Sunday, September 4, 2011

Heroes, Losers and Window Shopping Troglodytes.

I could have first written a short book called “Visible for Dummies” before I started doing all of this but I was too busy and I assumed too much; if you don’t know what a term or a reference means, by all means, look it up. That’s why god gave you search engines and doesn’t want you to use me as your research assistant. I know everyone wants to screw the cute librarian with the glasses. You should be informed, I’ve got all that kind of attention already and I live with the librarian and her sister likes me to. However, if it is that important, take a number and the butcher will be with you shortly. How would you like those hog nostrils sliced; real thin so they look like pepperoni on the pizza? Be patient, one our operators will contact you shortly.

People who actually like coming here know I will get to my point soon enough, or I might just take a lot of time; you never know. I introduced Lord Buckley into the mix yesterday and if you missed it there, because you didn’t find me in ‘all the usual places’, given that some of the usual places need to grant space for their consort and the religious music they offer, while reflexively dismissing anything spiritual by anyone else.... Oops, I’ve confused spirituality with religion again, never mind.

Anyway, I introduced Lord Buckley, who is not to be confused with William Buckley, who used to talk like his mouth was full of water, while he was seeding the fields of blood; much like the Kristol’s now do, or Buckley Cough Syrup; “tastes terrible but works great”... and Lord Buckley has had a great impact on me personally, as has Omar Khayyam and Lord Krishna, Shiva and a Buddha or two.

I learned yesterday that Lord Buckley used to go on stage and encourage the women in the audience to bring their mink coats to the stage and then he would set them on fire. Now who used to wear mink coats all the time, or should I go down to Miami Beach forty years ago in the summer or do you get the picture? Apparently Al Capone approved of what he did but Al was in competition with a larger crime syndicate, so we can appreciate why he would have that sentiment but we don’t want to talk about who his rivals were. As I heard the tale, Lord Buckley died in the gutter, though the word is that he was killed by the mob; which mob? Maybe that’s why Groucho treated him like shit. Well, for those who don’t know the man, go to Visible Origami for a small taste in the links and let me give you one I didn’t include that attends to the conquistadores; maybe the text is a better thing at this point.

This is not about Lord Buckley but more about all of us that have wailed backstage because the stage has been controlled by those who demand an open mouthed and kneeling fealty from the performers and some of us won’t put up with this. Some of us burn their mink coats on stage and some of us create our own stage but any of us that are honorable and have some shred of integrity remaining, improvise somehow to get our message out to those who tend to tear us to pieces instead of hanging their leaders and the propaganda skunks, who make the joint smell like the world needs to take a shower and then get run over by the tractor trailer of the divine, as they sit in the middle of the highway licking their fur.

I’m going to be honest here, which might be a stretch for me. I have often toned down my real message because a website I really liked didn’t like me talking about God; those days are over. I don’t care who does or does not link me anymore. If I can’t be myself then the whole point of doing this in the first place is a big waste of time and I’ve done enough of that already.

I don’t care if a plane or a missile hit The Pentagon. All I care about is who did it, not how they did it. Unlike the estimable doctors of one science or another, who write endless books about shit that any fool ought to already question from the get go, I already know it’s bullshit and I don’t mind calling it by its rightful name. I got on a train and traveled for a full day to get to Luzerne to speak to a group of Swiss and curious attended by press and the rest who came to hear Dr. Griffin and Niels Harrit go on and on and on and on about the kind of thing that only the Swiss will sit still for because they live in the country that hides the money until they need it to make another war.

I’ll admit that I got impatient after a couple of hours and I will admit that I had not much to do but smoke extraordinarily strong pot and drink beer and talk to the people outside who had enough sense not to sit through the show. So I told the promoter to put me on because I could tell that no one was really getting anything because it was just going on and on and on and on and on and on and on. The promoter is and was a very cool guy and he did put me on next and I knew what I could say and couldn’t say, up to a point so... what could I do, I did my best Lord Buckley and maybe you want to go and read “Visible for Dummies” at this point but without saying it, I said it and when I left the stage after taking only about ten minutes, a good portion of the audience followed me outside and stayed there until the promoter had to come back out and encourage them to go back in so that they could hear two more hours about intricate shit that was designed to put their minds to sleep and succeeded.

The next morning when I awoke from my troubled sleep, I did my best to avoid the good doctors at the complimentary breakfast buffet but I had left something in my hotel room. That meant I had to traverse across the space where they could see me pass because I had already been waiting a good time to get away and just as my streetcar, on a given Sunday- with reduced traffic; given that it was a Sunday, arrived, I remembered what I had forgotten and wound up having that undesirable brunch with them.

If what it takes to tell the truth involves having to have breakfast with people who don’t like me cause I stole their thunder in a small town that I can’t even remember the name of, so be it. If my taking a slow train fifteen hundred miles back and forth over the period of three days is not enough to show the lengths I am willing to go to and get no compensation, where I am sure the doctors got theirs, then maybe I’m not trying hard enough and maybe I’m wrong and maybe I don’t deserve anything anyway but... I know what boredom is like and I find it intolerable. I find writing endless books about HOW something happened is intolerable too. I find arguing about whether it was a plane or a missile intolerable because all I give a shit about is who did it. I don’t care what their mechanisms were; that’s for the people who make money off of it by their tedious books and lecture tours that make Bob Dylan’s present 365 days a year tour look like he was living and working in France... and he’s been touring non stop for a long time and not having much effect on anything anymore, just like the good doctors because none of these fucks addresses the root problem which is WHO DID IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don’t care how they did it and I don’t care about all the convoluted frottage crap that people get into, I care who did it. The producer of the event took me aside afterwards and he told me that we can’t talk about that here and, you know what? I didn’t even say it out of respect for him in the first place but I’m a performer. I know how to get my point across without actually saying it. I say it here because I own here. If I can’t say it in your space then don’t invite me and if you have a financial angle with me, don’t visit or importune me because I don’t need you and I never have. The day I can’t be heard, because I am dependent on small change aficionados, is the day I tie my feet together and tie my hands behind my back and then hang myself and I can be a suicide just like the real thing, all it takes is 12 Chinese acrobats and a whole lot of people who whore for money or sell their asses for the thrill of fear and I am good to go.

I like Lord Buckley and I like Colonel Khadaffi and I like Russia and I definitely like Vladimir Putin or anyone who is, more or less-as politician’s go- behaving themselves at home and not terrorizing the landscape. This is pretty much the world today. If they are not killing you by proxy, as the cowards they are, they are boring you to death or apologizing for not letting you have a forum because we don’t say these things here.

You know what? If you can’t print or allow all that I do, then don’t print any of it. You know what? If you have to pass the hat to print my books, I can electronically print them with NO ONE”S HELP but the one I have relied on all my life. Believe me, I have never relied on any of you and I am not going to change now. My life is between me and GOD and now that I don’t care if a certain website prints my work anymore, I’m not ashamed to say it; I’ve never been ashamed of that but I am done mincing my words. You like mince? Go bake yourself a mince pie for all the thanksgiving you have none left of to celebrate. You get back to me when November arrives.

End Transmission.

I’m celebrating other people now.


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The 3rd Elf