Gary Nunan - Metal

Sweeping Promises - Hunger for a Way Out

TTSSFU- IHope You Die

Plateau - Meat Puppets

I'm just tryin' to get over you, Ms. Jones: I wish I could have caught you back then

She's my newest project, my love, but only barely. Takes my mind off of things. Off of you, Crystal. She's still an adorable little devil of a young woman. She needs flock cams to monitor her movements, but god knows what they would reveal. I'll do my best to ensure her safety. Did I mention that she is abosolutely hilarious. She has an appetite like two grown men and leaves a fucking mess afterward. After she ate an enormous meal consisting of the most disgusting entrees, like shrimp tacos, the waitress asked if she wanted desert. She responded, FUCK YEAH! Most all my favorite qualities embodied in a mess of a young woman. She's so much fun and knows who has my heart and that's okay.

Those I acknowledge love tempered with those I already loved

I cannot believe how many people that I love now, whom thought I merely liked. Of course there are those whom I knew I loved well before my chest filled up, aspirating love all over the fucking place. Those, of course, are my children, Patrick Kent, Sylvia, Jason, the family who used to live in Hogg Lot, the girl with tattooo of Marilyn Monrow wearing a covid mask on her left upper arm, the sweat beads, the unattractive feet, Ida, Dr. Perry, Becca, Cheryl Posey who died, Amy who saw the UFO with me, Dr. Thompson, Dr. Kinser, Ethel, Denver, Holly, Ben, Ron Chestnut, Esq.,Emma, Lisa N., Star, Angela who moved to Newport, Lacey, Sara Cole, Jenny D., Sharlene, Steve C., Priscilla, Billy Jack Hurd, Christine D., Richard DuBois, Jennifer whom I loved alot, Jan, Harold, Bobby Combs, Brenda, Danielle, Curtis C., LaDonna, Kevin Bridgett and Alma, Bridget lovely and terrified of life, Tonya God Dammit, Bruce and Gloria, Danny, [Rich Black Coffee, The Law], Amy B., Tara to a lesser degree, Bob Vetter who loved me too but would have suffered waterboarding in lieu of ever admitting it, Pam Anderson who broke the fuck out of my younger heart, Neil Guffey, Raymond Stakley, Pam, Connie T., Kimberly M., Cecil, Dale Fox, Doug G., certain clients, Mouse Wolfenbarger, Kathy, Walt, Tom and Tim, Michelle, Betty, Jim, Rick, Shannon, David and Darlene, Phyllis and Zonnie, Cindy, Nani who did not even like me, bart and edna, Blackie, Oliver, Blackie, Gimpy to squirrel, My beloved Paul and Anna Mae, Lisa, Lionel R. Barret, Jr., Esq., Robin Smotherman, Aunt Betty, Uncle Ralph, Uncle Billy, that waitress with the brown bob in Chicago, Professor Harper, Wes B., the two cashiers at Sunoco, Hugo, Sara and Maria, Danny Boruff, Linda, Linda, Deitra, Janae, John, Maddie, Laura M., Penny and Whitney and Little Bit, Jodi E., Rebekkah, Courtney, Dylan, Austine, Everly, her sister, Coraline, Kim C., Bobby, Steve, [I pause to draw my own attention to the fact that my ability to identify these people has sharpened dramatically thank to you-know-who, whom I love . . . . Now I've found that I love people like David Marshall, Tara P., Mitch, Noah B., Noah H., Ralph, Johnny Sexton, Cole, Jawnne, Tammy who died, and Larry B a little bit.

Massive Attack - Paradise Circus

My Lopsided Epic Love Story: Me and Ms. Jones

This is all yours, Crystal Jones, from me, Paul Whetstone, who loves you a thousand times more than God Almighty and all the angels. I am indeed forever transfixed, what the inmates used to call a "natural life sentence." I am overwhelmed. I told you in the car that you can never say you weren't loved completely by a man who would have probably married you in your Church, your dress a pretty pale beige with matching satin shoes to be worn only once, but still not knowing anything at all about your mysterious inner-works, your taciturn and aloof way of carrying yourself, yet well knowing the sadness, probably fuelled by unimaginable pain and the escapist antics that preceded me. I will love you always, Miss Jones. But, the fact that I can endure this sadddening music, provided below, while absorbing your haunting visage, could mean I've begun drifting away from you, honey. And if this turns out true, I would be so very sorry honey. I've never experienced anything like this in my life, Crystal. You need to know this because it is overwhelmingly true. Should the poets take note, which they will, it was doomed fail before it even began, almost Shakesperian, but the resulting implosion inside of me will have to stand for something totally worthwhile and beautifully good. This is inherent in a love so bold. I just don't know what form that will take. I just cannot believe this has happened to me. A former friend of mine once beat me half to death, but this is the most powerful force I've ever encountered bearing in mind that I have also suffered a broken neck, serial expulsions, jail, drugs of every kind, alcohol, intense violence, an overdose, and the darkest depression imaginable. It's referred to as the dark nightof the soul. I tried to die myself out it and, true to nature, fucked even that up. My chest fills now full with you, honey. "Paul, honey, you're not in love with me." Remember when you said that? Where will all this go, I wonder. I can feel you inside of my body at times, like right now. You have violenty shaken my little internal emotional snow globe. See, you reached down into the briar thickets of your own damage and bloodied your strong hands to summon a mouth kiss, just for me. My God. The most memorable thing of all. I'm hit! Struck by lightning. In italian, the thunderbolt. In song, Thomas Newman, Yann Tierson, haunting tales told only by the instrumentals tapped out on big pianos, Gregory Isakov, Neil Young, Hope Sandoval, all the intra-facial tear pushers, and even my recollection of the back of your legs behind your knees walking down the isle, trying on new boots I bought for you. At first I thanked God Almighty that I was having trouble remembering your lovely face, the little mole below your strong chin, your leg tattoo, your indifference. But I can recall these perfectly again since finding the couragee to look, and to remember the brief time, and I'm now looking at the image, you look sad and that's what kills me, baby, it scoops something out of my solar plexus and feeds it back to me again and again. I saw the tiny sweat beads on your shoulder in your house in the heat and thought I licked them off and hope I did, and your hair pulled up on your head, Marilyn Monroe, and your silent company, Now left with a loss of the sound of your voice along with the spell that your spirit cast on me, Before the morning docket, having mourned again, how I so hope that the bailiff won't be able to tell. Allergies I'll say. And all a sudden I find myself I'm mourning the day that I might not love you anymore. But I will never hear your voice again because I will make sure of it. My limenence, my limping ego, my pity for the circumstantial periphery of your life like when your your house burned down, goes right along with the rest. My God. I suppose that this is the letter I planned to write to you one day. I probably should not keep coming back to this blog entry every morning, but it could help me in my recovery from this tectonic change in my life. "Paul, honey, you're not really in love with me." I'm satisfied that you've since gathered different. That weird vestibule one enters when Thomas Newman plays his music stays with us. My choppy breath affecting my voice when breathing in and out. In yiddish it's called getting verklempt or choked up that the voice cracks, so you can't talk. It sometimes seems like all the time, while spending time with my lovely girl in my mind and try to talk, I have to wait. And I get pissed at what caused your pain. Once tempered with the help of copius introductions of hard narcotics into your body, no doubt. But this is now my pain, too, adding to my own and tempered, too, with prescription medication at times, times two at a time. The dark mystery at our table too, where you made sure I knew. You were testing the waters, looking for my reaction with your hazel eyes. All among the first few minutes. Maybe you didn't even mean to share it over lunch, but that tells me that it's never far behind your those hazel eyes of yours. While I absorbed the entirety of your lovely, sculpted face, your strong hands, your hair, your body. I shared my french toast with you, and you shared the unimaginable pain of lost children. I did not share my own with you. After which I would howled like a wounded and heartbroken animal at two a.m. I think that you'd be happy that my heartbreak did not trigger my longstanding and underlying depression. I think that you might care enough about me to be happy about that, Crystal. I don't even know your middle name. Truth is I lied about the reason I wouldn't represent you, honey. That, you said, made you "salty" about me. I am very embarrased, but when your mother called, I did not know your name despite the fact that my blood has slowed seeing you from time to time over the years. I thought that the call was one of hundreds. Had I known it was you, my God, I would have drawn upon everything I know about the law in order to help you, honey. I can't forget that you called me honey that time. "Paul, honey, you're not in love with me." En route to Rural King I used the word "dry," to describe you in the car, which got your attention. There's something dry about you, Crystal. You fed it back to me: "Dry?" It just popped out of my unbridled mouth from my heart that never lies. But, I meant, I think, that I detected that you were once full and now almost running on empty. I played Objects by Big Thief on the stereo. Writing this is the most wayward thing I can do at this moment. In truth, it writes itself. My barber gave me a LGTBQ bracelet because I support the people who live within the margins of this stupid place called America, where you, too, have lived your less than ideal life, to put it light, within those same margins, where I work the law as best I can. I so wish I had helped you. Your mother, by the way, told you that I was a good man. I truly hope I am. The music of Gregory Alan Isakov keeps you close to me, Crystal Jones. I'll never shake you from my invisible inner core, honey. I don't care to. I've learned that the kind of sadness you evoke is really all I have of you. I want to help you, but I can't. I won't. It would send me back up into orbit and very dangerously back down. This letter seems to write itself. According to John Keats, the lonely knight of arms fell asleep beneath a tree and dreamed of the kind of love I at first so wanted with you. After they made love and "she made sweet moan, she said "sure in language strange," I love you, too. You are star-shaped, baby. The way I describe how this has affected me to my concerned close friends is simple: Perhaps I'm only exhausted from a massive love beyond measure, which I never knew existed. Now, maybe you can say within one of your dreams, "Paul, maybe you really do love me true." Indeed I do, Ms. Jones. I will love you even after I draw my final breath. Still, who gets this kind of thing dropped in his 65 year old lap. What the fuck.

Emma Ruth Rundle - Oh Sarah

I Know Why the Thicket Tapers

I know because I know the Sun.

The Human Foot

I know of no other tightly-arranged organic composite on planet Earth that is so utterly beautiful and utilitarian. A perfect blend of the arts and science, courtesy of the Universe.

A Bit of Joy in the Warehouse

This is my green driveway. Beneath the grass is a thick layer of crusher run gravel. I can mow over it like the gravel is not there. The point is you can't get stuck and the earth really appreciates that it can still breathe. Green Driveways - Let's Get Started.

I Get It, Vergel. I really do.

Andrew Bird - Make a Picture

Big Thief - Objects

Yellow Petals - A Faunal Family

Big Thief - Cattails

Rebecca Sedwick, age 12 -- Bullied to Death

I read accounts of bad news all the time, but I can't seem to shake this one.  You'd think that in a planned world children would not be among the most vile, hurtful segment of the population.  This beautiful child, Rebecca solved her predicament by jumping to her death.  The bullying continued posthumously -- one of the bullies wrote this on her Facebook page:   “yes I bullied Rebecca and she killed herself, but I don’t give a fuck.”  There's a little secret that enlightened first-grade teachers who largely keep to themselves:  some children are just no damned good.  I argue that these little monsters are even worse than that.  Just ask Becky's family.  Existentialism has a pretty face.  She wears no makeup.  She's confused.  She's terrified.  All the Gods and Goddesses wouldn't, didn't, couldn't intervene in this, the latest of innumerable human horrors.  I think that if someone were to reason that this was "God's will,"  I'd lose all control.  Insanity reigns hallowed within the cells of human ignorance. This makes me scream inside.

12 Jacqulyn Drive, Nashville, Tennessee

Na Le Remix

Hayley Williams - True Believer

Mount Kimbee - Audition

Habibi - Wrong to the Right People

Habibi - Siin

Habibi - Let Me In

Sofia Isella - The Doll People

PPC = Entropy II

Paul Smith

That burly, troubled, spirited man above, depicted while supervising the construction of the metal bridge on the Montgomery Road, was the love of my life. We went to jail together in Roane County when I was still in diapers. He ran off the road, drunk, and I had shat myself well. I remember it. No shit. I now have to be honest, he is one of two of those whom I've love more intensely and insanely than the gravity holding me down.

Benee - Demons

Aldous Harding - I Ate the Most

Modest Mouse - Heart Cooks Brain

One word in these lyrics ruins what could have been a mediocre tune: "Burger."

Keep It Healthy | Warpaint | From The Basement

Be the Cat - Kylie Dailey

Grass - Dry Cleaning

This highly-elevated, abstract art, designed, unintentionally, for people like me.

Charlotte Gainsbourg - Deadly Valentine

Aldous Harding - Train on the Island

Pedal Steel Guitar. Nothing like it.

Mary in the Junkyard - Bear walk

Dr. John Gartner - Donald Trump is a pure incarnation of evil

I've waited over 25 years for Socialism to take root again in America, and now it's actually happening.

I so wish that Walt Brown was here to see the emerging movement of "Social Democrats." See, I'm not in the company of millionaires, but I am in the company of poor people who vote for their candidates because they've been lied to by Fox News, Flapping Flags, and Evangelical evil-doers. To the ghosts Eugene Debs, Helen Keller, Upton Sinclair, Norman Thomas, William Haywood (IWW), Walt Brown, Fidel Castro, Esq., Che Geuvara, M.D., Margaret Sanger, Frida Kahlo, Leon Trotsky, Karl Marx, Frederich Engles, Pablo Piccaso, . . .

Thou Preparest a Table Before Me in the Presence of Mine Enemies

In my view, an enemy is not worth accumulating hatred in my heart. The enemy should be forgiven, not as any kind of offering of rekindling of the former pre-ememy station, but for my own mental, physical, and spiritual well-being. The buddhists call this triune consideration "the three treasures." Quite recently I fell out with another Judge, but this one I had practiced before for over 30 years. Prior to that he was an Assistant District Attorney General. We fought in those years. But that's over. He said something designed to humiliate me in front of my clients, their families and other gallery members that ended all that. He shouted, "turn around!" The verbal instruction was borne from anger and, most likely, a dormant hatred for me that was generated long ago based on my political stances and his indoctrination into rightwing Republicanism by his father. I could not sit still, so in lieu of admonishing him in open court, which, based on my prior histrionics and anger would have landed me seated before a hearing panel of the Board of Professional Responsibility, so I waited. I told the truth to his power in an email. It provided, inter alia, that "your hostility toward me did not go unnoticed by my client, his family, the mother of another client who was in the courtroom, a couple of former clients present, the girl (TH) who lives up [my] street with her grandmother, and least importantly, me." I then described how I was treated by his father when I first arrived in Morristown with 850.00, some used office furniture and a 286 computer and printer. I wrote, "vivid in my recollection was the aversion I experienced when I first arrived. In particular, your father, whom I did not know, [he was a hateful old lawyer who was with the richest firm in town], call me one day and asked me to meet him at his Georgian Court office [very bourgeois], and to bring with me my original diplomas from U.T. Chattanooga, the NSL Law School, and my law license." All these were framed on hung on my new, very spartain office walls, so I had to take them down. I continued, "I entered his office with these framed objects of his request, and suffered his very caustic questioning." I recall him questiong my intentions here in Morristown. I don't know if his son knew about this. I likewise reminded the Judge how he "lavished upon" another lawyer prior to my case getting called up "complimentary observations despite the fact that [this lawyer] had a distant history of driving drunk, crashing into tw0 women, killing one and forever crippling the other and then driving off without checking on either of them." I then reminded him that the Judge's . . . "father represented him." Telling the truth gets me in in alot of shit with powerful people. He effectively barred me from practicing in his Court, transfering all of my pending cases to Criminal Court, Part II. ADVERSITY is the story of my personal and professional lives. I think that it has made me extraordinarily resilient. To have let this go would have diminished my self-worth, which still climbs steadily but slowly from the hole of self-loathing. I can't afford to do that, regardless of what it costs me. I never thought I'd live this long. I suppose that I've been allowed a lot of time to correct my many flaws and learn from every god damned one of them, especially those ostensible flaws that others wear untreated.

Thom Yorke (The Smile) - Wall of Eyes

Radiohead - Like Spinning Plates (Best version)

Radiohead - I Might Be Wrong

Pixies River Euphrates

Antinatalism and Maternal Regret

Idles - When the Lights Come On (From the Basement)

Lead guitarists seem to have discovered ambient play,thanks to Joey Santiago and Jonny Greenwood. It's wonderful. Big Thief,another examble.

Dead Gowns - Everything You Wanted (Heroin Music)

Mary in the Junkyard - New Muscles

Mount Kimbee- Shipwreck

Mount Kimbee - SP 12

Thom Yorke (Atoms for Peace) - Amok

Vergel and Blackie

Mary in the Junkyard - Midori (Live KEXP)

Frank Black - Ten Percenter

Beck - Chemtrails

Frank Black - Ramona

Frank Black - Parry the Wind

Toward the end of the fading lyrics emerges the greatest beat I've ever heard. Fact

Frank Black - Two Spaces

Mary in the Junkyard

Aldous Harding Live - Best Kept Secret 2026

Aldous Harding - What am I going to do

Neil Young - Ordinary People

Aldous Harding Primavera 2026

Aldous Harding Concert - Live at Best Kept Secret 2026

Big Thief Mr. Man Live Barcelona

That's My Grandfather in the Red Rambler

This is a large color photograph taken in mid sixties, I suspect. Right there in the front of the home place on Gobey Road. The person not pictured, and his or her story, right down to the brand of camera, indeed the provenance of this classic Appalachian image, will never be known. I well remember the Red Rambler sedan. It had a push-button-operated transmission device on the dash board.

Cold Wave Post Punk Dance Hall Brooklyn

Broken Social Scene - Cause = Time

Agnes Obel - Fuel the Fire

Ed O'Brien - Incantations

My Mother's Feet

Our only mutual resemblance. Our only common feature.

Radiohead - Go to Sleep

Listen Like You Might be Wrong - Noah Eckstein

I suppose youth entitles one to ascribe to lofty ideas and ideals centering on having empathy/sympathy with opposing views from one's own. It is noble but, in many cases, short sighted. Noah Ecstein's speech reminds me of the stories of Jesus and his similar teachings, such as loving one's enemies and ascetic actions such as if being sued for something offering even more than the ab damnum to the Plaintiff. Sounds good in theory, but, in practice, it simply raises the bar so high that human nature cannot come close. Listen like I could be wrong? Hoew does that work, for example, when debating (foolishly), for example, a Zionist who sincerely supports the Gazan Genocide. How does that work when (again foolishly) debating a MAGA follower, who supports tax breaks and full presidential pardons for the ultra rich Epstein class, at the expense of the poor. It doesn't and never will. The years tighten the intellect to create that which cannot be wrong, thus cannot be paused while noxious idiots espouse their nonsensical blather. Fact. But Noah's message is not to be dispensed with easily. It just does not apply to issues which ought, in good conscience, should be binary, such as the murder of the innocents and the deprivation of necessities out of homage to those who have more than they can ever expend.

Sufjan Stevens -Fourth of July, Should have Known Better

Johnny Greenwood by Alan Gogoll and Delicious Monster

Dio - Rainbow in the Dark

Ratt - Round and Round

Night Ranger - Don't Tell Me You Love Me

Great White - Rock Me

Krokus - Stayed Awake All Night, Long Stick Goes Boom

Thom Yorke - Acoustic Version of Reckoner

A French Girl Singing

Radiohead - Everything in its Right Place - Cover by Kristina Fedorniak

Alan Dershowitz - The Most Disgusting Human Being on Earth

Gendema - Sassy Things - Good for Washing Dishes

A Writ About Dirt

The plural dirt seem like they're laughing because they know that everything above their vast, subterrainian expanse is headed their way, me included. "You don't know shit, boy. Wait 'til you're down here with us. That's when it gets interesting. Legune and radish roots crawling through your belly. Groundhogs tunnelling violently through your gut. Just you wait until you get dirty. You walk around on top of us, you excavate us, but it don't hurt us at all. We're so fucking old that we're indifferent to pain, but deeply in love with the rain. The plural rain ignite where there is no light, when the rootwork that tickles our insides and constantly keeps us guessing gets us high. We get along. We need each other. We feel you, but we just don't need you, boy. As you were." Por Ahora.

Sad Lovers and Giants - What We Should Have Done

My Letter to my Grandmother - My Beloved Uncle Billy Joe had Been Shot Through the Chest by my Other Beloved Uncle, Ralph

Joy Division - Disorder

The Mystery Lights - What Happens When You Turn the Devil Down

Christian Death - Romeo's Distress

Sweeping Promises - Hungry for a Way Out

Revolution 9 - Beatles (Last song on the White Album)

I listened intently to this abstract piece again today. It gets better with age. I pondered if there was actually sheet music for this.

Mount Kimbee - The Sunset Violent - Live in Heidelberg, Germany - This is Great

The Very Rare Successful Banjo Practice

Big Daddy, from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Act II, by Tennessee Williams.

"Fuck the goddamned preacher!" One of my most cherished declarations from southern literature.

Lost Highway - Nightcrawl

A Partly Sunny Day

Beneath the cloud bank a fully loaded cruise ship sinks as the sun comes out.

It's May Day - International Workers' Day

Today is May Day, also known as International Workers' Day.  Celebrate labor.  Celebrate workers' rights.  Celebrate international efforts to create safe working conditions, living wages, and solidarity among the rank and file.  Reinvigorate the Occupy movement so that Americans will never, ever forget how the gamblers on Wall Street gambled with our economy and came up craps, and shrugged, like their anthropomorphic icon, Atlas.  So, celebrate the hybrid socialist programs that saved our automobile and finance industries.  Celebrate Barack Obama, a champion of labor despite the grueling adversity he faces from the right wing of Congress.  Celebrate American workers.  Celebrate those who produce and do not take.  Embrace this elegant statement:  "From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs."  Karl Marx

Rejection is a Real Motherfucker (Witches of Eastwick)

Lykke Li - I Follow Rivers (From Blue is the Warmest Color)

Blackie Pics - He pawed his way into my petulant heart and crawled through my bulwark of sharp briers and delivered true love from god almighty - True Love - One of Four Objects from this Subject - That's Plenty.

I still grieve inexplicably.

I

Mount Kimbee - Shipwreck

Rural Andes

The Problem with Christianity

Oedipus Rex - The Seminal Mother-Fucker

Bicep - Clue

Mount Kimbee - Empty and Silent (This one's great)

Mount Kimbee - Sunset Violent (Fully Albumed)

Mount Kimbee -

Conan Mockasin - Fake Jazz

Setting Fire to the Lashings

Every mother fucker who voted for him is complicit in the unraveling of this country. Never forgive. Never forget. Expect hatred for the balance of your life.

Forever Dolphin Love - King Krule Cover Extended

Charlote's Thong by Conan Mockasin

The Lillelid Murders and Appalachian American Ennui (Exactly 29 Years Ago - April 6, 1997)

NPR did a piece called "This I Believe" a few years back.  Listeners were invited to recite their core beliefs about anything they chose; love, life, children, work, recovery, and the like.  The encapsulations were recorded for all of posterity.   I remember posting my own account, which dealt with my recovery, as they say, from the ravages of drugs and alcohol.  I wrote that "I believe that there was hope in the passing air of a free fall."  I was wrong.  There isn't.

Anyway, selected entries were broadcast by NPR.  I had heard a range of "beliefs" during the programmings.  All were positive and full of "hope" of some kind of another.  However, Newt Gingrich was invited to recite his core feelings.  I was startled to hear his opening statement:  "I believe the world is a dangerous place."  Newt, who is dangerous in and of himself, then expounded well upon his radical thesis.  It got my attention.  It was the truth.  From the God-damnedest people of all we oftentimes hear the truth.  I've learned this the hard way.

April 6 is the anniversary of the Lillelid murders. 

The world is a very dangerous place indeed.  Apparently Vidar Lillelid either did not know this, consciously chose to ignore it, or, more likely, had fallen under the influence of a very recent indoctrination from the Jehovah's Witness Church.  Vidar and his wife, Delfina, and their two children Tabatha and Peter, were en route from a Jehovah's Witness convention in upper east Tennessee when they opted to stop at the rest area,  accessible from the southbound lane of Interstate 81, near Exit 36.

Vidar was inebriated with the dogma that had been broadcast to and absorbed by the sheepish congregants at the Jehoviah Witness convention.  So, when he saw a group of teenagers, who appeared "lost" in their Gothic appearances and sullen countenances, he foolishly opted to "witness to them," and in so doing put his family in mortal danger.  He ignored the safety of his family by approaching six strangers who appeared, as Newt Gingrich would agree, to be "dangerous."  His sense of judgment had been impaired through the dangerous amalgam created when the weak minded, sheepish congregants are drawn into the vortex of  a powerful cult, such as Jehoviah's Witness.

These possible converts ended up kidnapping Vidar Lillelid and his family in order to steal their van so they could continue on their ill-conceived exodus from Appalachia to Mexico.

 The six youths fled from eastern Kentucky, where they had been indoctrinated with fatuous Biblical chapter and verse from time immemorial.  Which was, in fact, the enabling force-field behind their flight from Appalachian Ennui.

Little blond Tabitha was shot behind the ear.  Peter was shot in the face.  Delfina was shot multiple times after witnessing the murders of her husband and daughter, and assassination attempt of her baby boy, and then run over with an automobile, pictured aft. I have the exhibits in bankers box and within my cranium. Corrupt Judge James E. Beckner and a "hand selected" group of incompetent lawyers then massacred due process of law, otherwise available to these lost souls from Eastern Kentucky, two of whom were teenagers. See, Jason Blake Bryant v. State of Tennessee, No. E2002-00907-CCA-R3-PC (Tenn. Crim. App 2002).
This may seem sexist, even misogynistic, but I hold firm to the belief that the man is primarily responsible for the safety of his family.  Vidar Lillelid failed in his duty to protect his family.  His sense of discretion had been fatally retarded by the cult of religious fanaticism at a coalition of Jehovah's Witness followers.  "The world is a dangerous place."  It is indeed.

This is Appalachian American Ennui.

Conan Mockasin Hey Chocoate

Conan Mockasin - Forever Dolphin Love

Heil Hallel

This is the official Zionist emblem.

The Zionist Christian emblem.

Old Man at Piano, from Under the Silver Lake

Silver Sun Pickups - Turning Teeth, from Under the Silver Lake

Chats - Pub Feed, Smoko

Mouth Full of Stars

Iranian Jazz - Our Ceilings Fell Apart

Echo Bazaar Volume Two (Full Album)

Dope Lemon Uptown Folks

Glass Beams

The Cars - Since You're Gone introduced by a young Larry David

Fever Ray - Keep the Streets Empty for Me

Blackie on Judgment Night, March 1, 2026

Howard Moss, in his poem, Horror Movie, wrote, "beginnings spin a web where endings spawn." I would have preferred a transposition reading something like, "endings spin a web of new beginnings," or words to that effect. It's like the dandelions that transmogrifies into perfect orbs staged to submit to the wind and spawn. The eternal 360, the paradigm of life itself. When I was a little boy, circa 1966, I was seated in the back seat of a sprawling, two door burgandy Pontiac Bonneyville with a black vinyl top with Jan and Lindie with their parents, Ben and Dee up front. The surroundings escape me now, but I suspect that we were riding a dirt road on their farm. Simultaneously all eyes were fixed on a mother cat and her four, maybe five little kittens following their mother, all in a row. Ben quickly grabbed his rifle and without exiting the drivers' seat, shot them all, one by one with an automatic rifle. I remember his wife, Dee, picking up the hot casings from her lap and quickly exchanging them from one hand to another while blowing on down on them. The memory stops abruptly. That kind of unimaginable cruelty, in this case committed by a "friend" of the family in front of their half son, effectively pisses in the psychological pool inside the brain and the drain never empties. I also remember watching a televised depiction of baby seals get clubbed on the head inside the farmhouse. His farmhouse. I, too, recall a televised depiction of a bloody open-heart surgery two deer lifted with chains and being skinned. The Mexicans call it sangree. Boys and girls know it's blood from a very young age. My childhood father figures: Ralph, Billy Joe, and significantly, Ben Spangler, DDS. I thought that he was a good template for my posterity. I was already violent. I was born both violently and violent. Thus the fit. "How things have changed," I thought as I drove away in the tiny hours of March 1, 2026, leaving my Blackie behind in New Market after putting my face on his fat belly as he slept, crying uncontrollably. I looked up at the pictured moon as I left the New Market Animal ER and those kittens and their mother and baby seals and sangree flooded me. That another senseless war began than night is so subordinate to the effect of driving away reminds me of the full moon and Blackie's place among the stars. That was the turning point. Everything changed, like a pond turning over in Spring. Frank can no longer stay all night with me because he and Blackie slept together. "Too painful right now, Dad." I get it. Most nights I say aloud, with Mommy cat and Vergel snuggled deep into my covering, "I love you, Blackie." Who knew that night that as I rose to piss and observed my boy panting that it would be one of the saddest nights of my life. I love you, black boy. It's coming up on five and a half months since Frank and I lost our boy. I'm reminded of him seems like constantly, especially when I'm home and notice the glaring absence in his usual spots. This is all new to me because I never knew such grief would, or could emerge from the death of an animal.

Blue Boy - Remember Me

Contortion - Sextile

Understand Dialectical Materialism

Die Spitz - Throw Yourself on the Sword

Angine de Poitrine - Live on KEXP

Suburban Lawns - Janitor ("Oh my Genitals, Oh my Janitor")

Sinners - A sweaty, orgiastic misfire

Satan's Rats - You Make Me Sick

Grian Chatten - Fairlies

Tragically Hip - Ahead by a Century

One Battle After Another - Directed by Paul Thomas Anderson

I would not go that far in my assessment of this important film, which is highly relevant these dark days in what used to me my recognizable country

Su Tissue's Unsettling Piano Masterpiece

The Boots - Baby Please Don't Go

Joy Division - Disorder

What the Fuck was That?!!

Declared the sweaty alarm of the horrified post-mortals immediately upon entering into the heavenly portals, bemoaning their prior stations down below, yalping to the angels and demons, "What the Fuck was all that about?!!".

Christian Death - Romeo's Distress

Suburban Lawns - Baby plus . . . [Not Since Pixies and that's No Shit]

I lucked into the emergence of Pixies, which changed music for the better. I lucked into this very recently looking back through the decades. ""The shades are the venetian kind, they are drawn down blind." Excellent poetic expression.

Suburban Lawns - Unable

Suburban Lawns - Flavor Crystals (What?!!!)

Suburban Lawns Green Eyes '87 Remix (At this moment, this song should accompany me to my grave). Amazing

"the shades are the venetian kind, they are drawn down blind." Google Gemini Query: Which part of the human brain appreciates music? Turns out, there's no one part. It's a congress including the audiotry cortex within the temporal lobes, the frontal lobes, cerebellum, amagdyla, hippocampus and the motor cortex. I'm beginning to understand that, conceding of course that we all differ in our brainy composites, mine in particular is configured in such a way, fine-tuned, in fact, that the pattens, composition, amazing instrumentals,seemingly and seamlessly in perfect unison, along with Su Tissue's muffled voice and cadence, are perfectly invited into my musical taste, like a DNA match.

Su Tissue and Suburban Lawns - Gidget Goes to Hell

Radiohead - Glass Eyes (Roundhouse 2016) (Soundboard Audio)

Su Tissue and the Suburban Lawns Janitor ( Onscreen Lyrics)

Where'd you go, honey? The bones of Su Tissue.

Let the Right One In Official HD Trailer

The best vampire film ever created. The train ride at the end is bone chilling. It has two layers. First, the blonde boy has assumed the role of caretaker. And it is realized that the deceased caretaker was once a boy in the same predicament.

Joy Division - Transmission (Official Lyric Video)

EKKSTACY - i walk this earth all by myself (Official Visualizer)

Night of the Proms | Natalie Imbruglia & Scala - The Hanging Tree (2015)

Greenlandic Politician Shows Mirror To Trump Over Island Invasion Plan: ...

John M. Church, Attorney at Law - From Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters, Author and Attorney at Law

"I was the attorney for the "Q," and the indemnity company which insured the owners of the mine. I pulled the wires with judge and jury, and the upper courts to beat the claims of the crippled, the widow, the orphan, and made a fortune thereat. The bar association sang my praises in a high-flown resolution, and the floral tributes were many. But the rats devoured my heart, and a snake made a nest inside my skull." Ironically, the heartless lawyers who represent capitalist interests against genuine suits for environmental, financial, and professional harm visited on them, causing real pain, real suffering, real damage, are the ones celebrated by the Bar with their photos memorialized in front of the New buildings on law school campuses, and the Boys and Girls' Clubs, and have their lies printed on the ABA, and TBA websites and their slick publications, having never represented an actual human proletarian being in court.

La Femme - Tu T'en Lasses

bedroom - in my head

Human Tetris - Memorabilia (Album)

Re-reading Lolita and Longing for Little Feetnotes

Protagoinist/Pedophile Humbert Humbert ascribes his obsession with Delores "Lolita" Haze to his childhood affection for a little beach girl named Anabel, who would die soon after their clumsy attempts at exlploration of the others body near a cave at some west coast beach. I think that Humbert has rationalized what amounts to a genetic predisposition to pedophilia. (I've concluded after 35 years of criminal court practice that pedophiles are born, not made). In any event, Lolita, age twelve "created a synchronous conflagration that had been raging all night in [Humbert's] veins," and his delight in finding the "question mark of her hair in the tub." "With a childish hand, she tweaked loose the frockfold that had stuck in the peach cleft." I read somewhere that the original version of the book, written in either French or Russian, had her aged 10. The breadth of Vladimir Nabokov's talent is immeasurable. The first time I read the novel was from a book with footnotes, which was very helpful in defining his use of occasional (frequently pedantic) French and rare English words. I think one of my wives threw it away, or perhaps I gave it to my son, Paul. I trust that the latter explains its absence. Incidentally, the eponymous movie version starring James Mason, Sue Lyon, and Shelly Winters, focuses only on a portion of the full story, ignoring altogether Humbert's development, Anabel, and even a wife, Valeria, whom he despised, and who left him for another man, whereupon Humbert mused, "she had vulnerable legs, and I decided to limit myself to hurting her horribly when we were alone." Humbert cared only about Humbert, which necessarily included the object of his sexual deviance, Delores Haze, to the exlusion of all else. I'm quite sure that he would be referred to as a "malignant narcissist," such as the one in the White House, or worse, a sociopath; again like that monstrous occupant, who raped a 13 year old girl in the early 90's, then slapped the fuck out of her.

Karkwa - Le pyromane

Fred Fortin - 10 $

Noir Désir - Le Vent Nous Portera (Clip Officiel)

The Devil Makes Three - St. James (Live Acoustic)

Fred Fortin chante Oiseau

Old Appalachian Mountain Ballads

Trump Accuser’s Bone Chilling Tell All Will Leave You Speechless | The K...

The Agganna Sutta (Buddhist Teaching on Human Origins, Society, and Dhamma: An Ancient Antecedent Message about Donald Trump

Identity based on birth is empty. One who kills, steals, lies, and acts with cruetly is worthy of blame. This is the essence of Donald Trump, and his followers are complicit, thus guilty.