Milly Raccoon - Marijuana in the Morning

Lunch

She inveigled me as best she could to meet her for lunch, but I immediately declined, explaining, with fake apologetics, that "I don't do lunch." The word,"lunch" itself has an unplesant aftersound. Anyway, when she asked why, it elicited my objection to the global idea of macro-restaurant-lunchmeet culture, describing it in honest terms as two people sitting opposite at tables too small in a buzzing public place, facing each other, jealously muffling their already guarded banter, at my insistence, in order to scramble our pedestrian discourse from peripheral lunch-people, who probably know who I am and want to know more. Where pariticipants briefly read lunch selections from the lamenated lunch menus, filthy with fingerprints, and swallow tap water while having to uncomfortably endure the other's visage from a distance of two or so feet and engage in inane platitudes that matter to me absolutely goddamn not at all. All to the cancer of static noise, and clinking plates and saucers immersed in humish bird-like plastic speech-like noise sprinkled with mostly fake laughter, while some facebook fone woman in the corner giggles like a fucking bird as she contemplates taking a picture postcard of her spring salad, whereupon we then receive plates of lunch for review, scanning for beard hairs while the underpaid and struggling server says, "enjoy," as my forward facing lunchmate lifts the top of her hard bun to examine dead chicken that she'll soon masticate which will require me to occasionally watch her stupid face contort with each x-ray of chomping gooey lunch, while I envision the heavy ceiling collapsing, killing us all.

The Red Shoes

Embedded in this, one of the best films ever, is the Red Shoes Ballet, and should truly be appreciated when filtered through psilocybic contact lenses and tempanic membranes on a wide screen in Dolby with the lights off.

The Night of the Hunter (1955) - A Brilliant Film Classic

The screeplay was written by none-other than Knoxville's James Agee. This thing should be mandatory viewing for all divinity students, wannabe preachers, and church congregants. While this is loosely based upon the crimes of Harry Powers, "a Dutch-born serial killer," who lured women through "lonley hearts club" advertisements from the early 20th century, progenetors of sites like Match.com and eharmony. Powers would then murder them for their money. James Agee'smuted screenplay from these events, formed the basis for the film, directed by Charles Laughton. At the time I was watching this, bearing in mind that I live in Appalachia where preachers are rarely second-guessed by their ignorant congregants, I thought that this was the best film I've ever seen. I still do. The Night of the Hunter is absolutely dark, Gothic, honest, and purely wonderful.

Thelonious Monk - Underground (1968) (Full Album)

Cliff Cash - How I Found Joy Becoming Spiritually Un-f*ckwithable

Rocks

Malformed Deformed Daffodils, Spring 2025

I've seen several of these malformed daffodils, all wadded up in perversion of form this Spring in the field behind my home. There's something worrysome about this. See, I know these flowers. The subterranian bulbs squeeze up these flowers every Spring in roughly the same form and in the same spots in the field. Heretofore the daffodils have been traditional every single year, for decades. So these are alarming in some respects, yet might have a reasonable scientific etiology. A house used to sit, many decades ago, on this piece of land.

Introducing Cliff Cash, Zen Comedian

Vernal Equinox 2025 in Occupied AMERIKA.

In occupied Amerika the clocks strike Springtime to the early morning spit of Thursday's scattered showers. This is the inaugural, first official Spring in occupied Amerika. Cherry blossoms fail to hide the devils in D.C.

Hancock County, Tennessee - On my way to work

How to Know You Are In A Cult (1953)

The Lives of Others

The Lives of Others masterfully explores the intersection of form infecting art, and art infecting a single Stazi human form. Authoritarianism and the arts. Easily one of the greatest artforms ever created. The Lives of Others.

Sonic Youth - Incinerate

Porno for Pyros - Pets

Me Floating Bad Branch Kentucky and Gregory Alan Isakov - San Luis (OFFICIAL VIDEO)

An act of letting go.  Ironic that it took addiction and its evisceration of self-control for me to act like I was letting go, like a dog slipping its lead.  Today there's no need to act like I'm letting go with silly antics like this.  Today, I don't have as much to prove.  This news is almost all good. I realized that I have to take care of myself by forgiving myself and all the others.

Van Morrison - Tupelo Honey

Doobie Bros. - Another Park Another Sunday

Steely Dan - King Of The World

The abolute masterwork from a band named after a dildo.

sjowgren - seventeen

Beirut - Elephant Gun (Official Video)

Pearl Jam - Thin Air

I Am The Walrus (Remastered 2009)

The Haunting Paintings of Ken Currie

I Don't Like Dogs No More

I saw a goddamned great dane pit bull mix walking his dogman inside Home Depot in the interior soft lighting and fixtures isle. I got bit in the face by Bill Zierer's ill conceived coon hound house dog idea. Broke my glasses and I spilled faceblood all over my shirt. A Saint Bernard bit me, get this, in my side. Barney sank those canines right into my adolescent right side oblique. Dutchess bit me on the fingertip after terrifying me to the core with that stupid, contorted snarling bullshit half assed murderous grinning silent Germanic portent of her bitchy might, fully engaged to win an unfair fight. Seig heil, god dammit. I stared down four massive Great Pperennezezzes in Cloud Creek Hollow. Me and dogs. One shat near the parking lot near my office. I left work, unknowlingly stepping in it, and, get this, tracked it into the credit union lobby. Fucking dogs and me. My half-brother, swear to god, killed a man and tried to kill another over a serial piles of dogshit on his stupid landlord's lawn. That fucking sphincter muscle relaxed in the perfect spot to get a man shot to death and to get my half brother by another mother and our fucked up father sentenced to life-in-prison somewhere near Cambridge or Guernsey Ohio of all places. Look it up. State of Ohio v. Michael Paul Smith. I have no favorite breed of dog and the friendly mutt's no longer exempt. The worst thing about dogs: their owners, and now that I think about it, the fucking dogs, too. I don't like dogs no more. Here in the 21st Centry, we now have the advent of dog people. Dogs leave me asking a global all-encompassing, cosmic "why?" Follow the business end from the collar of the lesh upward to the handle loop. There's your answer.

Steely Dan - Dirty Work

Mister Organ - Official Trailer

A intriguing documentary that draws attention to one of many millions of horribles.

Bodhisattva - Steely Dan's Masterpiece

Play en route to pay the creamator.

Anora

I struggled to watch this, not because it was emotionally difficult, but because, as it turned out, there are three parts to this film, which, using a graphic metaphor, started out with spray paint on the side of a discarded dumpster, transitioning to colored comedic sharpies on drawing pads, to a master stroke of oil on an expensive canvas. I was at first disgusted, then entertained (slightly) with the comic relief, and emotionally punched by the last scene. But, all that work to get to that brief interlude was not worth it. At all. On the other hand, Yuriy Borisove's taciturn performance was deeply beautiful. He didn't have to say a word to express his perfect love for Anora. You could feel the love. The Academy Award for Best Actor in a Taciturn Role.

The Theory of STUPIDITY | Dietrich Bonhoeffer