Thursday, March 6, 2025
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.
Mister Organ - Official Trailer
A intriguing documentary that draws attention to one of many millions of horribles.
Wednesday, March 5, 2025
Tuesday, March 4, 2025
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.
Monday, March 3, 2025
Friday, February 28, 2025
My Appalachian Catchment
I have dear friends and clients, past and present, alive, dead, and dying, for whom I care deeply, who reside in spots with names like Owl Hole Gap, Poor Valley, Tate Springs, Rock Haven, Ni**er Hollow, Wildcat Hollow, Joppa Mountain, Washburn, Treadway, Thorn Hill, Chinqupin, Yellow Branch, Spruce Pine, Pressman's Home, Hogg Lot, Cloud Creek, Cloud Creek Hollow, Mulberry Gap, Natty Branch, Duck Creek, Snake Hollow, Newman's Ridge, Vardy, Clinch, War Creek, Stoney Fork, Cool Branch, Short Mountain, Boatman's Mountain, Stone Mountain, Devil's Nose, Treadway, Thorn Hill, Round Mountain, Grassy Fork, Kyle's Ford, Viking Mountain, Blackwater, Turkey Creek, Five Point, Three Springs, Stubblefield Creek, Morristown Mountain, and Gravel Hill, down on the southside slope, where I live. These people make mistakes, requiring at times my help, not punishment because punishment don't help. From a distance the mountains and hollows seem idyllic, but it's not so. In fact, ignorance permeates the rise and fall of my catchment and its topography. I'll only be able to change things one family at a time, introducing the ideas of neither killing nor consuming animals, mutual aid, community, and secularism. Unfortunately, upon learning that there are people who think differently, their faces blanken as if there's nothing's going on. But, in the words of my Torts professor, Hon. Bill Woods, "it ain't necessarily so."
Wednesday, February 26, 2025
Albert Einstein's Highly Relevant Observation on the Rise of Fascism with a Contemporary Adjustment
"The present state of affairs in Germany is a state of psychic distemper in the masses. Hitler picked up human flotsam in the streets and in the towns and organized them around himself."
Contempoary Translation: The present state of affairs in America is a state of psychic distempter. Trump picked up human flotsam from the provinces, hills, and hollers, and organized them around himself.
Tuesday, February 25, 2025
Wednesday, February 19, 2025
Resisting Pouring Hemlock Into One's Own Ear - Eckhart Tolle on Transforming Suffering into Awakening
An essay on the dialectical nature of life.
An Atheist Every Other Day
God keeps some of us unlucky and long living because deep down she knows that a long and painful life is way worse than a slow bedded death, the goddamn bitch.
Sunday, February 16, 2025
Bedwetting, Nail Biting, shallow breathing, and impending doom afoot
The undertow of lifetimes of anxiety disorders where babies sometimes wash away from mommy's arms in muddy French Broad flood waters leads to ancestral lifetimes of morbid depression. Now imagine that shit.
Saturday, February 15, 2025
Thursday, February 13, 2025
Pleasant thoughts for neural pathways
Frost flowers, iron weed, wingstem, wild carrot, corn flowers, cup plants, the trees at Fulton Hill, the green giants, forsythia, cosmos, milkweed flowers, garlic flower, dutch iris, dandelon, black eyed susans, yellow cone flowers, rattlesnake master, norway spruce trees, the grand maple, foxglove, snowball bush, spice bush, eldeberry, button bush, hops bush, blue bells, pink dots, and white tulips. Dandelions, Firepink, Indian Paint Brush, Larkspur, Marigold, Shasta Daisy, Oxeye Daisy, Zinnias, Heather, Wysteria, and Flox Flowers.
Sunday, February 9, 2025
Thursday, February 6, 2025
Tuesday, February 4, 2025
Appalachian American Ennui Conflated with Goya's Black Pictures
February 3, 2025: State of Tennessee v. [Redacted]: There I sat until my Motion for a Mental Evauation could be addressed so that my 70 year old client's emerging dementia could become official; requiring, I pray, for a dismissal with prejudice. The defendanat in state of tennessee v. [redacted] was a giant. As he and his dimunitive counsel took position behind the lecturn, an anomalous thing happened; anomalous, that is, in the Third Judicial District. See, Judge Beckner the Horrible started allowing a stipulation to the prosecution report to substitute for a recital of the underlying case during allocution, thus protecting me from the trauma that would have undboutedly come to roost upon the recitation of particularly horrid events. I'm reminded of Riley Eugene Ellison, whose three year old body died after he was burned alive inside of a clothes dryer in Cocke county and the consequent death stabs inflicted against Riley's torturer with a shapend plastic toothbrush. . . So, there I sat when the pretrial detainee was asked to plead guilty "if he was in fact guilty." He agreed and responded to the satisfaction of the court. But the recitation of facts was what cold cocked me between the hemisphers of my brain. After hearing just enough to nail my attention, I realized that I needed to get the hell away from the prosecutrix, whose performance was pure gravatas. Let's get this out of the way. The audible factual basis for the plea was child rape, called Rape of a Child on the charging instruments. Of his own daughter over a cruelly long duration of months, perhaps years. So I left and went outside. Put it this way, I could no longer hide the welling, so I hid my body from the bench, bar and gallery, opting to shut my eyes and stare at the warm winter sun. I went back and forth through security so I could peek into the silent courtroom in order to assuage my mental health that the nightmare had ended, enabling me to work. Errant, I went back inside in order to advance my motion only to realize that the play was at intermission, and started again with a victim impact statement by the deeply wounded victim, who said this: "I was so excited to spend time with my father after so long." I thought I was going to bleed to death, recalling my own inablity to spend precious time with my own children during one of the dark pictures in the nineties, painted in by yours truly. And he rapes her?! How could this have even happened to the redacted girl. Vaginal rape. Fellatio. Cunnilingus. Everthing but sodomy. I wonder what the everpresent, un-in-ter-vention-ist god thought of the horror story as it played out. Fact: Everpresence is bullshit, folks. But non-interventionousness is not. So when the young, overweight young woman with purple hair furthered the impact her biological father had inflicted, I had to leave the gallery. Again. Goya's black pictures are ubiquitous now that I'm old, and apparently still up for it.
Tuesday, January 28, 2025
Monday, January 27, 2025
Sunday, January 26, 2025
Bruce Springstein - I'm on Fire (Anthem for the Chimp Brain)
Chimp-Brain men have no self control and pose a threat of child sexual predation. This very strange, yet beautiful song dives right into the subject and creates a dark anthem to those dangerous men. I observed the young women in the crowd singing along with Springstein and once again I'm left puzzeled by it all.
Monday, January 20, 2025
Sunday, January 19, 2025
Saturday, January 18, 2025
That Parole Hearing That Morning
Shadowy solutions flank all problems. I remember waking early one morning with intense, crushing melancholy bearing down, nearly pinning me to the ground, in the midst of which was my obligation to drive to MCCX in Wartburg to provide assistaance to my cient who was up for parole. I recall the pain that throbbed as I was compelled to look at the interstate ahead en route, even through dark glasses and a tinted windscreen, whilst I suffered. Suffering in motion dynamic. I arrived at the reception area and met with my client's sister who immediately detected the prominence of my my heavy burden despite my weak attempt to hide it. But I got to work, which has always landed temporary redemption. After the presentation of my suggestions for the kind of structured home plan that I knew from experience the hearing officer would appreicate, and the "acceptance of responsibility utter during my client's testimony, it became time for my summation. I remember closing my eyes and and allowing my suffering to set loose. The acute whatness that emanated from me mouthpiece, which my memory still refuses to record, drew silent shock and awe from the prison staff and all the others, I was told such that when I opened my eyes I immediatly knew that the almost otherworldly honesty that drove my words had been very well received, with one guard commenting something about "straight from the heart." I felt so goddamned awful that day and look what happened. I did not recover until later, as is the routine of my chronic burden. But, for a moment, I hit the fucking thing out of the goddammed park. So it is true that both the rod and the staff can indeed comfort. I shall not want. All my wants, spat out, jettisoned into space, made all the difference. Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days I have left of my life, but they won't, and that's okay, too. Breathe, my child, it will all be okay, until it's not.
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