I call this life I lead the criminal protection program. I’ve opposed the elite and official publicly since paraquat...say 1977. I was happily breaking the law with the support of my elders until paraquat...even Rockefeller drug laws failed to deter me. 

     Even Before Reagan iced that cake, the MIC and I have gone round and round . Who,was I to be all up in their face...with no bank and no brains that they could discover? 

      At the end of 1978 the dark side of the MIC layed it on thick. I had been warned, but did take the warning seriously. I was twenty one...and as up their face as I could have been, knowing nothing at all. 

       And then came Reagan, and I was was already back from Austin, to Philadelphia where I landed on my feet but not without help from my brother, who had read more sci fi than me, and was working for Ford Aerospace in Willow Grove. I was learning Philadelphia after Austin, working for a MIC contractor, still trying to figure out what the heck had happened to me back home. I was...dumb as a post. I learned slowly. 

       I learned that the MIC was at war with itself. Or that is my theory any way. There was no real opposition outside, so the factions were sporting with the cannon fodder like myself. No hard feelings? Good cop bad cop but all sub Rosa (I’m not looking sub Rosa up) and for keeps; meaning that they had endless resources to either make you...or break you...Or break you and remake you...all in the name of national security. I had no fucking clue.

        I was not ever going to be all that they wanted me to be...even before Paraquat. The best he was going to get with her was an audience...judgment. Why did I know this, and the MIC did not, and may never ? Nature is fucking reality! Can you here me now? It’s a dance not The War of the Rose’s...

         So I’m up in the hills long after I Stopped Making Sense when I started to connect the dots after wig wag but Before Gore lost. I woke up after Rio in 1992 so wounded that it took me a year to find my way back to Jungleland. But I found my way home, where one never knew, did one? I’m ok with not knowing now. I know enough. I’m in the hills, waiting for the Saints to come marching in. I’m in that number, if I can ketchup to the smart kids who all had better hand writing than me. Kill Bill, they said, and she did...but not I,Quentin, not I. 

           The MIC writhes in the shallows with the invisible hand locked around an oxygen starved throat. I can’t see beneath the surface, but I feel it, becuase the MIC is Me Too, and you as well. We are being slowly hoisted on our own petards...and I can hear Satchmo singing from far away, that number. I wonder , up here in the hills Who’s on First ? But Jimmy crack corn...and I’m not driving.

Views: 66

Comment by J.P. Hart on December 14, 2018 at 1:12pm

Digitize you'd graced humble forum with new work. Ea. its own where the buffalo rome. I'd been in the other room, working some ELO swank-swag....My BB King-ish theaterics are comin' way- strong, as I'll be out on Hwy. %) with Beulah and the Bare Hands: TGIF, SAT & SUN soiree (French toast, waffles, fish boil, Spanferkel) half-naked waterboarding in a plexiglass tub of champagne (don't try this at home) - cures SAD and onset darkness on such a winter's day. We've barrel head surety. I've forgone till giverish as my mirror rubik cubes (fuckin'aye') let me just say a flatbed load of these 'user friendly' 'must-have-stocking-stuffers' are gone-out faster than the speed of plight. I 1st meant Beulah at the TN State Fair just before the rain and her J.Joplin-like soulfulness segueing Dylan's Like A Rolling Stone OMG! the wet head was worth it! Although I'm not fancy noir particular, I've only detailed 'catfish on the table' and two 'slush-cold-unopened-Sangria-whatchamacallits.' RBJ: I trust your weekend finds you warm safe and learning to fly. Now if I 'get it right' we'll sync-close like Prince at the RFK. Unforgettable Watchtower. O yeah? Beulah's tight with the laser-light corduroy* meant to say cortrie* with those Epcot mystics.
* Corduroy is, in essence, a ridged form of velvet.

Comment by Robert B. James on December 14, 2018 at 11:05pm

Dr. Heart: Late. Yoga till News was over, and then happy hour...so I missed my daily dose of DC disaster. Watched brits bake Xmas confections instead. That’s what exile is all about...in the hills, dreaming in real time, aka reality. Do I miss not Being There? I’ve been there. I mixed up ELO with ELP, and then caught up. T

the goal is meatballs, and then pot lock with the coasties...‘‘tis That season. We got this.

Comment by J.P. Hart on December 15, 2018 at 9:22am

Madre's Note

A seven-year-old migrant Guatemalan girl died of dehydration and exhaustion in CBP custody last week.
Dec. 14, 2018

Hunger and thirst?

The bombing of Dresden was a British/American aerial bombing attack on the city of Dresden, the capital of the German state of Saxony, during World War II in the European Theatre. In four raids between 13 and 15 February 1945, 722 heavy bombers of the British Royal Air Force (RAF) and 527 of the United States Army Air Forces (USAAF) dropped more than 3,900 tons of high-explosive bombs and incendiary devices on the city.[1] The bombing and the resulting firestorm destroyed over 1,600 acres (6.5 km2) of the city centre.[2] An estimated 22,700[3] to 25,000[4] people were killed, although larger casualty figures have been claimed. Three more USAAF air raids followed, two occurring on 2 March aimed at the city's railway marshalling yard and one smaller raid on 17 April aimed at industrial areas.*

She said she would like to become a nurse...yet died of thirst
What if you knew her?
Crisis requires the passion and logistical expertise of General Honore'. If asterisks were quarts of water, comma splices orange slices - aren't the words gotten verses crossed, not gotten white cross? Without hesitation the insatiable arrogant powers that be will continue to politicize how very many refugees of terror gone.
You can see where she cried herself out. Slow parade of tears. 525,600 minutes in 1 year. Name-not-released-child would have been of age in 7,358,400 minutes or 122,640 hours. I bet she would have been a nurse with the Red Cross. Maybe UNICEF.
Most of us big strong men have learned how not to, hey Robert?


You need to be a member of Our Salon to add comments!

Join Our Salon


Playing with Constitutional Fire

Posted by Ron Powell on May 18, 2019 at 10:30pm 1 Comment

More Notes To Self

Posted by Robert B. James on May 18, 2019 at 7:32am 2 Comments


Posted by Steel Breeze on May 18, 2019 at 5:31am 6 Comments

Spun Dry

Posted by Robert B. James on May 17, 2019 at 7:00am 0 Comments

© 2019   Created by lorianne.   Powered by

Badges  |  Report an Issue  |  Privacy Policy  |  Terms of Service