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)