced six to death.

"He couldn't get us to the chair fast enough." - Haywood Patterson

The appeal trail knocked down the penalty to life imprisonment, even after Ruby Cates reversed her previous testimony.

The boys continued life behind bars into the 1940s for a mythical crime.

This week Alabama finally pardoned the Scottsboro Boy and Gov. Robert J. Bentley said in a letter, “The Scottsboro Boys have finally received justice."

The right thing to do was an apology in recognition to the injustice done to the Scottsboro Boys, one of whom was murdered in prison, then again everyone is guilty of something in the minds of the police; North or South.

A Dead Man's Triptych

Last week Christie of New York auction off a Francis Bacon triptych for a record $142 million to an unknown bidder. The rich and even more rich were ecstatic with the result, since the high-altitude sale reinforces all recent purchases of trophy art by dead painters. The Guardian wrote, "There can be no doubt the night belonged to Freud as well as Bacon. When he sat for Three Studies of Lucian Freud in 1969, this painter of harshly real faces and bodies in sparse London rooms was ever so slightly in Bacon's shadow. Now they orbit one another as the two great British artists of the 20th century, and probably will always be grouped in art history as blunt individualists who defied the supposed inevitable progress of the readymade to paint like modern reincarnations of Velázquez."

Everyone in the Art world awaits the next grand coup, as the ultra-wealthy spend money like it was going out of fashion, however the masses of the world was working too hard to rejoice in the triumph of capital over labor.

$142 million could pay the monthly wages of the tens of thousands of Nepalis constructing the 2022 World Cup stadiums in Qatar for several years. Most of them are exploited for nothing. Hundreds have died in miserable conditions verging on slavery.

All to scrimp and save dinaris for the Qatari Museum of Art, which purchased the Francis Bacon work.

Sheikha Mayassa bint Hamad al-Thani, the sister of Qatar's emir, is dedicating her family's fortune to establish her country as an international cultural power.

Here's another triptych.

The Nepali man is holding a photo of his dead friend.

That is the price of Art.

Dead people.

The days never belong to them in Qatar.

Wear What November 22,1963

Not only do I know where I was 50 years ago when I heard about JFK, I know exactly what I was wearing.

The school uniform for St. Mary of the Hills.

We miss you JFK.

Always have.

Always will.

Fuck the debunkers of Camelot.

THE DARK SWARM by Andrix

Music from Andrix

Words from MAYBE TOMORROW

Please go to the following URL

http://andrix.bandcamp.com/track/the-dark-swarm

THE BIRTH OF THE BOUFFANT by Peter Nolan Smith

In the late-18th Century Marie Antoinette' coiffeur sought to camouflage the queen's baldness by upsweeping her thinning tresses to cascade over her ears. The femme fatales of the ancien regime imitated 'le bouffant, until the royal coif lost its popularity with the Marie's final haircut by the guillotine.

Almost two centuries later Jackie Kennedy, JFK's wife, reincarnated the fashion during her tenure at the White House.

American women idolized the glamorous First Lady regardless of their politics.

Overnight millions of housewives hit their local hair salon to acquire the look.

Movie stars such as Audrey Hepburn and Kim Novak further popularized the rage and within months the only women rejecting the coif were Durgin Park's gang of crew-cut bull dyke waitresses and the nuns at my grammar school, Our Lady of the Foothills.

The bouffant died out with the advent of the hippie era.

Young women grew long hair and coif was once more threatened with extinction, except for brief respite from the lead singers of the B-52s and the late English singer Amy Winehouse.

Last year Jamie Parker and I were happy-houring at Solas in the East Village. We had the Irish bartender to ourselves. Moira liked a good laugh and Jamie told her stories of his go-go bar in Pattaya.

After our second margharita an attractive woman walked into a shadowy bar. Her bleached blonde hair was stacked high on her head. Stiletto heels added another five inches to her Amazonian height.

"A model." Jamie Parker smirked at the passing beauty in designer drag.

"Probably coming from a shoot." The actresses in TV show MADMEN had revitalized the early 60s, although few woman in present-day America could pull off the time-travel make-over.

"She looks like a 1960s transvestite." The lanky ex-con squinted down the bar.

"And that's a bad thing." I caught the scent of Chanel No.5. She was high-class.

The goddess sat at the end of the bar and Moira went to attend to her need. She was into girls.

"Not in this light." It was almost night that deep in Solas.

"You don't like the bouffant?"

"Not at all."

"And why not?"

"Because the Mr. Kenneth who re-invented the hair style for Jackie Kennedy was queer."

"You have something against gays?" Back in the 60s gays were feared by young men, unless they were looking for a good time. This was the modern times. Gay-bashing was not in fashion.

"Me, I love gays, but gay hairdressers used the bouffant hair style as a strategy to turn straight men gay."

"What do you mean?" I wasn't following Jamie's line of thoughtlessness.

"Just that it's not a really natural look and women refused to have sex to avoid ruining the helmet of hair on their head, so men sought release elsewhere."

"With other men?"

"The sexual revolution freed us from our chains." Jamie was a couple of years older than me, although he didn't look it.

"I had a girlfriend with a bouffant in 1965." Jo and I met in the Mattapan Oriental Theater. We were both 13.

"And you went all the way?"

"Not even close." Steel-rimmed bras safeguarded against any attempts by unschooled boys to reach 'second base'.

"See."

"It had nothing to do with the bouffant."

"You're from Boston. Men from Boston love Jackie Kennedy's bouffant. You probably went to bed jerking off to the First Lady."

"Not that I can remember." Jackie O rode horses and spoke French. Women like her were destined to marry rich regardless of their hairstyle. "Jo was my muse. I know my place."

"Don't we all." Jamie was in the States visiting his mother. She lived in the Bronx and thought that he was teaching school in Thailand, instead of running the Pigpen A Go-Go featuring fat pretty bar girls and skinny ugly pole dancers.

"My mom had a bouffant."

"Mine too."

"It had them feel like a queen."

"Better than knowing your place."

"Send the princess a drink on us," Jamie told Moira.

"Happily." Moira played for the other side.

"Do you like the bouffant?"

"It's very Kim Novak." The blonde had mesmerized Hitchcock in his film VERTIGO.

"Wasn't she gay?" Jamie asked eying me.

"I think so." Moira played for the other side. She was holding the model's hand. They looked like a nice couple.

If only for happy hour.

"Ah, here's to the bouffant." Jamie raised his glass.

"And Jackie O."

At my age I might think about her once in a while.

After all she was the mother of the modern bouffant.

Tough Year for the Green

The Boston Celtics are a storied team in basketball.

No NBA franchise has won more championship and suffered fewer losing seasons.

Last year Paul Pierce and Kevin Garnett were traded to the Brooklyn Nets to complete the break-up of the Big Three.

"This is my team," Rajon Rondo declared to the Boston media, except the all-star point guard hasn't played a single game due to off-season surgery.

The other night the Celtics went down to the Houston Rockets.

The game wasn't even close and I wondered whether this year's squad was as overwhelmed by the rest of the league as the 1998-99 Celtics consisting of Kenny Anderson, rookie Paul Pierce, Ron Mercer, Antoine Walker, and Tony Battie, which went 19-31 in a strike shortened season.

The only Celtics team to rival that record was the 1978–79 Boston Celtics.

29–53 to finish 5th in the Atlantic Division.

The next year the revived squad lost to the 76ers and Doctor J in Eastern Conference Finals and won the NBA championship with the first Big Three of Bird, McHale, and Parrish.

I don't see that reversal of fortune happening this year or the next, but I am a Celtics fan forever.

No matter how high the hoop, I believe in the green.

CNN the voice of nothingness

As the country approaches the 50th anniversary of JFK's assassination, the American media is revisiting the many theories of his death.

CNN came out to announce the debunking of one conspiracy.

The news article glossed over the possibilities without any depth.

Big surprise.

There is only one truth.

JFK was shot dead.

So were Malcolm X and Martin Luther King.

RFK was killed in LA.

Arthur Bremer couldn't get to Nixon, so he shot George Wallace instead.

This country is not ruled by ballots, but bullets and that is the conspiracy.

Guns.

Free The North 30

Frank Hewetson and the rest of the Arctic 30 remain in Russian prison.

There is nothing good about this place.

"23 hour day lock up. One hour a day 'exercise'. No hot running water. Light on 24-hours … It's a mixture of hope and despair."

His partner and mother of their two children said to The Guardian, "I think he could consider that he might be getting a bit old for this kind of game. He could do a slightly less crazy version. Hopefully, he won't have too much appetite for doing it again in a terrible hurry."

Free Frank, free the Arctic 30, free the world.