Tag Archives: writing

Peace

i just wanted to say
that I have no secrets to share
no unique insight to reveal
no hidden shame to bare

oh, I could try to express the commonality of our existence,
and to impress you with my understanding of it,
and float pretty words like flower boats into your ears

but I can’t solve any of your problems,
and I can’t make things work for you, or even for me mostly.
I don’t claim to be able to live your life from the inside.

Believe me, if I could make the pain go away, I would.
I’d touch your heart if I could, I’d link our souls
and drag us both up from the depths

but I am just a man
and these are just words
and even a song is just a song

may you find your own peace

Sarcasm

We don’t listen to warning labels, and I can prove it. On every pack of cigarettes, it TELLS YOU IT’S GOING TO KILL YOU. This isn’t a warning label on a plastic bag that was written by some jerk at the plastic bag factory. The warning on cigarettes comes from the Surgeon General. You can ignore advice from non-surgeons. If your stupid friend tells his girlfriend the key to curing her cold is plenty of rest and giving him head, she’ll remind them, “Hey, you’re not a doctor!” right before she gives him head. Well the Surgeon General is a doctor. In fact, they’re the supreme commander of doctors. If doctors were to start a war against the bowlers or the bird watchers, the Surgeon General would have the biggest hat and stand at the back of the army shouting, “Hold the line, men! Take two of these FISTS and call me in the morning!” Read the pack of cigarettes. If the Surgeon General tells you something might kill you and give your future kids extra toes and eyes, listen to him. Do you need a warning from the Surgeon Jesus before you start taking advice?

The non-smoking commercials are actually funded by the company that makes cigarettes. It’s like they’re taunting us. Are they flash-framing subliminal messages at us? How can half the country smoke when the only thing on my TV is lists of tobacco death statistics. We know more about what cigarette does to the human body than than anyone knows about anything else. Unless you count my knowledge of Wonder Woman’s breasts, and you don’t.

They have to be mocking us. One of the commercials actually says “Tobacco is Wacko (if you’re a teen).” That’s the kind of shit you’d hear from a person in a fucking puppy costume. That’s the kind of campaign that can get non-smokers called fags in their schools. Did the mormons decide to take over on the anti-smoking ads for a week or something? I know they did a great job spreading that crazy religion around the country, but getting cigarettes out of kids mouths is a lot harder than getting people to go to church. Church is seductive; you get everlasting life and those lenghty painful medical procedures are reduced to getting slapped in the head by a man on a stage. Convincing a kid to not smoke is a harder kind of mind control. You remember the mind control used on us that made us all lay down and cover our heads every day at 4:00? Of course you don’t. Because the Russians don’t want you to.

People claimed Joe Camel marketed tobacco to kids. Bullshit. Think of all the forest fires that got started just to piss Smokey the Bear off. Kids hate you. They hate your irrational bitchy asses. Nicotine barely makes you high. You can smoke 50 cigarettes, and still get about as high as you would if you held your breath for half a minute. So they’re not doing it to get high, and the fact that most of us are still sane after the Super Friends and the Banana Splits proves that kids don’t base their lives on what cartoon animals say. Screw Joe Camel. They’re doing it because they know that if their lobbying parents are trying to get rid of something, it must kick ass. Remember video games, sex, alcohol, not being somebodydrugs, and fire hazards? Of course you don’t. Because the Russians don’t want you to.

Cigarettes give you black lungs, shortness of breath, yellow teeth, your clothes smell like something you spilled on the stove, and then you die coughing forty years before your friends. The Surgeon General or a man in a puppy suit might have mentioned all that. But what they didn’t mention was that cigarettes give your hands something to do when you’re in a bar. People who don’t smoke nervously fidget their hands around all night. Biology did what it could; it gave women breasts so man would have something to grab onto instead of fidgeting. This groping helps keep them from taking up smoking. Ladies, please offer your breasts for the sake of his health, and yours! (Second hand smoke is a killer too!)

:The 29th Scroll, 6th verse.

Beware the beast man,
for he is the devil’s pawn.
Alone among God’s primates,
he kills for sport, for lust, for greed.
Yea, he will murder his brother to possess his brother’s land.
Let him not breed in great numbers,
for he will make a desert of his home, and yours.
Shun him. Drive him back into his jungle lair,
for he is the harbinger of death.

(Courtesy: The Planet of the Apes)

from an old journal entry, circa october 5 1998.

Production Concept: We Like Pie

Brief Summary: Four people on a road trip reflect on their travels, and review sampled pie along the way.

Extended Summary (selling points): Think ‘Road Rules’ in book format. Two girls and two guys driving around, going through the trials and triumphs of traveling from point to point, having a good time, but not without the dramatic point or two. Four distinctly different personalities, with a common goal, Pie. Included will be ‘biographies’ written about each of the journeymen, by each of them. (I.E. Scott writes bios for everyone, Kevin writes bios for everyone, etc.) Also, there’ll be commentary about the trip from center to center, and reviews of the pies sampled. Reviews will understandably vary from person to person. Each person will get two slices per visit, a ‘signature pie’ and a varied slice of choice. (I.E. Nicole will always get a slice of apple pie, and at least taste some sort of other pie.) Pictures of the travels are a must. Cover shot idea: Nicole and Heather in pink waitress outfits, pie in hand, over shoulder, Kevin and Scott squishing each other’s face with same. (Preemptive or after attack?) Possible spin-offs: We Like Soup, We Like Naps, and We Don’t Like Liver & Onions. Perhaps a ‘We Like Pie’ franchise, vending pies to those who would be cool like us…Planet Hollywood style, with paraphernalia from the original road trip.

Distribution Methods: Preferably by a standard publishing house, but guerrilla-style COD marketing if needed. J

Pies already sampled: Nicole: Apple with Vanilla, and Scott: Chocolate Sundae Pie, Served by Phyllis, at Denny’s, Pompano Beach, September 12, 1998. Nicole: Apple with Chocolate, IHOP at Pompano Beach, on October 7, 1998.

Scott’s take on the Gang: (as of 10/5/98)

Kevin: Well, I’ve known Kevin for quite a long time now. Since 1984, back in the good old days of high school, as it were. I made fun of his brother at a school function, and we’ve been fast friends ever since. We shared enough common interests to hang around and filmed silly home-movies that only the makers can appreciate, or even enjoy. Kevin is quite the throwback, behavior-wise, in the best of all possible meanings. A noble, honest, genuine, giving person, he doesn’t drink, smoke or consume any non-prescription drug, including aspirin, as far as I know. He’s somebody I’d gladly let marry my sister, if I had one. A science fiction fan, a connoisseur of vintage television (especially cartoons), and a scholar of historic warfare, especially World War Two. Tastes in music run from Frank Sinatra to Phil Collins, with a smattering of Julie Andrews in there for taste. He has a good sense of humor, (from my point of view, anyhow) in that he can make stunning observations on the world around him in the blink of an eye, from bodily functions to references to ancient episodes of Happy Days. He’s gentle to children and adults alike, and I’ve never known him to get angry without undue cause. He gives to charity, an unusual trait in someone his age, has a strong sense of right and wrong, and even better, acts on that sense. Not only mentally fit, he takes reasonable care of himself physically, and has spent a number of years studying the martial arts (as of this writing, he’s rapidly approaching his black belt.) He only gives advice if asked, and when he gives it, it’s usually the good stuff. If I had to pick a flaw in his character, I’d be hard pressed to find one, save that if someone can be generous to fault, he is. Super-hero personality closest to his is Superman. My final analysis: Kevin Albury is the perennial ‘Mr. Nice Guy’. He’s swell, and represents the Daddy of the group.

Nicole: Both of the girls came along in my travels much later, when I returned to work with Kevin for the second time. Nicole I’ve known about five months, and she’s a nice person. Among her strengths I’d say one of her greatest is that she has quite an element of Will Rogers to her personality, in that she can get along well with virtually everyone she meets, and is the most outgoing of the lot of us. She also has a definitely powerful sense of satire when it comes to watching how people work together. Not only does Nicole have a lovely demeanor; her visage is about as easy on the eyes as it gets around here. Nicknamed Scully by Kevin, (in honor of the X-files character, natch,) she’s quite well designed physically. Odd but cute traits include a ‘Zelda-blink’; (fans of Dobie Gillis will understand what I’m talking about), a quirky smile, and the first circumstance of an actual bubbly-sort of laugh. I honestly think it sounds like a giggle of soda pop rising up, very neat, and pretty infectious. Her company is always welcome, as a guy can talk about ‘boy-stuff’ in her presence. She possesses a strong common sense, even if it isn’t always acted on. (In other words, she one of the people I know who is otherwise intelligent but still smokes. Forget the common cold, I want a quick, easy cure for nicotine addiction.) Personally, I think that she and Kevin would make a cute couple, but she suffers from the “but we’re already such good friends, I don’t want to wreck it” syndrome. Regardless, I consider her a pal, and so does he. Super-Hero personality closest to hers is She-Hulk (sensational, not savage). My final analysis: Nicole Hanak is ?!?

Heather: The ‘little sister’ of the group, more to follow.

green lantern, more seanbabisms.

Green Lantern’s ring was the most powerful weapon in the universe except against the color yellow. I’m not kidding, his weakness was the color yellow. You might think he’d try to keep something like that secret, but there is nothing Green Lantern liked to talk about more. He’d wave a fist at the bad guys and shout, “Justice will prevail today, villains! Unless you learn that my power energy cannot affect that which is yellow!” And to make Green Lantern the most unlucky person in the universe, his nemesis Sinestro had a ring that made things that were yellow. That’s like twin brothers fighting, only one gets baseball bat with spikes and has a giant purple head.

Green Lantern got his super ring when a navy bean-headed alien crash landed on Earth and handed it to him right before he died. I guess in space no one makes out a will. When you think you’re about to die, you pick up a phone book and give everything you own to whatever name your finger lands on. And if you’re handing over a potentially universe-threatening weapon, even better that it goes to a randomly selected stranger!

Serious Fact: I keep a white board by my VCR, and marked down every time Green Lantern’s powers worked against yellow. Out of 30 episodes where Green Lantern appeared, his powers worked against the color yellow 24 times. In fact, in 3 episodes, the stuff he made was yellow already. It had to be something wrong with my TV, since I figured if you made a yellow rocket that couldn’t touch the color yellow, the world would explode. No, my TV was fine. Either the guys who colored the show had all their green markers dry up, or they got hammered before they started.

The ring could make anything he could think of which usually wasn’t much. Once or twice he’d go crazy with it and if he needed to knock something over, he’d create himself a crazy robot bulldozer and a viking hard hat, but most days he would just shoot green energy at the thing until it fell over. The Wonder Twins may have sucked, but when they needed to knock something over, they never took it out the easy way. At their most sensical, they’d turn into a giant lobster (with water backpack) or a rhino squid (in ice belt). Green Lantern would punch people with things as uncreative as a giant hand. He had to know kids were watching; he could have tried harder to make it more interesting. Like a giant hand with breasts or a talking hamburger.



It’s a pretty common assumption that Batman and Robin were lovers, but Batman at least tried to hide it. He put a little belt on Robin so it looked like he was a fellow crime fighter, not just some kid he puts his tongue in when there’s no evil to punch. Kids watching the show could defend him. They could tell their parents, “No, look. Robin has his own crime belt. I told you he wasn’t his boyfriend.” Green Lantern wasn’t so clever. Kairo had nothing that indicated he should be fighting for justice, and spent most of his time with his crotch firmly pressed against Green Lantern’s ass. While we’re talking about it, I don’t think Aquaman and Aqualad were romantic, but only because it’s impossible to imagine Aquaman getting laid by anyone.

Green Lantern’s sidekick was the coolest. The cartoon called him “Hal Jordan’s Venutian helper.” He was a little boy from Venus named Kairo and he never did anything other than get captured. He was real good at that, though.


He could get captured 8 times during a four minute episode. He would already be tied up by one villain and a new villain would stop by just to tie him up some more and have his henchmen throw a net on him. Then he’d wander into an open well filled with scorpions. A few hours alone, and Kairo would have been dead with or without evil’s help. The other Super Friends all had sidekicks that were a tiny bit better than useless. Robin had bat-shaped tubes of paste he could throw, Hawkman’s bird could scream and peck, Aqualad had a seahorse and a walrus, and Kid Flash could run fast. Kairo had a pantsuit and his ears came to a point. Those are the exact same powers as a housepainter that grew up underneath power lines.

Kairo didn’t care. He never got his own flying saucer or invisible jetski or any type of weapon. You know how he travelled? He actually had to ride Green Lantern’s ass through space. Of all the heroes in the universe, Green Lantern’s the only one that can make a motorcycle with his mind. Kairo should have been the last sidekick that needed to resort to a piggyback ride. And when they got to other planets, Green Lantern didn’t make him a green boomerang. Kairo had to pick a fight with nothing but a vacant smile. Hey, atomic monster. Try a taste of Kairo’s innocent sense of well being!

I don’t know how Green Lantern recruited him. Kairo was probably selling candy bars door-to-door, and after Green Lantern bought 12 cases, he received the bonus prize, “Spend a day the rest of your life with Kairo!”

more aV translations

I love little Newtie more than corn flakes. (in)

J’aime peu de Newtie davantage que des flocons d’avoine. (back) I like little Newtie more that rolled oats.

Ich liebe wenig Newtie mehr als Corn Flakes. (back) I love few Newtie more than Corn Flakes

Eu amo pouco Newtie mais do que flocos de milho. (back)I like few Newtie more than the rolled oats

Amo poco Newtie más que las avenas. (back) – Master little Newtie more than oats.

If you’ve learned anything from TV and movies, it’s that when you’re talking to someone naked and you’re not about to have sex with them, their body parts start creeping into your sentences. If you offer a glass of chocolate milk to a chick with clothes on, no problem. If she’s naked, you start saying things like, “Would you like an ass of chocolate nipple?” or “mmm… this is the breast lemonade I’ve ever vaginaed!”

Scooby-doo! Illuminated site!










 

SCOOBY-DOO,
WHERE ARE YOU?” AND THE OCCULT

The popular children’s show “Scooby-Doo,
Where Are You?” is warmly embraced by generations of viewers.
It
is seemingly a charming story about four teenagers (Fred Fred, Daphne,
Velma, and Shaggy) and their
lovable
talking dog, Scooby-Doo, who travel around the country solving supernaturally-based
crimes. These
crimes inevitably turn
out to be hoaxes with an occult veneer.
 

However, beneath this seemingly hostile
attitude towards the supernatural lies a deeper core which is actually

sympathetic towards the occult. An examination
of the show’s theme song will reveal, in fact, that it is a rather

blatant attempt at invoking an ancient spirit,
who possesses the group’s canine companion and acts at the
invoker’s
behest. Quite probably, this apparent conflict of interests is an attempt
by the five main characters to
strip
away the public’s misconceptions about the supernatural and to promote
a positive image for the
 

practitioners of the occult arts. 

 

“Scooby-Doo, Where Are You?”
Scooby-Dooby-Doo (1), Where Are You? We got some
work to do now.
Scooby-Dooby-Doo, Where Are You? We need some help
from you now. (2)
Come on Scooby-Doo, I see you… pretending you got
a sliver
But you’re not fooling me, cause I can see, the way
you shake and shiver. (3)
You know we got a mystery to solve, so Scooby Doo
be ready for your act. (4)
[Scooby Doo] Uh-uh Uh-uh (5)
Don’t hold back!
And Scooby Doo if you come through
you’re going to have yourself a scooby snack! (6)
That’s a fact!
Scooby-Dooby-Doo, here are you. You’re ready and
you’re willing. (7)
If we can count on you Scooby Doo, I know you’ll
catch that villian. (8)

(1) An obvious reference to marijuana or hashish.
The “doobie” is another name for the marijuana cigarette.
Scooby-Doo
is also a corruption of the pre-Columbian deity Xipe Totec, known as “Our
Lord the Flayed One”.
At the end of
a 52-year period, this deity’s representative was castrated and flayed
alive, and his skin was worn
as a garment
by the priest. For another reference to human sacrifice, cf. (8), below.
(Note: A suggested
connection to the
noted performer Frank Sinatra has been found to be without merit, though
the Doobie Brothers bear further investigation.)
 

(2) Ritual invocation of the Scooby-Doo
spirit, reminding it of its obligations to the cultists; typical part of
the occult invocation.

(3) Acknowledgement of the presence of
the spirit, which seems curiously reluctant to manifest. Possibly a

psychological ploy by the spirit to increase
the tribute offered to it? If so, the ploy seems to be ineffective, and

a minor deviation from standard occult formulae.
Another possible interpretation, however, might be that the
“shaking
and shivering” might be a reference to the ecstatic trance the cultists
entered into.
 

(4) Obvious connections to the ancient
pagan mystery religions (e.g. Cybele, the Eleusinian Mysteries,

Orphism), where ritual dramas were re-enacted. 

(5) The spirit acknowledges its presence;
another typical occult feature.

(6) The offer of reward to the spirit.
The “scooby snack” is in all probability a small herbal cake laced with

hashish (cf. note (1) above), which is sacred
to the spirit. Evidence from the televised episodes indicates that

these “scooby snacks” also act as a powerful
euphoric/hallucinogen on humans as well, since Shaggy (the
group’s
scapegoat/shaman) ingests them from time to time and evidences massive
changes in personality.
 

Peyote may be another ingredient in the
scooby-snack, confirming its ties to pre-Columbian mystery cults.
 

(7) The cultists confirm that the spirit,
now propitiated, is ready to manifest itself for the benefit of the cult. 
 

(8) A confirmation of the connection between
Xipe Totec and Scooby-Doo (cf. Footnote (1)). The cult of
Scooby-Doo
obviously practices human sacrifice, since Scooby-Doo is expected to “catch
that villain” (from
MF, villein, serf
or peasant). Another curious deviation from the standard is that the spirit
is expected to
procure his own sacrifice,
who may have been targeted by the cult for this purpose. This ritual could
preserve
the memory of an ancient conflict
between the priests of the Xipe Totec cult with a rival mystery cult.
 

 

 

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

We never learn the last names of any of Scooby-Doo’s
friends (the Gang), which probably means that they are using pseudonyms
or cult names.
 

“Fred Fred” is a reference to the ancient
belief in the magical powers of twins; he invokes within himself the
 

power of the twin. An example of this
kind of naming in folklore comes from the New Testament: the Apostle Thomas,
called Didymus; Thomas is from an Aramaic work meaning “twin”, and Didymus
is the Greek word for “twin”.Possibly he once had a twin brother, whom
he sacrificed to enhance his own mystic abilities.  In ancient Europe,
the tanist was regarded as a twin of the sacred king, possibly to be sacrificed
in his place; perhaps this custom survived clandestinely until the present
day? Fred Fred embodies the male principle for the group, though the manifestation
of this principle is somewhat ambiguous; despite his obvious handsomeness
and athletic physique, there is no hint of a sexual relationship with Daphne,
the most obvious target of his affections; this might have something to
do with Daphne’s cult status, as discussed next.
 

“Daphne” is Greek for “laurel”, the leaves
of which were chewed by the Oracle at Delphi to invoke a prophetic trance.

Daphne is obviously the High Priestess for
the group, and embodies the female (but not the maternal) principle. 
Thus, she might be identified with Artemis, the virgin goddess of the hunt. 
Artemis was also the only god among the Greeks to whom humans were sacrificed
(e.g. Iphigeneia, daughter of Agamemnon).  Therefore, Daphne is probably
still virginal, in order to offer up human sacrifices to her savage goddess. 
This explains her apparent lack of sexual interest in Fred Fred, or indeed
in any male.
 

“Velma” is an obvious corruption of Bellona,
the Roman goddess of conflict, as well as the name of the Finnish

sea-goddess Vellamo, who herded cattle and
raised crops on the bottom of the sea. Velma’s high intelligence,

aggressive tendencies, and ambiguous sexuality
evoke the image of Pallas Athene as a defender of the
 

community.  Perhaps there is a physical
relationship of sorts between Velma and Daphne, since neither of them have
shown signs of seeking such a relationship with the available males of
the group, Fred Fred and Shaggy.
 

The name “Shaggy” is descriptive of the
cult’s scapegoat and shaman, both of which traditionally appear in a
 

wild and disheveled state. Shaggy is the
High Priest of the cult, and is most often the one to interpret the words
of the oracular hound, Scooby-Doo.  He often partakes of the “scooby
snack”, and is powerfully affected by the drug’s euphoric and mind-altering
properties, preparatory to entering into the mystical trance in which he
communes with the world of spirits.
Shaggy
is the sacred interpreter of the words of Scooby-Doo, being gifted with
the power to understand his speech by whatever supernatural pact summoned
up the creature.

The twin interpretations of “Scooby-Doo”
as a corruption of Xipe Totec and as a reference to marijuana have
 

already been commented upon. Possibly,
in the light of Xipe Totec’s predilection for flaying, Scooby-Doo was
 

in fact not a dog but a human medium who
adopted (for unknown reasons) the identity of a dog, wearing the
 

flayed skin of a dog, acting as the vessel
of Xipe Totec’s spirit.  His barely-intelligible speech typical of
reports of witches’ familiars in the Middle Ages, who often croaked or
had speech impediments not unlike Scooby-Doo’s. 


 


words

I had something else to say tonight
but all the words
just ran out of me

i stood there, naked,
and watched the last ones
flow from my lips
and leave laughing

while it is a relief
to not have the multitudes
pressing at the gate,
i wonder where I will find more
since I don’t know
where they came from to begin with

the ones that were in me
still circle me
and mock me
and light my way down

someday i’ll say something apropos,
something sensitive and intelligent
about it all

but first I have to get some more
of those wonderful words

inevitable slippery, falling not thinking

the needle penetrates his skin easily, pumping him full of multiple cc’s of a foreign, ghastly substance. human blood, now coursing through his veins. highly hallucinogenic. within moments, he feels his comfortable green skin beginning to peel away from the amorphous membrane that holds his brain in its sac of comfort and delight. his suckers begin to pulse as though a human heart were now beating inside of him; perhaps it is psychosomatic, tales of how that strange hydraulic organ pumps this wild hallucinogen throughout their tiny pink nubs. eventually, his suckers can no longer hold him down, and he begins to float freely, only the saliva tethers keeping him safely connected to the surface of the glans-body below.

Please don’t put anything on the doorknob, because it may cause the Trouble.

There, in the darkness, stood my Greatest Fear, wearing a trenchcoat and some kind of cape, and for a moment, I was breathless with horrible anticipation. It ambled forward to the tune of a sultry saxophone played by All My Ambition, and when it spoke, the words were chiseled in crystal, “Don’t look behind you. I swear to God, you better not look behind you.”

Shotgun

it wears cut-off jeans,
a twice-torn shirt,
and hiking boots

it’s callused like a woodcutter
and it’s as hard as the night is long

it’s a sawed-off shotgun world, friend
and you’re looking down the barrel

it doesn’t have any mercy,
it just keeps on turning,
and swooping around the sun,
and never does it stop
or pull a punch

when you fight your way up the stairs
every morning
and get on the treadmill
you start to wonder
if there’s anything to it
besides the fiction and the friction

sometimes you are lucky enough
to go too fast
or catch a new song
or do anything that
just for a moment
lets you forget the turning

when you are so blessed
thank the harmony
and the speed
and all the bottles of beer

there wasn’t much poetry in them
but at least they kept the shotgun
out of your face for a time

Candle

A candle
has burned black
down to a nub
and vomited wax
all over my desk.

I look at the placental remains
and I wonder

If I had enough warmth
in my breath
If I had enough skill
in my hands
If I had a new wick
in my pocket

Could I pry up the wax
and mold and roll
and repair the path of flame?

Funny, it’s always the easier
the unopposed choice
to buy a new candle
to burn down again.