Mortaljive: The Rest is Silence

There is no still point in all the Universe, and that is the rock upon which I stand

Friday, October 31, 2008

McCain/Palin Victims of Brutal Attack?



(Jivester News, Lmtd.) Republican Presidential candidate John McCain, along with his running mate Sarah Palin, claimed during a Halloween press conference that this morning they were robbed, pinned to the ground and branded with the letter "B” on their faces, in what both are saying was a politically inspired attack by a black man. Palin, who said she was not raped but "...would have the baby if she she had been raped, and would have positioned her hips in such a way as to protect the nascent fetus immediately after the rape" pointed to the "B" on her face as proof of the late election season attack. She then winked a bunch of times, and spoke in "Tonguenese" a spiritual language said to have no meaning at all, though her mumbled "...yabba dabba doo" was vaguely familiar.

McCain, interviewed as he was returning from casket shopping, said he was attempting to take cash out of an ATM with his own check card when attacked, and Sarah just happened to be there clubbing to death a service dog when both were brutalized by "a very brown man of suspicious browness." Police who questioned McCain quickly discovered it wasn't his card but rather his wife's debit card, and it wasn't an ATM machine where the alleged attack occurred: it was a gaming table at a casino in New Jersey. And he wasn't attacked. And the "B" looked a lot like the "B" showcased on fake victim Ashley Todd's face in last week's absurd news cycle, now that I think of it. As a member of the media, I'm almost certain this means something. Almost.

Was this demonstrably false story a last ditch attempt by McCain & Palin to gain sympathy, inspire voters, whip up reflexive racist sentiments in an increasingly agitated public, frighten white women, get free candy on Halloween, make clowns cry, or perhaps a noble effort to defeat the insidious encroachment on our liberties by perfidious entities bent on destroying our way of life by taxing billionaires? Or was it all just my friend Barry doing a simple cut and paste bit of business with Photoshop? Only the grim march of time will tell...

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Virtual face make-up of McCain/Palin performed by Barryshap. Heh-heh.

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Thursday, October 30, 2008

The Ghoulish Olde Partay



Come with me to the pumpkin patch
And see what is most scary!
The GOP turns ghouls to glee
And bites off the heads of fairies!

The moon is waning in the sky
The leaves, they skitter in the dark
The wind molests you in the night
The trees all bleed from in their bark

What monsters will thee yet encounter
What demons foul will rake your skin?
Potions, witches, wolves of Satan
Pocky flesh, wages of sin

Run you must! To safety fly!
Gain the porch and turn the key!
Rush inside and lock the door!
The hounds of hell have broken free!

Arise! Arise! All that lives will die!
Arise! Arise! The End is drawing nigh!

Nail the boards across the windows
Dim the lights and catch your breath
Pray the Lord to make you safe now
Save you from the hateful Death!

Ah, that's better, things are normal
Rest you well, your fears unfounded
Laugh and gain composure's harbor
Have a drink, perhaps get pounded

Find a spot upon your couch
Wave your remote just like a wand
Conjure up some infotainment
Just be aware you might be conned

Arise! Arise! All that lives will die!
Arise! Arise! The End is drawing nigh!

Oh my God! The Gays are coming!
That guy on FOX said it is true
With cunning knives and color swatches
They're coming after me and you!

Oh, my God! They've kidnapped Marriage!
The Sacred now is made profane!
The Bride and Groom must run for cover
The Gays ride brooms filled with propane

Beware, your vows now wholly threatened
Your pledge to duty, love all stained
Hie thee unto Satan's Love Shack
The doom of Man is on the way!

Arise! Arise! All that lives will die!
Arise! Arise! The End is drawing nigh!

Did the curtains billow thusly?
Are there voices in the yard?
Such wisps of worry are but trifles
Come watch the FOX, who works so hard!

Oh, my God! Creeping Socialism!
It's crawling up your very street!
Healthcare for our nation's children?
The flames of Satan burn our feet!

Oh, my God! On the horizon:
The Middle East destroys the calm
We must attack! We must destroy them!
Fuel up the jets, let fly the bombs!

Arise! Arise! All that lives will die!
Arise! Arise! The End is drawing nigh!

The whites aren't making enough babies
Brown hordes invade us from the south
Stem Cells melt as little snowflakes
That Demoncrats toss in their mouths!

The Constitution must be gutted
It could rise and kill us all!
Beware the People, they will get us
For, like Adam, we must Fall

God must once again rule mankind
Not the Jew one, and not Allah
Let Jesus slaughter all who tremble
And so and so, and blah, blah, blah

Arise! Arise! All that lives will die!
Arise! Arise! The End is drawing nigh!

The GOP has lost its mask
Grins from its skull beneath the earth
Full of dirt and grit and insects
It's waiting for its Second Birth

For just like Jesus, who was risen
The GOP, though dead, will fly
And cast its shadow on the prison
It has made for you and I

Take comfort on this Halloween
And tuck your worries into bed
Everything is out to get you
And will not stop until you're dead

Arise! Arise! All that lives will die!
Arise! Arise! The End is drawing nigh!

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Image from El Laberinto del Fauno...or, in english, Pan's Labyrinth, a film I heartily recommend.

Author's Note: This was originally posted one spooky year ago at my old haunt...

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Monday, October 27, 2008

Smile, and the World Wags its Tail



Phil (pictured: he was a street rescue in Atwater Village) accompanies my Donna on many of her trips down to the unreal parts of America...

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Saturday, October 25, 2008

Just One More Stanza With Mario Lanza!



Dedicated to two book (and music) lovers who laugh and reach the giddy heights of splendor in the sweet, verdant Pacific Northwest!

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Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Top Ten Job Duties of Vice President

#10. Empty the ashtrays and fluff up the pillows.

#9. Acquire blood from one dozen virgins for Rupert Murdoch.

#8. Only pretend to kill the President, damn it!

#7. Squeal like a pig!

#6. Once a year, deliver toys to all the good boys and girls.

#5. Polish the brass with some pride, for crying out loud!

#4. Do things on the floor of the Senate that polite people will not discuss.

#3. Greet foreign dignitaries while high on stem cell crystals.

#3. Toga Captain!

#2. Keep Alaska from seceding from the Union.

#1. Tip the valet guy.

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Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Everything Old is New Again



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Monday, October 20, 2008

She Danced in the Sun



SHE DANCED IN THE SUN

image and lyrics by mjs*

Nancy was fancy and crazy and drunk
Cried like the devil and laughed like a monk
She wandered and sauntered and stumbled along
She lay by a river and dreamt of a song
She lay by a river so cool to the touch
She danced in the sun, she loved it so much
She danced in the sun, she loved it so much

Grace stared in space on the 39th floor
Her life lay in boxes that blocked the front door
She leaned out the window and sang to the sky
She lifted her arms, she never asked why
Her skin was like satin, so soft to the touch
She danced in the sun, she loved it so much
She danced in the sun, she loved it so much

(chorus)
some will take wing
and soar in the night
some will walk earth
to do what they might
some will roam heaven
some will run free
basking in sunshine
they dance as they please

one lover
one lover
smiles in the sun

Ginny was skinny and blind and bereft
Her family as memory was all that was left
She walked with a dog and a map of the earth
She reached out her hands, for what it was worth
She reached out her hands, this life she did touch
She danced in the sun, she loved it so much
She danced in the sun, she loved it so much

Monique was unique, and free as a bird
It’s anyone’s guess what music she heard
She bowed to the trees and swayed to the beat
Her eyes were like shadows that came to kiss me
She sang in the garden, and all she did touch
She danced in the sun, she loved it so much
She danced in the sun, she loved it so much

(repeat chorus)

one lover
one lover
smiles in the sun

(repeat chorus)

one lover
one lover
smiles in the sun

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*These lyrics were originally posted in April of this year, but I decided to post them again. So there.

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Friday, October 17, 2008

Should We Support Troops From Slightly Less Patriotic Parts of our Country?

It's a question that, though difficult to truly defend, must be asked: since the beginning of our War Against Potential War Americans have been reminded of the need to Support the Troops, for they above all else are the reason we fight. But is such blind support really that prudent of a policy in these times of patriotic parsing? Should a white man who says "negra" be forced to support a soldier from an inner city, an inner city where children routinely play hoops better than he ever did on his best day evuh? One may make hay while the sun shines, and one might come home to find a Nigerian in the woodpile: these are simple facts that may rip the nation's rectum clean apart.

On the face of it, supporting all of America sounds fair, it sounds American, but is it, really? Isn't "All of America" just code for "Commie America?" And isn't "All of America" just a bit much? Let's say you really want to Support the Troops, and you follow that up with actually learning about our troops, and you find out that some of our troops are brown and some are black (I like to think of the currently low enlistment rates for African Americans as "violence default swaps"). A lot of these people of pigment are not from Real America, and even if they get their asses shot off it's difficult to care about them as much, or to even feel like pretending to care as much. When Supporting the Troops means having to think about what that support means, well, you've lost a lot of people who depend on getting their oxygen by breathing through their mouths. Once we lose them it's over: once we find them it is also over. That is their singular beauty.

So I must ask once again--nay, I must insist: if we have to support troops who are not from Real America then we aren't really American, are we? We're Dutch or something. Maybe the Moulin Rouge. And that ain't right. So tonight, when you say your prayers, ask that God help our troops, but to allot His love with discretion, that its better part be given to our Real Americans, and whatever the hell is left He can give to the wetbacks and the darkies. Amen.

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Big shout out to Sarah Palin, who is bringing her zest for life to all (well, except for the big cities and such) of America!

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Thursday, October 16, 2008

Alan Watts Slows Me Down



And I like that.

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Wednesday, October 15, 2008

The Bad Magician and the Howling of the Wolves



The Bad Magician is not coming back. The Bad Magician is gone. Asleep, asunder, a dreamer in the forest; needles are the floor. How does something that was not alive become dead? Only in the dark. Forever.

The Bad Magician fell in the dark forever. While he fell he could not see, it didn't matter. He could not hear--nothing to hear. He falls and he falls and he falls. He falls where Alice died. He falls where Sisyphus struggles in vain. He falls. And no one sees. When it is time for time to vanish, the water runs on rocks and birds laugh.

The Bad Magician is gone, but something stirred. Something ran. Something came for him, at the edge of nowhere. The Wolves came. The Wolves came and The Bad Magician could fall no longer. Some things just are. The Bad Magician lands in the Great White North. He lands in the Snow. He looks into the blinding light. He hears the engine. The Bad Magician dies everywhere all at once.

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Above the frozen tundra the plane flies low. A man is a man is a killer. He holds the rifle, he fucks the world with his rifle. The bullets are metal cum on the frozen world. He smiles. He nods. He brushes aside his bangs. He winks. He is she. She is the killer on the road.

The Pack runs in the snow, through the snow. They run with everything. The plane circles, comes back, she fires again. The Bad Magician holds aloft the secret of flight and crawls inside of the Wolf Killer: he demonstrates the next thousand years of her dream. This could be a wrong thing. It goes like this:
Run, killer. Run. Your shoes are broken. The light is blinding. Run, killer, run. You have killed the real world. Run. What is it that tracks you? The Bad Magician breaks the rules and consumes her mortar. He flies in the dream, flies the iron bird and screams and shrieks and howls and fires. A gasper, she stumbles in the holes of her self. She is nicked. She is struck. She is invaded by hot metals and jagged splinters. She runs in shattered nails and burning hair: her arm a gun, she turns and fires up at the opponent. Her arm recoils and snaps her back in two. This broken thing infects the snow. Get up, killer. Get up. She smiles. You betcha. From Tartarus a strange exhale. Haw. Haw. She rises, to scorn the sky, she spreads her chain and mocks the world--she turns, in glee and triumph. The knife revealed! She holds the severed legs of the wild wolves and shakes them like a moneymaker. Fuck you! Fuck you all! Around her, the Pack waits like Winter, but then the Pack descends. It descends. Descends. The jaws that bite, the claws that catch. For a thousand lifetimes. Forever she is left on the snow. Sisyphus shakes his head. She laughs again. You betcha. She holds the knife that makes her. She is carved into a corner. Her knife inspects her sinews. Blood.
The Bad Magician consecrates the horrible dream. We are such things as...nothing. The Bad Magician seeks a place to fall again. Give me back my darkness! but the Wolves are howling and the days are running and everything that is good in the world is murdered once again. The Wolves are howling and you must hear them. The Bad Magician will not forsake them. Sweet dreams, sings Alice from death. Sweet dreams.

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Cross posted at The Bad Magician and at my old haunt Correntewire.

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Monday, October 13, 2008

When All Else Fails, Bob Will Do



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Sunday, October 12, 2008

Speaking of Hockey



C'mon, Sarah! Do it for our troops!

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She's Screaming Doom

A Song for John McCain & Sarah Palin
sung to the tune of She's Leaving Home
Thank you John, Paul, George & Ringo

Rapture coming at five o'clock as the planet ends
Triumphantly greeting her wrathful Lord
Pointing out pagans who should die in the war
She flies down to gather her guns and all of her family
Quietly burning all that she sees
Shooting at wolves gives her glee

Banshee (We weren't aware of her life)
Is screaming (Careful, she's also holding a knife)
Doom (We gave instructions for all of her demons to fly)
She's screaming doom, off the rose goes the bloom, all that's left is fear

McCain snores as his second wife knocks a pain pill down
Forgets which house he is lying in
Can't quite recall if he's alive or dead
He breaks down and cries to the darkness "Armageddon's here!
Why did our Sarah rise up past the trees?
How could she do this to me?"

Banshee (We never thought it was true)
Is flying (Just wanted red meat for our troops)
Up (Her skin will burn in the vastness of space*)
She's screaming doom, off the rose goes the bloom, all that's left is fear

Oh, my lordy, my crying cup says there's hell to pay
A witch doctor's blessing saves the day
Magic and wonder and drilling are great!

Banshee (What did we hear in her song?)
Is floating (Who knew that shrieks were a song?)
Up (Up is the one thing that never comes down)
Some people tried to deny all her lies for so many years
She's screaming doom, bye, bye

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*When Sarah's body flies up to heaven this is how her body will react to being out of earth's atmosphere (spoiler alert: her body will have about two minutes before the damage becomes irreversible). From the article:

When the human body is suddenly exposed to the vacuum of space, a number of injuries begin to occur immediately. Though they are relatively minor at first, they accumulate rapidly into a life-threatening combination. The first effect is the expansion of gases within the lungs and digestive tract due to the reduction of external pressure. A victim of explosive decompression greatly increases their chances of survival simply by exhaling within the first few seconds, otherwise death is likely to occur once the lungs rupture and spill bubbles of air into the circulatory system. Such a life-saving exhalation might be due to a shout of surprise, though it would naturally go unheard where there is no air to carry it.

In the absence of atmospheric pressure water will spontaneously convert into vapor, which would cause the moisture in a victim's mouth and eyes to quickly boil away. The same effect would cause water in the muscles and soft tissues of the body to evaporate, prompting some parts of the body to swell to twice their usual size after a few moments. This bloating may result in some superficial bruising due to broken capillaries, but it would not be sufficient to break the skin.

A NASA vacuum chamberA NASA altitude chamberWithin seconds the reduced pressure would cause the nitrogen which is dissolved in the blood to form gaseous bubbles, a painful condition known to divers as "the bends." Direct exposure to the sun's ultraviolet radiation would also cause a severe sunburn to any unprotected skin. Heat does not transfer out of the body very rapidly in the absence of a medium such as air or water, so freezing to death is not an immediate risk in outer space despite the extreme cold.

For about ten full seconds– a long time to be loitering in space without protection– an average human would be rather uncomfortable, but they would still have their wits about them. Depending on the nature of the decompression, this may give a victim sufficient time to take measures to save their own life. But this period of "useful consciousness" would wane as the effects of brain asphyxiation begin to set in. In the absence of air pressure the gas exchange of the lungs works in reverse, dumping oxygen out of the blood and accelerating the oxygen-starved state known as hypoxia. After about ten seconds a victim will experience loss of vision and impaired judgement, and the cooling effect of evaporation will lower the temperature in the victim's mouth and nose to near-freezing. Unconsciousness and convulsions would follow several seconds later, and a blue discoloration of the skin called cyanosis would become evident.

At this point the victim would be floating in a blue, bloated, unresponsive stupor, but their brain would remain undamaged and their heart would continue to beat. If pressurized oxygen is administered within about one and a half minutes, a person in such a state is likely make a complete recovery with only minor injuries, though the hypoxia-induced blindness may not pass for some time. Without intervention in those first ninety seconds, the blood pressure would fall sufficiently that the blood itself would begin to boil, and the heart would stop beating. There are no recorded instances of successful resuscitation beyond that threshold.

Though an unprotected human would not long survive in the clutches of outer space, it is remarkable that survival times can be measured in minutes rather than seconds, and that one could endure such an inhospitable environment for almost two minutes without suffering any irreversible damage. The human body is indeed a resilient machine.
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Saturday, October 11, 2008

Sarah's Got a Gun!



Shoot 'em, Sarah!

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Friday, October 10, 2008

The Republican Party's Base is Alive!



And they're marching as to war!

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Cross posted at Jesus' General.

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Thursday, October 09, 2008

Where Were the Cameras a Few Hours Before? Huh? Where Were They?



Man, you should have seen these guys earlier in the day. I mean, these people were UP and CRAZY with McCain ENERGY. It was WILD, I tell you. Just MANIC. Everybody else at the pancake house was like, whoa boys, tone it down! I'm telling ya', they made the coffee jump! PINWHEELS and FERRETS, if I may be so bold!

You really should have been there. Can you say ELECTRIC! That's right: it was ELECTRIC!

Man, I need a nap. By golly, I am that tired.

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Image via Crooks & Liars.

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Wednesday, October 08, 2008

Sarah Palin: The Patron Saint of Bloody Slaughter



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Tuesday, October 07, 2008

Everything Old is New Again



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What Does It Profit a Candidate?



A meditation...

will John McCain ride on the open plain
and find his soul in the falling of the rain
or will the soldier cut the cord
and fall at last upon his sword

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Monday, October 06, 2008

Ballot Box Bunny



With John McCain as Yosemite Sam, and Barack Obama as Bugs Bunny!

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Ricky Gervais Explains the Old Testament



Well, the first few bits of it.

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Sunday, October 05, 2008

Vice Pezidential Candidate Caption Contest!



My entry:

When Putin rears his Russian head
Something sweet you will be fed!


I'm not sure what to do with Bullwinkle Moose. Sarah would probably slit his throat and take his candy.

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Graphic head surgery performed by Barryshap.

Cross-posted at Jesus' General.

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VP Debate, SNL Style



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Friday, October 03, 2008

Loudon Wainwright III & Leo Kottke in Portland, Oregon



My most excellent and beloved friend Howie Mon-Chowie (rhymes with Maui) turned me on to Loudon Wainwright III around one hundred years ago (1974, to be precise). Having made me laugh and guffaw in the early years, Loudon proceeded to chronicle the later seasons of his life in songs that touched on loss, suffering, frustration, regret & bemusement (and the occasional bad acid trip). I love his odd ways. Saw him live at the Santa Monica Civic auditorium (1975?) opening for Janis Ian(!) Howie Mon-Chowie, myself and Mr. PD had to leave when Janis followed Loudon, our having caught a hardcore case of giggles during his sardonic set--once Janice began to sing about how sucky being 17 was we just lost it completely (the happy cigarettes we smoked may have added to our haw-haw attack), and so we excused and stumbled our way past thousands of serious people. I think we got home safely because I am here safely now.

I did see Wainwright perform once more, at the now late and lamented Golden Bear in Huntington Beach, CA--I yelled something stupid at him while he played on stage, and he yelled back! I even called him once: on the back of his "Attempted Mustache" LP was a phone number for Snowden Records in New York. Having a sufficient number of beers in me, I dialed the number and was surprised when somebody answered at the other end ("Lord of mercy, I am talking to New York City!")--the grave voice answered with a "Snowden Records." Caught off-guard and having nothing of any value whatsoever to say, I commented that it was late in California and the gentleman at the other end stated that it was even later in New York. I do remember asking "Is Loudon around" but was informed that LW III was on tour at the time, and thus ended another fascinating phone call.

Loudon Wainwright III (along with Leo Kottke) will be performing in my still new neck of the woods on October 11th, at the Aladdin Theater. Money being tight, and already having spent cash I don't have to see Randy Newman there on the 23rd, I may just miss seeing Mr. Wainwright play in Portland, but it truly pleases me to know that, indeed, Loudon is still very much around.

And hey, Leo Kottke ain't no slouch neither!

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Thursday, October 02, 2008

Do It Again



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Wednesday, October 01, 2008

Rare Video of Sarah Palin's Wedding



Though she falls, she doesn't go splat...

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