TIDBITS FOR TYRANTS, their apologists and admirers; On the count of three, begin reading:

Orpheus coughs, reflexively I bleed, and edit the highlights in my hair. His lambs got lost, and died in the wool. And since all is a manifestation of power, up next, ‘TORNADO vs. MOSQUITO’.

When I am free, I AM YOU. When I am not, I am me.

The day’s projects and meetings complete, the newly installed President of these United settled back satisfied, if a tad suspicious, took hold of his office’s stereo remote, and let it rip with a little easy Pearl Jam, and to the delight of the interior secretary next to his inner office, who was rumoured to have once dated a member of the group. Besides, knowing this himself, the President, a proud son of Harvard, liked tweaking her mind a little that he was up on his gossip game, where, as and when appropriate. As if anticipating its interruption by instinct now, the ominous and all important lifeline to the fates, the almost mythological, symbolically urgent RED Phone, ringeth, and yet! At least with more wind in his calm than in previous prior instances of such intrusion, of such breach of custom, manner, equipoise and restraint, the yearling President, a proud son of Chicago, answered, “What is it now George?” ‘Hello, Brad, this is Dick Cheney. Now, on the count of ten, you will follow the sound of my voice to the next instruction, are we clear?’ The President, at least as caught off guard as caught off tackle, cleared his throat and said into the phone,“Uh, Mr. Cheney, are you trying to Malkovich my mind?” Mr Cheney: ‘Oh, I see, a clever reference to the film relating to that actor, that lefty, John Malkovich, who I also assume to be a reference within a reference as he too is from your region of Chicago, if I understand my sources correctly. And from your current listening choice, we are also to deduce that there is an Illinois connection. You are a rather complex man, I can see Mr. Brad’. Sighed the President, “Uh, I believe it is Barack you are attempting Mr Cheney, Sir. Barack.” Said Mr Cheney: ‘Yes, Brad. At the start of the count you will feel light, then heavy, then mine. And we will together, you and I, inherit this whole world, this whole and complete vision that me and my special friends at Halliburton, or the American Company as I like to think of it, have for how to bring a new purpose to this earth. You and I, Brad, can rule together. We can have all of it!’ The President could not stomach this and Pearl Jam at the same time, so switched off the stereo, the newly installed one with the Bose speakers and the Bang and Jensen bass cabinet with the Presidential logo right above the woofers. He then took a steady and strong deep breath, shook his head and thought of a great and simple idea. ‘Hey Brad, where did you go, are you listening?’, inquired the former Vice President. It had dawned on the new President that this was a very good time to call his mother in law into the office. Anyway, she always prowled the halls of his office when he had important meetings, so that she could, in her own words, ‘keep a mid-western eye on things’. Without even being asked yet, she breaks into the office, ‘What?’ “Mama, it’s him, it’s him”, said the President, motioning towards the Red phone. She grabs it. ‘Now Chuck, you listen here. I am from Chicago, south side, and I can promise you that I am not afraid of you.’ Getting warmed up, she abruptly heard a click, a strange spooling sound and then in an instant, a tape recorded voice come on and say, ‘This is DC. At the count of ten, you will begin to obey the sound of my voice and its commands. But if you are calling about the consultancy vacancy in Halliburton’s sales department, press 2 now.’ Mother in law President, the mother in law of a proud son of Hawaii, gasped, aghast at how deep the disturbed levels of this man’s mind went. She turned to the Egyptian eared President and said, “We need to get some South Side Muslims up in here, ‘cause that man is crazy, he done left his heart in too many places”. Asked the President, “What did he say to you?” ‘I got some Mission Impossible tape message, that poor man must be on some serious medications. You better have the Secret Service look into this, or I’m gonna make some calls to Chicago’. Sighed the President, “Apparently, the Secret Service was outsourced to Halliburton on the back of one of the last War Appropriations bill, so in fact they ‘technically’ work for the former Vice President. I’ve got the lawyers at Justice looking to see if we can buy it back”. Eyes brimming with the sirens of exasperation, the first mother in law grabbed her cell and said, ‘Alright, I better call Raoul.’ Interjected quickly the startled President, “Ma, you know Raoul, he’s real? I thought they were just messing with my mind!” Replied the first relative, ‘Honey, there’s a lot you still don’t know. You’re still catching up to the job, so you needn’t be burdened with everything.’ “Then who the hell is Raoul? Who can reach him?” ‘Now listen Barry, who he is, what he is, what does it matter? Let’s just say that he works for me now. That’s right, he works for your big mama, and I have to say that for us, he is a very handy person to know and we’ll just leave it at that, and that big mama has got it all under control, you here?’ “You know mama, said the President, I’m starting not to recognize you that much anymore, SO WHAT PLANET ARE YOU FROM AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY WIFE’S MOTHER?” She chuckled somewhat, thought it was kind of cute even and gave him a look that said all that was going to be said, at least for some time. No doubt the young president would roll the matter loose in his mind at some insomniac hour and wonder if the whole world had just gone to riddles and madness. Yet she knew that with the mysterious Raoul now playing on her side of the net, certain games of intrigue would now be placed under a new supervision, her own. She wasn’t sure at first whether she would find her niche in the White House world, now she understood her calling, and when necessary, Raoul, the as of yet invisible one, would be her messenger to the dark side…..


A great musical instrument is both art and sculpture.

Where you have problems or discomforts in the body, BREATHE into them more. It does help.

Lower back pain can use the assistance of breathing more into that area to increase circulation and ATTENTION. Attention heals. Often, middle age belly is a consequence of not breathing enough in that area, since most belly is not fat, but AIR. Displaced air. Shoulder or neck problems can be aided by breathing more from the upper body. The body were designed by Angels billions of years old. They got the contract in the first place because they already had a grand reputation for knowing what they were doing. We are not a mistake, great and cosmic intelligence went into motion to bring us from out of the clay and into the consciousness of light and it’s infinite shapes and noble tones.

Life itself is nature’s affair. We are but witnesses.

Do not look back and mourn, those are the tears that catch up to you and drown your life with other people’s regrets.

Computers now act as bombs. The Chinese are just one such company that are using their many machines as weapons of mass destruction. They are certainly not the only ones, and our U.S. Justice department also has a rather guilty conscience she may need to cough and get rid of, it being overall for the good of the constitution of any entity to be within relative balance of what it says it is. Evil multiplies, though so does diligence. The loss of control is governments greatest fear, whatever lip service her agents suggest otherwise.

Until we sort our minds out and come back to our own senses, in love, mainly we trade one broken piece, for a shinier broken piece. And when the shine inevitably dulls, what we are left with is a broken piece of hurt, it cuts and we bleed.

It is never the addiction to the substance that is the real problem. It is the addiction to the JOY.

Bedtime stories are less about the story and more about your child hearing your voice. Your voice and its sound is psychologically important to their minds. And it allows for the child to hear your voice speak in ‘neutral’ tones, since most of the time they hear our voice, it is usually aimed directly at something. And since they as babies were used to falling asleep hearing us talking, the sound and tone of the same voice relaxes it and allows it easier entry into their chosen land of dreams.

Our freedom to be ourselves is immutable or we face the force of a lie. A lie any sane man feels obliged to expose and destroy.

Our growth is more policed than encouraged, our growth and stretching towards new horizons being a political threat.

O to be young, gifted and slack….


A fistful of nothing,
A chest full of rage
If I knew my rights,
I’d act my age.

The body speaks its own language and when we are in alignment with the truth of the body, it has no reason to complain. Though, and without fail, when the body and the mind tell a different story, both begin to drift apart and in the space between arrives disease.

The greatest, coolest thing they ever taught me in school (while in the 7th grade at DeLand’s Southwestern middle school), was how to write in old Latin cursive script. Almost everything else was bullshit and dishonest. And while learning how to write Latin script, I first heard the great song by TERRY JACKS, ‘Seasons In the Sun’. Deeply cool.

The deliciousness of time to itself is that it reveals its library of memory back to itself in layers. All of experience is holographic and later on, time can rewind the memory and all of its data, and even walk within it, to re-experience differing aspects of the same point of view. WE see the hour hand on the clock from one point of view, our view. The same hand sees itself from not only its position on the clock, but from the position of who also watches the clock. A word to the wise or otherwise curious.

The question on the day of judgement will not be whether you were a fool, but in whether you were a fool with conviction.

In the game, let the referees decide the rules, while YOU decide the intensity you apply to the game. In the greater reality of time, we are here but for a short wink and a spell, and while we are here, we are here to win.

Willingness to fight for what you are is the willingness to live on. Who writes his/her name upon the stars, must first bust through a few planets to get there, and this is why we have meteors. This is also why we have stardust.

It has been an honour to have grown up parallel to NICK CAVE. We come from similar backgrounds, though raised in Australia were he, and me a few miles further north. He smells a lot like the French Symbolists, who would have recognized a kindred, and adopted and nurtured him, much as his own country has been wise enough to do.

Said the Lizard, ‘I can do more than just pushups’. And thus were the idea of the first bi-annual lizard Olympics hatched.

When every time you turn around, there is trouble, then stop turning around. Looking back more than you look ahead attracts more bruises.

Going with the flow is fine philosophy if the flow is the bus going your way. If it is not, take the other bus going the other way and create a new flow. You and the flow are one, remember that.

It is wiser to go with the flow if you are going downhill. If going uphill, you are on your own.

As a Piscean, I am amazed by Salmon, the king of fish. The flow means nothing at all to them except to swim against it. Getting to where they need to go is the only flow they recognize. And if other fish swim in schools, salmon swim in graduate schools.

Like an asp, in Colorado
I won’t take shit
The pious act with bias,
(like the Somali pirates,
who picked the right boat
but the wrong time
to try us), I take the
Alphabet, and like
Alpha, chew it
bit by bit, I settle
my mind with it. Now
try this on for
Straight from the
Dragon’s mouth,
(and neither does an ‘ouch’)
Or otherwise they’d fit
in a diplomatic pouch.
I will share your power
But I won’t share mine,
At least from where I sit.
and let the hammer fall.
Take what you must from the hit,
just do not drop the ball.
What time itself witnesses,
time itself recalls.

Marco Polo went solo
And got caught by a bolo
Punch, and like that, lost
His lunch. He might have
Followed his hunch, and left
The boat while moored, or he
Might not have gotten floored
By some drunken ham fisted
Pirate whose parrot was bored
And insulted the foam baring
Sirens servicing the sea faring Lord
Who may now sail on towards
Togo, settle into a tall night’s tale,
Absorb the damp of moist young
Thighs, drop his sword, create a logo.

Resentments last while they last
Until the final trumpet blast
Or, until the prairies, through
The winds, their whistling
Portraits passed.
Cornbread and her pastries,
Like sodden fields and their daisies
Will fill the mind, until the time
The words become more tasty
(I know what it’s like to hate me),
So I raise from the road, the victims
Crashed, those not too far crazy.
And who are you that I must
Walk in your hell, to answer
The sounds of silence, outcast,
But never the tone of the bell?
Perhaps I’m too lazy.
Though when my mind goes,
I go with it, just as wherever
Captain Wilson goes, he’s
Followed by Major Pickett
(though he never travels with his
‘stash’, that would be insipid).

Even the stars that crash,
Still consent to burn.
And banned from going higher
They reach more deeply within
Themselves to steady their fever
With fire.

In general here, the police are about as relaxed as any I’ve ever seen. They are not in it just for the flex.

ALL PRETENDERS SUFFER THEIR PRETENSIONS, and sooner or later, the cost is high. Just do not let any other TELL YOU what your pretensions are, figure them out for yourself.

One of the greatest books ever written is the master IAN HUNTER’S ‘DIARY OF A ROCK STAR’, the great he of MOTT THE HOOPLE fame. Check it out, it’s worth the read.

If you must spend all of your time watching thieves, they have already stolen the most valuable things from you, your time and attention. Just hang on to the ball.

It is no secret why so many people in modern times needs psychiatric help. We are fed SO MUCH BULLSHIT and so often, that its toxicity begins to affect the genomes of our existence, affecting the normal regulatory function of the brain, leaving it and its emotions, sluggish and far less vital to our own causes. One can always choose to empty one’s cup and let spirit refill it.

And when you get to the crossroads, REST, so that spirit may know where to find you.

A great master poet, a one master ROBERT FROST already summed up the way we feel with one of his masterworks, a poem called, ‘CHOOSE SOMETHING LIKE A STAR’. It is always featured in anthologies of his grand works. Read it, it is the bomb, and says it all.

‘OINK FLOYD’, the Pink Floyd tribute band, has broken up permanently, says spokesmen for the group Jason ‘Pig’ Tanner. Citing irreconcilable differences, the break up is said to have been precipitated by the two younger members, Rob Stonehouse and Richard Milhouse, who wanted to introduce more songs by their favourite band, THE CURE. Says Jason Tanner, “Let it be known that for as long as Pig Tanner is in this band, it will remain 100% about the FLOYD, as God intended.” The two younger members are leaving to promote their new ‘CUREHOUSE’ project. And despite words to the contrary, rumours are that Tanner will leave the group and become a replacement member for the recent occupancy which came up in ‘DREAD ZEPPELIN’.

The truth is a whole lot stranger than invention, this we do know for sure.

The red phone. AGAIN! Though , with the passage of time, the new President of these broke United States, was at least getting comfortable with the idea of George W. Bush and his intermittent calls. At least, hopefully this time, he wouldn’t be calling to brag about the extent of his family fortune and that Barack, no matter how charismatic, would never make as much money while President as the George and Dick show did. Remembering to take a deep and not a shallow breath, the new leader was comfortable enough now to table the ‘Uh, Mr.Bush’, and now field from his throat a more guttural, Reaganesque, “And what now George?” The voice on the other end of this most important and confidential of private lines swallowed a little and said, ‘No, Barry, this is Bubba, what you doing tonight? You wanna play cards later?” Asked the first real black American President, Bill ‘Bubba’ Clinton. “Man, can’t you just call me on the normal line? This is freaking me out!” Replied the second black President, though officially indeed its first mulatto rock star President, whom apparently, even Angela Merkel has a crush on. ‘Barry, if Bubba’s got to go through normal chain of command, Bubba’s got to go through Raoul, and Raoul don’t like me too good, if you know what I mean’. The President, battered psychologically from side to side as if in a gothic hall of presidential mirrors, not to mention the ever ghost like lurking presence of the last vice–president and his invisible yet vigilant servant Raoul, sighed and asked the previous boy wonder President: “Does Hillary know about Raoul?”, Said Bubba: ‘me and Hillary have stayed together this long for a reason amigo, and listen here, WE NEVER DISCUSS RAOUL, and we are clear about it’. “I see”, said the president, considering where next to take this conversation. “How much do you play for?” asked the new caped crusader. Replied Bubba, ‘We never play for more than a hundred a hand. You in?’, “What the hell”, replied Barack. I’m in.” ‘Now see, that a boy! 9 o’clock. Hey, and while you’re at it, ol’ George keeps a stash of Cubans in the drawer next to his enemies list. Bring a few of those! And, if she ain’t busy, bring your mother in law, she looks like a mean poker player boy. I like her, bring her too.’ The President, fable’s boy, shrugged his shoulders and answered back to the former President, “Uh, we’ll see”. And with that placed down the receiver of the most important and powerful of all telephones, but especially red ones, and folded the days folder of activities away for the next days receipts. He put his legs up upon his desk, folded his arms behind his head, and thought of how much money he would need to bring to the game, and whether Bubba had any earthly idea, just what he was letting himself in for by opening up the game to his mother in law, who legend has it once, during a long and windy Chicago night, waiting for precinct results, took the whole of the just collected policeman’s charity ball fund from a set of senior officers, silly enough to have believed her when she told them that she had never played poker for money before.

……and as they were leaving the house together to attend to Bubba’s game (and the first lady thought it a good idea for mother to attend, she wouldn’t let Barry drink too much and bet too loud), the President walks in on his mother in law stuffing a few extra hundred in one hip, and a ‘small piece’ in the other. “Mama, what are you doing? I got our money!” Said the first mother in law, ‘Boy, don’t be so naïve, the REAL game that will be going on is whether Bubba’s secret service guys take out your secret service guys in the game that will be happening in the other room. And I’m betting on THAT game too’. Yet, still pleaded the President, “But mama, why you gotta take the piece, this is not CHICAGO”. With a softly wistful patience, Michelle’s mama said, ‘Boy, for as long as you are the President of these here United States, IT IS EVERYWHERE, CHICAGO’. And furthering the good uses to which diplomacy is put, the 44th President of these here United, let it pass, and escorted her, along with the secret servicemen about to get fleeced in the ‘other’ game, into the car, and respectfully, as a good son in law does.

As it pertains to the young master swimmer extraordinaire MICHAEL PHELPS and his recent positive test for marijuana is whether or not his smoke was, as might be expected, HYDRO-PONIC. He being the new man from Atlantis, we were just curious as to whether he had a secret stash growing amongst the seaweed somewhere near his residence…..

FRANKENSTEIN stopped taking his anger medication and abruptly left the MONSTERS ON PARADE TOUR. The police are frantically searching for him. “Look, just let me tell my side of the story, FOR ONCE!” We give the floor now to the monster. “Stop calling me ‘the monster’, I have feelings. Look, I got tired of trying to make ends meet so I figured eventually they would bump into each other and let me know. Why exploit me that way, why not the NBA? I could have been a great DENNIS RODMAN type player, a hustler, a rebounder, I could have guarded SHAQ, so why put me in a cage with the werewolf? If you are going to put me in a cage, then put me in a FILM WITH NICHOLAS CAGE, you dig? I get tired of all of this scary grannies and children act, it gets old, and the medication leaves me feeling depressed and listless most of the time. To make matters worse, they assume that because we are so called monsters, we don’t have refined taste buds, so we get fed PURINA”. The listener empathetically nodded his head as the beast continued. “Hey, watch that beast talk pal, I once slapped a cow so hard, it actually said ‘MOVE’. So don’t make me go there. Listen, my scientist taught me to read CHAUCER, MILTON, MONTAIGNE. Those other guys had me, the werewolf, and the creature from the black lagoon doing 3 Stooges skits, it was embarrassing! I once hit the werewolf in the head during a skit with a plank of wood, and he was out cold for 3 days, and it took the makeup department 3 hours just to shave him in time for the next show. I was losing myself, I had to flee!” The listener inquired, ‘Are you now safe?” Replied the 6’6” mass of convoluted terror, “I’m fine. I took some Ritalin from a kid and I’ll be good until I can get back to my family doctor”. ‘But won’t the police be waiting for you there?’ “I don’t know. All I know is that I could have been a linebacker in the NFL, the helmets would’ve been a great fit for the bolts in my neck! I could have made tackles all over the field, hurt the quarterback and all of that. But you know what? Steering. That’s right, steering. I just wasn’t steered in the right direction. Instead, when they took me away from my scientist, I had to watch every bad actor in Hollywood play me, while me, the real McCoy, was leased out to the freakin’ circus. A potpourri of prisoners on parade, where I get to sleep every night next to a creature, who has to get up every 2 hours and go and sit in the bathtub, has to sleep in the tub and let me tell you, you don’t want to smell that water after lagoon boy has been in there all night.” The listener began to relate to the misplaced tale of the mighty scare-meister, the legendary FRANKENSTEIN, who, in a kind unguarded moment revealed that his scientist/father was NOT named Frankenstein, but rather, SCWARTZ, which didn’t sound scary enough. It were he, the monster, that had taken the name of Frankenstein at the moment he realized that from a marketing perspective at least, the demographic for monsters named ‘Scwartz’, was somewhat premature.

The evidence that the dream world is just as physical and real as this dream we live in (besides your wet sheets in the morning) are those little tiny ‘DREAM CRYSTALS’ we find in the corner of the eye when we wake up. It is due to REM and visual mental projection that these receipts of our other world exist. Not all remember their dreams at night. Not all really wish to. Yet those crystals say that you did dream while you were sleeping.

Take the easy answers, but AVOID THE EASY QUESTIONS!

Answers arrive in their own sweet season. Questions can become bullies and toss us around like the wind does a bus pass.


Warriors, be easy with your good selves. The taxes of MENTAL TOUGHNESS is sometimes to bear a little mental illness. A tough mind must absorb many toxins attached to thought. Work is required to keep the balance of a good mind flexible and strong. Sometimes, a little mental confusion, is the next template being digested. I was even taught once that CONFUSION CAN BE A HIGHER STATE.

Self love and regard is the best immune system booster known to us. Keep fluids in your body and like Howard Hughes, wash your hands more often when the threat of contagions are around. Soap is one of nature’s purest and most practical gifts. Those with the weakest immune systems are not coincidentally those who have a hard time backing themselves and their will. A weakened will is what often shows through the immune system. With the financial crisis, naturally many people are prone to disease as they are already feeling ILL AT EASE with their life. Illness thrives on breakdown in confidence and loss of trust in life.

A weakened psyche accepts what it thinks it deserves. Illness does not go where it is not invited and often a weakened psyche feels it deserves to suffer. The self esteem goes slumming when it suffers, though mainly, in such a state, what it suffers most are fools……

And so with bleary slightly swollen eyes, the newly installed Commander in Chief of these here United was eagerly asked by his just arrived first lady to the breakfast table, ‘Well, how did it go with you and the President last night? Did you have fun?’ “Hell no”, replied the Commander of these here United, “Your mother, Mrs. O’Leary, wiped out me and Bill’s entire stash. She and Hillary took ALL OF IT. AND she made out on top betting on the secret service men. She bet Bill’s boys would beat my boys, AND SHE WON”. Said the first, first lady of her kind of these here United, ‘Wait, did you say mama and HILLARY? Hillary was there?’ “Girl, when she found out that your mother was there, she couldn’t leave the state department fast enough, OK? And after, I must say a few Tom Collins’, her and your Alderman mother were giggling like school girlfriends. You should see how big Hillary’s eyes get when she’s winning. And that cackle! Just like your mother’s. AND they both like to rub it in when they win!” Asked the first wife, ‘How was Bill taking it?’ “Well, his missus was ragging him on all night, busting his balls. Once, after maybe her 3rd drink, which she insisted on mixing for everybody, she just turned on Bill out of nowhere, and lunged at him. If your mother hadn’t caught her arm in time, she was going to DECK HIM, and right in front of me, just like that! Your mother took her in the rest room for a little and she was fine when they came back, during which time, Bill started sheepishly talking to me about some nuclear test ban treaty or whatever. I felt for him”, explained the fresh Prince of D.C. ‘What, she almost slapped him?’, inquired an incredulous first lady, as startled as she was sort of also amused. “No ‘Chelle, she almost PUNCHED HIM. When we were leaving, in the car, your mother said to me that that right there was why she always carried her ‘piece’ with her, even with good white folks, some noise could break out. Ain’t she something?” And as happens in life and TV scripts, just at that exact moment walks in, and ready to get her breakfast on, the first family mother in law. Sharp as a tack, she asks Michelle, ‘Michelle, you seen my red pillbox hat? I know you have ‘cause I can’t find it!’
‘Now mama, you told me to take it for the photo session with Vogue Germany tomorrow. Remember?’ ‘Girl, I was drinking. Now listen here, mama does the pillboxes. I can get away with it, that’s MY generation. If you try to do it, they will clown you for stealing from Jackie O, so you go on and let mama work that pillbox thing.’ Piped in Barack, “Anyway that hat looks like a Shriner’s hat, all it’s missing is a tassel roped off to the side.” The President chuckled to himself, amused as he was by the vision of the hat in his mind and his wit. Less amused so were his mother in law who sighed forth, ‘Actually, the North Side Shriner’s DID give me that hat, but I had my South Side girl do a little work on it, and now, it’s the business, thank you very much’. And before ordering from the White House waiter her breakfast order, she dipped into her morning robe and pulled out a big wad of bills, thick with green, and said to her first daughter, ‘Here girl, take some of this money I won last night and buy yourself your own hat or two’. ‘Mama, you won that much?’

Changing the world is much easier if you first change your view of it.

I am always rumoured to be in Los Angeles, when we haven’t been in years. Though sometimes, a ghost of my former life is still there, still trying to figure out what the hell it was all about.

We celebrate the individuality of snowflakes, while suffocating it in our children. Conformity is as much a threat to the soul, a killer, as non-conformity is to the state.

Intrigue and mischief has killed more people than has death, which doesn’t kill, but comes to collect.

What is not real is blinding.

Being ‘unrecouped’, means basically, waiting to pay back the money the record company is stealing from you and charging you for (those cheeky monkeys). And to keep you in their grasp, they manipulate what assets you have accrued. For as long as they keep the books (and their lobbyists remain cosy with the government), YOU KEEP THE DEBT. And they are given EVERY OPPORTUNITY to minimise the appearance of theft. And you are only allowed to audit 3 years, not more, and they have to be given so much advanced notice, that even your child could take a quick accounting course in that time, and get the books ready. It is a joke, they regularly cheat artists (even if some get cheated a little less than others, if they are favoured), and treat our heads like public dumpsters. They are the kids in school who now have the power to punish the achievers in school they hated for being that. Welcome to it!

The cellular level IS the human level. The cellular level is the ground floor of the human level. Therefore, the laws which apply to one is equal to the other and in the cellular level, a certain amount of ‘corruption’ is allowed to stabilize the strength of the blood, just enough ‘pollution’ to galvanize the iron in the blood. A few ‘radical’ cells are allowed to roam free in order to keep the blood at acceptable levels of alertness, attentiveness to necessity. If however those free radicals in the blood run too rampant, forces are sent to eradicate what is necessary to stabilize blood levels. The same law governs the will of a society, a culture. Should corruption become too great, and fall asleep to itself, forces are sent out to eradicate the levels of greed which are proving overly toxic to the body politic. The laws are verifiable, just and sure. Even crime is obliged to police itself. The value of crime is in keeping us alert to the laws, though crime loses its value when it becomes the law.

Sarcasm is masked despair.

I make music for the people. I stay away from the public.

In the absence of real skill is ill will. So don’t be that Boho selling his mojo in Soho. For your dojo, it is a no no.

At least before my time has passed
(and the sands prepare my grave)
Without you, it’s like ALCATRAZ
And I have no birds to save. Sans cage
We are but books of numbers, just let
Me do your math. The sandman seals
Our slumbers and fallen trees amount
To lumber, whose grains will weep
At a carpenter’s wheel. And made to
Hold and frame, the hours whose crystals
Reach out for your name. Join me before
The sun gets jealous, or before the
Moon in her swoon becomes overzealous.

When told that you are funky or you rock, you are essentially being told that your personal vibe swings, has a groove which can be felt, and whatever it be called, it all amounts to the same thing. What produces our funk? Some of it is genetic/karmic. Most of it is produced by having to swallow all of the stuff you have to swallow to be who you are, and survive it. Yesterday’s suppressed question will tomorrow come blasting out of the subconscious like today’s urgent answer. And whatever the marketing men and women call it, it is funk if it must be urgently expressed. TRUST UP- THE FUNK, THE PURE GROOVE, NEVER TAKES ‘NO’ FOR AN ANSWER (though it may take no for a ride).

A free mind spends very little time trying to justify itself. The human mind for most of us is born in and of conflict and therefore justifies itself by argument. Since conflict is what it knows and has been taught, conflict is what it preaches.

An artist will in their course of growth come to know the difference between ‘traditional’, and ‘predictable’. Many mistake the former for the latter. The very genius of Italian style is its presumptuousness. And the presumption of genius is in and of itself, an invitation to it.

It takes an army
To alarm me
From time
To time
We back up
But we never
Back down.

The true spiritual successor to the master PABLO PICASSO were the immense master Jean–Michel BASQUAIT.

I know of people who would not have had BASQUIAT in their homes, but who now own his works which are worth more than their houses. Go figure.

History is written on the run.

They are obliged to storm the Bastille who are not invited to it.

And even my dolls had dandruff,
We shared in common a mental lapse.

And at some point, we do forgive ourselves for surviving our own death.

The allegory of Frankenstein bears historical testimony to the fact that the first slaves were not taken but created, and that those models of so called early pre-historic man were in fact slave models. Early slavery was not race based but ‘model’ based, and several models were offered. Some of those models survive to the present day, most were extinguished by their creators after, like in the allegory of Frankenstein, ‘malfunctioned’ and caused panic and havoc among the population of ‘civilized’ folk. Genetic manipulation of our DNA is a very, very old and timeless story, and each person’s genetic code is a literal hologram/matrix which exists both ‘flatly’ (within time), as well as holographically, rooted outside of temporal time and appears within other dimensional worlds like a light temple with many pillars!

Remember that even when you are wrestling with bad form, you are still creating with pure shapes. Sometimes all we can do is take the shape of the thing and dance the dance of life in the process of creating.

Well, if true the chickens come home to roost
By the time they got to my yard, they need a boost
I assumed they were corn fed, so fed them some grain
While in the meantime I finished my touch up with Proust
And while they got fat, the scales they tripped would gain
While I skipped the chip on the shoulder of the rooster that remained,
Who seemed intent on guarding his pride, and seemed willing to
Trade it for life denied, but I had a yard to maintain. Somewhere
A goatherd is playing his horned ones the flute, I’m about
To silence the morning crow bird and give his beak the boot.

A lot of what depression is are psychic forces trying to defeat your will. Psychic warfare is real and the main form of war in our world and the culture wars are all too real. To inhibit, to contain, to explain, this is the portion allotted to us, that we remain in ‘character’, as if in a supporting role only in someone else’s nightmare. Be tough. Naturally the opposing forces will try to tackle you and keep you down. Just hang on to the football and wait for the next play to be called. A touchdown is a touchdown whether you sprint or hobble past the goal line.

Musicians, the mistake is not necessarily in the note you play but in the fear of exploring it. It is not the wrong note if you are willing to follow it. It is the wrong note if you let it scare you and freeze you in your tracks. Sometimes the ‘wrong’ notes come simply to wake us back up, too much reliance on technique can lull one to sleep and the essence of all great groove material, however marketed, is that little bit of tension and discomfort reaching for absolution through the rhythm.

Technique is not an end unto itself but the bridge to your developing comfort with your instrument. A natural language develops according to your ease with your instrument as a vehicle for your ‘voice’, or rather, how you choose to express your spirit. And if it sticks out too much, rather than try to tuck it in, TURN IT UP MORE!

Classical music fears ‘mistakes’ because they are not written. But it is in fact difficult to write lightning, so they just from time to time burst through and flash us with its fearlessness and dread of drought. Classical music does thunder well. Lightning belongs to Jazz, and to its bastard cousin Rock.

You got to love Italian politics, which is always mutating to remain the same.

Evolution favours the simple formulas. Not always the easiest.

Sometimes, the easier the way, the easier it is to get lost along the way. Fortune favours the hard road.

We are those who punish people for being what they are, even while taking advantage of it.

If a man says to you, “MAY YOU NEVER FIND TEARS”, is he blessing you or cursing you?
(This will account for roughly 50% of your final exam test scores, and trust me, You Will Be Quizzed).

When we are not using it, we keep our penis in the future, it is safer there. Then when learned scholars and academicians, even priests, ask me: ”WHAT DOES THE FUTURE HOLD?”, I can just look at their broad faces and smilingly answer: “MY COCK”.

For dragons, there is no real law, this is the blessing of being a dragon as well as its curse, who are usually killed first and foremost for the abuse of their own power. Dragons who breathe fire, learn the hard way how not to choke on their own flames.

If interested in ITALIAN politics and are an attractive woman between the ages of 18 and 40, please send a photo, measurement sizes and a pair of your panties, preferably cotton, to the office of the Italian Prime Minister, Silvio Berlusconi. You may be interviewed in private…..

It is also true that it is much easier to steal when you do not need to. Otherwise the desperation is a dead giveaway.

Be of good cheer, sometimes INSOMNIA IS A WALKING MEDITATION. Sometimes, the spirits and ancestors come to help us ‘walk it off’, whatever the what is that needs to be ‘walked out of the system’.

If the economy doesn’t improve and matters get worse, the Presidency may become a BLACK MAN’S JOB. It may be after all of this financial cloak and dagger, ONLY brothers who apply for it.

War is a great way to disguise the merger of two companies (‘countries’ are registered ‘companies’), without having to ask the electorate for their support of the merger. Disguise the merger as a ‘takeover’, the subduing of an ‘enemy’ and the merger takes place under the mantle of war and the economies, ‘synergized’. And the bankers do not care what it is called, they only care that the numbers add up….

One of the problems of the blues man after having lived for a while and found success, is that your catalogue would start to look like this:

Track 1- Box Set Blues.
Track 2- 401K Blues
Track 3- Vacation Home Burning Down Blues
Track 4- Went to sleep feeling alright, Woke up this Morning to a Transvestite Blues.
Track 5- Thought it was Cancer, but it only turned
Out to be Gas Blues.
Track 6- Even if he’s Jewish, I hate my Accountant Blues.
Track 7- General Ennui Blues (a Major Malaise it was).
Track 8- I’m Running out of Song Titles Blues.
Track 9- Madoff with the Money and my Mind
On the Madoff Blues
Track 10- Hedge Fund Transaction / Wall Street Blues
Track 11- Flat Screen LCD Blues (She cried LCD or Me)
Track 12- Alimony took All my money Blues.
Track 13- My Son’s Rehab Cost More than Mine Blues
Track 14- Mid Price Blues



…and as a special bonus selection, the under valued, THESE 500 DOLLAR ALLIGATORS ARE KILLING MY FEET BLUES. And last but not least, the song it further inspired, ‘ DOCTOR SCHOLES/ MUSCLE SHOALS BLUES.

Black nationalism is now distinguished by its love of dispute. All must be examined and disputed and we remain within the corrals of dispute waiting for someone else to have the grand idea that we are no longer obliged to benign consensus, a lock step mind meld. And that the more to the right our religions are, the more they are in opposition to the true liberation of the black spirit, such as it has come to be identified.

I believe in the fact of evolution for mainly one reason. I notice that I am still evolving. So perhaps there is something to this evolution nonsense after all.

On second thought, me and my investors have concluded that perhaps the time is not right after all for the SIT ON MY FACEBOOK idea. A bit premature….

If someone else is stepping on your dream, you are not dreaming big enough.

We are pleased to see two of our heroes, masters Bobby Womack and Jeff Beck inducted into the Hall of Fame, Rock and Roll division. Both immense talents, contributors and architects to this thing we fight over called Rock. I have long been a fan of Womack as great singer, immensely important guitarist, and a wonderful songwriter as well as interpreter of great song. Me and the master Beck almost aligned ourselves to a project before jealousy and the usual racism disguised as anything but, got a hold of our plans and scuppered them. C’est La Vie, but wonderful yet to see these giants receive their just desserts. Bravo maestri!

The master Womack was also a confident of two of our cultural gigantors, Sam Cooke and the dangerous SLY STONE, and exchanged ideas with master Curtis Mayfield and most of the vocabulary of modern ‘soul’ based licks derive from the guitars of Mayfield and Womack. Likewise were the master Hendrix greatly influenced by both. WE ALL ARE!

I MENTION SEVERAL PEOPLE WHO INFLUENCED MY DESIRE TO CONSUME MULTIPLE INSTRUMENTS. Stevie Wonder, Prince, Todd Rundgren, McCartney, etc. Though I have failed to mention another gentleman who was a ‘country’ artist when I were coming through by the name of RICKY SKAGGS. He played EVERYTHING, the guitar, mandolin, banjo, pedal steel, fiddle, the ‘whatyoumacallit’ and the whatever, and sang like an Appalachian Angel of Announcement. What is special for one era and generation becomes ‘de rigueur’ for the next. Now playing many instruments isn’t the big WOW factor that it once were and is becoming more of the norm. One should gravitate to whatever fascinates, though how much music is in you is far more important that how many instruments you choose to express it. And if content to master one instrument, that is just as awesome! Sometimes, I break out the KAZOO, when I really want to get funky, and rock the whole neighbourhood. And I still keep one of those plastic RECORDERS (those little clarinet type things we had to have in school when I was like about 10), and jam with my wife, who still plays hers that she kept from school, she were schooled by the ORSOLINE Nuns who happened to favour the teaching of music as training for the mind. I also grew up influenced by the multitalented, lovely and most importantly, televised MANDRELL SISTERS (and they played anything that could be, so there). I also recall wishing to emulate the whole of the great MOTOWN rhythm sections, though most particularly, the masters Benny Benjamin (drums) and the great genius, for me the Coltrane of popular bass, JAMES JAMERSON.

And lest we forget, Beethoven and Mozart had to play the entire orchestra (in order to write well for it, they had to ‘hear’ all instruments)! And John Lee Hooker could play just one string, and make it sound like a company of Angels were jamming and drinking whisky, sour.

There be a connection between manic depression and CHARISMA. Charisma is powered by the light source from within and like all manifested forms, requires energy to function according to its design. When the battery of Charisma runs low, while it is recharging the charismatic experiences the lows, the blahs, the blues. They themselves can get addicted to their own energy source and the headiness that it generates within the self, charisma even seduces those it comes through and carries them onward to meet their spiritual objectives in life, and sometimes spirituality and religion go together. Other times they are as compatible as pirates and penguins. Expect the charismatic to be a manic depressive, it goes with the territory, it goes with the meditation, and once the depression ceases being judged, it becomes a most sublime form of introversion and graciousness. Once the battery needs recharging, TA-DA, LETHERGY AND REST. Politicians are those predisposed to this, leaders, clergy.

Our heavy metal brothers have been a little less than forthcoming about their debt to the FUNK. Just as the last generation were blues influenced, today’s heavy riff-meisters are funk informed. And almost none of them has the heart, balls or courage to announce it, as if all of their fans would abandon them for acknowledging that George Clinton was as influential on them as the great master EDDIE VAN HALEN, or the brilliant RANDY RHODES. Give it up to the funk and the funk gives it up to you.

Nothing moves the music Gods, the MUSES like SINCERITY and SWEAT. And yes Virginia, the muses do take human manifestations in order to keep our inspiration up, our drive to create life, much like our father in spirit does. I have been immensely privileged to have met a few myself and most of all, to have married one. Most of my ‘girl named’ songs are really about the Muses.

Were one to do a more true to life portrait of the master immaculate, BEETHOVEN, the actor I would choose to portray a more realistic viewpoint, in both temperament and tone would be the gifted and riveting JEFFREY WRIGHT. Whatever the racists and their apologists tell you, master Bee and young master actor JW bear a striking resemblance. Now if our cultural propagandists in Hollywood would stop obscuring our history, they themselves might find new Gods on their side. Like our current President, two of my all time and eternal heroes, ALEX PUSHKIN and the master BEE were mulattos, with a black parent, no matter how much history and its lazy eye wishes to paper over it and render it more accommodating to the usual supremacist propaganda. Goethe and Mozart, two other of my Lords, were as white as Caspar the friendly ghost. Not a problem, not even a little bit. They are an immense credit to the race of humanity and the sub tribes they were spewed from, a credit to all men. Likewise would it be beneficial to repair (reparations) the deeply wounded black psyche by revealing more of the truth about our bloodlines and their contribution to the western mind, despite the grave obstacles which always alights upon black genius and its fragile though important mission, to regenerate faith in the substance of the experience to those who suffer its weight, its cross and all of the loose splinters upon it. This is why I detest history and cannot trust it, in about a hundred years, my portraits will appear only white as well, and scholars dispatched to blend what can be blended into the man’s narrative of life in his time. We even begrudgingly teach about the great American master GEORGE WASHINGTON CARVER, who has done large, visceral and important works to enhance and enrich the human experience, he who were a true Angel of Science and healing. Our stinginess catches up to us eventually.

And no one quite explains the simple law of karma like the credit card companies. As above, so below.

Pity the man without repentance. He will have no stories to tell, at least none that can be believed.

We already ‘predicted’ that the young master Louis Hamilton would encounter changes made to his sport due to his dominance, and quicker this time so as to negate the ‘Tiger Effect’. As soon as he even had a notion, if he did to rest on his laurels, they would have had their doctors issue warnings about the toxic effect of laurel sitting, because it is like this. Our champions are always required to make adjustments, for as soon as we master it, they pull the rug of tradition out from under our feet, and change the rules to place it back firmly within their range of dominance, so as to better perpetuate the lie of some sort of superiority based on race, as opposed to consciousness. We have only lived for 47 years in this particular body vehicle and we have seen this a little too often. Formula One, which had me over the past few seasons as a convert, can now count me and my participation in their charade of a sport, short ass and goodbye. We shall not allow our focus of energy to bless these men and their sponsors. Ciao, back to watching sports for me where all men can compete on a level playing field.

Your sister invented ‘ho cakes.

…and we are supposed to believe that changes were made to the sport, ALL OF A SUDDEN, as the sponsors were nervous about the possible loss of revenue from sponsors nervous about the no longer super white image of their precious sport. A great sport, Yes. An important one? No. It is about as important as curling, which at least for most winter participants is less racist and more fun. Get a grip, the world is changing and the world is watching. Watch new interest in the sport decrease. You idiots, NEVER CANCEL OUT CHARISMA, you damn your sport to the ratings it deserves without it, you simple racist……..

Our biggest fantasy is that there is but one reality. Yeah, right.

We have no ‘ONE REALITY’, except in fascist times. We have a bunch of BELIEF SYSTEMS. The dominant gang fights that their system of belief becomes the law, the ‘reality’ and that they can them punish those whose thinking abstains from dominant control by others. Your IMAGINATION, the father of fantasy, is reality as all reality begins in someone’s mind as first a fable. YOU and you alone determine what is and is not real for you. If it sounds good to you, swell, if not do not wait for someone to explain it better. If you don’t get it now, you’ll only get fooled by a better story teller later.

Dolphins are the flames of the sea.

The best way to displace a man is to offer him a promotion. All being equal, increase his pay, though keep him where his experience is.

If we do not take advantage of global warming to increase our dependency on the Sun, what else does the Sun have to do to convince us? How else does nature speak?

Hank Williams ears were as broad as his genius. For example, one can hear the influence of the immense master Fats Waller in the basic blueprint of master Hank’s sound. When the Mp3 of Nigor Mortis were released, I had a nice chicken meal, got drunk and giddy and danced until I flopped asleep on the couch to 24 songs of the master Williams. In the best of ‘country’ there is a deep funk, a mountain funk, as real as delta funk.

We would certainly love to see in this lifetime the establishment noticeably chill out on their grave reluctance to allow the black Diaspora to be aroused by new ideas, normally a socio-political NO NO. We are not asking for quota’s but for the establishment to stop assuming quota’s for themselves and to open back up the game fairly, so that consciousness can win more often and drive as it must, the bloodlines of the races. I would never trust a man with higher values if he cannot get past the narrowness of his own vision and predisposed suppositions. Life carries far too many mysteries and surprises otherwise….

It is not the size of the dog in the fight, it is the size of his menace.

NASA seems at times to care more about the spaces in our minds than what is happening in outer space. And what are these people’s mandate exactly?

You can see a different representational reality from the use of peripheral vision. The normal vision is taught what it is SUPPOSED to be seeing. The peripheral or side vision is raw and untrained and therefore sees energy differently. It must be so, otherwise horses wouldn’t need to wear blinders. We have not lost the languages, just the understanding, except for those few blessed to retain the understanding.

Lord Dick Cheney was incensed, ENRAGED! Now that he no longer had to participate in the charade of government, he could spend all day and evening in his large and spacious underground bunker, and complete the Cheney and cabal vision of world dominance without accountability to the press and worse, those damn meddling types in the electorate. Even the word ELECTORATE sounded woolly and quasi-communistic to this Sith among siths, first among fifths, and thanks to modern medicine as of yet not a stiff. But his mood was a darkening sky about to unleash a warm summer nights squall. “Scooter, WHERE THE HELL IS MY FAVOURITE COFFEE CUP?” ‘Dick, you mean the one with Donald Duck on it?’ “You know damn well that I mean the yellow plastic Donald Duck cup, don’t be cute, down here, my friend, no one can hear you scream. Where is it?” ‘Sir, we felt that with the move down here, you could use a simpler one, since potentially it is better for security, in case your cup gets treated with anthrax or something horrible if it is out of your sight, we feel better you having a ‘cleared’ cup’. “Listen sweet pea, why don’t you just let me worry about anthrax and all of that other stuff. Dick and Donald are a team, where Dick goes, little Donny goes as well. That is my stress cup, IT IS MY SECURITY. So stop playing with your job and find me my cup. I gave a cup like it to Rumsfeld and do you know they found it in the Pentagon wreckage and it was the only thing not totally destroyed, it just had a scorch mark where Donald’s pants were, which was kind of funny, IF I DID FUNNY. I don’t do funny so instead it were kind of IRONIC”. The smirk, now iconic was read by the master Libby like a postcard, loud and clear. ‘Yes sir, boss, right away’. Even those powerful secretive men, the men in black in spirit if not in actual wardrobe (otherwise they’d be known as the men in dark blue), need their security items. Even great men who are allowed to threaten and measure in their gun sights, the worth of other men are not beyond the reassuring notion of a plastic, mustard yellow and blue drinking cup with a Disney icon riding shotgun. He loved it even more than the pen he had gotten once from President Nixon, the one where the showgirls dress dissolves when it is turned upside down to reveal her ‘riding’ a donkey. He thought it were cool, but it had run out of ink centuries ago, before he were handed the Darth helmet and Dennis Hopper’s paranoia. No, this was all he needed to effectively govern as leader of the real shadow government, the government behind the one we are allowed to see and mock as were it real. The big maestro Dick, would continue to work his science upon the fate of the world, his registered ‘Dickology’. As a side hobby, he would even manage some country singers, a couple of useful ‘pop’ careers. And somewhere in the deep edges of twilight, a company was about to get a call and inform it that for reasons of national security, they were no longer able to produce those plastic Disney cups and that all remaining ones with Donald Duck had to be forwarded to a secret government address somewhere near Langley Virginia. All in all, this was master Cheney’s world, closeted, underground, inaccessible, mysterious and threatening, just like he liked it. His next order of business was to contact his main source at the White House, Raoul and make sure his loyalty was placed higher on the payroll……….

(Imagine a woman wearing a dress, an ugly one, so that we can say..) JUST DON’T BE A DAMSEL IN THIS DRESS!

I sincerely thank those of Web radio who have been forthcoming and kind towards this incarnated dream.

We can live with pain for so long that it becomes a trusted friend, that you can count on. You may even fight to the death the one who tries to spirit it away from you, once grown used to its bruising allegiance.

We are all kind of strange in our way. Artists get used to people in essence blaming them for the loss of THEIR youth, as if you were personally responsible for the fact that we all move on and that youth is for most of us, the most magical period in our lives. Despite my own immense gratitude for having survived a most treacherous ‘youth’, all artists (and I do know quite a few, even some legends!) are measured against what YOU were like when we were young, dumb and full of and then some. And then there are those who resent seeing you past your discovery point. I know an artist who told me that there was even a woman who blamed the break up of her marriage to his 3rd album (he has since made more than a few others), she had among other matters, fought with her husband over its ‘significance’ and things being already rather strained, made a record that managed to split up a family. Our job is not to be passive observers of a sick society, but to invigorate debate, to stimulate consciousness, to soothe, entertain, even berate. Not all musicians are called to the glitter, some are called to the base notes of the gutter. We are expected to not only produce mimics in our wake but to become mimics of even ourselves and we are pretentious assholes if we do not. And if we’ve no desire to be profile slaves, we get shit kicked in to us. But at least it hasn’t yet driven this artists to cut off his ear. Because state control wishes to quiet the people down JUST AS THEY ARE MATURING INTO GUILE, to discourage the ‘wisdom activists’, they are told and society along with them that after their youth (or rather after the exploitation that can only exploit the young), THEY HAVE NOTHING LEFT TO SAY, it has all been said already. THAT IS CALLED BRAINWASHING, that is what hypnosis is, your willingness to accept something as mean and fearful as that. However ‘magical’ my ignorant youth was, it was no more magical than youth as a whole is to any of us. YOU were more magical because you were still more OPEN.

© May 27th, 2009 Sananda Maitreya – All Rights Reserved.