Baby Has Shoes

28 11 04

Read. Confusion. Trying to figure out. Ideas. Where to go?

Magdala or Magdalene was (?) a Benjamite. Weren’t the Benjamites overrun by David? This the Royal connection as Jesus was possibly from the line of David.

Explain this love to them. They say they give but who gives in a war? No, they only have what keeps them back. What holds them back? The thing they never know, who can leave behind a paradox of the untrue? She stands there, for instance, reflects on something never seen by a 16-year-old and flutter in front of your face like a Maui-wave. But watch out my friend. He will come along and take it. Because he is a she. I know what you’re saying.”How can it be true?” But the Virgin is real. She sits in front of you and wrapped in the palms of her hands a child without shoes who seems to have a face that is looking beyond those hands, to something else, but what? And why do you assume that you have shoes? Could he be looking for his mother? Staring into the distance where it is obvious that his wooer is standing. The deal I would say. The deal to make, somehow, the virgin born. It is in this concept that so much rests. The rest of us. As if obviousness were obvious. Like the (given) love of a woman. She does so little, is only well-equipped. Just like Hitler. (And so the talking-head American’t voice of the ignorant sings his Femi-nazi song.) But then who would think of questioning? What to ask? Ask how it can be true. Well, it can be true thus: she was not the she. I mean. Leonardo deVinci painted himself a female, did he not? The whole deal is about how far I have to go. How far in my mind about the truth? What if there were someone who (not born of the virgin)
know is truth were the most valuable thing in the solar system of the… Sun/Son?


Virgins And OGU

25 11 04

Thinking of things that could make sense. Verisimilitude. Illusion. Delusion. Etc.

What is the only way a child can be born of a virgin? How can a child be born of a virgin? How is a virgin child-birth possible?

-The mother of the child is not a woman.
-The child is unaware that it has a mother.
-The child is not born of a woman.
-The child is born of a man. (But no one likes this idear much.)
-The child doesn’t actually exist. That is, it has no physical form.

How do we know that what we have known as god is in reality something else? Maybe Satan wasn’t a bad angel but a revolutionary who stepped out of bounds. The whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me…

The cornering of a major secret society member. How would he react? What would he/she do to save its skin?

The anatomy of deception.

It’s when you stop questioning. Questioning is the answer. When a child wants all the answers which you’ll never be able to give remind hime or teach him that (or reassures) he will or can find solace in spending a life questioning.

How can I make a virgin? Can a virgin be made/manufactured?

German cat on hat tin roof in Kleineshaus Wiesbaden. Saw an article title on the board outside that said/declared: Die suche nach Realistische Stücke. Oh boy, what in now/this week…

And I will watch the play of TW with the thought of virgins, especially male virgins, possibly Eunuchs, who walk the planet waiting for their next command. Eunuchs are Eunuchs because they try to be like angels–god’s workers. It will all happen after Act 2 from TW that the coming of part 2 will take the public by storm.

It was Cain who slay his borther and then he was banished to the world. But what of his surviving mother and father? And what of the other siblings?

Wait! The answer to the question of the virgins (which I probably didn’t ask correctly to begin with). It could be (she could be) a vassal or a ship never sailed but can’t exist without a very special cargo. That is, the ship can’t exist without its special cargo.

What is causal being?

Man + Woman = subject + object
+ + – = subject + object

What was Adam and Eve’s gravest error? Thinking their sex was their own. Would the most powerful being in the universe choose the first humans away because they ate a piece of fruit? I’m sure He has better things to do. Or at least more important things to motivate him to do. So… Adam + Eve were chased out of paradise because they did not meet or accept the basic premise of plus and minus, the premise and pretext of the universe. Banish.

And now… OGU. The One God Universe, by William Burroughs.

One God UniverseRant on.



Sion Conspiracy Craze

24 11 04

Shipped yesterday. Shipping a lot lately. Never quite know where I might fall or if the ground is hard or not. The reason for it is obvious. My mouth. She runs on at times. It’s very difficult keeping pace, you know. It came especially fast last night–pushed on by too much wine. Couch potato philosophy which is the only thing I’m good at. Took the moment. I was trying to address the issue of meaning in a meaningless world. In doing so mentioned a woman with child. This was immediately misunderstood. A woman does not have to have child for meaning but if she has nothing else then there is no wonder why so many idiots are born. Her meaning cannot be passed on the child. Of course the context of the discussion should be addressed. Yes, the great contrast among content and context. Oh, that issue of meaning.

Worst-writing of which…

Who is waiting for the Merovingian descendent? Those waiting for the first or second coming? How ’bout the third? Oh yeah. The whole thing will be a shing-ding. And the whole of America is caught in its bahn. How do you fool an entire nation? How do you hide the greatest kept secret in history only to wipe it out at the right moment?

You’ve got to be kidding me.


What if it turns out that the family of the president of the USA is actually the descendent of King David? What if this family was/is about to reveal a secret that would prove for the Jews the first, for the christians the second coming. Oh boy. The knüller of the story though is the protagonist and audience think the president and his very influential family are the embodiment of the coming. But this is not the case. In fact the president is only a messenger. Like John the Baptist. For whatever reason he is only the messenger–which it turns out he didn’t know anything about. And what about that John fellow? Where does he fit in here? At least I feel comfortable that such an idear could compete with TV. How does the Prieure du Sion fit in here? Is Bush senior the head of it now? Oh, I mean the father of the president. This is all NOT about the best kept secret in history but instead the most perfect lie ever told. Characters? Verarsch. Make fun of the crazed interest in sons of sons of gods. Who are the characters? Luke, Mat(hew), Mark and the unknown John. But there’s others too? The two Mary’s, one of which is called the great widow or the widow from across the sea? Just remember! The meek are the ones who have nothing to lose. The powerful have to spend too much time protecting their power. And then there’s the… secret society thing–that which makes the world go ’round.

Oh, I ask, what is as silly as a man smoking menthol cigs and NOT knowing what they are?

Rant on.


Thoughts Wise People

23 11 04

It is time that limits all possibility. You loose possibility as time goes by.

Edward Albee:

You can take a blind person to a play and they’ll understand it; take them to a movie they’re lost.

The rest-stop in the search for truth is humour. (Not sure who/what said that.)

It should cost more to order an escalator that’s small and inefficient than one that carries a lot of people. (More thoughts on wise people.)



Links Berg Hoch

18 11 04

Someone is being chased and as he practically defeats his chaser (who is chasing for ransom) he cuts a deal with him. “Okay, you got me. Turn me in. Collect your ransom but then come back and get me out.” The story is what happens between chaser and chased to cause him/them to turn. The chaser turns in the chased only to break out again. But then the two (chaser and changed) realize that the the true/real motivator (Auftraggaber) is really a nice guy and only wants to help. But help what?


What–when someone dies and it is not their life–past that flashes before eyes but instead the future which then brings him back to life? (Stop. Pay tribute.)

Between deals the men walk in directions beyond their control. (So get directions? Not likely.) Like a lifeless but happy amiba just before asexual propagation takes the order of the day.


Bill Board. Bill has just inherited his father’s business. Bill Senior was a ruthless man bent on success. But his life comes to an abrupt end just as he is about to make a deal. His son, arrogant and unattached to his father, inherits the business. As the lawyers inform the sun about The Will and everything else, Bill Junior really has no clue about was what his father actually did. Now that he gets it all, he also wants to change it. The beginnings of Ted Turner and the billboard company he turns into an empire. Generation change, and the like. The start of cable and 24X7 news. How to blind a nation with billboards.

Direction note: Autobahn 46 > Wuppertal-Katenberg, Rechts runter, Shell/Aldi, weiter Xreuyung, links Berg hoch.

Be good.


Watermelon Justice?

17 11 04

The watermelon army. Name given to army put together by G. Washington to fight whiskey tax rebels (1794). This the first state vs fed confrontation. Thomas Jefferson resigned as Sec of State over the matter because he sided with the states who were opposed to such fed power.

See also Herman Husband.

Trying to figure out what motivates the hate (of govt) and seems to only facilitate the chaos.


She Walks In Gun Store

16 11 04

America. America. Do you hear the calling? Don’t kill the messenger, please. I’m just ’round (t)here, under your chin. I know it’s a mess but most porn endings are. So what. Don’t wipe me off with your spotted hanky just yet.

A woman walks into a gun store. The owner is always thrilled ot have a female customer. So he puts a little extra effort into providing her service. That she has no clue about guns makes the situation even more exciting. He asks her what she wants one for. She replies “I want to kill my husband because he’s been cheating on me with another woman.” The gun store owner steps back and goes into a short speech about how dedicated he is to selling guns and providing good service. But when people come in and cynically approach him and say things like that, well… He finds no amusement in it and would prefer not to do business with a cynic. “No, I’m serious. I want to buy a gun,” she says. He tells her again that he doesn’t do that kind of business. Then she pulls out a picture from her purse and gives it to the store owner. He looks at it. Pause. It’s the woman’s husband with the gun owners wife.

What’s the motto?

Rant on.


Stop Being With Stupid

15 11 04 – Moleskine

Choice isn’t about choosing but instead about which wrong(s) to pick. A little help from our worst-friend Zoroaster:

A supreme being created twins of reality and unreality. These are not about good and evil. Reality is objectivity. Unreality is subjectivity. Subjectivity becomes negative when we become subject to it.

So. There is no such thing as a stupid question. But one should fear getting answers from a stupid person.

Rant on.


Her Opposites

13 11 04 – Moleskine (including handwritten note).

Arrival. Home? Home away from home. In a trance. Listening to ghost-like words from my son’s wisdoms:

Wenn eine Lügt dem glaubt man nicht auch wenn er dann die Wahrheit spricht.

I think of nature. What is her opposites? Religion? Politics? Humanity? Belief, love, hope? (Just thought I’d throw them in there.) And then back to nature. What about the belief, love and hope in animals. I wonder if they trust us. If they even can trust since it must be obvious to anything living other than the human mind how manipulated we are and therefore incapable of more than we are capable. Oh, the pleasure. The comfort. The category of possibility. Wait. I think of nature. And I have found her antithesis.


Rant on.


Between Meridians

12 11 04

Yes. Between meridians I will mark it with this date. I have seen a vision. So many. Always trapped in the three walls of a black box. This time two people meet for a debate. One side of the stage is a table dressed in white prepared for a fancy dinner. Next to that, other side of stage, a rundown bar. The debaters try and prove arguments which are then enacted in various positions on stage. Yes. And what are the arguments? Who is debating? What scenes are playing out?’s love at the white table. A redneck brawl at the bar. The table then becomes the desk of a salesman trying to squeak the last penny out of a working poor schmuck. The bar becomes a counter at a doctor’s office or a department store, etc. The table becomes a place where a contract is signed. All the time the actors are playing out what eventually overlaps into the debaters lives. The things that baiters discuss: 1) international affairs, 2) the economy, 3) domestic issues. Put a twist on it. Give it some pizzazz. Just like the stuff the guy must have been on when he/she designed the cursive Z.

A woman on such and such flight was so confused that she mixed up the signs indicating if the bath stalls are occupied or not. Human intelligence can be measured by the change in airline service the last 30 years. Zero. Zilch. None. How disappointed she will be when she finally realizes the hell she’s landed in is just like the one she left. All those bodies still fucking and she’s waiting in line but doesn’t know it yet. Waiting for what? The dancing men around all corners of her mind. Jiggling something unfamiliar and sing some poem just off key. Oh the battles we must all wage. To get by. And yet we never ask why what where did it all start.


A Spec

11 11 04 – Moleskine

I would fall 1000 times to test whether my heart cannot possibly break. But to what and will my silly gesture lead? I have received it. Yet again. And as I will. Soon. You for it. The jolt of my broken America or perpetual decay the white to my yoke. There is so little since to be made of this peace anymore. It topples upon itself always and forever an eternal yet stagnant puddle reversed for the light it reflects and loathed for the mosquitos it makes. If I could only get inside her like that girl the other day–but oh, she, this life, won’t be the sorry pussies I’ve fucked all these years. There really is no hope since JC left us like this. It’s not the church I’ve come to despise but more the idear of JC and how the church has manipulated me in his name. But I still want to believe. The bible school love preached to me, illustrated by RGB colored books for four year olds. Yes, that love I want but to hang the church teacher liars.

It is this place I love so much. If only I could code into its soul a message (blah blah blah blah blah). Of course it’s a long shot. The want of such a thing. Yet it is a spec of something worth living for. This place, I love so much. Like a runaway father it eludes me. Sitting atop a Great Wall only seen from space twiddling its thumbs. Oh, I am my own stiff-arm. Out of control. Impenetrable. So there is a spec. Of something worth living for. Something so many stride for everyday as they live, drawn in mendacity. I have heard them yearn and live for so much but when in a brief second, during a quick discussion about life and mendacity, they indicate a hidden desire. An agenda. Is it the great and meaningful love-fuck produced between Disney and Porn-wood? No. I given in and hopefully admit to it being something else. A spec of something. Spec. Of want and desire. For meaning and knowledge. The moment comes and goes too fast. (S)wishing by in a hurricane with roof shingles.

Gripes. So many of them. The place I live, the place I’m from. The anger and frustration leaving my real home some 15 years ago is now the same for the place I live. Both have annihilated the other. Yet there is still meaning. Where will I find refuge? In the silly place where ironically Marx and the automobile were founded? No place to go between those things. And what things they are. In this night I will pass more than a Meridian.


After Math

06 11 04 – Moleskine

What are the things that modify? No, I mean motivate. Words and thoughts from others. Just finished Walden. Very inspiring but of all the nature I’ve been subject to it is the most non-sexual composition I have yet encountered. The author is asexual, right? There are practically no words, and certainly no thoughts, on women. What was Thoreau thinking? There was nothing about family either. Or Children. Very confusing.


“S11.2” A Play.

A play about the aftermath of a second 9/11. This time the country has fallen apart. Banks out of cash. Cities in ruins because infrastructure neglected due to govt. spending even more on protection. Huge regional packets of American’t are in apocalyptic chaos where corporations like Nike, McDonald’s, etc. were dropped from a “favorites list” of govt and hence left open to the hyenas.



Old Getting

05 11 04 – Moleskine

So few entries. Not just in this notebook. I spent the evening thinking about old people. Odd how so little of my thoughts having anything to do with my oldness. But O, let’s review these silly words in another thirty years.

Idear: a retire community, a grocer (Publix) and the old men packing the groceries. Retirement, what a privilege. Voting conservative. How can people not vote for Bush/Dubya? Even if the retired men packing groceries iterates his disgust for Dubya conservatism, secretly, deep down inside, he wants Dubya there because he will preserve his privilege.

Greek wannabe gulf town just north of St. Petersburg. Thinking about lawyers, don’t remember why, probably something to do with lobbyists or Dubya confusion. And so a play about American’t confusion driven by lawyering and tainted by media. Has this (sarcasm on) been done before? The protagonist wants to change the world but is finally beaten down by the system that he’s underestimated. The play/story is about his beating, defeat as an idealist. In the end he loses his cool and takes on the lame-brain lawsuit against him. He then runs amok. SNL producer for killing so many really fat comedians, i.e. Belushi, Farley, etc., and they died so young.


The End

03 11 04 – A weeping Moleskine.

The intellectual (or lack thereof) coup detat is complete. It is now AMERICAN’T. America’s dungeon doors are now locked, sealed. Her fate for the next century is enclosed with the emblem of Dubya (George W. Bush). Coins and cents will be tarnished with his resemblance and the mediocre (meek) will (shall) continue (inherit) to rise (the earth) by the seats of their SUVs. The struggle of the intellectual to win over madness is just that. How can a mind communicate w/ a non-mind? Yes, ignorance reins in this world and I see it clearly this day between the green of the gulf and ascending blue where a sky forever leads to the edge of a place we should be able to fall off. This is, therefore, the end. I’m not optimistic enough nor frivolous enough, to hope for what is right in my life-time. What is “right” has lost all meaning now. The response (with ignorance) to/of nine-eleven contains no thought, nothing cognitive in the least. And yet 3.5 million Americans believe that the path set since then is the “right” one–at least that’s what 03.11.04 tells us. And so there can be no correction other than a separation of states. Let the children of the red states serve and the die for their 9/11 response and the blue states suffer and loose weight for lack of (war driven) economics. When the final separation comes the red will prosper w/ large motorized vehicles serving as antics and the blue will be tired of starving when the first horde of invaders arrive.

Oh, in this consciousness I am driven to imagine. I wonder if irony and fate toy with me. Of course my intellect tells me it can’t. So I am stuck dreaming of the wonder. They, that is, who have left me behind. It will always be a simple journey, the path to my women. But once there I feel as if the struggle just begins or has already ended or… No matter who or what they are the clitoris stimulation connects them all. The byway to failure is nothing more than bypass surgery on a man who has never exercised in his life. To tell a mother to catch up w/ his mechanized health is like spitting in the wind. Oh, a God given (and not nature) planetary error.