Saturday, July 30, 2005


Son of Lemur

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Friday, July 29, 2005


SubGenius BEACH Party!

August 21--2 PM til we stagger off blind

Golden Gardens Park
8498 Seaview Pl. NW
Seattle, WA



Long March Bad News

In case it is not clear at this point, this year's Long March is a wash. I strongly doubt that we'll even throw a Short Stroll, although I still think we should throw a SubGenius Beach Party sometime next month.

For those who sincerely wanted to go, I will be announcing a date later this year for next year's Long March. We'll have a date well in advance and worry about logistics later, rather than going the other way around. I realize that many SubGeniuses have a very rebellious attitude when it comes to Conspiracy calendars. But Time Control is not achieved by refusing to be controlled by time. You gotta grab time by the horns and BLOW BAYBEE BLOW!

Thank you, "Bob," for the lesson, asshole.


LiveJournal Art


"...Burning Out The Fuse Up Here Alone..."

(from Space/Drumz: The Final Frontier, 28 July HO 5)

"I don't know what weapons World War Three will be fought with, but World War Four will be fought with sticks and stones." ... Albert Einstein ...

The sky is falling, the cry is calling, while the lie is stalling, "Duck and cover!"

Plastic and duct tape will not save us now. The rockets red glare is a bloody red scare of discovery that the modernization of industrialization still will save neither animal nor human from primal peril, eternal death.

"We shall prevail and they shall not," counters Phony Blare.

Of course this is the same UK Crime Minister, The Man Jester United, The Royal Red Kross King, The International Blood Driver of the No Think Tank way out into the hot stinking desert to top off a vengeful engine with Low Grade, High Priced Oily Lies and Innocent Lives. You know, the shallow half of that totally bitching pop duo, The Filth And The Fury. This is the same slobbering bulldog with butterfly wings who continues to deny the piling up so fast you need distracting terrorist attacks to stay above the growing evidence of his dirty part in conning his own entire nation and ours into waging an illegal eagle war.

Next thing you know he'll be arguing against ongoing evolution. He will live out his lame life in denial as a constant reminder of his disdain of internationally accepted scientific theories that the cockroach will still be there when all else blows up and burns down.

So too will the terrorist still exist. We ought to know. We put the terror (and the error) in terrorist. It's all in the wrist and the risk that we are better than they. We came from London and brought the hard lessons of the Tower with us. That the White Man is created by God in his own image and therefore is endowed by the Creator with certain inalienable rights, to import and enslave the Black Man, only after we've made first room for them by wiping off the map of the new world the Red Man.

We put the army general on God's side in genocide. We stalk and stockade those who prefer to get off on alternatives to the Holy Trinity of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. We burn witches and keep the rest of the women down. We spare neither rod nor cattle prod on our children and beasts. We clear the trees in order to take full advantage of the earth, water and air. We are the holy only ones chosen to drop the big ones. We learn our 1-2-3's and ABC's and then send out our CIA's to the globe's waiting room 101 to teach the world to sing to the sting of pain or else we'll kill you in the end anyway. We silence spring, summertime is come and gone, and fall fades fast in the rearview. You voted for Bush and all I got was this lousy thermonukular apocalypse of a winter of our discontent.

So I find myself here I am again up against it, opening and ripping up mass mailings asking me to contribute to a party that hasn't the gall to stand tall and call for an end to this unprovoked attack on a world so far away who fucking cares it is openly inviting the terrorist to bring it on. So instead I'm sending out this open mess of a message in a broken leaking bottle, pleading to you Good Guys & Girls in White Hats, in the name of all decency and there is nothing that is holy, to drop your focus on everything except to pick up our boys and girls and bring them home in one piece and make them stop killing innocents in our name. And if you won't do that, then I as God is my waitress, I order the Jihadists to stop imitating our old bad habits, and do the supposedly one good thing that we have done in Iraq, the one good thing that neither the Yanks nor the Brits can bring themselves to do for themselves despite ample opportunity: bring their, our, leaders to justice.

Cue Ten Years After: "I'd love to change the world but I don't know what to do." I only know how to right all the wrongs in this sick world by wishing ill upon a shooting star wars. "Meanwhile back in the states..." I write it all off kilter. I'm so damn computer illiterate, besides being polite society inconsiderate. I couldn't get elected to dog catcher. Besides if I did the first thing of course I'd have to do is try to catch my tail and wrap it round myself up in a box. And I'm just not ever going to be fast enough to catch myself from falling. So instead I just cut out the middle man and here I am all alone, baby. I can't give myself away even for free. "...I've nothing to live for when I'm sleeping alone."

Cue Bruce Springsteen: "I wanna change my clothes my hair my face..." my place my space my race to punch the clock instead of to stop my damned taxes from playing the broken record part of the pro-war-tagonist in the tragic farce that is the coalition of the willing to do the killing for the drilling of the oil in Iraq. "I feel like you wouldn't like me if you met me..." "There's a war inside of" this ugly old mug, this American idle idol with a nose that grows weary from the stench of his own lies and that smells like war is hell on teen spirit. "I get so jealous..." of fantastic fancy free French dripping maple syrup all over the place. "Blame it on Canada!" "I don't wanna be part of the problem..." but I do really, the point is I do.

"I got the fever for a girl..." Two of them really, of course what with me being a black crazy diamond dog and all. So less than two weeks ago and for the first time ever, I ran into The Tenth. No, I ran not into the bed of the tenth girl in a row of beds, nor into the alleys of two 10's, nor into a Tenth Avenue Freeze-out, but rather the Tenth Ex-Way X-Ray Force-out: the 10th Anniversary of the Last of Sheila. For it was 07/15/05 and he's still alive... It was ten years ago to the day that my ex-wife walked forever out of my life. Happened to see her at an X concert. Cue Simple Minds: "Will you call my name? Will you walk on by?" Turns out she pretended like she never ever wanted to know me, like I had the plague, and vanished into the crowd. Cue a nice warm Firesign Theatre... "What a sap she had."

So I betook me to the Somerville Theater. I quickly proceeded to fall right over head over heels in love from dancing knee-deep in thinking while drinking downtown a dizzying half-moon river of folk-pop-punk-blues tandem tender gender blend. But in order to go there, to get to that secret sacred shared space, I had to first plunge the depths of the heart of darkness, go on an amazing journey through the People's Republic of Cambridge. I had to tunnel-vision my way through mass-transit terror colored balloon alerts to "beware the ides of Orange Julius." Then I had to steer left of the dial past a right-wing Highway 61 cop-car siren's warning of the coming of the Lordesses, the anti-Christie sex-crime sirens floating all the way across the night and above the far-flung miles of aisles of Lesbos. One if by hand, two if by see, three if by Goddess I believe I am the only single heterosexual male dancing the light fantastic by myself in a sea of Daughters of Liberty being free and hey hey it's all with me.

I had arrived just before the lights all went out in the gay-marriage heaven-haven of Massachusetts... leaving none but one shining crazy diamond starlight spotlight on the twin sisters of lesbian liberty... each the resident downbeat poet laureate of her own separate coast of Canada, of her own emerald city home... here they are now with Greetings from Montreal, and Souvenirs from Vancouver... your very own, The Good Witches of the North, Tegan and Sara.

And there, on that hot mid-summer eve of a waking dream of a stage-two rocket, these two twenty-something else's did spin me round on my rocky mountain way and may I yet never come down from theirs and mine, "I love the rock and roll" fantasies... of the coming of the new millennium Everly Sisters... of the light comic styling's of a tag-team of brave tragedians... of the arising and feeling Minnesota Twin Towers of Power to the People... of the arrival of the be they ever so humble, The Last Gang-Goddess In Town.

Cue The Bros. Bee Gee: "..And the lights all went out in MassachusettsThey brought me back to see my way with you..."

[Special thanks to Tegan and Sara, the I Know You Writers of the uncredited lyrics in my above review.



I doubt Google is going to tolerate this for too long

Thursday, July 28, 2005


Dry heat my ASS!

The traditional method for dealing with the heat here
is to crank the AC up; shiver & sweat in a
flu-generating cycle because you can never get it
level in a manner that matches the ups & downs of the
day; read the grotesque bill once a month; cuss like a
6-pack of rappers, but more eloquently because you are
a Yeti; have a heart attack over it in the 3rd month;
die; go to Hell for offending God with your
blasphemulizing; bitch about the heat there, too; have
"Bob" make a deal with Satan to get you back because
you paid a total of $100 over the years; repeat, but
curse "Bob" for making you sweat all over again.

Maynard G. Krebs went from being a beatnik to a junkie so fast, a whole generation was booting China White and trying to scrub AIDS off their privates with Simpsons scrunchies before the dust was settled on Hiroshima. Slow down and trip over the Dobbsian stupid, man. Its your only "Bob" hope!


HellPope Huey

The healthy man does not torture others -
generally it is the tortured
who turn into torturers.
~ Carl Gustav Jung

"The Statue of Liberty is no longer saying
'Give me your poor, your tired, your huddled masses.'
She's got a baseball bat and she's yelling,
'You want a piece of me!?'"
- Robin Williams


No Running

Seems that some ppl also think:

is real.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005


Pope Perro

Pope Perro, originally uploaded by IMBJR.

Submit to his glare.



We/I have almost completely returned from the 25th Starwood Festival, in which we're involved as both organizers and performers. It's a big, weird festival -- ten times the size of SubGenius X-Day Drills, one-tenth the size of Burning Man. It's so weird that it takes a long time to fully return.

Princess Wei shot many evocative photos, and I have written up a fairly lengthy SubG-centric report; it's all now on SubSITE:

Stang's Report and Wei's photos of Starwood 25:


Saint Paul Krassner, who has delivered many hilarious sermons at the last several Starwoods, is writing up his own Starwood report for the normally staid The Nation magazine -- we're looking forward to that balancing act!

Next: PSYTOPIA, the psychedelics/consciousness convention in Jamaica! August 17-23.

All I want to do is EDIT ALL THESE TAPES!! But first I shall dutifully mail out the sacred swag that was ordered while we were gone, like a good Sacred Scribe. I know, I know, contradiction in terms.

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