Sunday, July 31, 2011

Lao Tzu Would Not Tell Me What to Do…

Tao ~

The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao;
The name that can be named is not the eternal name.
The nameless is the beginning of heaven and earth.
The named is the mother of ten thousand things.
Ever desireless, one can see the mystery.
Ever desiring, one can see the manifestations.
These two spring from the same source but differ in name;
this appears as darkness.
Darkness within darkness.
The gate to all mystery

Laozi (Lao Tzu) in Tao Te Ching 

Image by Solomon via iPhone & PictureMagic

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

What Might an Alien Look Like?

Dear Friends,

Here's a little photographic doodle. An accidental snapshot of an alien visitor? A shadow made out of light?


Sunday, July 24, 2011

Common Sense…

Dear Friends,

Ahmed Moor commentating on Al Jazeera Online offers this precise and common sense analysis regarding what yesterday's horror reveals about the real war that Humanity should be fighting. Faced with our own inhumanity, we must become more human.

I Remain Yours in Hope,


Sunday, July 17, 2011

Advice to the Lovelorn…

Dear Misha,

I'm happy to hear about your volunteer work teaching piano at the penitentiary. Other than being a good parent to adopted orphans, I don't know of a higher calling than being a teacher. That you are giving the gift of music, Bach, Handel, Garcia, to those men doomed to die by lethal injection is truly to be admired. At least they will leave this gloom benighted orb with a song in their heart.

So, things are well with Nancy Farber, but you are troubled by neurotic uncertainty. Will she/won't she sort of stuff. Is she going to put out? Ah, the tragedy of romance!

But, such issues, while rare among drug fiends, can often but not always be cured if confronted with courage and vigor. In my own past, under the attentive and considered guidance of Dr. Professor Anton Saurian, I took my most recent date out for a nice ride through the hill towns and up to Mt. Perilous. After gagging my sweet little Muffin, buckling her safely into the back seat with bungee chords, I toasted our pending journey to the summit with a flagon of fine 2010 Chateau Kerosene… and off we went! Upon arriving at the sunlit aerie by the mountain lake, we enjoyed fresh strawberries sopped in a wonderful Seconal and mushroom cream (quaffed by my beloved through a straw poked in the gauze and plaster bandage that enveloped her entire head, but for two holes for her nostrils). Well, after ruining her life and breaking her heart and mind, I dropped her off on the curb by the aging, temporarily panicked parents' house. For the moment, life never seemed like it could get any better. Ho-ho!

Alas, soon the lawsuits and criminal investigations began. Muffin, fortunately, was unable to testify, gibbering and drooling as she was, refusing to dress in anything but sackcloth and bearing the wounds of assiduous self-flagellation gained during her months in the monastery of Our Sister of Horrible Tortures. Her parents had both died in a mysterious case of double spontaneous combustion a few days prior to the trial. Thus, they also could not testify. So, I was set free on a bright and sunny day to once again enjoy the challenges and opportunities afforded a free man looking for love.

I cannot recommend that such a profound and deep course of therapy for everyone. However, for a true romantic such as yourself, you might want to consider it. Hope springs eternal.

I Remain Yours in Fraternal Affection,


Friday, July 15, 2011

Pending Darwin Award…

Dear Friends,

Proof positive that the Human gene pool might be best rid of some individuals.

Res Ipsa Loquitur,


Friday, July 8, 2011


Dear Friends,

The following is copied from an anonymous but astute blogger. I might have put the points and notions in the letter below more diplomatically, but I cannot quarrel with a one of them.

Res Ipsa Loquitur,


Dear bug eaters,

Shut the fuck up. Just for five fucking minutes.

We know you want to end taxation. We know you don’t care that every reputable economist on the goddamned fucking planet has tried to explain to you inbred sisterfuckers that austerity budgets and tax breaks for billionaires and transnational corporations makes joblessness worse, not better. It makes the recession worse, not better. It makes the deficit worse, not better.

But you don’t care what experts have to say, do you, knuckle-draggers, because all you care about is what makes you feel better. And what makes you feel better, apparently, is waddling up and down the street with powdered wigs and little flags and misspelled signs with pictures of the president wearing a turban, and you think that makes your opinion equal to those of educated experts who do research for a living. Don’t you get how utterly fucking bug-stupid that makes you look?

We know you want to drill for oil in Yellowstone and downtown Detroit and fucking Disneyland and two miles down through the fucking Antarctic ice cap and on Mars and every goddamned place you can think of, until the entire solar system is a polluted piece of steaming shit just like fucking Texas.

We know you email each other ape jokes and watermelon jokes and other racist Ku Klux Klan fucking bullshit–just what, three years?– after screaming TREASON! at anyone who dared disagree with George W. Bush, and two years after deciding to tell everyone you’re not actually Republican because that would mean you voted for the moron who destroyed our economy.

Guess what? The 80 percent of us who think you’re a bunch of fucking retarded clowns are sick and tired of hearing about you. The 80 percent of us who think education is actually a good thing are tired of hearing you pontificate about shit you don’t know because you can barely spell your own names.

Like how you think the Internet is a bunch of fucking tubes.

How you think evolution isn’t real because the other monkeys haven’t evolved into people yet.

How you think we’ll still have roads and courtrooms and jails and people checking for e.coli in your WalMart burger meat without paying any taxes.

How you think it’s okay for you to accuse the president of being Muslim without any evidence—and then act like it’s a bad thing if he WAS a Muslim because you loathsome asswipes judge people by what group they belong to—not by their credentials as individuals.

How you hate Affirmative Action until it’s used to give preferential treatment to white students over students from Asia, or preferential treatment to the underachieving white children of the wealthiest donors. What a fucking bunch of racist hypocrites.

How you think lesbians have taken over the public university system—despite the fact that all the trustees and presidents and football coaches and most of the professors and most of the students and every evil fucker in any position of power happens to be in possession of a snow white penis.

How you think unions are the bullies with all the power and all the money while corporations are the victims with none of the power and none of the money, with no incentive to screw you because for some reason you’d rather pay them double, triple, quadruple for the same fucking services your taxes used to provide before they were used to pay for tax cuts to people who own yachts and jets. You dumb fucking idiots.

How you think some stupid bitch from Alaska actually knows any goddamned fucking thing about Russia just because Alaska is closer to Russia, than say, the Russian embassy in Washington Fucking D.C., you geopolitically-challenged shit-for-brained nine-year-olds! Meanwhile not a single one of you can say a single specific thing about any specific policy this stupid bitch has ever advocated. But you will of course scream at the top of your lungs that calling her bitch is sooooo wrong because Lord knows you’ve never called Hillary the c-word after wiping the beer foam off the ends of your snouts. What a bunch of misogynistic hypocrites.

Fuck you and your own personal fucking “news” channel, where you’re invited to spew your fucktarded bullshit with Glenn Beck and Sean Hannity and the rest of the animal house twenty four hours every fucking merciless day. If they told you the only way to love America was to take a dump on on a downtown street corner, you’d be pushing each other out of the way to be first. Did you know they laugh at you behind your backs every two weeks when their seven-figure paychecks arrive, you stupid tools?

Liberal media, huh? One million Latinos march for immigration reform in Los Angeles, but on every donkeypissing television station across America all we see is a tribe of twenty assholes in plaid picketing on a street corner in Arizona because they flunked economics AND history in high school and don’t know the first thing about the Founding Fathers, the Constitution, the history of our court system, OR the history of the last eight goddamned years in this country we love more than you do. Yes, more than you do—because we care enough about it to protect everyone’s freedoms—not just our own. Everyone’s property, not just our own. Everyone’s tax money, not just our own.

What a smarmy drooling circus you fuckers are.

Shut the fuck up for five fucking minutes, just for once. A town hall meeting is not for screamers. No one wants to smell your Cheetos breath from across the room. No one wants to smell the sweat stains under your armpits as you flail, spraying spittle. A town hall meeting is for people to discuss things, not scream. Stop fucking playing the victim when the SEIU dares to use YOUR OWN goddamned town hall tactics against you. Just because most of the rest of us fear all you scary, hooded, screaming, violent bastards doesn’t mean we all have to just sit there and take it. Fuck you. We want you to go away, back to your basements, back to your generators and your canned peas and your mistranslated bibles and your pregnant daughters, waiting for the rapture while you leave the rest of us the fuck alone.
You lost the goddamned fucking presidential election, you bastards.

Go away!

Friday, July 1, 2011

Down on Main Street…

Dear Friends,

My long-suffering Mother bought me a fancy new iPhone with the 5Mp camera. I gave it a test run. Here's a few shots of what you see when you poke around down on Shakedown Street.

Res Ipsa Loquitur

A Man of Some Experience

 The Preacher

Your Needs Can Be Met