Deers, Does, bucks and other chitty-chitty bang-bangers…
Even at my most blasphemous, I have a love affair with Saints. It is probably due to being drawn to those who meditate as well as live their lives and the attraction to the life of sacrifice. Not all saints were straight arrows, some would have made Richard Pryor proud. We love him, as we are, if not as the promise of what we shall be.
I am a fan of young master talent Lewis Hamilton of Formula 1. Even at the beginning of the season, one could see the Tiger Woods element to his psyche, and that like Tiger, he was a once in a lifetime event, and the real deal. One could also, with experience feel that as he was all of this, and a MOOR (of whatever passport), that his season would be full of intrigue and controversy. So much of the alarm being raised under the guise of other concerns are simply the usual bullshit one encounters when one has changed or challenged the established profile of the status quo. I told my wife, a sports fan, early in the season that just as with Tiger, rules and whatnot would start to change, to accommodate the fear of his presence and new energy. Yet, guys like me were brought into the sport by his charisma, and genius. Controversy, much of it invented , follows pioneers, and those of us who wear, as it were, both flags within the bloodlines, are always irrationally feared, and forced to constantly adjust to the Anglo’s neuroses. It can be overwhelmingly tiring living amongst them, yet even more when you are cursed by fate to love them.
When real Tigers enter back into the jungle (I was born in ’62, the year of the Tiger), the pulse, and pace of the whole jungle quickens. That is why Tigers were made, and surviving the monkeys and their apologists, is how Tigers earn their stripes.
This reprise from an earlier poem, authored by me:
TIGERS DON’T GROWL MUCH
UNLESS THEY ARE BORED
OR, UNLESS ATTEMPTING TO
TACKLE THE JUNGLE LORD,
WHOSE FACE TIGERS NEVER SEE
BUT WHO STILL HANDS OUT
THEIR STRIPES, JUDICIOUSLY.
Evil can only pay you (and then only for a spell ), it cannot save you.
Jealousy and competitive fire are one thing, but the way Fernando Alonso has acted , petulant and spoiled, and entitled, towards his McLaren Mercedes team mate, Hamilton, has been anything but championship calibre, it has been pussy. I rooted for Alonso before, now I don’t care. These two would make a formidable team. I have Spanish blood, I thought Fernando did as well, it is obviously not the same blood.
This resonates with me, as upon my arrival into the faggotry of the music world, artists and their managers couldn’t complain fast enough. They treated my destiny as were it given to me as a quota, when I was given nothing, me and spirit simply came and took it, and afterwards, O Lord, the backlash.
Every generation, Othello witnesses yet again, the weakness and wickedness of IAGO. This is why MOORS travel light, as they never know who to trust, or just how much their blackness moves light loafered men, into spasms of dubious and irrational actions against their cause, or even their God given right to exist, and bask in the same sunlight that reaches, in the same hour, all Solar faces. There are a cast of characters that on my behalf the music business created to ‘shadow’ me, and whenever I am moving, despite the appearance being that I am not, they always bring up a face or two to ‘siphon’ from what I am doing. I can name 4, who are still alive, and it always for me confirms that they are worried about me ‘breaking out’ again, and these acts were created to absorb the tribe I inherited years ago by following spirit. The games played by the industry are precisely why they’ve got nought but complaints about their current position, as If karma only applied to suckers, and not equally to criminals and their crimes. Just because we are ignorant of our crimes does not excuse us from our tax which must be paid upon them, and my case, was as criminal an event as could exist in space/ time. Me and time went to school together, and I have all the time in this, or any other series of possible worlds, to see the fallout from the disaster which broke every piece of my former heart, and those whose minds must bear the full extent of Shiva’s grip, upon what there once was of their concept of sanity. Without Angels of retribution, there can be no cause, appreciation or even work, for the Angels of Mercy. I am clear about this, the countdown has begun….
Sometimes, in the governance of man’s spirit, it is detrimental to the growth of his soul to let him get away with crime, without full censure. Otherwise, the organism expands right along with its pursuit of crime, and the insanity that it breeds. Then crime becomes the norm, and corruption, its chosen form. There are times when mercy demands that the corrupt be spanked, and hard, in order to preserve, and keep sanctified, the law. Vishnu finds it hard to spank his children, and though no less full of love , Shiva lives to punish the wicked for their crimes against the will of Brahma.
To be fair, I have always, since earliest childhood been challenged with “ Who do you think you are “. Never mind our ‘raison d’être’, upon life’s surface is to each answer that very question for ourselves. I was always amused at how people expected, me to take an automatic fallback position, simply because weaker souls allowed themselves to be so reduced, so as to allow others to get away with feeling a false sense of superiority, subsudised by the forfeiture of pride by those afraid of being struck down, for behaving with a strong sense of self. I was once sent home from school for defending myself against not one but two attackers , as if it were my civic duty to let these white boys pummel me like a sissy. I answered the usual question with,” And who are YOU to question who I think I am?” Racism and its ignorant classisist cousin are an abomination. It is downright evil, it is meant to destroy a mans’ soul, and bring him in line like a dog, attached to the leash of weakness and doubt. It cripples the hearts of the very community members that we can no longer rally to our cause, and who we then spend more money building prisons for, when schools are so much cheaper, and more useful. We deliberately breed, the very underclass we mock. Mark these words, that same underclass will soon be mocking us, and dancing on our graves.
I have simply always had a problem , and always will, with others trying to determine MY measures, and expecting me to go along with them . Niggers and children do what they are told. Men do what they must. And this man-child will die any day, and with pride, before succumbing to someone else’s idea of my limits, and the manner in which they should be dressed. If this makes me (as it seems to the English for example ) arrogant, then I am grateful to the spirit of arrogance for the truss rod that it has added to my back bone, and the thrust that it grants to my aims. In its measure, every thing which flew out of Pandora’s purse, is a gift to our survival.
We are living in times so silly, that men are ‘labelled’, ‘radical’ simply for standing up for themselves.
The hegemony of Electronic keyboards in Black music has weakened it. Notice that you will almost never see a performer of dark complexion promoted without one, if promoted with an instrument at all. I love piano, and organ, at the right times I love as well electric piano. But I soon grew tired of it’s relative limitations as an instrument when greater emphasis was placed on those shitty plastic keyboards full of fake , de- natured sounds. Guitar belongs to us as well (after all , it is an African derived instrument), and if I see one more black artist seated, all safe and unthreatening behind a nice comfortable keyboard, I will vomit out the national anthem in ¾ time, like a nice waltz. The racists have been so successful in pushing us back from our own expression, that if you carry a guitar into the black community, it had better be a bass, or you could get interrogated by the ‘race committee’. You have producers in Music now who are incapable of hearing commercial black music without plastic keyboards farting all over it. I was raised in the U.K. to believe that all black music had to have a ‘pad’ (keyboard chords being held down bar by bar), or it wasn’t acceptable.
In fact , though I still love the use of right keyboards at the appropriate times, and when the music herself dictates, often the ‘keys’ get in the way of the vocals as they often share the same frequency spectrum, and compete for the same space. I get excited singing with the guitar, it’s sharper, like my voice is, and doesn’t take up the same space, and leaves often, more air. Call this era, the ‘COUNTER RACIST REFORMATION’.
AS bad, we don’t even use our drummers anymore, so aren’t breeding more either, at least not in what is promoted as ‘popular music’. I despise, and will to my last breath, what the corporations have deliberately and systematically done to strip our tribes of their music, and turn it over wholesale to their accountants, and sniffy homos’ whose job it is to spin you away from what is real, and into what is ‘right now’. It seems that only our white boys are given permission to play with real live music textures, and even those poor schlubs have to go through a committee of the dormant, in order to get a license we all have naturally. Unfortunately, unlike in the 60’s when the white geniuses really stepped up and answered the call, these ones today are less funky and riveting than Alan Greenspan.
I really hope to rouse them, that is why the MOORS are of great value . Nothing but nothing gets an Anglos dick hard like seeing a MOOR work their magic while the white girls are watching. We need all of our hands on deck now, and if Jim Morrison is in you, if real shit kicking, take no prisoners country is in you, if the gigantic balls of Saint John of Liverpool is in you, please, but please, step up, your time needs you, and your captains call you.
PLEASE REDEFINE GUITAR IN THE PROCESS! WE NEED NO MORE ‘EDGE’ IMITATORS and SPEED DEMONS/SHREDDERS. Play your guitar as a personal axe to grind, and be you and your style at all costs, even the cost of your life itself. It is a lot easier to die fulfilled , than to die miserable, and alone, and if you die miserable, you do die alone, even surrounded by familiar faces.
WE NEED MORE WOMEN DRUMMERS! WE NEED MORE WOMEN GUITARISTS NOT TRYING TO PLAY LIKE MEN, BUT THEMSELVES. (Women, like niggers, are mainly herded towards the keyboards)
We also need to clean house, and get most of the time wasting , bin filling imposters and poseurs out of the music, they are cluttering it, and choking it silly, on behalf of their corporate welfare providers. There remains almost nothing real in any recording that you hear on radio today, even the voices are almost always bolstered and supported by computers. And yet , you will (rightfully) protest if someone touches our cheese.
In the last days, the sane will have their sanity questioned, while the insane run away with the game.
Also, SCREW the GUITAR, just go Bass and Drums, or clarinet and bongos ! like a child would, make up your own music, and ignore what the market needs, the market will look after itself.
YOU CREATE THE NEXT MARKET. BE THE NEXT MARKET NOW, and watch the current market respond. Man was not made for the market (Sabbath), but the market for man, to paraphrase a pretty smart dude named Jesus.
Know when to rebel, it puts more dick in your pants, and fires the furnace of the bloodlines.
I still cannot see how it is bad strategy for the NRA to support responsible gun ownership. As it stands now, their public standing is hurt by seeming willing to support ANY FOOL WITH A GUN, and apologizing for it. Owning a gun I do not in and of itself believe to be evil. Irresponsible use of them are.
In time, a man too docile, forfeits the strength of his will.
Contradiction is the other side of the law.
If your greatest hero is not yourself, then you are in for a major disappointment. Place me too high on a pedestal, and I will deliberately piss on your head, to get you off of my dick, and onto your own, where your true strength lies.
Sometimes I repeat myself. Sometimes I repeat myself, because I live in an echo chamber.
Life is short, and I have learned to stay away from places where my exercise of my God granted passions are of offence to the low minded and the slow. The dull are too dense, when letting your light shine causes offence.
Most men die of broken hearts , if they die of anything, though the prevailing fashion is to say they died of whatever was found in their bloodstream, which accompanied their bleeding heart. Once a mans will to live is gone, even a mosquito bite can kill him. If you have, such as the great rebel Buddha, Keith Richards, an indomitable will to live, then you can have what you will and do what you will, as it is all about the will. Very few men die of ‘drugs’, but yes Virginia, many men die WITH them.
Be your own guru, and stop looking for your answers, through someone else’s filter.
You will not find your rock and roll in someone else’s rhythm section, you must find your own. Each man, if he listens, has been assigned his own drummer.
The more people tell me that I am wrong, the more I know that I am right, or people wouldn’t bother to tell you anything.
It is also wise to lose the fear and judgement of being ‘wrong’. Wrong is just another door, that leads to right. It just may be the long way around. Not only is taking the longer way more scenic, but teaches far more in the long run than the shortcut. In truth , there is really no shortcut, as we pay our toll, whether up front, or on the back swing, and often the shortcut steals from us more than it can ever deliver in return.
I’ve a friend, a legendary entertainer, who very recently complained to me how tired he was, and drained of life. He told me that he feels like community property, and that with every year he felt more and more estranged from himself. Every time he wishes to strike free and clear into a more exciting world for himself, someone else’s needs were always used to keep him where he was( and not where he is), and away from growth. I commiserated with him, as I knew exactly how he felt.
Fortune follows the brave. He has all of the promotion that I were denied, and yet he readily admits how disgusted and cynical he is, and how he would trade it all in for what I now have, along with increasingly more ‘others’ , to avoid all of the Vampires and their soul destroying mind games, and just get on with making music. He told me , a few short years ago that I was an idiot (he, one of the few who can call me that and I not slap him up in his sleep), now he wishes that, despite being a well kept boy, and one whose name is allowed to be mentioned and spelled correctly in the mainstream press, he were an idiot as well. I assured him that another major shake-up was on its way, and that soon he would be free and clear to be the idiot of his dreams, and make money in the process. I advised him to start storing up good songs, as he, like most, are not encouraged so much to write good songs, as much as to write what they ‘think’ radio will play.
If Master Sly Stone came back, does this portend the return of JD Salinger as well?
Let us hope.
I am in awe of Maestro Salinger, as were he a Rock God.
Green = Instincts : Clubs
Red = Emotion : Hearts
Blue = Movement : Spades
Yellow = Intellect : Diamonds
A bit of info for you ‘mysticals’ and testicles.
We strengthen our cause in not running to it.
…in fact, some of my friends are even ‘fascists’. I love them not for their proclaimed politics, but simply because I recognize what affection I already have for their souls. I do not care for my friends politics, I care more for the politics of my enemies.
It takes a big man to admit that he is wrong, or an idiot, depending on the season.
For example, I was not a fan of Maestra Lady Margaret Thatcher’s politics, at the time in fact I despised them, but I was a fan of hers. Not her policies but her. Why ? Leadership and conviction. She was as sure of hers as I was of mine, and I admired , especially a lady, exerting her principles and self upon her time and purpose as clearly as she projected her persona. Of course she was also full of shit, it is the eternal curse of politics, as they must all carry someone else’s agenda, or they are squeezed out, if not murdered outright. She had an indelible mark that impressed a whole generation of politicos, left and right. Then again, she reminded me of my most beloved music teacher in my middle school years. The left and the right have stars, may we be served only by the stars, and not the dregs. The maintenance of civility in a well heeled community, must have a balanced understanding of both of the eagle’s wings. God has Angels on the right as well.
Africa will benefit most when our ‘ concern’ for her no longer gets in the way of her concerns for herself. Alas, as long as she has oil that we need, she’ll have to suffer the crippling influence of our beknighted concern.
Nothing will kill your spirit (and it’s good head ) faster than ‘conventional’ wisdom, if you are not conventional. Some are, some are not. Know who you are, and be that, and know that trusting what wisdom and impulses feel right to you are all the convention needed to take you to yours. ‘Conventional’ wisdom is like welfare for the intellect, if you are not sure, a ‘collective’ wisdom exists, but if you are sure enough, leap past it, and into the light.
One of the memories that I cherish most from the last shortened, ‘snuffed’, and woebegone life, is very many years ago, as a young interloper upon Rock’s Mount Olympus (before the other Gods conspired against me), was being somewhere in Germany, and meeting PRINCE’S father, himself a tremendous musician, and dapper like a seasoned old player, and hearing him play the music of one of his favourite musicians on a piano that I had in the dressing room, the music of the great Master, Franz Liszt. He played me some of Liszt as were he his reincarnation, and after a respectful spell, we began to gel as musical conspirators, as I would then call out other works, and he would play them. However fictitious the bulk of ‘Purple Rain’, it was clear that here was a man who was thwarted in his total ambition, and made to ‘settle’ for ‘Jazz’, as the music that the state could absorb from his visage, without it rattling too much, the tin can in their beggars mind of stagnant racist thought. He was also familiar with the music of his contemporary, Duke Ellington, whose music I was raised on in schools. I never asked him about his relationship to his illustrious genius son, as then as now, it wasn’t my business. It was 20 years ago, yet still thrills me when I think of this unsung master, and the graces that he and time shared with me. I was an admirer of Liszt before, thereafter I became closer to his works, and the many doors that they opened for my voracious and ravenous mind. Here is to his memory, and the greatness that he passed on to his son , for all the world to share.
I was in the York of New, in ’87 (before many of you began masturbating), where I was born in ’62. I was there to be sized up by the record company, and was visiting a film emporium, as at the time I was on a ‘Bergman’ trip , and purchasing what films I could find, available. If not mistaken, I came away with ‘Wild Strawberries’, and ‘ The Seventh Seal’ (like me, Bergman was raised by priests ). At the light, for pedestrians green, I stepped out onto the street from the curb, and came thisclose to being run over, and smashed to smithereens by an explosive brown Cadillac which I swear seemed to come out of nowhere, and fast. I had no way of recognizing the driver, concealed, like his front side passenger, in a trench coat and turtleneck, but I quickly recognized the unmistakable image and person of the great Pavarotti of soul, Maestro Luther Vandross. I wasn’t a fan of most ‘soul’ music of the time, as most of it was dated and sucked, but LV was a singers singer, a masters master, and he had incredible respect from me , and all of my ‘knowing’ peers. Still, his car and driver almost made of me a Jean Michel Basquait road exhibit, skulls and all, and I gave him a look that I inherited from my step-father, and he sheepishly mouthed the word ‘sorry’, before his driver stepped on the gas, and gave it the ‘let’s get the hell out of here’ routine. I never saw Vandross after that, but then again, with an introduction that strong, and convincing, I really don’t think I needed to. Of all of the Olympians, I encountered during my brief solar spring , I can proudly say that he was the only one who physically tried to have me killed. The rest used their management to achieve the result . I can no longer hear the maestro’s music without also hearing the sound of screeching tires, and my heart pounding in my ears. Fortunately others can, and perhaps should, he was that great.
‘Rock’ belongs to God, body and soul, no matter how many Jews and Anglos have wrestled it to the ground, kicking it, while asking, tauntingly,’ who’s your daddy’? It belongs to the church of mankind, in or out of a building. It is now hostage by racists, and worse, dull minded accountants.
I came to restore its rights to all, and I will , or die trying.
Every night , in my sleep, I wrestle with the dogs of war.
One particular Rock icon, whose music filled my adolescence with excitement, greeted me like a long lost brother, but made sure that his management procured my death certificate at the label. Finding with the help of Master M. Jackson’s sizable wrath, a secure ally, they joined forces and had me ousted, and my sizable audience divided up between them. I will see them all in hell, which is my domain, just as much as Heaven is.
I would name him, but do not wish to disturb the carefully manicured ‘image’ that has grown around his ‘legend’. That of a ‘good guy’, albeit not so good that he couldn’t kill the spirit of a fellow traveller along the way.
As I look back, and grace moves me slowly on , I am amazed that I survived at all. Indeed , my soul looks back and wonders, how I got over.
In contrast, I received on several enlightening occasions, wonderful psychic mementos from the Abraham of Rock, Master Bob Dylan. He never said much, but what he did say, remains with my morbid heart still. As much as any performer before me, I aspired to be him, whether I was given fucking permission or not. It amazes me that the more things change , the more they remain still stuck in the past. He has been kind and encouraging to me, when given the chance, and when our paths have crossed. I salute him, and have a guitar for him, when next grace blesses me to see him, if she does.
I doubt very seriously if I shall make the very political Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Probably my class (’87) will only induct Guns and Roses (who belong), and Tracey Chapman will hopefully be taken as well, even if for deeply sexist reasons, Joni Mitchell was kept out for a spell. Should providence overcome my enemies, and place me therefore in, I would, like a sheepish schoolboy, ask , the Master Rabbi of Rock, Dylan ,if he would eulogise my last incarnation, and say a little prayer for me. I would ask Master McCartney, but despite my current ex-pat status, I am still an American boy, and yet still full of American dreams.
… dreams easier for me to realize outside of my country, than inside. I witnessed a ‘McCartheyism’, more subtle and insidious than the first time, when the Senator himself was around. Hopefully, by God’s merciful brow, we are seeing the very last of it.
Will the person closest to Eva Mendes slap themselves for being so damn lucky.
Thumb = Black strat
Forefinger = White rosewood Strat
Middle = White Maple Blue
Ring = White Maple Plain
Pinky = Turquoise Strat
The 5 fingers of Post Millennium Rock.
It takes a player a while to learn to recognize the difference between a well made, and well put together guitar, and a great guitar. Many guitars, especially expensive ones, are well made, and crafted. Very few are in fact great. A great guitar, despite its’ craftsmanship, has a life force, a personality. It may even be a piece of crap, technically, but if it rocks, it rocks, and that is the mark of a great guitar, not it’s pedigree or label.
No matter how much it costs, if it is yours, you will feel it.
Just as Lord Ganesha is the Hindu Lord of obstacles (Heaven’s pantry is full of assorted helpers, of all types, and belonging to all creeds ), His Christian equivalent, and a formidable gate keeper, is the mighty Saint Peter. He too knows a thing or two about obstacles, and transitions from one state of mindset to another. Even Gesu subcontracts some of his burdens to the other Angels designed to help his and Heavens’ will come together.
In my dreams, I often get a chance to test the loyalty of those who would call me friend, yet upon assuming a turned back, will revert to the name that they believe wins them the most attention. Yet, my true friends are always rewarded by my Angels, with a little more luck, a little more grace. That’s what friends are for. I was told, forewarned by the Angels well in advance that what I was being asked to do would be , far and away the most difficult task yet, akin to Hercules’ trials, but particularly his cleaning the stables of Zeus’ horses. I was told that I’d be frowned upon (though nothing new for me, or any other brother for that matter), abused , shut out, and attacked. I was also told that it would deliver me to a whole new world, one that anonymous committees couldn’t take away, and that in the name itself would be the requisite strength and protection necessary to see me through the passage of one world , and into the birth of the next. What has moved me most , is the familiarity of it all, as if even my new mind could sense just how many times this has already occurred. No birth, with any name is easy. Being born again, while claiming God as your guide and father, is especially difficult in lands which proclaim themselves as his. In effect, I was raised by my culture to do just this, and have had to laugh at times at the beatings which have resulted from being what I was trained to be. The irony is that the monster always manages to exceed the sum of his parts. No one was mad at ‘Frankenstein’ for being a monster, until he grew beyond his master’s control, and started becoming the monster that he wanted to be. The allegory of Frankenstein, is as much about the dirty little secret of Christianity, as it is about what it’s author may have digested before falling asleep, and dreaming the story. We do not need our Christ’s to deliver us (that is only what we say to seduce them), we need them to kill, and thus satisfy the barbarian spirit that Christianity was designed to mollify. That is why decreasing numbers of them show up. Who needs to keep being hung out to dry, lifetime after lifetime, nail after nail? It does seem that most of the reason for any Christ’s, any Buddha’s existence, is spent bearing the wrath of the same people who prayed for their arrival. Whether we be religious Gods, music Gods, or science Gods, most of the initial introduction times to our world requires learning how to survive, the very people you were sent to serve. Most of my tribe simply turn around and say, ‘Fuck it’. A few, a hardcore minority, stick it out , if not for man, then for heaven’s glory.
In Heaven, the Angels who win the greatest respect, are those which have survived mankind. Trust me that there are Angels, billions of years old, who would not go anywhere near a human being(but especially Earthlings), if even asked by the father himself, and neither are they pushed. Lucifer was one who vehemently disagreed with the other Architect Angels, and thought that mankind would be the death of us all, and a huge mistake. Once , Man had the great majority of the Angels still voting on his side. It has come to pass that even that majority has slipped, and now, the votes to sustain him, have gotten ever narrower, and his supporters, less vocal. This is important because God, the Father (as opposed to God, the Sequel) , is not the father of Man, he is the father of the Angels, and in turn, mankind was an experiment of the Angels of Form, this was their graduation project. All Christ’s, Buddha’s work on behalf of the Architects of Form, as they were created by them for the purpose of serving their earthly creations. This is known to us emotionally, since symbols are the language of the emotions, and we always picture God, not as a youngster like Jesus, but as, what he really is to us, a Grandfather. What souls we have, will live on. What lives we waste, may not.
Live out your bold dreams, and dare the Angels to rush to your aid.
One of my usual cardinal sins is ‘Idolatry’. I try to balance the karma of this by idolizing the Angels of Form, who have taken human lives. On my writing desk, I have 3 statues. One of my idol, GOETHE, a beautiful amber Buddha, given to me by my mother in law, and a bronze of the great Master BEETHOVEN. During the transition between life here, and life there, I was relieved by someone of a statue of Maestro Mozart, but I managed to survive. Since I cannot abide most of the ‘stuck’ and depressing images of Christ , fortunately, my local church has in it’s garden, a bronze of Jesus in simple meditative pose, his hands outstretched. It moves me to go from time to time, sit with him, touch his hands and feet, touch his third eye, his crown, thump his heart, and softly kick the granite rock that the statue is on, and also leave what good energies I may have that day, so as not to take only, but to give as well.
I adore Shakespeare, especially the sonnets. He may have been a composite, a committee, possibly of 3, 2 men and a women. Be that as it may, ‘he’ has inspired me tremendously. Goethe, on the other hand not only inspires me, but helps me out, grants advice, and has as scatological a mind as I have inherited, and a wicked sense of humour. Wally ‘Wigglestick’s’ writings (Shakespeare), are yet vivid and alive, in contrast, Goethe himself is still a living presence upon earth. Writers drawn to him may contact his guidance, he loves writers of all types. Hell, he even seems to like journalists. The spirit of DANTE, has also, been kept alive by the Angels, and he is especially fond of Poets and songwriters.
Be possessed, just be possessed of what is good, and useful.
My life has also been emboldened by the works of HONORE De BALZAC.
Talk about hubris, he early proclaimed himself, then proceeded to rewrite French and world letters like he owned it. Even his name, puns at the size of his ‘cojones’. A work by him, ‘Seraphita’, contributed to a sea shift in my frontals. The story, exquisitely expressed, is of a parish priest’s daughter, and her ill fated love for a pained and reluctant Angel, who lives on the mountain overlooking her village.
I once dated a woman , as much as for any other reason, because her mother had a complete set of BALZAC’S works (the’ Comedy Humaine’) in her wood panelled library. As a gift, I received a copy of ‘Seraphita’ dating from the 1890’s. The woman wasn’t bad either, and was, during a time of great transition, a real good friend to me. I salute her, and hang fond kisses for her, upon the stars.
A shout out of respects to the ZAPPA clan. Much love from me to you.
Thanx to RFI radio France Inter for the respect and hospitality. We do not forget our friends.
Please enjoy the new music, it was intended for your hearts, and not for the ‘charts’.
It takes love in all of it’s shapes and sizes, to find the love that matches the shape of your heart. Time exists for this very purpose
The question is framed wrong. It isn’t where will we get new energy resources, but, how will the old energy money keep the old customers addicted to their distribution network, and thereby keep them filthy rich, and in the dominant position to continue to write bad policy that only benefits the few families holding the rest of us hostage to their greed ? Right ? Nature is full of energy, and it is all right there, to be harnessed and used. All wars are fought over energy, and mineral rights, no matter how nobly it is sold to the public. White people are loathe to kill other white people otherwise.
I got hung out to drip dry for saying less than half of what ‘OASIS’ got away with, yet I was an admirer. It was upon visiting England during their breakout that gave me some idea of how my own arrival must have felt to others, and I can recall being transfixed, the first time I heard ‘LIVE FOREVER’. The other stuff I enjoyed, but felt that much of it was cleverly rehashed British history, well produced and packaged for the time. But that one song told me that when inspired, Noel Gallagher could write. Will the person closest to him at the moment remind him that although deserving of the ‘awards’ that the record business gives out for surviving them, he still has a few more songs to write, and more people to nourish. Like many great artists who are pushed early, he grew bored, especially since once he ‘arrived’, he could no longer just be a good songwriter, as he had to be ‘Oasis’ songwriter, and write from the space of a box, no matter how well promoted.
I am drawn to all of Lennon and McCartney’s sons, and it would be a good, good thing for Master Gallagher to stop polishing his trophies, and start writing soul defining songs again. Especially now that he has lived some life, and has something to say of manhood.
His brother Liam, was flat out a star, and a great rock vocalist. Who isn’t trying to sing like Bono, in the UK, is channelling LIAM.
Like most Americans, I was once fascinated with royalty and all of that. Now, since most monarchs are but very glamorous welfare recipients , as well as the unspoken justification for white supremacy, I could take or leave most of these leeching families, and their smug and superior attitudes. It must be said however that King Juan Carlos has been good for Spain, and a noble, quiet warrior on behalf of even the greater communal good on more than a few occasions. Not all monarchies are without merit, we have often been well served by noble blood, aware of it’s higher purpose. As it says in the Christian bible, “For whom much is given, much is required”, and to serve the growth of humanity is as noble a cause as any other. To serve both Humanity and one’s self shows evolution, and self consideration. To use the crown to serve only one’s estates, is why most free thinking people have been put off by these very expensive and backstabbing people.
One anticipates the possible reign of Charles of England , to be a modern monarchy, in touch with the emotional and spiritual needs of his cultures withered, distraught soul. Symbols we no longer need, as much as leadership, and the order it encourages. The Brits are still punished by and large for their ambition, which is largely why they have lost touch with the gold standard of excellence, and it’s multiple rewards.
Go for the throat, or leave it alone.
The problem with most monarchies are that the members are simply too soft, and untouched by the events that steel a person’s soul towards character and fibre. Worse , they are bored, and not averse to a little mischief against others of craft and ambition.
…. There are things that they can get away with, and remain completely untouched, and above the law.
…. And the other truth is that, I am just jealous. I was told by my ‘rents, that I’ve always fancied myself, a little prince, and can remember telling a babysitter that I was born in the wrong place, that I should have been born in a palace. The more things change…….
Even bullets have less confidence than they once had.
DNA is not all that it is cracked up to be. It’s ‘image’ is sold on it’s invincibility , it is anything but. What it is, is the same old lynching , in new clothes. It can certainly be helpful for you, if the ‘man’ hasn’t decided to use it against you.
Speaking of DNA, my music offerings are made for your DNA, as your ego may or may not reject what you think you are ‘supposed’ to be hearing.
Now that I am no longer the ‘pretty boy’ of my relative youth, I am finally left alone to make good music, and not have to worry about all of that useless, time wasting bullshit. I hate having my picture taken now, I’d rather go to the dentist, and have my teeth cleaned. After 50, I will no longer make any efforts to maintain a balanced waistline, but will reward myself with the middle age that my warrior soul deserves. My wife’s cooking, and Italian kitchen in general is to good and nourishing to keep pushing away, and I would rather play guitar, than be in a gym , only because of ‘image’ maintenance. Luckily, it is relatively easy for changelings to lose weight, it is just as easy now, however to put it on, and I look forward to a well earned ‘gut’.
I am asked at times, “ Who are you to comment on non music matters?”. Me. No other answer is required. They take my taxes, they live with my opinion.
It seems OK for taxi drivers to comment upon their world, housewives, and bankers, but not musicians?
WE ARE ALL IN THIS CRAP TOGETHER. Forfeiting your right to speak up, will not intimidate my own.
When the news focuses on reminding us on how many times Lindsay Lohan has been in rehab, is it any wonder that we begin buying fewer papers? Just because the puppet masters would have us, like the Portuguese, remain ignorant, so that our economy can continue being raped and reshaped according to the whims of a few, doesn’t mean that we, the people, agree. Obviously, despite our masters desires, we are waking up. I could really give a shit for the baby of the moment being thrown in front of the train, to distract us from real news, this is anything but news. Young rich girls party, and often hard. When did that become new , or news? Our constant and totally hypocritical moralizing washes empty, considering how dependent we are upon the pharmaceutical companies, and their skyrocketing profits. Excuse me , but as long as she doesn’t kill herself, someone else, or maim and injure another human being, or the animals that serve us, she can use what youth she was given by time to swallow half the substances in Orange county. William Blake reminds us that “ one cannot know what is enough, until one knows what too much is”. It is a returning spiral, the more we pry, the more we find, the more it induces these same tired cycles , that we then continue to judge. So what she likes a drink, and a few pills, so do the same reporters reporting it, and the editors, editing on behalf of Big Brother, to keep them under control, and living in fear.
Now, if she, yet another Disney clone, were to begin fucking a black man, That would be news, as Disney goes through great pains to whitewash and brand their robots, before throwing them ,at the appropriate times to the wolves.
The Disney people factory, and it’s impact on both music and film, has been scary. The CIA would be proud of the indoctrination , and mind control that takes place there.
I promise , the next time I see Mickey Mouse, I will punch him in his fucking face.
….and if I see Minnie, I will take her, from behind.
…otherwise , a blessed day to you.
Can anybody, even a drug cartel, put some money together and buy the MIAMI DOLPHINS?
My new promo campaign is this: Buy my downloads, I’m trying to buy the Dolphins.
Since ‘Christian’ ownership hasn’t seemed to help, can some agnostics put some money together, and put again on the field, the winners that the franchise deserves?
Crusading for world peace? If Gandhi and Mother Theresa couldn’t bring about world peace, why the hell should I campaign for it ? Rather , my ‘crusade’ is to bring about an owner for my football team who cares about it more than just using it as a tax write off for other businesses My team sucks, and aren’t competitive, and that ain’t good. If in any event, world peace were as important to us as we claim, we’d have it. No Buddha will be sent to restore a ‘peace’ that the people themselves aren’t dying to achieve. So, the image of Maitreya as one who comes to restore ‘world peace’, is another trick of the wizard of Oz, and his spin doctors, who are always on the lookout for the truth, so as to pre-empt it with false claims and bullshit, and to obfuscate what is clear and easy to understand. Their ‘confusionists’ work overtime to control the debate, and keep all eyes on them, and their fear factors. From what I know of the larger ‘Maitreya’, for whom I am named, he could just as easily send thundershowers , as rainbows, and doesn’t care if man tears up the whole world, if that is what he wants. He doesn’t care about ‘WORLD PEACE’, only privately, about YOURS.
If during the lifetimes of Gautama, and Jesus, there was no world peace, who else is going to bring it . The legend of ‘ARJUNA’ took place amidst war, wherein he was directed by Lord Krishna himself. Too much peace is as bad for developments as too much war. The truth, as it usually does, lies somewhere in the middle.
When in doubt, just work. We do not suffer stress because we work too much, but because we judge how much work we have to do. For as long as we work, we keep our sanity closer to our hearts. More stress comes, obsessing over nothing.
What if you have no work? Then clean your house, and prepare to receive work.
COPYRIGHT SANANDA MAITREYA
MILANO 9 th OCTOBER 2007
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
INTELLECTUAL COPYRIGHT PROTECTED