Mortaljive: The Rest is Silence

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

Saturday, July 31, 2010

The Opinuary Column



The Opinion "Jesus of Nazareth was not a zombie" has died, having been murdered by a variety of Christians who threw his lifeless corpse to the turf and tore to shreds what was left of his dessicated corpse. He was believed to be 57 years of age, though he looked much older.

Born inside a grotto near Gila Bend, Arizona, Jesus first died of heat exhaustion and dehydration while crossing the desert to face his demons, a ritualistic journey similar to those often taken by shamans and mythological beings. Lying dead on an exposed rock and not content to be pecked at by vultures, he rose again and continued on his journey across the badlands, stumbling across the brutal Sonoran desert, covered in sores and with a Keith Richards sort of look on his face. Rescued by an industrial farm crew who took pity on him, he was given a job picking lettuce for eight dollars an hour. While toiling in the fields, and with temperatures reaching 100 degrees, Jesus collapsed and died two more times before he was told there was no more work, and soon enough he was off to make his fortune as a day laborer in Tucson. Roughed up by a couple of hooligans outside a Home Depot, he died and was buried just outside the city limits by an Amoral Samaritan. Naturally, he dug his way out of the rocky grave, and looked around with a strange glint in his eye: he quite suddenly had a most supernatural hankering for human brains.

Emboldened by his new epicurean bent, Jesus went on to win brain-eating contests across the country, and was fast becoming a serious contender for Most Valuable Zombie when he found himself inside of a Tea Party event in Deep Piles, Indiana. Warming up for the contest that was scheduled later that evening, he had begun to snack from the skulls of those attending the event when he made a ghastly discovery: someone had replaced the Tea Partier's brains with chicken nuggets. When Jesus made to announce this the crowd descended upon him: Jesus had the shit beat out of him, and they strung him up and then they tore him apart and that was that. It was like the fifth or sixth time he had died but reanimating pieces of flesh that were that pulverized pretty much put the kibosh on any more curtain calls, if you know what I mean. Ain't coming back no more. 86'd. All she wrote. Bye-bye. Etc.

A Celebration of Killing Jesus will be held at 12:00 p.m. on Friday, August 20th at the Kingdom Hall of Jumping Jehoshaphat Baptist Church in Simi Valley, California. Memorial contributions may be made to god, who if he or she has any brains at all will stay far, far away from this violent, stupid and brains-eating little planet we call home.

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The Opinuary Column appears most Fridays at Jesus' General.

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Friday, July 30, 2010

Say What You Mean, Mean What You Say



I am shocked--shocked!--that a member of congress would point out the callow behavior of the jaundiced opposition. Shocked, I tell you.

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Thursday, July 29, 2010

Plodding Sightless Canine



let's go for a run
down by the lake
maybe take a walk on the moon
make it shake and bake

let's go to the mountains
and howl in the night
i will hold you in the darkness
i will hold with all my might
i will hold this old blind dog
i will hold with all my might

let's get ourselves some dinner
eat it on the deck
i will take care of you always
i will scratch you on your neck

when sleep will overtake us
and in our dreams we run
i will be there right beside you
i will race you to the sun

let's go to the mountains
and howl in the night
i will hold you in the darkness
i will hold with all my might
i will hold this old blind dog
i will hold with all my might

sometimes you cry a little
you whimper, that's okay
things are hard all over
but it's you who made me brave

you cannot see tomorrow
you can't live inside the past
but you can ease your sorrow
with a love that surely lasts

let's go to the mountains
and howl in the night
i will hold you in the darkness
i will hold with all my might
i will hold this old blind dog
i will hold with all my might

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The Slow Blind Dog sign was posted at the entrance to Wheatland Winery, a fine establishment adjacent to the Willamette River just north of Keizer, Oregon.

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Sunday, July 25, 2010

Get Out Some, Not Much, But Still...



Multnomah Falls



Above Multnomah Falls



Dining area for talent and crew, Waterfront Blues Festival, 2010



WBF-2010



Lots of fun at the WBF, but very crowded...



Not my bottle...

As for me I just keep working
Don't get out much anymore
It could be worse, it could be better
No time for nothin' but the chores

Stuck at home with all the doggies
Phil keeps barking all the night
Cats puked upon the pillow
Can't give up and cannot fight...

My lady got a short gig
So it's just me and the fur
It's hot outside in Portland
It is hot and that's for sure...


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Saturday, July 24, 2010

Guess the Context w/Special Guest Bill Hicks



Sometimes, instead of caving you just gotta share the love. Sigh.

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The Opinuary Column will probably reappear next week, but in a highly edited and ultimately deceptive fashion. Who knows, maybe I can get somebody fired!

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Wednesday, July 21, 2010

a viking burial for an old man



i lit a memory boat on fire
at the edge of a dream
it rode the tide to the outer reef
it rode the tide
the water, the fire
like two old friends
living in a fantasy
that never ends
that never ends

i made a diamond ring out of glass
at the edge of a dream
nobody had to suffer for the glass
it sparkled brightly
like an old friend
living in a fantasy
that never ends
that never ends

who wants eternity for just one hour
who wants the princess locked in the tower
who wants the lotus down on the sand
who wants empty promises of a promised land
just take my hand
just take my hand
you and me at a viking burial
for an old man

i raised my hands to genuflect
at the edge of a dream
fire came upon the sails
and lit up everything
the flames talk to heaven
like two old friends
living in a fantasy
that never ends

i saw the old man float on the sea
i saw the old man that death was burning
i held your hand at the edge of a dream
i held your hand so silently
you and me at a viking burial
you and me at a viking burial
of an old man
you and me at a viking burial
floating on the sea
you and me at a viking burial
at the edge of a dream

who wants eternity for just one hour
who wants the princess locked in the tower
who wants the lotus down on the sand
who wants empty promises of a promised land
just take my hand
just take my hand
you and me at a viking burial
for an old man

i lit a memory boat on fire
at the edge of a dream
it rode the tide to the outer reef
it rode the tide
the water, the fire
like two old friends
living in a fantasy
that never ends
that never ends

i made a diamond ring out of glass
at the edge of a dream
nobody had to suffer for the glass
it sparkled brightly
like an old friend
living in a fantasy
that never ends
that never ends

who wants eternity for just one hour
who wants the princess locked in the tower
who wants the lotus down on the sand
who wants empty promises of a promised land
just take my hand
just take my hand
you and me at a viking burial
you and me at a viking burial
of an old man
you and me at a viking burial
floating on the sea
you and me at a viking burial
at the edge of a dream
just you and me, at a viking burial
of an old man

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Image by Chris Littler

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Monday, July 19, 2010

Hit the Ground Running



hit the ground running
when you hit the ground
hit the ground running
and get out of town
hit the ground running
hit the ground running
hit the ground running
when you hit the ground

don't you ever look back
when you're on the run
don't you ever look back
they might have a gun
don't you ever look back
don't you ever look back
don't you ever look back
when you're on the run

(bridge to nowhere)

high in the mountains
where the river is clean
high in the mountains
just you and me
high in the mountains
high in the mountains
high in the mountains
where the river is clean

love me and i'll love you
inside the night
love me and i'll love you
it feels so damn right
love me and i'll love you
love me and i'll love you
love me and i'll love you
inside of the night

(sirens and the posse)

the riders are 'a coming
want to take us away
the riders are 'a coming
there will be hell to pay
the riders are 'a coming
the riders are 'a coming
the riders are 'a coming
they want to take us away

deep in the canyon
at the edge of the rocks
deep in the canyon
at the cliff of hard knocks
deep in the canyon
deep in the canyon
deep in the canyon
at the cliff of hard knocks

(sotto voce)
got to say goodbye sometimes
to the ways that were
got to say goodbye sometimes
and there ain't no cure
we rode to the sunset
we rode to the sea
we rode to the edge of our love
i think on that we agree

hit the ground running
when you hit the ground
hit the ground running
and get out of town
hit the ground running
hit the ground running
hit the ground running
when you hit the ground

don't you ever look back
when you're on the run
don't you ever look back
they might have a gun
don't you ever look back
don't you ever look back
don't you ever look back
when you're on the run

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Sunday, July 18, 2010

Call if you want to buy



you got a cell phone
you got a smile
send me a text, dear
you don't have to dial
i am your chosen one
and that ain't no lie
call when you're ready
call if you want to buy

the metal gets hot so fast
here in july
take it for a test drive
and try not to die
i am your deliverance
ride me like you mean it
park me in your radiance
don't forget to clean it

(chorus)
call if you want to buy
like a roman in rome
call if you want to buy
take me on home
call like you mean it
call and complete it
call if you want to buy
and take me on home

girl you got no secret account
you got no retro cash
you got a leopard skin pillbox hat
and some of tommy's hash
put on a tight skirt
and let me dream of love
i like it when you push me, babe
when push comes to shove

(chorus)
call if you want to buy
like a roman in rome
call if you want to buy
take me on home
call like you mean it
call and complete it
call if you want to buy
and take me on home

that stupid gangster boy
he is a waste of space
getting up in my business
getting up in my face
he don't love you darling
he's just a punk
say goodbye to childhood
say hello to funk

i followed a trail of blood
to a river of tears
you were my forever love
of 22 years
eyes like a superstar
and hips made to play
let me kiss you in paradise
got nothing more to say

you got a cell phone
you got a smile
send me a text, dear
you don't have to dial
i am your chosen one
and that ain't no lie
call when you're ready
call if you want to buy

the metal gets hot so fast
here in july
take it for a test drive
and try not to die
i am your deliverance
ride me like you mean it
park me in your radiance
don't forget to clean it

(chorus)
call if you want to buy
like a roman in rome
call if you want to buy
take me on home
call like you mean it
call and complete it
call if you want to buy
and take me on home

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Friday, July 16, 2010

The Opinuary Column



The Opinion "There is no masturbation in Heaven" has died after a series of strokes. It was preceded in death by the Opinion "Keep playing with it and you'll go blind" which died during a George Carlin routine in 1971. The Opinion was beloved by all nationalities, especially the Yanks, and will be sorely missed by the Catholic Church.

Because Time doesn't exist in Heaven, men who inhabit Paradise and pleasure themselves sexually are encouraged to relax and slow down while throttling their Gland of Glory, but many of them still rush through the process like they're in NASCAR. Which they are. When asked why there are so many jerks in Heaven a spokesman for God pointed to his penis and then wandered off somewhere. Note: Fewer souls masturbate in Hell largely due to the ubiquitous oral sex that takes place there--6,000 years ago when Hell was developed it was believed that allowing "too much of a good thing" would despoil the pleasure and therefore end up being a truly inspired punishment. Oddly enough it didn't work out that way at all, and folks took to it like deer to salt licks.

A Celebration of Life will be held in alternating hands with varying amounts of pressure, lubrication and sincerity. As a sign of additional respect, it will be Ladies First for all eternity.

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The Opinuary Column claims no special knowledge of an imagined after-life, only to the extent that everything spelled out here is 100% true. Ultimately, it all boils down to faith in a benign creator, one who has the greatest pull of all.

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Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Green Window in July



Looking north from the trail that leads to the top of Multnomah Falls, across the Columbia River to the state of Washington. Disclaimer: This image has no singular meaning, and cannot be effectively reduced to a quantifiable, satisfying definition. It just is.

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Monday, July 12, 2010

Above the Falls



when you are hot
think of this image

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Friday, July 09, 2010

The Opinuary Column



The Opinion "Rush Limbaugh would have been a multi-millionaire radio personality and de facto leader of conservatism in the United States had he not been white" has perished while vacationing in the mouth of an underage hooker in the Dominican Republic. It was a tiny death.

The Opinion, born during a full white-ass moon in Cracker County, Missouri, was raised primarily on a steady diet of pork rinds, draft deferments and unvarnished hatred of the real world. During the 1980s it learned that it could make poor white boys' peckers get hard if it talked in an incessantly truculent and churlish tone about "the other" without ever revealing the basic insight that we are all "the other" to someone. In its later years the Opinion relied more heavily on balls-out racism to excite the otherwise torpid and increasingly disenfranchised white male listeners that masturbated to the fuhrer's furor with harder strokes but less deliverance. Hey, we all get old or die or both, understand?

In lieu of flowers the family of the Opinion asks that you suspect everyone you meet of being where they are in life is a direct result of their skin color: a random homeless guy, the young woman pushing a stroller at the park, the EMT who is thumping on your chest and sweeping the back of your throat for stuck Cheetos, the gas station attendant, the clerk at the grocery store (where you bought the Cheetos), the postal office worker, the previous 43 election winners who made President of the United States (every single one was a sort of pasty, milkish hue, except that sun worshiping Catholic from Harvard).

We must now accept that everyone in life is where they are because of their skin color, and the porcine bloviator known as Rush Limbaugh is no exception. Had he been born black or brown or yellow he'd have to listen to some self-satisfied dung-tosser tell him why so-and-so has more money or women than he does, and why he shouldn't respect him or anyone else that is different from him. A brown or yellow or black Rush would have told such an insufferable demagogue to go fuck himself, if he had any self-respect, but it's possible that self-respect is no longer earned but merely purchased. Rush may be a whore but he is a very big whore, and when he rolls over you want to be out of his way. And you can bet when he's pushing up daisy's they will be white ones.

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The Opinuary Column appears most Fridays at Jesus' General.

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Wednesday, July 07, 2010

Waffle Windows



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Thursday, July 01, 2010

The Opinuary Column



The Opinion "mjs will not get his act together enough to attend the Waterfront Blues Festival (WBF) in Portland, Oregon this July 2nd, 3rd, 4th and 5th" has fallen flat on its smug little face and died like the scurrilous little good-for-nothing pipsqueak that it was. One does not wish to speak ill of the dead but that Opinion's demise just made the world a more legitimate place to reside.

Without a doubt, mjs will most definitely be attending this years WBF, as life is hard enough as it is without missing out on live blues music in a beautiful riverside setting. If you're in the Portland, Oregon area this weekend drop on by (bring a few cans of food to donate to the Oregon Food Bank--that and Ten Smackers will gain you admittance) have a cold one or two and ride the vibrations of live music--you'll be glad you did.

Here a few pics from 2008's WBF:




Zydeco Stage was all the rage...


Rosie Ledet and Company


The Columbia Queen was the Belle of the Willamette


Mr. Leon Blue


Lots of people, lots of blues, lots of good feelings

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