Blog Posts

Cammock: why women aren't artists?

An alternative path to creativity - with much less room for acknowledgment sans self-primotion.

https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2019/jun/18/helen-cammock-turne...

Summer of Love: Charles Colson revisited

by Barrett Brown no less.

Feel our loss of innocence - "I'd run over my Grandma for Christ" was once a thing - now it's "Christ should run over Grandma for Trump". I guess in the end it's not much difference, but it feels like a lifetime...

https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/vdp44j/reading-born-again-in-jail-by-...

Gang Bang: Love to Love Ya

*Courtney* Love, of course, but everyone gets their licks - my facorite was Ladies of the Canyon, or was it the Fisher Queen? Man feel those names drop...

https://www.interviewmagazine.com/culture/20-questions-for-courtney-love...

The Doctor is Out: If u gwan to New Awleans

He was in the right place, but it must've been the wrong time... R.I.P. Dr. John.

 

Man Out of Time: Unreasonable Men reviews

A good point to remind of some previous reviews plus a fun interview. Let me know if there are any more and I'll tack them onto this post.

http://dagblog.com/unreasonable-men-and-art-political-long-game-18728

http://dagblog.com/social-justice/unrisible-irrascible-men-22312

Orwell: Dishonesty & Cowardice Will Be Paid For

Worth re-reading in these times, however long karma takes to come due. (Kundera's Unbearable Lightness of Being makes a similar point in longer form)

http://www.telelib.com/authors/O/OrwellGeorge/essay/tribune/AsIPlease194...

 

Nick Cave: Back to Transgression

The eternal heretic speaks - in religious voice.

https://www.theguardian.com/music/2019/apr/15/nick-cave-red-hand-files-r...

Punishment... Reward. Bring me my hairshirt and skewers.

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Personal Information

Superpowers
Defies gravity Can spit really far Almost touch my toes Can cut a fly's legs off with a beer cap from 20 paces Know how to say useless stuff and prattle on in a dozen languages Don't know when to shut up
Favorite Quotes
To be for or against the Plague, it's much the same thing. Fiddledee, how a body shure do get around - just 2 weeks ago I was in Mississippi and now I'm all the way to Tennessee... Eat or Be Eaten Better to be pissed off than pissed on.
Biography
Born in swaddling clothes (designer, of course) at the confluence of big waters, my first recorded words were "Dad, can I have the keys to the car?" Raised a Southern Pedestrian, my musical talents were recognized at an early age, leading to my being exiled to the shed out back with a stack of books that became my eddykayshun - advanced readin', writin' & ritmytick, creating a major quandary of "what will I do, oh what will I do?" (Gunslinger) As an old black man advised in song, "You Gotta Move", so move I did, traveling the byways sideways even a lot of driveways, picking up sticks and psychological tics, even movin' to Beverlee through a quaint misunderstanding of the seriousness of TV series, until finally I blew up so big the carry nation incarnation tarnation couldn't hold me no more, so I fixed my sights on yonder sitar, and like Queequeg and Paul Bowles and one of those abducted kids by the Pied Piper of Hamelin, I ventured forth to the larger world, pickin' and grinnin', doin' me some reckonin' and naughts from naughts, occasionally rightin', building me some buildings and wiring and just trying to understand the babble comin' out of people's mouths and heads, I finally ended up in what Rummy quaintly calls "New Europe", which ain't so new from what I sees, but that pit in my stomach from lack-of-moving-sickness finally disappeared, and instead I sit behind a whopping big desk stacked with missives from all the chiefs with big whampum around the world telling me "what's going on". Which seems like a load of boolshit to me, but I guess that's what keeps me busy and entertained now, separatin' the weeds from the chapstick. So my name is Perry Keys, or Peracles to you, and since my mammy always said, "say please and thank you", I added the please, but I'm holdin' back on that thankee until I feel you've earned it. But do welcome, and I hope we's a gonna have a real good time. It all starts with, "I wuz born a poor young white chile livin' in the South..." and we cycle through again, like Nietzsche and his infernal regurgence. So enjoy, and let's spin a spell...

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