THE INFORMATION #1048 JUNE 7, 2019

THE INFORMATION #1048  
JUNE 7, 2019
Copyright 2019 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

Nota bene: The next issue of The Information will appear on or before June 6, 2019.

All the cunning of the devil is exercised in trying to tear us away from the word.–Martin Luther 

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TWELVE: PART SIXTY-FIVE: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE    

The big confrontation between Cokey Stolas and Doc Ketman was not long
in coming, in spite of Ketman’s best efforts to head it off. I recall
that to avoid Stolas, he would even stay away from his usual
haunts–the Old John Raines Motel; The Glass Bar, and the Jefferson
Club. He never suspected that Stolas would find him in the one low
dive where you’d least expect to see a man of his stature.

The confrontation took place in that hellhole of sin, The Seven Stars
Saloon. I did not witness the event but was told of it later.

Coeky Stolas came dressed for bear, in a ceremonial kilt, a black
domino mask, and wearing a blood red wooden dagger.

Ketman was caught flat-footed, with only a slouch hat to cover his red
hair, a shabby mantle over his hunched shoulders, and weeping wrinkles
on his chin marring his hangdog countenance.

Stolas began by sidling up to the bar next to Ketman and saying,
“Peter Ketman–I hear you’ve been cursing my name all over town.”

“Hwat? And who told ye that? Thy familiars?”

“Never mind,” says Stolas. “Have you been using my name?”

“I have used not thy true name, Stolas, though if ye want me to, I shall.”

“Well, I’ll not be giving ye the chance. I’m calling you out. Peter
Ketman, great battles and disputes befall ye, and may gangrenous
wounds beset ye.”

Ketman replied, “Christ’s cross and Christ’s crown, Christ Jesus’
colored blood, be thou every hour good.”

Stolas said, “I call upon the first king of Hell. Head of toad, head
of man, and head of cat afflict ye.”

Ketman said “God, the Father, is before me; God, the Son, is beside
me; God, the Holy Ghost, is behind me.”

Stolas said, “Lord of Hell, lead us unto the straight path.”

Ketman said “Whoever now is stronger than these three persons may
come, by day or night, to attack me.”

Stolas tore off his mask and hissed. He looked Ketman straight in the
eyes, which Ketman screwed shut to avoid his gaze. But every second
man in the Saloon was strangely affected. They came crowding up to
Ketman as if to do him harm: Philo Marbas, the liquor-store
proprietor; Nathaniel Bune the petty clerk, and even “Foxy” Zepar the
local ward-heeler, Ketman feebly murmured “Old Stolas–Dullix, ix, ux.”
Over and over. But still more men came crowding round Ketman. Young
Elsworth Agares. How now? What was he doing there? He was accompanied
by young ‘Bathless’ Bathin, the son of the ward-heeler of far-off
Gleason’s Corner. What was he doing there? What were any of them doing
there? The fat Italian slumlord Nehemiah Vassago, his eyes glazed,
stumbled into Ketman and demanded an apology, which would have
necessitated opening his eyes and falling under the spell of Stolas,
and it looked extremely dire for old Doc. Stolas pressed his
advantage, and incanted the following: “Praise be to me glorified is
my ability. Elevated is my sublimity, Here I am the King of the
Earth.” Ketman, as it were, was up against the ropes. But suddenly he
opened his eyes, looked away from both Vassago and Stolas, and crossed
himself. Then, shaking from head to foot, he recited the following
spell:

“Flaming dragon, fly from me. Bearded pharaoh, crumble into dust.
Circling sharks, attack each the other. Monkey’s paw catch fire, and
tiger with bloody paws, slink away. Keep your hand on that Gospel Plow
and Moloch, came not near. The fires of hell. How can the fires of
hell afflict me? For yonder stands my savior, and to him I must resign.”

Ketman paused, theatrically, drew his cloak about him so it all but
covered his face, and intoned:

“An antient curse? How can an ancient curse afflict me in the sight of
my Lord God Almighty? No antient curse be stranger than He. How can
that be stranger than the Awful Lord of Melchizidek?  There is no
antient curse, for ab aeterno ab abusu ad usum non valet consequentia.
There is no wicked way to entrap me–straight and narrow is the path,
and by this mantle I wear, shapen as it is already, Ye shall shield me
from he who hath one time or at any time done amiss. Accipiunt leges,
populus quibus legibus ex lex. I cannot be bound by those who make the
law that man shall break the law.  By the iron and the silver of the
cross I wear around my neck at all times, repel the host of the evil
one. Who shall speak ill of the cross that bore our savior? May the
demon who thinks ill of it be afflicted by His own continuous evil.
Curses in general do not touch me. Since time began. I bless thee and
those who follow the sign of my mantel through God and the laws of
heaven. Why should an owl, an ass, a jackal affright me in the sign of
the lamb, the turtle, the fish? May the cuckold wizard and all his
wild boars remove themselves back to hell in a long line and may that
line be straight and true, for it hast nae been known that God shall
not know His ane and look after them in times of travail. May ten
thousand sunsets pass, and for all that time may all under my
protection find surcease. If what I say be so may I walk alone and
unfraid from this conclave. Amen.”

The air smelled of rust and iron and blood. The crowd parted before
Ketman, who wrapped his cloak around both his body and his head. Yet
Stolas had the last word. He loudly called out,

“Be it so. You may pass. But also let ten thousand sunsets pass before
you again set foot on this ground, for thou art banished in my sight
and the sight of all here present, and if you should return then slain
you surely shall be, in the sign of Forneus and Foras and of Asmodeus,
under the signs of the bull, the man, the ram, and the serpent.  May
you aye ne’er set foot on this newly unhallowed ground until the
passage of the time which we both have spoken. A fronte
praecipitium…a tergo lupi! Aeternum vale!”

And he laughed a booming hollow laugh and his unnatural eyes glittered
like black marbles in a strong light and the infernal laughter of
hordes of drunken men accompanied his now hacking coughing
fit–brought on by his excessive own merriment, as well as no doubt by
the black smoke which filled the room from the stopped-up chimney.

Did it really happen that way? Ketman assured me that it had. He also
insisted that he had to leave town that very following day, before the
setting of the sun. He walked about in a dreamlike state, gathering
all his chattels. Just as he was about to depart, he told me the
following:

“If I were you, I wouldn’t be staying too long in these precincts,
Yob. It simply ain’t safe. Let me tell you this: there’s no future in
going up against the Big Man. I was able to win the battle, but he won
the war. I let down my guard, and he found a way to twist my words and
so he banished me for 27 years and four months. Let me tell you what
happens if I return. I would probably be thrown in jail and left there
to rot. But that’s not the least of it. Those with whom I have had any
intercourse whatsoever would also be cursed. I could stand the gaff on
my own head of steam, but I can’t have the innocent suffer due to my
actions, for that would be a sin before God and I would risk the loss
of my immortal soul. So I must leave all of you for a long long time.
And if you were smart, you would get out of here too, as soon as you
can. And never fear. Mutantur omnia nos et mutamur in illis.”

He sadly handed me his cloak.

“Take this, for what little protection it may bring. “Where I’m
going.”  he added, as he gave me a mournful wink, “I’ll not be needing
it.”

Where is that? I wanted to ask, but I already knew that–unless I
accompanied him–I would probably never see him again.

1* SALUTATION
ELTON JOHN

NO SHOE STRINGS ON LOUISE

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=efnBmqXjrTU&list=PL14F56997E8F60EBC&index=4  


ALSO SEE:

THE ROLLING STONES

DEAR DOCTOR

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D8Ci47X96H0  


2*REFERENCE

MORON, IDIOT, IMBECILE

Calling somebody a low grade moron is bad. It’s considered offensive among the higher grade of morons.
https://www.merriam-webster.com/words-at-play/moron-idiot-imbecile-offensive-history


As for the word “retard,” I prefer to say “Retardo”. The cute little “o” kind of takes the edge off.  

ALSO SEE:

THE ORIGINS OF THE INSULT DOUCHEBAG

According to this article, it started out as military slang and crossed over into college slang, circa 1968. I first heard it used in 1971.
slate.com/news-and-politics/2012/03/matt-taibbi-called-andrew-breitbart-a-douche-when-did-that-become-an-insult.html


SEE ALSO:

THE MONKEY MASK ROBBERIES

https://www.wpri.com/news/local-news/providence/providence-police-armed-robbery-suspect-wore-monkey-mask/2013790780  

3*HUMOR

BILLY BRITAIN
www.flickr.com/photos/stillunusual/13678047445  

4*NOVELTY

ART

All art is patriarchal bullshit.
i-d.vice.com/en_uk/article/gygmkj/fighting-patriarchal-bullshit-and-capitalist-misogyny-in-the-art-world  


5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

CBD AS OPIATE CURE

Old Doc Humes prescribed hashish and massage for heroin addiction. Back in 1980! 
https://www.cnn.com/2019/05/21/health/heroin-opioid-addiction-cbd-study/index.html


6* DAILY UTILITY

EXTENDED WARRANTIES ARE FOR SUCKERS 

“Extended warranties are a really horrible set of mathematics, and the reason people sell them is because they make a bundle on them in commissions,” says Dave Ramsey, a personal finance expert and radio-show host who has been outspoken on the subject. “On average, you’ll pay about $1,500 on an extended warranty, and the average repair is $180. I don’t recommend buying extended warranties, ever. If you can’t afford a $200 repair on a car, then you can’t afford the car.”
www.consumerreports.org/car-repair/get-an-extended-warranty-for-your-car/  
 
7*CARTOON

THE FUTURE: 2011-2200

https://youtu.be/syKJP1lnjQA

8*PRESCRIPTION

DORIS DAY

“I knew Doris Day before she was a virgin.”–Oscar Levant
www.brainyquote.com/authors/oscar_levant

9* RUMOR PATROL

TRAIN RUNNING SLOW ON SOUL COAL

XTC singer Andy Partridge has been accused of anti-Semitic tweets following an exchange about Middle East politics.
www.clashmusic.com/news/xtcs-andy-partridge-accused-of-anti-semitic-tweets


10*LAGNIAPPE

BOB DYLAN & PETE SEEGER

YE PLAYBOYS & PLAYGIRLS

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=btbQcASWy_4  

ALSO SEE:
THE MINUTEMEN
BOB DYLAN WROTE PROPAGANDA SONGS 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6qBky_xkcIQ  

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA

MY PENIS (TO THE TUNE OF “CANDIDA”)

The stars won’t come out if they know that you’re about
Cause they couldn’t match the glow of your eye
And, oh, who am I ? Just an ordinary guy
Tryin hard to win me first prize
Oh my Penis
We could make it together
The further from here now the better
Where the air is fresh and clean
Oh my Penis
I’ll take my hand and I’ll lead ya
I promise that life will be sweeter
‘Cause it said so in my dreams
The future looks bright, the gypsy told me so last night
Said she saw my semen glowing in the sunshine
And there were you and I in a house, baby, no lie
And all these things were yours, and they were mine
Oh my Penis
We could make it together
The further from here girl the better
Where the air is fresh and clean
Oh my Penis
I’ll take my hand and I’ll lead ya
I promise that life will be sweeter
‘Cause it said so in my dreams
Oh my Penis
We could make it together
The further from here now the better
Where the air is fresh and clean
Oh my Penis
I’ll take my hand and I’ll lead ya
I promise that life will be sweeter
‘Cause it said so in my dreams
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WROdwlk9_h8  


12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE

MORE POPULAR THAN JESUS
In 1966 John Lennon said the following: 

“Christianity will go. It will vanish and shrink. I needn’t argue about that; I know I’m right and I will be proved right. We’re more popular than Jesus now. I don’t know which will go first – rock & roll or Christianity. Jesus was all right, but his disciples were thick and ordinary. It’s them twisting it that ruins it for me.”  
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/More_popular_than_Jesus 

The Pope issued a lovely response:
The outcry reached all the way to the Pope, who denounced Lennon’s words in a statement to the Vatican newspaper, L’Osservatore Romano: “Some subjects must not be dealt with profanely, even in the world of Beatniks.”  
https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-features/when-john-lennons-more-popular-than-jesus-controversy-turned-ugly-106430/   

But the Vatican forgave him, in time.
https://www.reuters.com/article/us-vatican-beatles/vatican-forgives-john-lennon-for-jesus-quip-idUSTRE4AL2E220081122 

You may recall that I was very angry at Paul Rosenberg when, after Lennon was shot, he rather tactlessly remarked that it was probably the “bigger than Jesus” talk that done him in.

I was angry because I suspected that it might be true.

But some say it was the CIA. The doorman who witnessed the shooting was a paid contract killer. 

Jose Perdomo had a secret; it was a secret that not many know. Perdomo used to
punch a CIA meal ticket. His full name was Jose Joaquin Sanjenis Perdomo. Perdomo was also known as “Joaquin Sanjenis,” and “Sam Jenis.” He was an anti-Castro Cuban exile who was a member of Brigade 2506. The brigade eventually joined Alpha 66 during the Bay of Pigs Invasion in 1961. Chapman said that he heard someone whisper do it, do it, do it. Was it Perdomo? The Doorman at the Dakota once worked with Jim Sturgis the Watergate Burglar and another member of a death squad called Operation 40 that was involved with the Bay of Pigs and may have been responsible for the death of John F. Kennedy. In fact Perdomo and Chapman discussed the Bay of Pigs Invasion and JFK’s assassination a few hours before Lennon was killed. The doorman for the
longest time had been misidentified as Jay Hastings. No one knew about Perdomo until 1987. https://www.groundzeromedia.org/revelation-9-the-murder-of-john-lennon/

Read all about it.
https://www.amazon.com/Conspirators-Hierarchy-Committee-300/dp/0963401947
https://www.worldcat.org/title/conspirators-hierarchy-the-committee-of-300/oclc/843197530&referer=brief_results  

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MODERN WISDOM NUMBER 251 JUNE 2019

MODERN WISDOM
NUMBER 251
JUNE 2019
 
Copyright 2019 Francis DiMenno
dimenno@gmail.com
http://www.dimenno.wordpress.com  

1. NOIR MISFORTUNE COOKIES
SECOND SERIES
801. Nothing is wrong with you…that murder won’t cure.
802. Better to send yourself to hell than be sued in court.
803. You call yourself a “collector” but you are merely a common thief.
804. You’re caught in a trap and you can’t even chew your way out.
805. You do not believe in God, and He knows it. 
806. You can’t know everything. But you can know nothing. And you do.
807. Animal, your sad fate is that you were born to be slaughtered.
808. You can’t live your fantasies. You can barely manage reality.
809. God no longer finds you interesting, not that He ever did.
810. Fool. You murdered not for sex or money but out of sheer malice.
811. The only thing original about your criminality is its abject stupidity.
812. Loudmouth, you have talked yourself into an early grave.
813. You grew up on a nice street–it was you who were mean.
814. Your life is a detective story with no clues and no solutions.
815. You will grow so pathetic that your would-be slayer won’t recognize you.
816. They have all forgotten your name; they call you “The Psycho”.
817. You are not a born detective. You are a born defective.
818. Your desperation has made you a foolish fanatic.
819. You are finally a big man. The biggest stool pigeon in the big house.
820. You have the perfect alibi. Unfortunately, it smells like a lie.
821. You shouldn’t have broken all ten commandments in a single day.
822. You opened a forbidden box and its lid has snapped shut on your head.
823. You’ve served your purpose. Why should they let you live?
824. Love is hard work that doesn’t pay. Better try murder.
825. If your God is so great, why does He ask you for money?
826. Your investments will all pay dividends–in lead. 
827. You call yourself a connoisseur of heroin; you’re just another junkie.
828. Stop blabbing. Cops don’t want truth; they want explanations.
829. You stupe. There IS no union for lawbreakers.
830. Your legs are worn out from running–and so is your luck.
831. Things are not as they seem; even when they are.
832. You have now put your foot in the trap you have set for yourself.
833. You can’t win them all. You can’t even win one of them.
834. You fooled the fuzz, but you can not escape the mob.
835. No man can make a monkey out of you. You are self-made.
836. You had one ally, but Mom will turn on you tomorrow.
837. You were clever enough to win and stupid enough to gamble it all away.
838. You have no working plan; you don’t even have a lazy plan.
839. You have trapped yourself in the logic of your foolishness.
840. It is apparent that you are exactly what you seem–an informant.
841. You talk so fast you have no time to think, squealer.
842. Everyone suspected you even before your betrayal.
843. If you didn’t have to sleep, canary, then you wouldn’t have to die.
844. In your impoverished pride you hate money–because you have none.
845. They will all tell you not to worry. They will all lie.
846. Your innocence matters to nobody but you, and even you doubt it.
847. Even when you dress fashionably, you’re still a slob.
848. You will never succeed at attempted murder until you try it on yourself.
849. Certain people want you dead, and so your death is certain.
850. You are consistent only in your failure and your malice.
2. MODERN WISDOM

Conspiracy theories are porn for people who can’t get laid.
I would never subscribe to a magazine called Heroin Aficionado.
I’d like to launch a spaceship piloted by moths that would circle the sun. Forever.

A consensus mentality is tyranny in its most modern form.

At least one of the Ten Chimp Commandments probably has something to do with bananas.

It wasn’t about mockingbirds at all. And I wanted to know how to kill them, and I still don’t. What a disappointment!

My dentist is also my psychiatrist. He says my cavities are all in my head.

I took my cat to the dog show. And gave her to the winner.

When you say something kooky, it’s delusional. When I say something kooky, it’s satire.

Liberals tend to think that others could be good. Conservatives are convinced that others are corrupt. They will never, ever, agree.

I’ll huff and I’ll puff…and I’ll blow your mind.

3. THE SECRET HISTORY OF THE 1960s

PART TWO
“Anyway, after Jack was whacked, Lyndon Johnson came across as a soothing old duffer, but he was just about as modern as they came. He had a way with animals, you know. He could walk up to a congressman and always tell you what he was thinking–just by looking at him. He’d use any means to an
end. Goldwater giving him fits? Show a mushroom cloud next to his
shouting mug. Nothing any too subtle, but it sure did the job. You didn’t see
leather-face Johnson moaning about whether something was right or
wrong. If he wanted something, he went and he got it. The only thing
he ever wanted that he didn’t ever get? Was Jackie.

I couldn’t believe this. “The President’s WIFE?”

“Ixnay. The President’s WIDOW. Them freaks who said that LBJ was Macbeth had it all mixed up. LBJ was Claudius, in Hamlet—with some Iago thrown in. Lyndon Johnson—a real piece of work. Where do we even start? He was a robust peasant. Willing to fuck anything that moved. Just like Khrushchev,
I’ll wager. Not into the fairy stuff. No Skull and Bones for him, and
if he ever went to the Bohemian Grove, it was in the off-season. The
KGB had a file this-thick on Johnson. They knew EXACTLY who had
Kennedy killed. And they also knew why nobody was going to do anything about it–except endlessly cover it up until the end of time.”

“Now, what I’m going to tell you next, you’ll probably be saying to yourself
that I’m crazy. And you’ll probably also be saying, aww, whew, who in hell cares
what kind of goofy theoretical shit them crazy conspiracy-minded
Russians cooked up? Everything was a political thing with them, right? Of course they would assume some kind of coup, right? That’s the way
they did it in their country…right?

“Well, yes and no.

“Actually, the Russians were incredibly organized. Considering they
didn’t have elections. Especially because they didn’t have elections.
You really had to have a scorecard when it came to who was going to
run the Kremlin. And they didn’t LIKE surprises. Passing the baton was
always planned out–way in advance. Anyway, I don’t think they had it
wrong. Guessing who did it. They were an extremely sophisticated
outfit. The KGB boys–they knew their business.” They figured out
early on that HE must of been the mastermind behind the whole thing.

“What…thing?” I asked, afraid that he would tell me.

“Taking out Jack Kennedy.”

“And so…who?”

“Russian Security pinned the whole damn thing on…Lyndon Johnson.”

Certain things about the 1960s were not widely known in January of 1986.
Baby Boy Maddox, the Hobo sage–some called him mad–spent a bitterly
cold and brutally clear afternoon explaining things to me.

“Why do I think that Johnson was somehow behind the whole thing?

“Because Johnson’s best pal in the whole world was J. Edgar Hoover.”

“And Hoover was being blackmailed by the Mob. And the Mob had it
in for Jack. Trafficante, in Florida. Giancana in Chicago. And, most of all–
Carlos Marcello, down in New Orleans.”

“Now, JFK was Las Vegas and Harvard. Right? Well, we ALL know
what LBJ was. LBJ was the Minotaur. One night in the labyrinth with him and
you were toast. To Johnson, Kennedy getting elected instead of him was
the worst thing that’s happened since panty-hose ruined finger-fucking.
And just when it looked like Jack was ready to give old LBJ the
old shaft over the whole Bobby Baker business–well, that’s when the
whole comedy of errors began.”

“Look at the History books. This is not the first time something like this
happened. When FDR first got in, it looked like the guy he tapped for
his Attorney General, Thomas J. Walsh, was all set to give good old
J. Edgar Hoover the old heave-ho. So–guess what happened?
The guy croaked. Of a heart attack. On the train to Washington.
This was only two days after his wedding. And only two weeks
after someone had already taken a pot-shot at FDR, in Chicago.
So maybe FDR had second thoughts. Anyway, the replacement
A.G. was Homer Cummings. And he was just as gentle as a lamb to John Edgar.
They got along famously. He let Hoover turn the FBI into Scotland Yard.
Rumor has it that Hoover was a mulatto, by the way. But that’s a whole
‘nother story.

“Anyway–Lesson learned. That it just doesn’t do to tangle assholes–
not with the head of the FBI. Something RFK learned to his infinite regret.
God, that Hoover–boy was he spiteful! The way he broke the news to
Bobby. ‘Oh, uh,’ he said, in a voice that was just as flat as can be.
‘Um, ah, I’m callin’ ya up to tell you that your brother’s been shot.
Oh, but don’t worry–we’re on the case.’ Wonder if, after he hung
up the phone, he busted out laughin’. Man, I’ll tell you–those Washington
cats are COLD. Bet you never saw that picture of LBJ, yukkin’ it up with his
cronies on the plane–this, while Jack’s broken body lay still warm in its coffin in
the cargo hold. You just can’t make shit like this up, I’m tellin’ you.

“Lemme lay something on ya: The Kennedy assassination will make a fine
comedy some day. I’m absolutely convinced of this. Maybe fifty years on.
Or maybe a hundred. It would take a better man than me to write it up, though.”

“Picture this:

“Laurel and Hardy as mobsters in backwater Cuba, trying to kill Castro using
some of the most lame-ass methods you ever heard of.”

“Werner Von Braun, as Charlie Chaplin playing Hitler, whacking Joe
Kennedy in the keister with a rattan cane.”

“Kennedy as Groucho Marx playing Rufus T. Firefly, wising off to the
Pentagon Brass and all the Joint Chiefs—and every one of ’em has got
blood in their eye. ‘Bomb Cuba, your excellency’ they say. ‘All God’s
chillun got guns!’ says Jack—he always had to spit in the headmaster’s eye.

“Remember this, Yob—nobody loves a smart ass—fact is, they hate
him—not for what he is–but for what he might do–because you never can
predict it–and when your ass is on the line the last guy you need
to have running the show is a loose cannon. Now, nobody cares if
someone like Perry Como is a rat bastard. It’s only the superstars we
care about. The Kennedys were great at stabbing people in the back.
But Johnson brung some high-powered rifles to that particular fight.


“Bobby? I guess Bobby isn’t really all that funny. You’d have to get
some kind of character actor to do him. Someone who could also do
pathos. Jack Lemmon, maybe. I mean, picture the nerve of the
guy. November of ’63. Bobby’s been hounding the mob for months.
Hell, for years! Hoffa, Marcello, Trafficante, Giancana–the
whole name-ends-with-a-vowel gang. Nix. NIX! Not a smart thing to
do. Now, the goombahs gave the Kennedys hefty suitcases full of cash money,
and did them some heavy duty favors too, hoping—expecting!—that Bobby
would lay off their boys. But it’s no dice. Nope. Bobby went out of
his way to piss them off. So. Now it’s November of 1963. Where does
Kennedy decide to do his campaigning? First stop–Chicago.
Where the Syndicate Boys are just itchin’ to take a crack at him.
It would of been a shooting gallery. Engine engine
number nine, ridin’ down Chicago line, if the train should jump the
track, do you want your money back–yes or no?

“But the Secret Service boys put the kibosh on that idea. OK. So. Next
stop? Tampa, Florida. Where the Mob was large and in charge. And crazy
Cubans were crawling in the woodwork, everywhere, just as thick as flies.
Jack dodges a bullet there. So–now where does he decide to go next? Dallas.

“Cue spooky music.”

“Spooky? Why? Because it’s TEXAS. Real nut country, Daddio. So Kennedy–I see him here played by Harold Lloyd–what’s he do? Shows up in an open limo. Bad back and all. Like he was DARING them to take a shot. Reckless. Maybe
he DID have a death wish, who knows.”

“Hell, the shot-callers in Texas hate him even more in Dallas than in Florida, if
that’s possible. They spit on Adlai. They spit on Lady Bird Johnson! Don’t ask me why, but that makes me laugh, them spitting on Lady Bird. She was always so fastidious! Maybe I’m a sick man. Ahh, but who got the last laugh, though? Sorry–more sick humor. Just an observation. Hey–and dig what she said to Jackie, just after Jack got his head blowed off? Jackie’s coat is covered with her dead husband’s blood and brains, and ‘What a shame,’ says Lady Bird, ‘that this
terrible thing had to happen–in the great state of Texas!’ Haww!

“No–nobody loves a smart ass. Remember that, kid. You’ll live longer.”

“Anyway, if the Russkies thought that Johnson done it, they were
probably right. Point being, the Russians ALWAYS made it their business
to know their man. Hey–you gotta give ’em SOME credit. They didn’t think that Cuba was worth blowing the world up over. Berlin? Hell yeah. The Germans was poison. But not sunny old Cuba Libre. Hm. Castro must of looked like some weird beatnik to them. Probably the only reason they warmed up to him in the first place was just so they could fuck with our heads. I mean, it’s not
like WE weren’t doing it. We were cutting deals with the Pakistanis
and the Turks, and what did we have in common with THEM? Nada.
Less than Nada, really. Buncha chuckleheads. Funny shoes and bad
food–not one of them fools would last a minute walking down the
streets of Harlem. I’m not a race riot man– this is just an observation.

“You know, I ain’t no red. But my first thought as I woke up this
morning—and by the way, that fucking room you put me in is cold—don’t
you never put no heat on?—first thought as I got out of bed was that,
in the future, people will laugh at all our cold war mumbo jumbo and
how Russia was the evil empire and like that. The Russians ain’t
no stumblebums, but the only thing that’s truly evil about them is
that they just don’t like us. And they don’t like our God. Now, nobody can
tell me that the powers that be right in here in the good old USA aren’t
pulling a lot of the same old dusty shit as the Soviet slavemasters–
and maybe even worse. Why? Just because they CAN.

“Now, maybe both sides PRETEND to be the party of virtue, but when it
comes time to measure results, you see that superpower virtue is like
the word love in the mouth of a whore. Doesn’t signify, doesn’t signify a-tall.
The ruling class may mouth the patriotic guff they show you on television all the time, but among themselves they ought to hear them laughing their asses off
at how gullible the mass of people are. Rich people don’t get that way by
swallowing lies, you know. They make it their business to have some boys
on their staff who ALWAYS know what is what.”

“Anyway. So. Once JFK was out of the way, and Johnson was elected, the republic was doomed. It was the party of Johnson and Big Business, with some
scraps thrown to the inner city so it wouldn’t boil over. Which it did anyway.
Because anybody with half a brain could size up the situation and put two
and two together. They don’t care about us. Everything we died in the
streets to get is too little too late. Johnson? He no better than a murderer
hisself. That’s what all the colored folk were sayin’, when King got his.
You don’t have to believe me—I was on the street that day. I heard it
myself. By the way, rumor has it that Marcello was behind King, and
that he got Bobby, too. But you didn’t hear it from me, Yob.

“Sure, JFK was a smart ass, and Bobby Kennedy was a fresh-faced punk,
but everybody with half a brain cell knew that Johnson was a sly
old codger who was always the best man at swappin’ horses and
that he wouldn’t hesitate for a second to steal the cracklin’s right out of
his Mammy’s fat gourd, because he just didn’t give a golly gosh darn.
Kennedy had let the Pentagon and the CIA and the FBI slip right out of
his fingers. They were the ones really running the country, only Kennedy
pretended like it just wasn’t so.

“And that there’s another comedy for you. This spindly shrimp, jutting out his
jaw like Franklin God Almighty Roosevelt, pretending he was John
Ringling in charge of the whole Big Top–while mostly, he was just a Joey—and the laughing stock of Clown Alley.

“Now, once John F. Kennedy was dead as vaudeville,” said Baby Boy Maddox,
the Hobo Sage, “and Lyin’ Lyndon was large and in in charge, there
was no going back. No going back a-tall. The Brass were in the saddle,
Yob, and they rode that horse to death. So do you think that when
Nixon got in, HE was going to stop the Generals? Nix on that. Tricky
Dick was not only mobbed up to the hilt, but he was also just evil
and crazy and drunk enough to agree with everything they wanted, until
they didn’t need him no more. Ford wasn’t about to make no fuss. He
knew his limitations. And he always played the angles. He was on the
Warren Commission as Hoover’s personal spy, y’know. Carter was
smart. A Trilateralist. But Carter was also a dismal hick. He had no
friends in Washington. Didn’t seem to want them. Didn’t deserve
them, neither. Reagan—well, all I got to say to that is, Boraxo.
Twenty Mule Team Ronnie was General Electric’s boy, all the way,
and GE gets tons of money from the Pentagon, and…you connect the dots.

“And all this because Jack and Bobby decided to try their Smothers
Brothers standup act in the toughest room in town—The White House.
And boy did they bomb. In every way but literally. Listen: Forget
everything you ever heard about the Kennedy wit— you can bet
that not one of them hard-ass shave-tails was laughing when Jack and Bobby
said let’s not blow Castro to smithereens—leastways, not just yet—
or, let’s not, and just say we did. Oh Che, can you see? By the
Bomb’s early light…”

“OK. I’m crazy—sure. Must be. I’m crazy. I admit it. But I’m going to
be the one who’s gonna kick your ass. You hear all those people who
swear to this and that—no conspiracy here—who’s talking conspiracy?
Conspiracy? That’s crazy talk! Here’s your hint—every one of them–
every last one of them–they were ALL saying this–before they even
knew the facts! It’s just like when you haul some kid in for vandalism
and he tells the bulls he didn’t do it and they know he’s lying because
they didn’t even charge him with nothing yet. It’s the smoothie’s version
of ‘Officer, is there a problem?’ Whenever you hear those words, then,
Mister–you just KNOW that cat is guilty of SOMETHING.

“Nobody’s ever going to write this as comedy. Not in my lifetime, and maybe
not even in yours. Maybe not never. But it’s funny, all right. Maybe
someday some aliens from a nearby star will read our nutty history and bust a gut laughing at how crazy we all are. Dig: They are going to look into the face of Lucille Ball and conclude that we are all of us nothing but a race of savages.
A bunch of insects shucking and jiving on a mudball. A race of Uncle Remuses
bouncing a little boy on our knees, and pouring our poison stories in his tender little ears.

“Because all the stories we tell our youngsters—every one of them—
all of them are designed to create an animal response. None more so than
the story of Jesus. Dig—that story is the ultimate in wish fulfillment.
Can’t you see? There’s this bunch of scabby-assed yahoos living out in
the desert. Then, according to the story, along comes this miracle man.
And he just happens to have the power to do all they stuff they wish
THEY could do—feed the multitudes—walk on water—heal the sick—
And—get this—walk on water. Isn’t it obvious that the whole thing makes
for a very charming fable? It all just goes to show.”

“Listen, Yob: Most of us, we are mostly, mostly machines—machines who
live to make emotions out of words. Mostly those are feelings of fear—
and laughter. Usually fear. There’s a lot to laugh about—but there’s even
more to be afraid of. Tell you what–a deadly shiver that runs up my spine–
especially whenever senile bastards try to brainwash youngsters into walking like
crippled old men.”

“We all love our stories, we do, because it’s the only way we can see God in the details — which we’re forced to overlook–because what if we didn’t ignore most of what we see and feel? I’ll tell you what–we’d all go stark raving mad. It’s almost as if God Almighty Himself writes all the stories–he casts the hook–and we’re the fish. Or maybe God IS the story—and we’re just the background static.

“Anyway, nowadays even God is a laying low cove. Has been since the early
sixties and even before. Dead, some say. Dead.

“Anyway, that’s the story I’m hearing. But face it, Yob. It’s just another
story–about another story.

“And what ARE stories? Stories are things. Like the spoors that wild animals
leave to show they were there. Like the homing instinct in pigeons, that teaches them how to survive. Stories are strictly episodes of an animal response.

“And, just like animals, we’re all doomed. Because the only stories we hear nowadays are stupid stories…told by evil strangers…for a people who are nearly dead. Stories that are written for people who no longer have any imagination at all –that wasn’t already bought and paid for a thousand million times over.

“We’re not individuals to them. We’re things. Things to be bought
and sold. And the real crime—the real crime is that they have convinced us to participate in
the same belief.

“What are the values? THEIR values? They all amount to one thing:
Waste. Waste your neighbor, waste your friends, but most of all, first and foremost, waste yourself.

“Always remember: The more they promise to give you, the more they’ll take away.

“No wonder our children mutilate themselves. They’re animals in a cage
–with no way to escape!

“And that’s because so-called adults devote so much attention to made-up
stories. Stories made to keep the ordinary man in line.

“And we’re all of us conspirators. Conspirators in our own self destruction.

“People don’t have the patience to listen to other people no more. To
show any human sympathy for anybody else. To reassure their friends.
Because everything is selfish now. The future is bright for me. You?
You can go hang, sucker. Why are people more and more that way?
Because they’re on a toot and they don’t ever want to be depressed.
They never want to think of how precarious their own
position is, or someday could be. That’s a thought they always try to
suppress. At all costs. Nowadays, our society is geared toward
remaining upbeat at all costs. People who complain are whiners.
Losers. Bad medicine. You might say that it’s a case of everybody’s
whistling in the dark. And if they hate a cheat, it’s not for cheating,
but just for getting caught. Letting down the team. Accidentally
exposing the bigger lie behind the already big lie–of keeping an optimistic
front at all costs.

“Sure, it’s great to keep a positive attitude. But all this relentless
focus on being cheerful–it silences people–people whose troubles seem
so overwhelming that they need to share them with somebody, anybody. But are made to feel inferior if they do.

“America is zoned for optimism, not reform. For stories, not reality.
This might have something to do with how we’re dealing with the
Challenger. It was the corrupt military behind the whole disaster.
So what did they do? They locked the pasture gate after all the cows
have gotten loose. But nobody wants to hear such talk. In fact, people
–people who have worries of their own–tend to have a very dim view of negativity in general.

“’Too depressing,’ they’ll say. Even about an immortal work of
art. How can they dismiss it? Easy. A young and vital person in his twenties has a very different mindset in regards to the negative. Nobody wants to be told, when they are young, that old age will present a whole new set of challenges, and they won’t be healthy and strong like they used to be. But it’s a fact.”

“There is a lot of good things to be said regarding living for today and
not worrying about tomorrow–but when tomorrow comes, and you
haven’t prepared for The Worst That Could Happen, then you’re headed
for the Big Crash.

“I’m hardly a one to talk. I now realize that I have been sad for
most of my life. But at the same time, I’m at peace. Serene. Because I
also lived like an animal for most of my life. And an animal that isn’t in pain
is an animal at peace with itself.

“When you’re sick at heart, it will change the way you relate to the world. And people can sense that. They can sense weakness. And they zero in on it. And the truly sad thing is that sometimes people actually take on that role–they themselves become the thing that others behold. The Crazy Man.

“It’s nothing personal. It’s animal instinct. To weed out the sick and the weak. Because they threaten to put the kibosh on the whole racket. To knock the props out from under the slicksters. But most of all, because they put the whole tribe in danger. You see it nearly every group, both high and low. I used to think that liberals appealed to the higher nature of humanity, and maybe they do, but of course, the poison pill in all of this seeming ‘acceptance’ is a game. Just another trick of the tribe. It’s human nature. How do you fight it?

“Two ways, Yob. When you find yourself digging yourself into a hole,
the first thing you do is stop digging.”

“And whenever you find yourself going through Hell, kiddo—keep walking. To the other side. “

4. ARAPHOE INDIAN NAMES, 1887
Bull Thunder
Mark on the Face
Jack Scabby Horse
Horseback Deaf
One Who Kills Alone
Crazy Man
Appearance is White
Funny Looking Woman
Deafee
Bad White Man
Mrs. Yellow Man
Shot Himself
Debit
Mrs. White Antelope
Johny Smoke
Ichey
Killing With a Stick
Throwing Up
Good Killer
Mouse Girl
Spitting Blood
Blindy
Clarence Powder Face
Lump Killer
Fish Woman
Hux Tucker
Funny Looking Face

5. “I CURED MY YELLOW TEETH”
These ubiquitous and nauseating ads insistently exhort the helpless
reader to “Read the trick, discovered by a Mom, to turn yellow teeth
white.”

Here’s what I want to know:

Since when should some nameless “Mom” be permitted to set herself up
as a dental authority?

Who is expected to fall for this line of malarkey?

Fellow Moms?

Actually, I figure the target audience to be some implausibly
superannuated Hillbilly crone to whom this startling news has somehow
inexplicably been carried. She has one tooth in her rotting skull and
is likely stirring a simmering cauldron of lye over a smoky wood fire
and, upon hearing of this thunderous revelation direct from God’s
throne, she no doubt throws down her calico bonnet onto the rocky
ground, cackles hysterically, and inadvertently blurts out something
along the lines of, “By cracky, Hepsie, throw away the chew stick!
If’n it be good enough fer ‘Mom’ then it be good enough for me!”

Incidentally, I hear that good old urine works pretty well.

“First-century Roman doctors believed that urine whitened teeth and
also kept them firmly in place….But it must have worked, because it
was used as an active ingredient in toothpaste and mouthwash well into
the 18th century. Would you believe it’s still used today? Not in its
original form, but modern dentists recognized that it was the ammonia
that cleaned the teeth, and they still use that.”
http://www.thehistoryof.net/the-history-of-teeth-whitening.html

6. Random excerpts  from the 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue. :
BLINDMAN’S HOLIDAY. Night, darkness.

BOH. Said to be the name of a Danish general, who so terrified
his opponent Foh, that he caused him to bewray
himself. Whence, when we smell a stink, it is custom
to exclaim, Foh! i.e. I smell general Foh. He cannot say
Boh to a goose; i.e. he is a cowardly or sheepish fellow.
There is a story related of the celebrated Ben Jonson, who
always dressed very plain; that being introduced to the
presence of a nobleman, the peer, struck by his homely
appearance and awkward manner, exclaimed, as if in doubt,
“You Ben Johnson! why you look as if you could not say
Boh to a goose!” “Boh!” replied the wit.

BOW-WOW. The childish name for a dog; also a jeering
appellation for a man born at Boston in America.

BUM TRAP. A sheriff’s officer who arrests debtors.
Ware hawke! the bum traps are fly to our panney; keep a
good look out, the bailiffs know where our house is
situated.

BUTTOCK BALL. The amorous congress. CANT.

CREW. A knot or gang; also a boat or ship’s company. The
canting crew are thus divided into twenty-three orders,
which see under the different words:

MEN.
1 Rufflers
2 Upright Men
3 Hookers or Anglers
4 Rogues
5 Wild Rogues
6 Priggers of Prancers
7 Palliardes
8 Fraters
9 Jarkmen, or Patricoes
10 Fresh Water Mariners, or Whip Jackets
11 Drummerers
12 Drunken Tinkers
13 Swadders, or Pedlars
14 Abrams.

WOMEN.
1 Demanders for Glimmer or Fire
2 Bawdy Baskets
3 Morts
4 Autem Morts
5 Walking Morts
6 Doxies
7 Delles
8 Kinching Morts
9 Kinching Coves

CUNNY-THUMBED. To double one’s fist with the thumb inwards,
like a woman.

C**T. The chonnos of the Greek, and the cunnus of the Latin
dictionaries; a nasty name for a nasty thing: un con Miege.

DOG’S PORTION. A lick and a smell. He comes in for only
a dog’s portion; a saying of one who is a distant admirer
or dangler after women. See DANGLER.

RIFF RAFF. Low vulgar persons, mob, tag-rag and bob-tail.

TO SNILCH. To eye, or look at any thing attentively: the
cull snilches. CANT.

STRIP ME NAKED. Gin.

STURDY BEGGARS. The fifth and last of the most ancient
order of canters, beggars that rather demand than ask
CANT.

To SWADDLE. To beat with a stick.

Full text:
http://www.archive.org/stream/1811dictionaryof05402gut/dcvgr10.txt

Francis DiMenno <dimenno@gmail.com>

THE INFORMATION #1047 MAY 31, 2019

THE INFORMATION #1047  
MAY 31, 2019
Copyright 2019 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

When you’re in hell, only a devil can point the way out.― Joe Abercrombie  

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TWELVE: PART SIXTY-FOUR: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE    

More than a year after I had last spoken with him at length, “Doctor”
Peter Ketman again came to speak with me regarding my troubles with
Smash Conklin, and my ill-advised scheme, hatched long ago, to get
back at him through the Big Man. He was puffing on that strange pipe
of his, filled with a herb which gave off a choking smoke.

“So—you meant to beard the lion in his den to get back at Conklin.
Pipe the covered bridge, concealed beneath layers of shrouded fog, and
you will have some idea of the Big Man and his myriad works. Crux
sacra sit mihi lux.

“Remember the Sabbath; for he keeps it unholy; that is the day The Big
man reserves for his indulgence in all sorts of riotous carrying on.
Who burned down the monastery and gave the breeze to the Holy Fathers?
It was know-nothing agitators, but if Stolas had been born he would of
led the mob. Take care and learn your lessons from history. After the
light comes bitter recriminations, for knowledge ain’t what it’s
cracked up to be—it’s guaranteed to make you just as unhappy as you
can stand to be. No commemoration is without its peril. Old hatreds
ignite. Things seldom change completely for the better. Crux sacra sit
mihi lux.

“A wise man is like a child who must bear the unusual burden of
amputation, for you cannot be both wise and innocent, and, therefore,
happy. The wise man will only enter the kingdom at the eleventh hour.
When people here on earth give praise to the Lord, they’re not always
talking about the God of our fathers—no siree! Sometimes they are
giving praise to men who are the lowest of scoundrels. It’s amazing
how gullible people can be. As witless as a blind animal, though even
a sightless beast can hear and smell. Crux sacra sit mihi lux.

“Do not presume that even a priest or Man of God is immune to the
blandishments of the base and low-born. They are of the caste of the
obedient, and in all matters they are trained to kneel, or, at the
very least, to sit down and cram their gaping maw with platitudes. But
the mass of men are sick with fear. They know not what might happen
next and are in a state of perpetual apprehension. If you want to be
as carefree as a cat, why, simply follow your jungle instincts. This,
however, is something which few can do. Most underlings are driven mad
by their servitude. Crux sacra sit mihi lux.

“Don’t pray in such a way that you are inviting the Devil Himself to
steal away with your soul in the dead of night like an Arab and his
tents. Your parents shall have dominion over your conscience until the
day they die, and for long after. Conklin isn’t all bad; ask him what
his mother would think of his doin’s and watch him shirk his mischief.
It’s as simple as this—he’s a boy who’s had the piss knocked out of
him by his Paw and he will always kowtow to the voice of authority.
Crux sacra sit mihi lux.

“If any way is that of earthly life, let the first fervor of the
brethren be less. This I heard from a holy man, and never mind his
pedantry. The Lord’s got a way to eat at your soul and fill it full of
contention and beefs. I don’t speak for Buncombe County, lad. Let all holy
admonition be of the Old Testament. The New Testament is only for the
desperate ones.  If your brother makes a promise he will share his
ill-will along with all his vices. Crux sacra sit mihi lux.  Sure as
Tom Thumb is good at being short. Sure as the Congo is full of people
who are black. Whenever good deeds are performed, look for a pay-off,
sooner rather than later. That’s the creed of The Big Man. Crux sacra
sit mihi lux.

“Therefore, be not surprised by those who speak of heaven above; but
abhor that person who threatens you with hell below; he is a beard for
authority. Crux sacra sit mihi lux.

“Therefore everyone should hear these words of mine and put them into
practice. Having living flesh means that you must live in pain.
Remember—the destination is the main course, but the journey is the
sauce. Let six days  of hard walking be compensated by one day of
rest. Vade retro satana!

“The Big Boy always takes your weakness into account—and exploits it.
The less you say in front of the Big Man, the better off you’ll be. He
hands out no second chances. If you come to him with a petition, make
it brief, and be sure to include a quid pro quo, which means how
you’re going to scratch his back, because one hand washes the other.
He’s a heavy worker—eats a pound loaf of bread at a single sitting,
two whole chickens, a rack of lamb, whole bunches of grapes, and two
bottles of wine with every meal. And that’s just the appetizer! Vade
retro satana!

“If he had his way, the very young, and the very old and sick would be
left to starve. No milksops allowed—in the Camp of the Big Man! His
mealtimes are full of bickering and barking mad arguments, because for
him, anger is the best stimulant, and disagreeable behavior excites
his appetite. So long as it’s him as is dishing it out. Vade retro
satana!

“The Big Man can’t stand the silence. It’s like a poison to him.
That’s why he always insists that music makers be around him at all times.
He’s got all the motion picture theater piano players and Ragtime
Charlies on his permanent payroll. Vade retro satana!

“The only thing you learn from hanging around with the Big Man is to
stay out of his way. He lies, he slanders, and he
deceives. And yet, they worship him—all the weak sisters, milksops,
spring dandies, spaniels, and would-be conquistadors. And yet, he is
little more than a malicious devil.  Vade retro etcetera!

“He has a fiery temper borne of impatience. His rewards are temporal.
He will praise you with one hand and in the very next second he will 
stab you in the back with the other. Well I know this! His chief-most dread is
losing all his money, power and influence. If you wish to gain his
ear, then tell him seven times in one day how he can hang on to
everything he has got, and further it along. Vade retro you-know-who!

“Last but not least. If you incur the Big Man’s wrath, don’t let the
sun go down on you in this town.  The City is big but he has eyes
everywhere. He will kidnap you, and starve and beat you, if you speak
out agin him. Let there be no mistake. Better not to utter his name.
Cokey Stolas is a real…” and here he trailed off, and muttered,
“Numquam suade mihi vana, Sunt mala quae libas, Ipse venena bibas!”

1* SALUTATION

LITTLE DARLIN’

THE GLADIOLAS

https://youtu.be/qcWub6qC5xc

LITTLE DARLIN’

THE DIAMONDS

https://youtu.be/ysVLzXWnTzA

ALSO SEE:

MITCH MILLERTHE CHILDRENS MARCHING SONG

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mc90gdV4fcQ  


2*REFERENCE

FICTIONAL CONVENTIONS

https://books.google.com/books?dq=%22fictional+convention%22&hl=en&id=ZCHgz4345AEC&lpg=PA74&ots=li2G663j_I&pg=PA74&sa=X&sig=ACfU3U1BzCULMfIrTFPlHk_G0cvLrAISNA&source=bl&ved=2ahUKEwiI4Y-8o9fhAhUMhOAKHVGTA6MQ6AEwBHoECAYQAQ#v=onepage&q=%22fictional%20convention%22&f=false  


3*HUMOR

BUSY WITH THOSE REEFERS

“I feel goofy.”
https://dimenno.files.wordpress.com/2019/05/a320f-screen2bshot2b2018-04-202bat2b3.59.542bpm.png
http://dulltooldimbulb.blogspot.com/2018/04/reefer-madness-comics-by-craig-yoe-and.html  

Everything is so wonderful!
http://antiquecannabisbook.com/chap04/California/KerryDrake-9A.jpg
http://antiquecannabisbook.com/chap04/California/LousyDriver.htm 

Yahoo! It’s the nightclubs for me!
https://dimenno.files.wordpress.com/2019/05/26c31-flob4.png
http://barebonesez.blogspot.com/2017/06/ec-comics-its-entertaining-comic-issue_19.html  

Busy? With those reefers, I’ll bet.
https://dimenno.files.wordpress.com/2019/05/9d7be-rco082.jpg


4*NOVELTY

POETIC NOTIONS

Romantic love.

The glories of nature.

The joys and travails of being alive.

The nature of men and women.

Birth and death.

https://www.quora.com/What-cliches-in-poetry-should-be-avoided  

https://literarydevices.net/trope/  


5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

40 AWFUL WRITING PROMPTS

http://www.chicagonow.com/listing-beyond-forty/2013/11/40-really-awful-writing-prompts/  

6* DAILY UTILITY
IVY LEAGUE BRAGGARTS

Does attending an Ivy League school give you bragging rights? Yes. But it also teaches you that it’s vulgar to brag.
https://talk.collegeconfidential.com/harvard-university/712278-how-come-harvard-students-prefer-to-conceal-the-fact-that-they-attend-harvard-p2.html 


7*CARTOON

GRAPHIC NOVELS FOR DISCERNING ADULTS

Alan Moore’s Providence

Alan Moore’s From Hell.

Osamu Tezuka’s Buddha.

Yoshihiro Tatsumi’s Good-Bye.

Yoshihiro Tatsumi’s Abandon the Old in Tokyo.

Yoshihiro Tatsumi’s The Push Man and other stories.

Frank Miller’s Sin City.

Frank Miller’s Elektra: Assassin.

Frannk Miller’s Daredevil: Born Again.

Art Spiegelman’s Maus.

Daniel Clowes’ Like a Velvet Glove Cast in Iron.

Daniel Clowes’ David Boring.

Charles Burns’ Black Hole.

Shigeru Mizuki’s Onward Towards Our Noble Deaths.

Jason Lutes’ Berlin.

Joe Sacco’s Palestine.

Craig Thompson’s Blankets.

David Mazzucchelli’s Asterios Polyp.

Grant Morrison’s Batman R.I.P.

Neil Gaiman’s Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusader?

Keiji Nakazawa’s Barefoot Gen.

Dave Sim’s Cerebus.

Jaques Tardi’s It Was the War of the Trenches.

LAT’s Kampung Boy.

Raymond Briggs’ Ethel and Ernest.

Derf Backderf’s My Friend Dahmer.

Roz Chast’s Can’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant?

8*PRESCRIPTION

SCIENTISTS CREATE LIFE

Push over, Doc Frankenstein.
https://gizmodo.com/scientists-create-e-coli-with-entirely-synthetic-genom-1834812479 


9* RUMOR PATROL

SATANIC RITUAL CRIMES 

Ritual satanic abuse seems to be mostly folklore. A respected medical examiner, Vincent Di Maio, says he has never encountered so much as even one such case.

For example. The West Memphis Three.

“The significance of the pathological findings were these: no DNA connected Echols, Baldwin or Misskelley at the crime scene; foreign DNA of the presence of someone else at the crime scene was confirmed; we know from the best pathologists in the country that those injuries were not caused by a serrated knife; there was no evidence of rape; the injuries were the result of post-mortem animal predation; Misskelley’s confession is simply impossible, it did not happen the way Misskelley said; and the entire state’s theory of satanic ritual, satanic killing is simply wrong,” Hendrix said.
www.hotsr.com/news/2016/jun/20/west-memphis-three-attorney-discusses-t/

The Hampstead Satanic Cult.
“The children’s false stories came about as the result of relentless emotional and psychological pressure as well as significant physical abuse. Torture is the most accurate way to describe what was done by Mr Christie in collaboration with Ms Draper.”
barristerblogger.com/2015/03/24/the-hampstead-so-called-satanic-cult-should-be-a-warning-to-the-credulous/

Why You Can’t Adopt a Black Cat at Halloween
Some observers suspect that youths dabbling in a version of Satanism of their own creation occasionally engage in the ritual sacrifice of cats and other small animals. However evidence of this activity is sparse, and the practice appears to be extremely rare. As Franny Syufy of About.com wrote:

“The conundrum is that the problem can be self-fulfilling. Young minds are vulnerable, particularly the minds of youths who have themselves been abused. When they hear stories of ritual Satanic abuse of cats, a spark ignites, and a new crime wave is off and running, with a ‘stray’ black cat the target.” 8

We suspect that when evidence of such killings are found, they are most likely the product of psychopaths, not a person or group engaged in a religious ritual.

Religious Satanists are unlikely candidates for ritual sacrifices of animals because Satanists value the life force in humans and animals. Wiccans and other Neopagans have never been known to sacrifice any living entity higher on the evolutionary chain than an apple or orange.
www.religioustolerance.org/hallocat.htm

And cattle mutilations.
In most cases, mutilations were either ruled due to natural causes, or the cattle were too far decayed for any useful conclusions to be drawn. Some cases of cult hysteria were traced back to fabrication by individuals unrelated to the incident. In one case it was concluded that claims had been falsified by a convict seeking favorable terms on his sentence in exchange for information.In another case, claims were traced back to local high school students who had circulated rumors as a joke.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cattle_mutilation  


ALSO SEE:THE DEVIL COMES TO FALL RIVER

https://www.cvltnation.com/sex-satanism-sacrificial-slaughter-fall-river-cult-murders-1979-80/

ALSO SEE:THE COMPLETE BOOKS OF CHARLES FORT

“Hail with the likeness of Christ on each piece….”
www.goodreads.com/book/show/606448.The_Complete_Books  

10*LAGNIAPPE

JOHN FAHEY

STEEL GUITAR MEDLEY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_gev6PxtgU 

LEO KOTTKE
THE DRIVING OF THE YEAR NAIL 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kv_ffps5J1k  

LEO KOTTKE
THE DRIVING OF THE YEAR NAIL (LIVE)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Gh-U9T7T4Q  

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
DON KNOTTS

I do not miss him. But I’m sure somebody does. Don Knotts represents the humor of a darker, more savage era, when insipid weaklings were scorned and their abject cowardice was considered hilarious.


*11A BOOKS READ AND REVIEWED

BROTHER NASH. CANNELL. ***1/2

COSMIC GHOST RIDER. BABY THANOS MUST DIE. **

COWARD. BRUBAKER & PHILLIPS. ****1/2

DAREDEVIL: THE DEVIL INSIDE & OUT 1. BRUBAKER & LARK. ****1/2

DAREDEVIL: THE DEVIL INSIDE & OUT 2. BRUBAKER & LARK. ****

DAREDEVIL: ULTIMATE COLLECTION 2. BRUBAKER & LARK. ****
DARK SOULS OMNIBUS. MANN & QUAH. **

THE DEAD & THE DYING. BRUBAKER & PHILLIPS. ****1/2

DEATH OF THE INHUMANS. ***1/2

DETECTIVE COMICS: 80 YEARS OF BATMAN. ***1/2

A FIRE STORY. FIES. ****

FLAVOR 1. KEATINGE. **

GREEN RIVER KILLER. JENSEN & CASE. ****1/2

THE HANDMAID’S TALE. ATWOOD & NAULT. ****1/2

HAPHAVEN. HARPER & JOYCE. ***1/2

HAROLD GRAY’S LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE VOLUME 1. ****1/2

HAROLD GRAY’S LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE VOLUME 2. ****

HAROLD GRAY’S LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE VOLUME 3. ****1/2

HAROLD GRAY’S LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE VOLUME 4. ****1/2

HAROLD GRAY’S LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE VOLUME 5. ****
HOW TO BE A TUDOR. GOODMAN. ****

THE ILIAD. HINDS. ****1/2

IMMORTAL HULK 1. OR IS HE BOTH? EWING. ****

INJUSTICE 2. VOLUME 5. ***1/2

ISOLA. ***

KATUSHA: GIRL SOLDIER OF THE GREAT PATRIOTIC WAR. VANSANT. ****1/2

KID GLOVES. KNISLEY. ****1/2

LOVELESS. BRUBAKER & PHILLIPS. ****1/2

LUKE CAGE. EVERYMAN. ***

THE MARTIAN MONSTER. KAMEN. ***1/2

MARVEL UNIVERSE: THE END. ***

MEN AT SEA. RIFF REB’S. *****

MIGHTY THOR 5. DEATH OF THE MIGHTY THOR. AARON. ***1/2

MODERN FANTASY. ROBERTS. *

MORGUE: A LIFE IN DEATH. DI MAIO. ****

MULTIPLE MAN: IT ALL MAKES SENSE IN THE END. ***

MY HEROES HAVE ALWAYS BEEN JUNKIES. BRUBAKER & PHILLIPS. ****

NANCY DREW: THE PALACE OF WISDOM. ***

NAPOLEON’S HEMORRHOIDS. MASON. ***1/2

THE NATURAL HISTORY OF NONSENSE. EVANS. ****1/2

THE NEW YORKER ENCYCLOPEDIA OF CARTOONS. ****

NOBODY’S FOOL. GRIFFITH. ****

THE ODYSSEY. HINDS. ****1/2

OFF SEASON. STURM. ****

THE PRAGUE COUP. FROMENTAL & HYMAN. ****

THE PSEUDO-ETHIC. HALSEY. ****

RETROGRADE ORBIT. BACZYNSKI. ***1/2

ROCK BOTTOM. DES BARRES. ***

STARPORT. MARTIN & GOLDEN. ****

STRAY BULLETS 1. INNOCENCE OF NIHILISM. LAPHAM. ****1/2
STRAY BULLETS. SUNSHINE & ROSES 3. THE QUEEN OF PALM COURT. LAPHAM. ****

SUBMERGED. AYALA. ***

SUPERWOMAN 1. WHO KILLED SUPERWOMAN? ***

SURVIVING THE CITY. SPILLETT. **

THIS WOMAN’S WORK. DELPORTE. ***1/2

UNBEATABLE SQUIRREL GIRL 10. ****

WARBEARS. ATWOOD & STEACY. ***

WILDHEART. BERTAGNA & GOLDSMITH. ***1/2

X-MEN BLUE: SURVIVING THE EXPERIENCE. ***1/2


12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE

‘BANNED’ BOOKS

Two books which at one time were considered obscene until the Supreme Court declared that they possessed “redeeming literary merit” were Ulysses by James Joyce and Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D.H. Lawrence.

Here is a list of classics which have been challenged in local jurisdictions.

http://www.ala.org/advocacy/bbooks/frequentlychallengedbooks/classics  

Every one of them is worth reading. Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man and Joseph Heller’s Catch-22 are among my favorites.

THE INFORMATION #1046 MAY 24, 2019

THE INFORMATION #1046  
MAY 24, 2019
Copyright 2019 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

“The philosopher Diogenes was eating bread and lentils for supper. He was seen by the philosopher Aristippus, who lived comfortably by flattering the king. Said Aristippus, ‘If you would learn to be subservient to the king you would not have to live on lentils.’ Said Diogenes, ‘Learn to live on lentils and you will not have to be subservient to the king”.”  

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TWELVE: PART SIXTY-THREE: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE    

“Yob,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy, “So far I’ve been telling you a very pretty story about the man who gave me my start, Mr. Salvatore “Sam” Floyd, and where he got his “pull”–namely, from a young fella who never took no guff by the name of William Batchelder Tallent, known to his close associates as “Mawny”. 

“Now here it is, thirty years later. Do you want to know what happened to Mawny? Mawny grew up to be a holy terror in his later years. I’ll tell you more about that, only right now I’m getting a little ahead of myself. I was hoping that by telling you the instructive tale of little Mawny, and how he growed, to plant some ideas about bein’ sensible in that great big thick skull of yours. But now I think that it’s only fair to warn you that there’s trouble a-brewin between your pal, old ‘Doc’ Ketman, and another Yellof whose name I scarcely dast mention. Let’s walk down closer to the lakeshore, and get well out of hearin’ range.

“There’s only one wild man I know of who is a wilder fella than Mawny, who has actually seen the Devil’s work in action. And that man is Cokey Stolas, as I’ve told you many times before. The Gib Yellof his own self. Fear him. Oh yaas, fear him if you know what’s good for you. He ain’t got horns, ner yet a tail, yet old Mephistopheles himself could scarcely stir up more mischief and bedevilment, especially when he has a mind to. Why, ‘pandemonium’ is that man’s middle name, I tell you.

“Now, I don’t hold with spooks and spirit workings, and other such hobbledehoy–not much–nay, not much at all, except when I’m on a bender mebbe–but I tell you here and now that there’s something supernatural about the likes of Mawny and the Gib Yellof. 

‘You need have no fear of ever failing to catch sight of the Gib Yellof, Ettil Yob–likely, you’ll hear him before you see him, and smell him before you hear him. They say he measures up to be about 300 pounds, has to be weighed on a freight scale, and smells like the grease of a thousand cheap steakhouses. He is known all through Noxtown as a ‘gourmet of renown’. That’s when they call a ‘glutton’ when they want to butter him up. Oh, the G.Y. has his fat finger in every pie they is. Sometimes literally. The German Baker calls him Vielfrass. The Polack butcher calls him Mister Zarloc.  The Nigras in the Pullman Cars call him Mistuh Prince Albert De Ice Potater Man. The Jewish delicatessen owner calls him Herr Reavetan. The Dago as runs the wop joint calls him ‘Geo Tony’. The Irish barkeep, fresh off the boat, calls him Mister Muck. The cheesemonger calls him Mr. Mockin. The wop that runs the Greek diner calls him Sir Laimargos. Even the Chinese laundryman has a name for him–calls him Xìngyùn de chánzuǐ. And his English gardener refers to him as Mr. Gannet, but only to his closest associates. 

“As I told you before, his Pappy, crazy, murderous old Noah Stolas, was a prominent real estate developer who later went into politics in a big way, and the son followed in his hefty size-fifteen footsteps. Noah’s pappy ran a sawmill in Florida. He also growed cane sugar and whipped his nigras something fierce. Noah’s grand pappy ran a grist mill somewhere way off in the big stick country, and was known for cheatin’ the farmers something awful. Noah’s great grandpappy on his father’s side?  They say that over in England he was a highbinder and an unreconstructed blackguard. As an unlucky convict, he was destined to hang for black deeds, but somehow somewhere good fortune smiled, and instead he was sentenced to transportation for life. 

“On his mother’s side though, Cokey Stolas is related to the Batchelders and the Tallents. Small world, ain’t it? So him and Mawny are third cousins or something like that. 

“You ever hear of how, if some fellers had brains, they’d be half-way dangerous? Well, the Stolas clan had brains a-plenty. They never done a lick of work unless there was something in it for them, extra. They never gave away a thin dime to any pore stranger, so far as I know, unless they expected to get it back twenty-fold later on. Folks thought they was ‘respectable’ because they donated to the church, but they treated their own servants something awful. In his younger days, before he beefed up to where he couldn’t see his own pecker, old Cokey used to paw the servin’ girls around something terrible. Folks say he must of birthed about a dozen bastards. Droit de Siegnur, as they say in the old country. You see, early on, the Stolas clan learned that better than being a farmer, and staring at a mule’s ass all all day, it was far better to swindle farmers, and look into the face of a lovely lass. No, Yob, no one ever got fat trying to put one over on the Stolas bunch! 

“You know, they say that deep in the murky past, one of the Stolas bunch was said to of married an Injun Squaw, and that there might have even been a lick of the ol’ tarbrush in their racial composition. A Senegambian in the woodpile, so to speak. And that’s why Stolas will never be president. Me, personally, I think the man is too rich and powerful to even want the job. 

“After all, what IS a President these days? He’s little better’n a branch manager with a hundred million customers. He’s at the beck and call of all the Steel Barons and Cow Barons and Drug Barons and Railroad Titans and the OILY-garchy down in Texas. Why, don’t you know that nowadays they don’t even LET you be President unless, deep down, you’re exactly THEIR kind of feller?  

“Lincoln was a great man, they say. Greater than Washington. Washington was the father of our country, sure. But it it hadn’t been for Lincoln, he would of been the father of Twins, if you get my drift. But even Honest Abe earned his crust as a corporation lawyer. And it was a fluke that the big goof even got elected in the first place. And when he won his second term, I’m supposing some enterprising souls decided that he was cramping their style–cutting into their business–and so they had him removed. They very near done the very same to his successor. But they left Grant alone, as he was something of a chucklehead. No–it don’t pay to be TOO honest, if you get my drift. 

“Anyway, old Stolas is a bad ‘un…and if you see him coming, you just might want to run the other day. Don’t be rude–but don’t worry overmuch that you’re going to hurt his feelings, because I’m sure he has none. 

“In fact, sometimes I think he AIN’T entirely human. And that’s no Harvard lie.”


1* SALUTATION

MIKE OLDFIELD

INCANTATIONS

https://youtu.be/7uBRs7qBDg8

2*REFERENCE
CAPGRAS SYNDROME
“Today we think that what is false and artificial in the world around us is substantive and meaningful. It’s not that loved ones and friends are mistaken for simulations, but that simulations are mistaken for them.”  
getpocket.com/explore/item/to-understand-facebook-study-capgras-syndrome  


3*HUMOR

THE CHRISTMAS PANIC

Panic #1 was banned in Boston.In 1953.
cbldf.org/2013/12/tales-from-the-code-the-christmas-panic/  


4*NOVELTY

CRAZED ADVERTISING MIDGETS

www.lileks.com/institute/comicsins/comics/misc/6.html


ALSO SEE:
MR. COFFEE NERVES

www.lileks.com/institute/comicsins/comics/coffeenerves/14.html  

SEE ALSO:
HEY, SKINNY!
starrcards.com/from-charles-atlas-to-count-dante-evolution-of-over-the-top-comic-book-ads-for-mma-instruction/  


SEE ALSO:
THE STRANGE HISTORY OF COMIC BOOK ADVERTISEMENTS
www.syfy.com/syfywire/the-strange-history-of-comic-book-advertisements  


ALSO SEE:

CHUM FRINK

I sat alone and groused and thunk, and scratched my head and sighed and wunk, and groaned, There still are boobs, alack, who’d like the old-time gin-mill back; that den that makes a sage a loon, the vile and smelly old saloon! I’ll never miss their poison booze, whilst I the bubbling spring can use, that leaves my head at merry morn as clear as any babe new-born!–Chum Frink
www.enotes.com/topics/babbitt/text/chapter-viii#root-176  

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

IRAN

“Boys go to Baghdad. Real men go to Tehran.”–Senior Bush Official, May 2003
lobelog.com/boys-go-to-baghdad-real-men-go-to-tehran/
www.counterpunch.org/2006/01/17/real-men-go-to-tehran/  

Oh shit.


DON’T THINK IN TERMS OF THE SCATOLOGICAL.
THINK IN TERMS OF THE ESCHATOLOGICAL.  


The military has had a hard-on against Iran since ’79. But they wouldn’t be shoveling billions down a sandhole unless they saw a bubblin’ crude at the end of the rainbow.  


THEME SONG:

https://youtu.be/iIpfWORQWhU

6* DAILY UTILITY

COUNTERPRODUCTIVE SJWS

medium.com/human-development-project/sjw-behaviors-that-hurt-social-justice-a445916583ce  


7*CARTOON

FLORIDA MAN

cheezburger.com/4043525/24-times-florida-man-inspired-insane-headlines  


8*PRESCRIPTION

BODY-SHAMING

www.rebelcircus.com/blog/worst-body-shaming-sexist-ads-recently-come/  


ALSO SEE: 

WHY THE WORLD NEEDS FEMINISM

medium.com/human-development-project/these-vintage-ads-illustrate-why-the-world-needs-feminism-b8549a3edffa   


9* RUMOR PATROL

ASTEROID BENNU

https://youtu.be/q9KoyOaXo10

10*LAGNIAPPE

STIFF LITTLE FINGERS

ROUGH TRADE

https://youtu.be/gP2g-4_feh8

ALSO SEE:
PETER TOWNSHEND
ROUGH BOYS
https://youtu.be/dkT8W6u81Ks


SEE ALSO:

THE DAMBUILDERS

SMOOTH CONTROL

https://youtu.be/PEnHf4E_OZw

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
ELTON JOHN’S GOODBYE YELLOW BRICK ROAD LP IS FAR MORE TRANSGRESSIVE THAN THE VELVET UNDERGROUND EVER WERE.


First song, “Love Lies Bleeding,” is a thinly disguised story about a jilted homosexual.
“Candle in the Wind” is about a gay icon.
“Bennie and the Jets” is about a butch doyenne in fetish gear from out of a stroke rag.
“Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” slyly references Judy Garland and is about some rough trade jilted by his homosexual lover.
“This Song Has No Title” is about a naive young man who comes to the big city and learns some things.
“Grey Seal” is about some wise old American Indian or something.
The subject matter of “Jamaica Jerk Off” is self-evident even to a child.
“I’ve Seen That Movie Too” is about some kind of porn flick or something.
“Sweet Painted Lady” is no lady.
“The Ballad of Danny Bailey” is about some rough trade who gets slaughtered.
“Dirty Little Girl” is a misogynist’s catalog of woman-hatred.
“All the Girls Love Alice” is a celebration of lesbianism.
“Your Sister Can’t Twist” is, somewhat slyly, about taboo sex.
“Saturday Night’s All Right For Fighting”: More rough trade.
“Roy Rodgers” is a masturbatory fantasy about a big husky cowboy with a rod.
“Social Disease” is about an alcoholic who is also suffering from VD.
And “Harmony” is about an encounter which takes place in what is presumably a gay bar.    


12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
APPLEBEE’S
 I think they should change the name of Applebee’s and Cracker Barrel and similar eateries to I HATE MYSELF AND I WANT TO DIE.  

THE INFORMATION #1045 MAY 17, 2019

THE INFORMATION #1045  
MAY 17, 2019
Copyright 2019 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

TWENTIETH ANNIVERSARY EDITION

All through history, there have always been people who got in the way.–William Remington

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TWELVE: PART SIXTY-TWO: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE    

“I’ll tell you something else, Mawny,” said Glen Phillips to William Batchelder Tallent, “about newspapermen. First and foremost, they are some of the most spiteful prima donnas alive. Almost as bad as actors. Especially the ones who fancy themselves gay dogs. Getting the story is their primary motive. Once they do that, they care not who writes the nation’s laws. Their nauseating obsession with ‘scoops’ is surely one of the most degrading characteristics of that benighted bunch. The most eminent of that motley crew are completely without morals and blindly aggressive–a dangerous combination, wouldn’t you say? Most of them wouldn’t hesitate to run over their own grandmothers for a front page byline. And they’ll gloss over every extenuating circumstance and run only the most spectacularly condemnatory information to gain that end. They’re always in a hurry to rush SOMETHING into print. And they never check their stories. Conclusions first; confirmation later, if at all. 
“Why, when it comes to cutting corners, these reporters have the businessmen and even the politicians beat all hollow! If they want to ruin a man, they have over a dozen ways to do it. One is to assume that every public figure has one and only one distinguishing characteristic. And they’ll run that into the ground, usually by assigning the great man whom they wish to tear down some sort of belittling nickname, like ‘Curly’ for a bald man, or ‘Slim’ for a fat fellow. In their hands, every simple barroom brawl becomes a three-alarm donnybrook. The only people they ever talk to on a regular basis are others like them, so they assume that the whole world is as cynical as they are. They sneer at sentiment and despise weakness. They are Spartans, and they hate the Athenians. What they call their sense of humor often devolves into mere mockery. But they will never, ever criticize anybody who is in a position to do them some good. That is why they have no fixed political beliefs, other than a vague notion that they should be able to say whatever they please, as it says so in the first amendment. 


“Who do they attack? Why, it really all depends on whose ox is to be gored that day. The edict will come from on high: ‘Puff Cleveland. Blast Blaine.’ Or vice versa, depending on where the money is, and whether the publisher is a Democrat or a Republican. So the newspaper boys will always preach to the choir. Always. And they’ll fawn to win the favor of the sorts of caddish readers who ought to be roundly ignored, if not horsewhipped at high noon in the town square. I wish I had a quarter for every scoundrel who was praised to the skies, and a dollar for every good man who was brought down by low slanders. I would have a cool million, and in short order, too. 


“Reporters are obsessed with brutal and garish murders. As are we all. Which they well know. You ask them why don’t they report on some of the good that people manage to do in this fallen world, and, to a man, they will answer that there’s no story there. They know everything that happened today, very little about recent history, unless it suits their purpose, and nothing at all about anything that happened before they were born. They dote on the eminent and wealthy and despise the great mass of people as mere ciphers. Which, of course, is why the long practice of journalism is the worst kind of training for an aspiring Tolstoy. This is not to say that some reporters don’t manage to transcend their background. But most of them have never cultivated a long view, nor do they care to. They would rather report on a five-alarm fire than cover the hundreds of lynchings that take place down south every year, or expose the degree to which the money power rules this land. Serious discourse? They leave that for their bosses, the big-money men, to determine what is and what is not ‘serious’ and worthy of sustained attention. Small wonder that egalitarianism gets short shrift, and the law of the jungle is praised to the skies. And when it comes to choosing between writing about something that is geared to the minds of the stupes and selecting a topic which would engage the attention of thoughtful men, why, they will write the stupid story every single time. Too much cogitation, you see, might cut into their drinking time. For they are all infamous lushers. They drink to forget. They have to, in order to live with themselves. So please, Mawny, tell me that you aren’t going to set yourself up as a newspaperman. Better to be a poet, and starve to death in a garret. Or, for that matter, a piano-player in a whorehouse.


“Of course, if you do manage to set yourself up in the newspaper game, after covering the police blotter for several years, you might get to become a critic. You can know two tunes, and one of them ain’t ‘Yankee Doodle,’ and set yourself up as a music critic. Or you can see ‘Ten Nights in a Bar-Room,’ once, and write five hundred words of balderdash, and nab yourself a cushy job as a drama critic. Or, if you know how to skim through a damned thick book and get the gist of it, you can be a book-reviewer. Only don’t try to be a sportswriter unless you know all the rules of all those foolish games inside and out. The other fellows will eat you alive. They don’t much care for greenhorns forcing their way into their racket. “No newspaperman is any better than he has to be. In fact, there’s no difference between him, the crooks whose exploits he documents, or the crooked cops and informants from whom he gets the bulk of his flaming hot poop. No, if you want to go into the newspaper racket, a publisher is what you want to be. But you won’t be able to do that unless you have a boatload of money. 


“Marry rich, Mawny, marry rich–that’s the only remedy for it.”


1* SALUTATION
HOLY MODAL ROUNDERS
BAD BOY
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fmhoSUQdPiE

SKY DIVERS
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j73SEtRBL5c&feature=youtu.be&t=41   

THE IWW SONG
https://youtu.be/pbt7VKYs6Z0?t=67

2*REFERENCE
THE GROSSNESS OF MCDONALD’S
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tSrv5L07fhs  

3*HUMOR
RIGHT-WING RADIO DUCK
https://youtu.be/HfuwNU0jsk0

4*NOVELTY
ICONIC PLAYBOY COVERS
https://www.thedailybeast.com/60-years-of-playboy-the-most-iconic-playboy-covers-from-marilyn-monroe-to-kim-kardashian

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
THAT’S NOT FUNNY
documentarylovers.com/film/thats-not-funny/

6* DAILY UTILITY
 A good mechanic is worth his weight in gold.
https://dr-hermes.livejournal.com/312533.html
A dishonest mechanic (such as you will find at most dealerships) is lower than bilge scum. 
 
7*CARTOON
THE SHAME OF FAT-SHAMING
envisioningtheamericandream.com/2016/10/03/the-shame-of-fat-shaming/  

8*PRESCRIPTION
HALLUCINOGENS AND THE BRAIN
Sorry, folks. Don’t mean to be a bummer. I was a state of mass public health librarian for two years. I went to two research retreats at Salve Regina and a RADAR conference in denver. Soo…I know the type of damage that regular dosing, even microdosing, can do. Message: I care. 

What kind of damage? Short, non-technical answer: Hallucinogens tamper with your selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors.

Longer, more technical answer:

“…both serotonergic hallucinogens and NMDA antagonists disrupt information processing within corticostriato-thalamic pathways implicated in the pathogenesis of psychotic disorders.”
www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3181663/

This can lead to depression, schizophrenia, and bipolar disorders, particular in individuals with a family history of same.

However:
www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/evolutionary-psychiatry/201806/hallucinogens-and-depression

9* RUMOR PATROL
 IN OTHER NEWS: ONION HEADLINES ARE REAL
www.literallyunbelievable.org  

10*LAGNIAPPE
CUTENESS OVERLOAD
KEITH HARRIS
ORVILLE’S SONG
https://youtu.be/2c8PUVIKgI4

BARBRA STREISAND
I’M FIVE
https://youtu.be/EHHWK1_XN10

BARELY THERE
https://youtu.be/r5XIyKlLThs

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
THE CURE: ROBERT SMITH SURE HAS GOTTEN FATGROSSEST HITS
I Eat At Subway Song
Meatcook
Three Imaginary Bistros
The Weedy Glutton
Gastric Passion
Jumping Someone Else’s Buffet Line
Three (Meals a Day)
Mmm
(I Eat My Dinner in) Seventeen Seconds
The Roly Poly Hour
Going-Home-to-Eat Time
The Hanging Olive Garden
One Hundred Beers
Salad Dressing Up
The Empty Stomach
In Between Dinners
If Only Tonight We Could Eat
From the Edge of the Deep Green Seafood Buffet
Club Sandwich America
Wild Food Swings
The Last Day of Dinner
The Hungry Guest
Chocolate Sometimes
 Pictures of Food 
 Killing an Arab Buffet  
 Dis Dinner Ration 
 
12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
FUTURE MUSICAL GENRES
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_popular_music_genres  
Kryptonian Gamelan
Janky Thrash
Fat Load Speed Metal
Acid Country
Twelve-stepper Sea Shanties
Cartoon Danger Music
School of Hard Knocks Experimental Noise
Three Hot Bitches and One Fat Girl Pirate Metal
Lowly Russian Serf Music
Jeffin’ Uncle Tom Rap
Work Hard Play Hard Yacht Rock
Muppet Corpse Grinder Shoegaze
Buckin’ Bronco Ghetto House
Warm ‘n’ Fuzzy Grunge
Lesbian Fuck-Buddy Boogie Woogie
Vapecore
Doughface Swing
Psychedelic Hitler Folk
Mugwump Grindcore
Progressive Silence Denial
Blood Diamond Wonkbeat
Classical Surf
Ancient Grains Dubstep
Reactionary New Age
Outlaw Hokum
Jangle Reggae
Wall of Hate
Sissycore
Ruff Tuff Math Rock
Free Jazz Charleston
Christian Dixieland
MAGA Rock en Espanol
Novelty Drone
Juke Joint Space Music
Munchkin Rumba
Third Stream Cha Cha Cha
Big Boy Chords
Stumbo Rock
Granma’s Li’l Devil Screamo a capella
 Toughguy Bubblegum.
Death Metal Klezmer.
Gangsta Balinese
Black Metal Broadway Musical
Field Holler Electronica
Melodic No-wave.
Appalachian Folk/80’s Synth Pop
Gangsta Emo
Progressive Oi!
Expressionist Verite.
Black Nationalist Minstrelsy.
Prog-Hop
Industrial Bluegrass
Hardcore Skiffle
Gangsta Kinks
Humble Metal
Proto-Fascist Psychedelia
‘Eefin jazz
Gentle Ben Thug Rock
Thucidydes Rap
Thurston Howell III Funk Boogie
A Capella Satancore  

THE INFORMATION #1044 MAY 10, 2019

THE INFORMATION #1044 MAY 10, 2019
Copyright 2019 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com


Journalism largely consists in saying “Lord Jones is dead” to people who never knew Lord Jones was alive.― G.K. Chesterton  

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE

BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TWELVE: PART SIXTY-ONE: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE


“Have you ever thought, Mawny” said Glen Phillips to William Batchelder Tallent, “of going into journalism?’

“Well….”, said Bill.

“Well, don’t,” Glen Phillips snapped. “Not that I’m in the business of discouraging young Talent. Or young Tallent,” he said with a chuckle. “But don’t do it. My Pater runs a paper, you know, and he says that writing is a mug’s game. Any man with any sense would go into politics. Or business, if he has money. because, as we all know, business is the fourth branch of government. At least, here in the 19th century. Maybe things will be different in the twentieth. I’m not banking on it, though.I will admit that you do display some aptitude in that line. But, knowing you, you’ll always want to do things the hard way. Why is that? You seem pretty sensible when it comes to putting words together. Why is it that you can’t manage your life? I’ll bet you would turn out to be just the type of reporter my old man detests. The kind who shows off by using big words to describe simple things. The kind who wants the world to know how smart he is by throwing in obscure historical references that have nothing to do with the story.

“Or, even worse, you’d probably turn out to be the tough egg with the bleeding heart of gold who must–must!–report on the plight of poor. All those vagabonds who live their short and wretched lives in squalor and misery. All those unfortunate beggars who are the poor victims  of circumstance, of the inexorable law of nature, or of a crooked boss–or all three.The wretched scum of the earth who are driven by starvation and need to live in the streets, where they immediately to crime, and are eventually caught throwing bombs at the police station. Or–and this one I hate the most–the shining exemplar who studies his ABCs and works his way up from nothing by selling canned tomatoes door to door to dagoes and polacks and who eventually grows up to manage a big tomato-canning factory. Get one thing very clear: Rags to riches is a Goddamned myth, my boy, no matter what fucking Horatio Alger says. Are you aware that he was run out of Massachusetts for doing things with small boys?

“What things?”

“Terrible things.”

William Batchelder Tallent was silent. Glen Phillips resumed.

“I’m guessing that in New York, they don’t much care about that sort of reputation. Anyway, that man is a joke. He has never down put a single original thought, and, as far as I’m concerned, he couldn’t write his way out of a paper bag. And yet they worship him, the dolts! He wastes his time telling fairy tales about a nobody who becomes a big success because he stop a runaway horse from trampling the boss’s daughter. Bosso, there, is allegedly so grateful he gives the lad a job at twenty-five per and grooms him for management. The fair-haired Boy Wonder and the flaxen-haired daughter fall in love, and Poppa gives them his blessing, even though he has warned her repeatedly about screwing the Hired Hand. And they all live happily ever after. But old Horatio leaves out one thing. One thing he knows all too well. You don’t get something for nothing. Nature itself cries out against the very thought! Furthermore, it’s scientifically impossible. You can bet that the fair-haired boy will, at the very least, be asked to participate in some pretty unsavory business. Like selling shiny death candy to toddlers, or some such. You would not believe the stuff they put in gumdrops! Enough lead and arsenic to kill a healthy rat. And who do they sell it to? Innocent sprats. The smallest of the small fry. 

“In any event, plenty soon enough, reporters start to sympathize with the values of their employers, who aren’t exactly running a charity concern. Even if they’re of humble origins–and many of them all–a college degree is as rare as a three-legged hen in the reporting racket–many of them begin to take on airs, and start in to thinking that because they get to interview famous men, and eminent personalities, why, that means that they’re some punkins themselves, and clearly of a higher grade than the grubby hoi polloi who read their scandal sheets.  Before too very long, they take to wearing fancy hats, and snappy garters, and smoking fifty-cent cigars.  

“Because in this sadly fallen world we live in, the reporter does have a certain amount of power to shape our ends. He can make a man look ridiculous in the most subtle ways. By noting, for instance, that he wears too much perfume and smokes his cigars with the band still on. Clearly a parvenu, and probably a bounder as well. Or by noting that his linen isn’t particularly clean. Or, as a last resort, a conniving reporter can simply leave in all the ‘ums’ and ‘ers’ that a normal person uses whenever he’s talking naturally. This makes the subject out to be a cast-iron dolt. 

“Ho! On the other hand! He can make even the most sinister Corsair look noble just by using just a few simple tricks. Like, pointing out that even though he’s an eminent politician or captain of industry, he still likes to go to vaudeville shows to enjoy a chuckle. That, you see, is meant to indicate that he ain’t no stuffed shirt. No–he has ‘the common touch’. Or he can point out that some Judas Iscariot may have a bad reputation, but that he always carries around those newfangled dog biscuits, in case he happens to come across some slavering mutt in the middle of the street. Or, he can tell us that that some greedy Genghis Khan character likes to distribute dimes to small boys, and tousle their hair for ’em as he dispenses his largesse. Or, if all else fails, he can report that Mr. Caligula is good to his aged mother, and has bought her a nice cozy little cottage with all the major modern conveniences. . That one gets ’em every time. Sentimental hog-wash and sensational balderdash–that’s the hireling’s stock in trade! ‘Always dumb it down!’ That’s his motto! And he’ll dish it out for just as long as there’s a buyer–and–never fear–there always is.  

“Mawny, when it comes right down to it, a newspaperman is a lot like a garbageman. Only–get this–a garbageman is paid to TAKE THE TRASH AWAY.”


1* SALUTATION
ALLEN GINSBERG
BIRDBRAIN
https://youtu.be/hc4Oda0hrnY

PERE UBU

CHINESE RADIATION

https://youtu.be/1DffSs5t-eA


MADE FOR TV

SO AFRAID OF THE RUSSIANS

https://youtu.be/AVf7m_YZ2zY

2*REFERENCE
DO WE STILL NEED POETRY?

The world has never “needed” poets. But poets are, as Shelley once said, “the unacknowledged legislators of mankind.” So one should take the long view. 


Read these lines:  

I met Murder on the way–
He had a mask like Castlereagh–
Very smooth he looked, yet grim;
Seven blood-hounds followed him:
 
All were fat; and well they might
Be in admirable plight,
For one by one, and two by two,
He tossed them human hearts to chewChange the names, and it would speak to the human condition today. But the lines were written by Shelley, in 1819.

SEE:

THE MASK OF ANARCHY

http://knarf.english.upenn.edu/PShelley/anarchy.html


ALSO SEE:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Masque_of_Anarchy


3*HUMOR
MOVIE DISASTERS & BOX-OFFICE BOMBS

So much money is spent making bad art that isn’t even entertaining and that people don’t even like.
http://collider.com/galleries/box-office-bombs-famous-directors/  

4*NOVELTY
FARMERS ONLY

THE FISHING DATE

https://youtu.be/hzAwU_1JzYI

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
TRUMP VS. DAILY NEWS

interactive.nydailynews.com/2016/07/donald-trump-daily-news-front-pages/

ALSO SEE:
TRUMP VS. SPY

pando.com/2015/07/23/short-fingered-vulgarian-cometh/ 


SEE ALSO:

TRUMP INTERVIEW FROM 1989

https://youtu.be/biJhYyuc4gg 

ALSO SEE:

ROY COHN

nymag.com/intelligencer/2018/04/frank-rich-roy-cohn-the-original-donald-trump.html?fbclid=IwAR0GCu_MmQlqU00UeeXLC5whs6Awr5yC3g-1LLVesp6XPd3YKRthYqI1czg   

ALSO SEE:

THE MUELLER REPORT

www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2019/04/ben-wittes-five-conclusions-mueller-report/588259/?utm_source=pocket-newtab  

6* DAILY UTILITY
HOW TO WRITE POETRY

Read poetry. Lots of poetry,

Start with Blake. Work your way up to Wordsworth and John Clare. Read some Emily Dickinson and Robert Herrick. Then try Tennyson, Thomas Hardy, Edward Arlington Robinson, Robert Burns, Robert Browning, Robert Frost, and Edgar Lee Masters.

After that, you might wish to sample Keats, Shelley, Byron, Coleridge, Yeats, Auden, and Matthew Arnold.

From there, you might want to look at the modernists: Eliot, Pound, Wallace Stevens, Hart Crane, William Carlos Williams, and Dylan Thomas.

Then, perhaps, you could backtrack, and read the works of poets such as Thomas Gray, Alexander Pope, John Skelton, Spenser, Dryden, Marvell, John Milton, Thomas Wyatt, Philip Sidney, and William Shakespeare. 

7*CARTOON
DIE VERWANDLUNG
None of the translations of Kafka’s Die Verwandlung are any more than merely satisfactory. Right down to the title. “Metamorphosis” is misleading. Verwandlung really means “transformation”. 


Which implies that the protagonist’s family, also, is transformed.

ALSO SEE:
THE GRAPHIC GREGOR SAMSA: CAN KAFKA’S CREATURE BE BROUGHT TO LIFE?
BY SAMANTHA J. SACKS
https://digitalcommons.bard.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1129&context=senproj_s2016  


SEE ALSO:

R. CRUMB ILLUSTRATES KAFKA

https://www.brainpickings.org/2015/04/01/r-crumb-kafka/ 


ALSO SEE:

CANCEL CULTURE COMES FOR COUNTERCULTURAL COMICS

https://reason.com/2019/04/29/cancel-culture-comes-for-count/ 

8*PRESCRIPTION
THERE IS NO HOPE WITH DOPE

https://youtu.be/pm4tzvtX3ow

9* RUMOR PATROL
UNFOUNDED CONSPIRACY THEORIES

Often hinge upon a mere coincidence of names.
“Kennedy’s secretary was named Lincoln!!! Lincoln’s secretary was named Kennedy!!! WOW!” (Not true, by the way.)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lincoln%E2%80%93Kennedy_coincidences_urban_legend


ALSO SEE:
KING KILL 33: Masonic Symbolism in the Assassination of John F.Kennedy
https://www.revisionisthistory.org/kingkill33.html


10*LAGNIAPPE
TONY CONRAD & FAUST

OUTSIDE THE DREAM SYNDICATE

https://youtu.be/FGMnDcwoXns


ALSO SEE:FAUST

FREE YOURSELF

https://youtu.be/fsc-dH99oC4


FAUST

MISS FORTUNE

https://youtu.be/Epuga2JoF8A?t=1057

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
OVERUSED TROPES

Check out the website tvtropes.com and you’ll find thousands of them.

One of the most irksome is explicated thus:

I’m a little surprised I haven’t been able to find this one, but I haven’t yet: an underground network of people beneath notice – service professionals, homeless, taxi drivers – who use their connections to aid the hero… or the antagonist.
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/query.php

In folklore studies, this is known as “the magical helper”.

SEE:
Vladimir Propp:
https://prezi.com/rvcmcasuovn2/vladimir-propps-theory/


12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
CHAIN RESTAURANTS

Why drive twenty minutes or more, wait twenty minutes or more, and pay double, plus a tip, for the dubious privilege of eating food that isn’t really very wholesome and which might not be very clean?

When, with a little forethought you can prepare a delicious and nutritious meal for your family at home in about the same amount of time?

Only fools would gobble that greasy chow and think it edible, let alone scrumptious. Eating any of that garbage food will drastically shorten your life, so why do it?  

Make all the excuses you want. But eating out at such places is the opiate of the lower middle class.