Burke Before Paine?

Having a hard time reading Hanna Arendt. Reason? It’s not that I don’t or can’t understand her. She is most certainly NOT a difficult read. It’s just that…In my confused and un-trained reading-mind, I realize how little I know about so much of the history she is constantly referencing. For example, the quote above. It’s about Burke. For. Don’t you know. Thomas Paine heavily disputed everything Burke. So my confusion is about whether or not Arendt also disputes Paine. At this point I think she…? I’m confused. Then again, the quote above does say a thing or three about the stuff going on in #Americant since, obviously, former prez pee-pee-hair stole the $hit-show from the willingly STUPID.

Am I wrong.

Rant on.


Too Many Notes Understanding #Americant and #MAGA, Or Maybe Not

Source of pic: see link below

Things are complicated, eh, dear worst-reader. You know, like Mozart’s music, as the king of Austria once said: you use too many notes. Yet, this article, as academic as it may be, is kinda interesting. I mean. Even though I’m a fan of comparing my beloved & missed #Americant to the Weimar Republic–because the Weimar Republic is probably one of the best ways of understanding the rise of fascism–I often wonder why others don’t do the same. Does this mean that worst-writer has any sort of academic validity? Of course not. But $hits&giggles aside. On the other hand, it behoves me to grasp why anyone would want to be a professor of Thomas Mann’s writing. I mean. I splattered around a few pages here and there written by Mann in my wild reading days. But be assured of this: I never got to the end of any of it. I can say the same for Hemingway, as well. But before I get too far off worst-subject. 

There is one key thing I’ve taken from this article. The author is pretty thorough in noting that #nomatter what happens before or after #Trump, the likes of #MAGA transcend him. 

German novelist Thomas Mann spent most of World War II rallying the American people against Nazism and exhorting them to stand up for democratic values. Yet he also understood that no democracy can survive by culture alone — it also needs social justice to thrive.

Source: What Thomas Mann Can Tell Us About Defending Democracy

Ambitious Sarcasm

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Caesar answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest–
For Brutus is an honourable man;
So are they all, all honourable men–
Come I to speak in Caesar’s funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
But Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And, sure, he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.

-Marc Antony, Julius Caesar, William Shakespeare

Yes, dear worst-reader, these are the moments where things read cause a thought or three while cleaning my weber über-grill this morn. Oh how it needed a cleaning, don’t you know. So much oily stuff accumulating underneath the flames after month upon month of use–since our oven is broke. It only takes a piece of fatty steak to drip at the right moment to ignite the oily undergrowth. So it was a few days back. The whole grill and the steaks bellowed a black smoke as the grime lit up into dull, orange flames. And as I age, admiring the gluttony of the couch during these days waiting for the clock to strike “it’s drink time”, I gathered myself and said: Clean the fcuking grill you lazy biatch of man, earn your afternoon drink. And so I did. But then. While my power washer was acting up, I got to thinking about Marc Antony’s speech from Julius Caesar. Oh, how I’ve battled with this speech, perhaps not unlike I’m battling with my power washer. Even though I’ve only directed this play twice in my dream-mind, both times I fought with this speech the most. You know, what does it mean? Where is it going. Where has it been? Heaven forbid you’re stuck with an actor who thinks this play is about power. Hence the varied right-wing bend this speech can take, as though it were a crowd pleaser or crowd controller. Being the liberal I am, of course, means I can only allow Marc Antony to be the sarcastic prick that too few know he really is. And so, while power washing the grill plates and flame diffusers and heat deflectors of my grill, the parts that catch all the flammable grime waiting to light if not properly cared for–not unlike California these days, eh–I allowed my dream-mind to imagine, even for a brief amount of time, that I would play Marc Antony in my third directorial attempt at Shakespeare. And I would give the speech as I see fit, don’t you know.

There is a hint of sarcasm in there, or?

Rant on.


PS After my grill caught fire the other day, indicating it was time for a cleaning, the steaks that caused the fire weren’t all that bad. Indeed. They were tasty.

Putting Sugar Or Butter On It

cynthia ann parker

Pseudo review of Empire of the Summer Moon: Quanah Parker and the Rise and Fall of the Comanches by S.C. Gwynne

What to do as an eternal skeptic and an unwilling expat, dear worst-reader? Shutting down, as in, tuning out, might be an alternative. Yet, my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant is most certainly continuing its de-evolution, don’t you know. For example.

Can you believe what happened the other night (see link below)? A seventeen year old from Illinois illegally crossed his state’s border carrying the infamous AR-15 to a peaceful but over-curfew protest in neighbouring Kenosha, Wisconsin, and ended up, almost at the behest of local law enforcement (depending on your political bent, of course), killing some of those protestors as they tried to take little big-man’s gun away.

Did you get that?

Shall I repeat that… another worst-way? Indeed.

A seventeen year old militia-boy aka wannabe [The Comedian](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Comedian_(character), excluding the smiley-face, got in a pseudo vigilante row with other young people protesting the brutality of white-man, hate-man, WASP-sicko, crack-pottery that seems to so casually shoot black people (seven times in the back, don’t you know) on account they’re all to afraid of the shadows their ignorance has made because there is no intellect available to process the realities of politics post the death of the #Americant dream–aka that which #OKBoomer killed.

Indeed. Those who would raise a boy to seventeen so that he could go join his elders in replacing cerebral-ism with reactionary WWE (which now included MMA) batshittery all on account fear-monger shadow-making white people can continue to avoid facing the reality that they’re fcuked and the reason they’re fcuked is their own doing and it’s been going on with the inception of the greed shit-show that is #Americant post Ronald Reagan, baby.

But I digress.

And while I’m on the subject of white people avoiding truth, justice but adhering to the wanton will to be stupid… While all this #Americant dip-shittary, deprivation and delusion is going on, I just finished reading that Pulitzer Prize nominated, easy-read history book, almost written like a novel, about the end of the Comanche nation.

And get this.

The book kinda sucks. Or. Put in other worst-words, anybody could’ve written it and considering how and what is written (in it), it doesn’t give me the feeling that it hasn’t already been written. Wait. That makes no sense. #Nomatter. Let’s worst-write on, shall well.

Empire of the Summer Moon is yet another white-man whitewash of the single greatest and most successful genocide in all of human history. I mean. If you put the horror show that is the culling of Native Americans together with slavery… Heck. You got a royal fcukfest of death. Am I wrong? It’s no wonder that my beloved & missed #Americant has devolved into a death-cult that can only culminate in the likes of president pee-pee hair and the shitshow that is fail-upwards capitalism forever seeking its nadir.

But. Again. Before I get too far off worst-subject.

Empire of the Summer Moon is actually a pretty good read–if you’re not up-to-date on #Americant history and also have a bit of interest in Native American history. Since I’m already somewhat versed in that history, the reason for giving this book a read was because I thought it was going to be more about Cynthia Ann Parker. Although I’m somewhat familiar with the story of her son, the last Comanche chief, Quanah Parker, I’ve never read a book about his mother. Unfortunately, I still haven’t read one about her. I know. I know. I have to get my shit together. There are a few books out there about her. On the other hand, since this book uses those books as source material, I was hoping to get more from it.

Again. Here’s the thing, dear worst-reader. I need a book from the point of view of the Native American. The entire story I’ve been told about these people has always been from the POV of… wait for it. That’s right. White people. Or. Of course. Hollywood. Heck, I even dabbled years ago in the original screenplay that became a novel that then became a screenplay and ended up being the film Dances With Wolves. Even though I love the movie and owe a little chunk of my heart to Kevin Costner for making such a masterpiece of a film, of the half dozen or so times I’ve seen the movie, crying every time Wind In His Hair yells from that cliff top that Dunbar is his friend, I can’t stop the cynical gremlins in my mind that remind me I’m watching whitewash galore.

But I will hand the author of Empire of the Summer Moon, S. C. Gwynne, this. He did write a few lines in (t)his pseudo-history that threw me for a loop. Here’s one of those lines:

They [Indians] were three to four millennia behind the Europeans and Asians, and the arrival of Columbus in 1492 guaranteed that they would never catch up.

If civilisation began in and around the Fertile Crescent and from there humans spread across the globe, those who left the Middle East for the far east and who eventually ended up crossing the Baring Strait, must be the ones that became the peoples that Europeans encountered post Columbus’ treasure hunt. We already know that the reason these peoples are called Indians is because Columbus thought he landed in India. But that’s neither here nor there. I’m just boggled with this question: Are these people from the Fertile Crescent or from before that?

The thing that gets me about this book is that I’ve completely lost touch with a thought or three about the origins of the American Indian. Are they from the Stone Age or even before that? Or perhaps they are a people that freed themselves from the seed of human greed-hate early enough to live thousands of years in harmony with nature–until that greed-hate hit them with the arrival of Europeans. The origins of these people, of course, is what gives way to the evils of the white man’s prejudices. Hence the enslavement of Africa and the genocides of North America. Indeed. White Europeans have most certainly allowed their greed-hate to prosper in the (new) world–and through out history. Or am I the only one to notice that it’s still thriving today?

And so. Hail President Pee-Pee-Hair and his Eurowasteland origins and/or those who would write whitewash books well enough to be nominated for a Pulitzer.

And so. As the #Americant saying goes (via worst-writer): put some butter and sugar on it and all will be well as you swallow forever the lie of the mind.

Rant on.



Re-Read Galore: Slaughter House 5

slaughter house 5 cover

America is the wealthiest nation on Earth, but its people are mainly poor, and poor Americans are urged to hate themselves. To quote the American humorist Kin Hubbard, ‘It ain’t no disgrace to be poor, but might as well be.’ It is in fact a crime for an American to be poor, even though America is a nation of poor. Every other nation has folk traditions of men who were poor but extremely wise and virtuous, and therefore more estimable than anyone with power and gold. No such tales are told by the American poor. They mock themselves and glorify their betters. The meanest eating or drinking establishment, owned by a man who is himself poor, is very likely to have a sign on its wall asking this cruel question: ‘If you’re so smart, why ain’t you rich?’ There will also be an American flag no larger than a child’s hand–glued to a lollipop stock and flying from the cash register.

– Howard W. Campbell, Jr. via Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughter House 5, Chapter Five

It’s been twenty years (or so) since I last read this book, which was my second re-read. The first time I read it I was already on a plane ride to Frankfurt, around 1986 (or so), which would become the beginning of my expatriation. And so. What a joy to read it a third time. Of course. I was motivated to read it because my years as an expat in Germany have put me up against several claims to either have survived the Dresden fire-bombing or to have been born from it. Heck, even my wife’s mother went there to find refuge because Dresden was, at the time, one of the only places in all of Germany that hadn’t yet been bombed to $hit. Yeah, people thought they’d be safe there. Yet, the most extraordinary thing about this book, is that it is the source of a telling fact–at least a telling fact for worst-moi from the time I first read it. That fact is this: more people died during the fire-bombing of Dresden that used conventional weapons than died in Hiroshima where an Atomic weapon was used. But does such info even matter in these days of perpetual wars-of-choice? I mean, how many people have died since Dresden and Hiroshima because of wars-of-choice, bombings-of-choice, etc.?

Vonnegut has a knack for writing about my beloved & missed Americans, too–which makes it even more worthwhile to re-re-read.

Rant (and read) on.


Sympathy, Maybe Not

The emotions of man are stirred more quickly than man’s intelligence; and, as I pointed out some time ago in an article on the function of criticism, it is much more easy to have sympathy with suffering than it is to have sympathy with thought.

Oscar Wilde, The Soul of a Man

Summary Demise

hiding in plain sight cover

Pseudo-Review: Hiding In Plain Sight by Sarah Kendzior.

Cliffsnotes, dear worst-reader. Maybe that’s the ticket to understanding what happened to my beloved & missed #Americant since the advent of political stupidity and the election of a two-bit actor for president–oh so many years ago. But enough re-hashing of the good’ole days, eh. Haven’t we all had enough of The Ronald? As in, Ronald Reagan (and not Ronald McDonald)? But before you bite into the delicious pseudo-burger I’m preparing for ya… Let’s get on with The Donald aka President Pee-Pee-Hair–the friendly antithesis of The Ronald in this #Americant $hitshow of greed-galore.

Or maybe not.

The original thought for this worst-post was to make an analogy to Cliffsnotes and there being a pretty good summary out there for those who want to understand things. You know. Something like… Everyone needs a good summary of what it is that’s bothering him/her in order to figure out what the heck is going on–in #Americant politics–so the whole $hitshow can be fixed. I mean, ain’t that what Cliffsnotes are for? Cheating. As in. Cheating–for the greater good? Or? Then again. Figuring things out without actually learning anything–in a life of multiple-choice testing? Ain’t that how so many #Americants got their so-called edumacations and careers, especially college edumacations, and have subsequently guided the $hitshow down the road it’s on as though it and everything within it was nothing but a bad wizard of oz musical?

We’re off to see the…

Let me start again, dear worst-reader.

Sarah Kendzior’s book Hiding In Plain Sight is like a summary (CliffsNotes) of President Stupid and how he came to be–wihtout having to read any history. Except. Of course. In her summary she’s missing one big thing. That is, one big thing is missing in her book and it’s not unlike what everyone else misses in their attempt to figure out (CliffsNotes) what the hell is going on. Of course, I don’t blame Sarah for missing the biggest part of what made #Americant elect such a buffoon. Then again, the same #Americants did elect that other buffoon, Dubya, don’t you know. And just so we’re clear here. Barry-O and Bill Blowjob Clinton were not buffoons. And that’s the ticket, ain’t it, dear worst-reader? A good summary of buffoon-hood might be just enough to send whoever over the edge of knowing a bit more than he or she knew before thanks to faux newz, Rush Limbaugh, and the love of being really, really, really STUPID. Indeed. When it comes to knowing something… about politics… Don’t ask an #Americant.

But let us digress.

Hiding In Plain Sight is nothing less than brilliant–if you’re interested in understanding some of the stupidity behind not just #Trump but also what he stands for, how he actually raped his first wife Invana, and, where necessary, as little as possible about his ugly, disgusting and perfectly distracting clown hair. With that in worst-mind, Sarah Kendzior codifies from begin to end the political life and times of President Stupid–and what he really is. And she does it in about four hundred or so pages. From my POV that means #Trump is a thin book with an ugly hair-do-cover but Sarah is smarter than most to be able to make it all palatable. If I could afford it I’d buy hundreds of copies of this book and hand them out to everyone I see–while wearing gloves, a face mask, and after spraying each book with a bit of #Trump disinfectant.

So what’s missing in this book–and what’s missing in most summary’s (CliffsNotes) of what gave the world The Donald aka #Americant? As I’ve said through out this worst-blog, the thing that must not be forgotten or overlooked is the class system that voted for this guy, especially the ignorant and greedy middle-class that thinks/believes it is the chosen people. Too few actually call this class out, of course. I mean. Obviously. To call out this class of greed mongering gluttons… is nothing short of blasphemy. Hence, welcome to my expatriate world of worst-writing. And so. Faux-Newz does have an audience, or? Limbaugh & Co. has been talking to someone all these years. Am I wrong? #MAGA hats sell well, don’t you know.

The #okboomer generation is filled with closeted haters and bigots and spite-rearing automatons all of whom are reflected in the #Trump mirror. Add to that the fact that these people feel as though the world owes them… Indeed. What a mirror $hitshow. But how many actually look at the/their mirror? The last number I heard was sixty-two million. Sixty-two million greed mongers, who, like #Trump, have never been able to grow-up and out of the shadow of their parentage, voted for this guy because, well, they hate women, they don’t understand the difference between newz and propaganda like Joseph Goebbels does, and they never read It Can’t Happen Here, or anything else intellectual. Indeed. Of course. The other number is sixty-five million. That’s the number that voted for Hillary. But get this, dear worst-reader. Sixty-two million haters, bigots, greed-mongers combined with faux newz is obviously a lot more powerful than sixty-five million (plus the eight to ten million smart-asses that voted “independent”) who are obviously trapped in the rainbow of a unicorns arse. In fact, sixty-two million is enough to overlook, as Sarah & Co. do, because there are so many fascinating details about one man, his hair, and that mouth that looks just like an anus puckering atop a golden toilet jut before it expels a huge…

As good as this book is, it fails to call-out the real problem–just like everything/everyone else out there that think they have answers about my beloved & missed #Americant. So take a seat, dear worst-reader, and give my answers a go.

Or maybe not.

There is at least two generations of #Americants that have lived an unearned life of luxury and status unseen in all of human history. Hence the Disney/McDonalds/CocaCola/War nationalistic vernacular of exceptional, #MAGA, that hair, etc. And when I worst-say unearned, I mean: considering the state of debt-economics1 in #Americant today, it’s no wonder that all these people can do is either vote for more greed or more war or just hate women–as the likes of faux newz spews the only truth they know. Indeed. And so. These generations of #Americants have hell-to-pay, which is reason enough to have a mindless moron with yellow cotton-candy pee-pee-hair as… their a new & improved #MAGA-hat dear leader. What else are these millions of greed mongers to do?

Seriously. Someone. Please. Get rid of faux newz. Otherwise. All those who/that come after, will just learn to disguise their… pee-pee hair.

But before I get too far off on worst-writer’s ranting and raving about who and what worst-moi is, what I believe, and what I ran away from, let me get back to this great summary (CliffsNotes) of what/who #Trump is. Sarah Kendzior has put together a must-read for anyone that is willing and able to give President Pee-Pee-Hair a second look. For those who already hate the guy, there’s not much here. And even though I grew up with #Trump and already know what kind of idiot he and his NYC ilk really are, I’m glad that Sarah Kendzior wrote this book. It relieves me of some of the pain of being an expatriate #Americant on the verge of relinquishing my citizenship due to the ugliness and disgust I ran away from.

The only question that remains with me, and, of course Sarah Kendzior can’t answer, is what’s next for the sixty-two plus sixty-five million that are capable of this much blatant and outright gun-toting, nuclear warhead, stupidity?

Good luck suckers.

Rant and read on.


  1. Economic debt being synonymous with riding on the backs of others because, well, you can’t do anything for yourself, etc. ↩︎

The Snake

Trump loves to be caught and not be punished. Throughout the 2016 campaign, he recited the poem “The Snake,” a story of treachery that mocks the victims: “You knew damn well I was a snake before you let me in.” It is not enough for Trump to commit a crime. He needs to let you know that he got away with it. Others in his camp, like Roger Stone, share the same predilection. The thrill is in the flaunting, the in-jokes, the admissions so blunt that, perversely, few take them seriously. That’s also where the tell is, if you are working for law enforcement, but these days, federal law enforcement works for Trump.

Hiding In Plain Sight, Sarah Kendzior

Generation: Malice

I’m about fifty-two percent through the e-book version “Hiding in Plain Sight” by Sarah Kendzior, dear worst-reader. Not bad since I’m busy as bee in these days of worst-writing and corona-virus, i.e. same as it ever was when it comes to worst-writer social distancing, don’t you know. Even though a full pseudo-review of the book will follow, and I’ve already published two quotes from the book here and here, I have to let this go: what a f’n book! This chick can write, dear worst-reader. And don’t you’all love it when there’s a human out there that can write like this about everything that is so wrong with this world, doing it in a way that is whipper-snapper cool? On top of that, she most certainly nails it when it comes to creating a narrative that rips President Stupid–the commander n’ chief of pee-pee-hair–a new one. And not just President Stupid gets ripped a new one. She’s pretty dag-gone-it good a ripping all his cronies a new one, too. And don’t you know, dear worst-reader, I’m into these kinds of books. You know, books that tell the truth about my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant, that so many of my pseudo-comrades have missed–by remaining (with)in the $hitshow. If only I could find more of these books, eh. In fact, I recently tried Dark Towers by David Enrich but had to give up on it while reading the sample text on account, well, let’s just say he couldn’t bring me into it. Also. Let’s not forget, dear worst-reader, I did the same kinda give-up on Sarah’s first book, “The View From Flyover Country“. Now that her new book has intrigued me so much I’m more than willing to give Flyover a new look when I’m done. But will I return to Dark Towers? Nomatter.

With that bit in mind, here’s my first worst-thought that Sarah has connived me into at only half-way through her book. Malice. That it’s, dear worst-reader. The essence of Pee-Pee-Hair #Trump isn’t so much that he’s a genius or about anything involving (human) smarts to become President, it’s that he knows how to utilise malice to the point of negating the law. Although I’ve always suspected that malice played a big role in #Trump’s fail-upward success that is only possible in #Americant–or 17th or 18th century #Eurowasteland–I didn’t know it went this deep. Hence, #Trump is a byproduct of the yellow press of NYC. I suppose, coming from such a place, plus his disgusting parentage, can cause one to never consider why a fish can’t know a world without water.

But before I reveal too much worst-writing about this book, let me cease and desist and finish reading it. Till then, baby.

Rant on, baby.


Empirical Observation Of The Masses

This uncritical embrace of authority for its own sake is similar to the excuses given for the refusal of officials to address the attacks on the 2016 election in depth. (The Russians want us to distrust the integrity of the US election process, the pundit explains, therefore we must never, ever question what the Russians did to the election process!) The trustworthiness of a process or person was to be dictated from above by “history’s actors,” not decreed from below by the empirical observations of the masses. What (Karl) Rove did in that interview—and what Trump does now—was take the ruse one step further, and admit to manipulation openly, not even giving the public the illusion of an honest broker.

Hiding In Plain Sight, Sarah Kendzior

Good luck suckers.

Rant on.


End Times Hiding In Plain Sight

In the 1990s, history ended with the specter of the wealthiest men in the world raping teenage girls provided by a mafia-affiliated blackmailer. History ended in a sealed file, history ended in a silent scream, history ended with the last man warning you that if you tell anyone, you’d end too.

Hiding In Plain Sight, Sarah Kendzior

Rant on.


Get With The Program, Son. Not.

permanent record.jpg

Alternate title: Pseudo-Review: Permanent Record by Edward Snowden

Get with the program. Get with the program. One more time: Get with the program, son. Countless times that was said to me growing up in my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant. It usually was said after I tried to talk with someone older than me. You know, perhaps an acquaintance’s parent or just some older guy (an older Boomer) that I had met, encountered, but also a few people that were a bit younger (GenXers). It was all about growing up, don’t you know. Asking questions about life and this and that. Trying to figure things out. Yeah. It was about questioning the system and how I was supposed to fit in that system. Bah humbug, eh.

A few example questions:
why should I join the military if the military is only about empire and I never will be (about empire)
is there no alternative to years and years of debt-ridden college for a corporate job that hangs by a whim
with decimated labour and manufacturing post Reagan, how the hell am I supposed achieve what my parents achieved, they could buy a fcuking house for 50k 

Indeed, dear worst-reader. People would always sneer and smirk and then blindly, dumbfounded, spew monotone: Get with the program, son. And there you have it. Any person since the 1950’s need know nothing else about life or the system that is dysfunctional #Americant other than: Get with the program, son. And boy did I NOT get with the program.

Like so much in #Americant, the word program, in essence, is code. It’s another way of saying there are unwritten rules and laws and boundaries and unless you can afford otherwise, you must abide by them all. That is, btw, what is taught by the entire education system, don’t you know. As far as affording otherwise… As money became America’s new God (perhaps after God was declared dead by enlightened Europe), it was only inevitable, like all finite resources, that greed become its keeper. As in: greed is money’s keeper. With me still, dear worst-reader?

Oh, the greed-shit-show. Yet more code that may or may not differentiate worst-writer from Edward Snowden. In other worst-words, where Snowden thinks he’s fighting the good-fight, worst-writer knows the futility of non-fight fight. Where Snowden thinks there is a boogeyman out to get us all, worst-writer knows that truth is just a mirror, mirror on the wall–supplied by parents. Where Snowden dreams of a city upon a hill, worst-writer and perhaps a few others know that the city is rotgut and shit on a shingle controlled by old, white greed mongers and what ever it is they do with their private parts. But, again, before I get too far off subject…

Twenty or so years my younger, but with similar geographic background, I too was reared in the suburban hell of the mid-Atlantic coast and the government, gift-horse bubble of Washington, DC. With that in worst-mind, Snowden’s book has drawn me nearer. Nearer to myself, to my past, to all-things worth forgetting. For don’t you know, dear worst-reader, Snowden has had to deal with a world of trickle down-ness, of meritless but well structured pseudo-hierarchy, a world of blindness caused by fear. Fear due to wanton and misconstrued patriarchy and the ills of really, really, stupid ugly white people that just can’t figure it out for themselves: hey, suckers, you’ve been duped. But I digress.

I mean, obviously, Snowden is a B-genius. I have to give him that. In fact, the only thing missing in his book, Permanent Record, or his story, as far as I’m worst-concerned, is a bit more tech-talk regarding what, actually, either the NSA or the CIA did with all those plans of full and total government ownership of individual privacy. Snowden has given us content but I’m still waiting for context. Wait. Switch that. Flip it. Yeah. It’s the other way ’round. Or? Ok. Snowden revealed something. I guess. Nomatter.

Snowden is a dreamer slash true believer in the fallacy that there is/could be (a) government for the people and by the people–as though, not unlike #MAGA, it is something that was ever actually possible. Ok. Maybe it was possible before it all turned to THE LAND OF FREE TO BE STUPID and the greed shit-show that is the current iteration of #Americant. I’m referring, of course, to way back when, say, when FDR was elected President for four fcuking terms. But then came that warning from Eisenhower after which the right-wing and all those stupid ugly white men and their shit-show of greed got some mojo on. That mojo was Reagan, I suppose. Yeah, the flood gates of STUPID opened in the 1980s. Or am I wrong?

At the least, I’ve always questioned Snowden’s motivation for doing what he did. I mean, what was the point? To inform people about what they should know–inherently? Or has no one been paranoid about the fact, since its invention, a telephone call could be spied upon? Snowden’s generation is most certainly not the first to grow up in the mental spiral of government conspiracy theory, which is just code for people who don’t quite, intellectually, know how to question wanton and ill-gotten authority. I question his motivation even more now considering he writes, rather abruptly, subtly, and almost stealthily on page 257 of chapter READ,WRITE, EXECUTE:

I needed a way to work with the files, search them, and discard the irrelevant and uninteresting, along with those containing legitimate secrets that I wouldn’t be giving to journalists.

I’m sorry. Did you not reveal legitimate secrets? Oh. Wait. They were powerpoint presentations…

For you see, dear worst-reader, although what Snowden revealed is kinda interesting, none of it surprised worst-moi. I worked, although not at a technical level as Snowden did, on a few tech projects with a few tech companies in my day–I even worked, to my regret, for Booz Allen’s commercial consulting business in Europe as an analyst and researcher. The one thing I will always remember is how error-prone to point of failure large scale data collection can be. I mean, come on, dear worst-reader, did any of this tech collecting stuff stop 9-11? What about the Boston bombing, where only after the fact did they know about the bombers communications via cellphones? My point is this: in a greed mongering society that is incapable of differentiating its political and social needs, and when it spends massive amounts of resources to maintain a dream-delusion, it’s no wonder that organisations like the NSA and CIA turn into a monstrous apparatus that has to somehow justify its existence (costs). Now just add a bunch of hyperbolic, paranoid #Americants to the mix all elbowing each other off a small plank barely attached to a sinking ship… Yeah, baby, the greed $hitshow.

Is Snowden just another angry white guy raised by another angry white guy who was also raised by an angry white guy? Snowden’s details about his family heritage dating back to the Revolutionary War, which was/is a great way to start the book, btw, is reason enough to think, well, there’s a lot of anger running through veins. I mean, considering what’s come of that revolutionary war, don’t you know, and how things are all about the rich eating the poor and the poor–especially the middle class poor–just eating up the likes of what a guy like #Trump tells them… OMG! How else could the ineptitude of faux-newZ permeate so much of a society hell-bent on wet t-shirts, reality TV, WWE and now, of course, #Trump, #MAGA, President Stupid!

Don’t get me wrong. I feel for Snowden. I’ve been to Moscow. Great place to visit, btw. St. Petersburg has the fresher air, though. That worst-said, I’m also first hand aware of the suburban hell that reared Snowden. How I laughed and giggled when he writes about Columbia, MD, and the travel to VA for work. I travelled from College Park, MD, to Gaithersburg, MD for a while. After that I commuted from College Park, to Columbia, MD, too. It was all part of trying to finance the lie of university studies–which ended up being an effort in $hit-futility–and eventually lead to my dropping the $hit-show greed game of #Americant for other shores. But. Again. I’m off subject.

Permanent Record is a great read–especially if you’re an ageing Marylander that jumped ship because, well, Maryland, VA, DC, the east coast, the midwest, and the gluttony of all else #Americant is worth disembarking. Other than that, I really enjoyed reading this book. Got a kick out of it, if you will. And I’m glad Snowden wrote it–even if it seems like a bit of stretch to believe that he really penned it all by himself. Still. I’m gonna recommend it. I might even gift it to a few people. For, don’t you know, dear worst-reader, even a fight of futility, skewed from the get-go, might be worth fighting for. What the heck. And before I end this worst-post.

Here are some of the notes/issues/thoughts I had and may or may not have scribbled in the margins of pages, pages, pages, while reading this book:

  • it’s important to know where someone is coming from, you know, as in their politics
  • is Snowden part of a right-wing sub-culture in #Americant that has been indoctrinated into such an extreme anti-liberal (anti-Democrat Party) sentiment from which there is no alternative political point-of-view meaning that there is only one point-of-view
  • this is the result of a pseudo bourgeois class, a delusional false American dream middle class, that has never taken a sincere look at itself for, perhaps, intellectual enlightenment, and so, this class has remained in a state of mental recess, a grey zone of ineptitude–that has children
  • protesting via espionage for citizen rights that are aligned to a document (The Constitution) that was never written for the poor or the downtrodden or even the fcuking spoiled rotten privileged middle-class… yet privacy is the motivator
  • real protestors, worthwhile protests, are/were occupy wall street, Aaron Swartz (who, thankfully, Snowden briefly mentions in chapter Love and Exile, p. 329)
  • liberals have long since proved that they can change their political direction, which is exactly what Bill Clinton did in the 90s by clamouring on to Reagan’s Neo-liberalism and even having the most success with it, aka the tech boom happened on Democrats watch but is Snowden aware of that
  • the problem with Snowden is his politics which he refuses to name but is perhaps obvious: he’s a right-winger reared by right-wingers and he’s oh-so incredibly suburban hell white and and and
  • his girlfriend refers to shooting guns with him (or as a means to ward off stress), see chapter From the diaries of Lindsey Mills
  • the ship at sea analogy: sysadmins are not ship captains, instead they are something akin to ship builders or even sailors and when they squeal they only bring down their ship–not that which made the ship (pick your poison, pick your enemy, pick your…)
  • One should never let the ship builder sail the ship, hence the delusion birthed by the lie of freedom, the lie of inalienable rights, the lie that is The Constitution that was never about we the people but instead we the privileged, we the haters of aristocracy so that we can make our own aristocracy, we the ones, like the French eventually, that should have chopped the fcuking heads of King fcuking George the 3rd and and and–instead of giving us pseudo king George the 3rd coloured like a fcuking orang-utan and is now President Stupid leader of all stupid people

Good luck suckers.

Rant on.


October Reading List And Missing Eyewear Nose Bridge

october 2019 reading list

Superfluous post indeed, dear worst-reader. Begs only the question: what to do, what to do, what to do… in this consume-to-survive world of nothingness galore? Then again, at least I can still read. You know, read, as in, read something to expand the/my mind. It is, must be, a requirement in these days of Marvel movie trauma, don’t you know–although I do dig that scene in Avengers Endgame where Captain Marvel finally appears and has a quick pow-wow with Peter Parker as an apocalypse rages around them.

Scene: Captain Marvel destroys huge alien ship that is reeking ballistic havoc on the Endgame battle field. As the ship crashes to the ground Captain Marvel lands with a thud in front of a distraught Peter Parker as he’s struggling to protect the infinity stones. Captain Marvel is standing above Parker, who is in a ditch cradling the infinity stone glove like a baby.

Peter: Hi. (Odd, quick pause.) I’m… (Another odd quick pause.) Peter. Parker.

Captain Marvel: (Cute grin on her face as she sports a new hair style contrasting previous appearances.) Hey. Peter Parker. You got something for me?

The cadence and tone of Captain Marvel (Brie Larson) is mesmerising–to me. At that moment in the film I wish Captain Marvel was two scoops of gelato, chocolate and pistachio, atop a butter crusted cone. But enough about worst-moi.

You know the thing that really gets me about my October reading list to help me get over Brie Larson? Check out the cover of Snowden’s book. What the heck is going on with his glasses? Who the hell wears glasses with a nose pad missing on one side of the bridge? What? Can’t see it? Well, I see it. And it’s driving me crazy.

Rant (and read) on.


Hick Fascism Dog Whistle

As suggested earlier, the rise and institutionalisation of the Ronald Reagan political clique, first in California as governor, 1967-1975, and then as U.S. President, 1981-1989, was a major green light for the development of white supremacist groups, from marginal and obscure to mainstream, by the dawn of the twenty-first century. Reagan and his cronies and political descendants were masters of the device that came be known as a “dog whistle,” using certain tropes and symbolic actions that telegraphed toxic white supremacy and anti-black racism. As Reagan’s “free market” economic and anti-union policies, accompanied by rapid de-industrialisation and job shrinkage, produced homelessness and insecurity of the most vulnerable, they also increasingly affected white workers, making them easy prey to the white nationalist and politicised evangelical groups that had their own narrative about the causes–big government (including mysterious black helicopters), secularisation, banks (always implicating jews), poverty programs (always identified with African Americans even though the majority of recipients were in fact white), and Mexican migrants and women taking their jobs.

-from Loaded by Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz, Chapter 8, White Nationalism

Note: “Hick Fascism” is from Mark Ames: http://www.nsfwcorp.com/dispatch/newtown

Rant on.


The First Soap Opera

hamilton cover

Title #2: maybe the founding fathers weren’t so special after all

As the initial reports of the Broadway Musical Hamilton began to appear on my computer screen a few years back, I found my worst-self getting confused about whether to like it or hate it. Was it the shows immediate success that drove me to such inner spite-drama? The play was an immediate smash hit as it was catapulted from a mediocre off-broadway production to a major broadway production within an unusually short period of time, according to its wiki page. Or was it the casting, the dramaturgy, the writing, the stage production, the drag-queen blowjobs between acts, etc., that confused me? And then that whole rap-musical thing? A rap-musical about the founding fathers–all of whom are played by non-white actors? So does that mean George Washington is in black face now? Go figure.

Actually, in all worst-seriousness, that’s kind of a great idear. At least, Chernow seems to be quite thorough in reminding the reader (or in my case worst-reader) about a few of the sins of the founding fathers, namely the human servitude $hit$how that built the great greed $hit$how. But that was then and this is already yesterday. For, as you may (or may not) know, dear worst-reader, Hamilton the musical, by Lin-Manuel Miranda, is a bit of stretch from the book it’s based on. Am I wrong?

While I’m on the subject of the play, I tried to get tickets last year to see it on a trip to my beloved & missed united mistakes, thereby re-routing my flight through NYC. Lo and behold, I got a taste of what broadway success in this new era of greed-galore is all about. The cheapest tickets I could find were priced waaaaaay out of my league, which subsequently put the show on my shit-list. I mean, why oh why, dear worst-reader, when a broadway show is so popular and so successful, they haven’t made a movie out of it so the rest of us can get a peek? Elitism galore anyone? I’m so turned off by this level of pricing for a friggin play that I could dance around Marie Antoinette’s detached head or even wear the blood stained basket that head fell in while singing in the rain. Indeed. Let them (or the rest of us) eat brioche, ain’t that right dear worst-reader! But enough silliness aside. This play is just another reason to hate the hob-snob of broadway theatre–which at one point in this worst-life I loved so much.

Oh wait. I’m off subject. Enough about being worst-writer.

Although it took a decade or three for me to come around to this unique if not (what I consider) odd form of theatre, that I always thought was a bit cheesy, I’m now kind of a musical fan. At least I really dug Mama Mia. Still, there have been a few shows I’ve put on a pseudo to-do list. It is a list that varies based on mood, amount of drink (the night before) and, of course, cost. With that in mind, will I ever go out of my financial way to see any of the shows on that list? Probably not. Reason? Hamilton is based on a book. If it’s based on a book, why do I have to bother with the hob-snob of elitist über expensive theatre? And get this: A few weeks ago, out of the blue, the Apple bookstore offered Hamilton by Chernow for something like seven and half bucks. So I snatched it up and immediately moved it up my to-read list. Oh wait. Hold a sec. It’s not just any book, though. No. It’s a really, really thick book. Like. Seriously thick. Even in digital form. Wow. Almost a thousand friggin pages? Oh my.

It took me about four weeks to get through it. I scheduled regular reading sessions either in the morning or during my afternoon nap where I would turn digital page after page, sometimes pushing myself through a whole chapter in one session. Then were/are (my) morning constitutional reads, too. But don’t be afeared dear worst-reader. It shouldn’t disparage you that I have books above and around my Euro toilet1. Reading is good. Right? Nomatter where you read. Or? I mean, I haven’t watched TV in over a decade. And I regularly dust off the books in my fancy book shelf, too. Sometimes I even contemplate sorting all my books. But that’s a whole ‘nother worst-post. Anywho.

The plan to get through this thick (digital) book was to hammer away at least four or five pages two or three times a day–depending on the previous evening of drink, ambient temperature, the mood of Beckett our killer-pug and, of course, my better half’s desires for a fulfilled life. That may not sound like much dedication (or is it commitment?) to getting through a book, and there were a few moments here or there where I wasn’t able to pick up the book for a few days at all. Nomatter. The important thing is, I was determined to get through it because, well, fcuk theatre elitism that is über dramatisation, drag-queen antics and the stench of broadway that can only give rise to the likes of President pee-pee-hair. Am I off subject yet again? Oh yea. But before I forget. From what I can tell from wiki, liberties have been taken by the play creator. So let’s get back to the book.

The only other question I had about committing myself to such a large book about a history that I am well versed in wasn’t if/when I’d finish it. No. The important question was, how long would it take? Would this be yet another history book that is too winded? Would I give up on it because of its length? And most important: how much of it would I retain? Then again–and get this dear worst-reader: the month of May (2019) turned out to be one of them rare months were I was reading three major books at a time. And let’s also not forget all the worst-writing that need be done. Then there’s the daily deluge of reading Das Capital–in fcuking German! Oh, and what about the dog sitting, the dishwashing, the cooking and the frequent tickler sessions with my better-half. May (the month) also included various visitors, two trips (one to Paris!) and a long two day house cleaning session that I promised my better half in exchange for sexy-time. Indeed. A thousand pages of meticulously researched and well versed history ain’t nothing for a redneck battling inner ugly prejudices–to shake a stick at. And so. This past weekend (while on that trip to Paris) I finished it–pictures n’all! And so…

Worst-writer’s pseudo-review of…

Hamilton by Ron Chernow.

Keep in mind, dear worst-reader, I’m a Gore Vidal fan. Here’s a tag link to my GV posts. As I’ve said here or there, I believe that all schools in my beloved & missed #Americant should learn history from GV. In other worst-words, all schools should just stop the BS they’re teaching kids right now–which has, over the span of at least two generations, systematically deprived the intellectually capacity of a nation, which can only lead to the right-wing, conservative, greed-mongering batshittery that is #Americant. Am I wrong? And so. Stop it now, LAND OF FREE TO BE STUPID! Read Gore Vidal and learn something. But I die-gress.

I thoroughly enjoyed Vidal’s Novel Burr, which may or may not be the anthesis of Hamilton. Of course, Burr is not quite a real history or biography. Or is it? For you see, dear worst-reader, Gore Vidal writes histories in novel form. Is that why they’re called fictional histories? Or is it novel histories? How bout a fictional novel? No. They’re called historical novels. What a great idear, don’t you know. There’s a genre for everything. Is that why such a book can entertain intellectual deviants that live and prosper in the LAND OF FREE TO BE STUPID? Yes, it can. And what about the edumacated who think they know everything? You know, the college grads that have been running, managing, facilitating the greed $hit$how? Compared to GV, though, Chernow has written a plain old history book–or is it a biography? Or has he? At the least he writes for those who:

  • have the time to read/focus on almost a thousand friggin pages,
  • don’t mind a bit of history regurgitation that most should already know (but of course so many of them do not on account of #Americant intellectual deviancy)

Before I continue, allow me to state briefly how/why this book was catapulted up my to-read list. It was the WHCD 2019 that did it. As you may or may not know, President Stupid (pee-pee-hair) and his ill-humour, saw to it that no one make fun of him anymore after Michelle Wolf drilled him a new a$$hole in 2018. (What a performance that was, eh!) For 2019 Ron Chernow was invited to fill the comedian spot–but President piss-hair still didn’t attend. Obviously not a comedian, Chernow did a great job out-smarting President Stupid’s minions–who thought they had a win-win by getting rid of a comedian. You can watch Chernow’s “speech” at the link provided below. As soon as I finished watching it, I did a hop, skip and jump over to the Apple book store which was selling the same book for half the price of that other online book retailer–that sucks piss rain as much as #Trump has pee-pee-hair.

Back to the book (again).

Why Chernow chose to spend so many words on public school level history-telling is a bit of a mystery to me. The good news is, he’s a brilliant history teller/writer–which also comes out in his WHCD speech. The bad news is, Gore Vidal is just a better writer/thinker when it comes to this sort of thing. And get this, Chernow even takes a swipe at GV towards the end of his book. He says that Vidal was wrong in his narrative assumption2 that Burr wanted to duel Hamilton because the latter accused him of an incestuous affair with his daughter. Chernow insinuates that Vidal’s take on history is unprovable. The problem is, Chernow doesn’t convince me that he knows everything better than GV. Also, I thought it kind of a krappy thing to do since GV ain’t around to defend himself. And so. Yeah. I prefer–and believe–Vidal’s take on the reason for the great duel. At the least, GV’s version fits better to the mindset that is #Americant.

Chernow’s work is, from what little I can tell, more academic than, say, Gore Vidal’s. That said, Chernow constantly plays on the third-grade, knuckle dragging banalities of realpolitik wrapped in sexually repressed patriarchy run amok–and all because somewhere, somehow, someone thinks there’s almost something holy about Alexander Hamilton. Hence the title of this worst-post. Through out the book Chernow lingers between academia and, maybe, a museum–and, of course, lots of bitching and moaning between founding fathers who were, at best, lead poisoned to the hilt? (Just throwing that out there.) Then again, the more and more I read–and there is plenty of excess to read in this book–his text became more and more of pseudo soap opera than a book about history. Perhaps that’s the reason it is easily transferrable to the drama-queen stage of elitist Broadway. I worst-write pseudo soap opera, btw, because within the first two chapters it became clear that Chernow was playing The Drama card in telling his history of AH. Indeed. The conniving, the snickering, the love-fest of whose money is better or whose wig is fancier has certainly permeated #Americant ever since. Is that the history that need be learned?

Don’t get me wrong, dear worst-reader. I’m not referring here to daytime TV soap opera krapp. You know, the emotion BS that has raised at least two generations of submissive wives? I mean. Come on. Times have changed, eh. For me, the modern old-rot .e.g. Days of Our Lives, Young and the Restless, etc., has been superseded by new-rot e.g. The Sopranos, Mad Men, GoT, and… Wait for it. Hamilton the fcuking musical. The banality of corporatism, war mongering and greed, greed, greed, is a perfect incubator, don’t you know, for where #Americant has taken itself. Or am I the only worst-writer that’s questioned how/why so many disgusting white men can become President Stupid. On the other hand, could Chernow have known that his bloated and somewhat superficial style of history telling, originally published in 2007, would turn into a pop culture broadway phenomenon playing on all the anti-intellectualism that is so well-fed in the year of your Lord, 2015? Again: we live in a world of reality-TV. Where does that come from?

This book is meticulously well researched and written. It has been worth the struggle to read. Would I read it again? Will I refer to it in the future? I don’t think so. I’m gonna stick with Gore Vidal. Also, I’m no longer hell-bent to see Hamilton on stage. The book was more than enough and from what I can tell via Wiki, I’m not sure the narrative of the play interests me either. I might watch the movie if/when it ever comes out (the sooner the better before I lose all interest) or watch it in pieces while focusing more on Mama Mia.

For those worst-readers interested, here a short-list of the things I will take with me from Chernow’s work.

  • Hamilton’s Caribbean upbringing and subsequent rise to fame is a fascinating rags to riches, almost Cinderella story, albeit a bit über-dramatised by the author
  • Federalist (Washington, Hamilton) vs. Republican (Adams, Jefferson) is two sides of the same coin fighting the fight that would eventually result in #Americant and greed, greed, greed that till this day is same as it ever was
  • how Hamilton was able to acquire so much knowledge before leaving the Caribbean for NY is interesting but surely not worth a pop-musical
  • perhaps AH’s personal situation is similar to Spock’s (that’s right, that Spock) and how he had to fight for having mixed parents (ok this one is full silly?)
  • very impressed with the relationship AH had with George Washington and I now have a better opinion of GW
  • although this book is supposed to be about AH, I found the Thomas Jefferson v. George Washington ideological fight to be as interesting
  • buy-the-by, Thomas Jefferson is now on my shit-list
  • AH’s work ethic, how much he wrote, it’s now motivated me to re-read The Federalist Papers
  • AH is portrayed as a humble man, also an abolitionist, but I don’t believe that he was in anyway… a good guy (for good guys don’t die the way he died!)
  • all the text about whether or not #Americant would be a monarchy or republic wasn’t very interesting because the author fails to focus on how it managed to turn money into its monarchy, and, for sure, its god/religion
  • I want to read more now about the French Revolution versus the #Americant revolution and also juxtapose both with the Russian revolution
  • duelling should be called out for what it is and not be legitimised as a means of conflict resolution let alone require almost a thousand fcuking pages to get to, for it is just another example of how stupid white men (if AH was even white) behave, even to this day
  • a great example of how to turn history into a soap-opera, perfect for a/the reality-TV mind

Nuff for now.

Rant and read on, baby.


Links that motivated this post:
WHCD 2019
WHCD 2018

  1. That’s right. Some claim that those of us who read while on the shitter might also be somewhat intellectually challenged. Well, to that, I say: fick dich! ↩︎
  2. Is there such a thing as “narrative assumption”? Of course there is. I am worstwriter.com, baby. ↩︎

She’s A Man, Baby


Raquel Welch Myra Breckenridge

Pseudo-review: Mrya Breckenridge, the novel–not the movie!

I saw the movie thirty-five (or so) years ago1. Somehow the movie stayed with me–and not only because of Raquel Welch who is, other than Rita Hayworth, the only Hollywood bombshell worth gawking at like a fifteen year old man-boy run amok with girly magazines. At the least, reading Gore Vidal’s Empire series helped in finally getting me to his novels even though Myra Breckenridge made my have to read before I die list only around fifteen years ago2. And so. I finally got around to it the other day. And that’s what matters, right? Finally getting around to something? The worst-word now is: thank goodness I finally got around to it.

My first thought was: why did it take so long? Second thought was: hallelujah! Then again, there was that one chapter (Chapter 29!) where Myra straps on a dildo and has her way with an aspiring young Adonis-like acting student thereby changing him and his personality… Hollywood-forever-more. As uncomfortable as that chapter was, reading it kind of solidified where the novel, and Vidal, was actually going. For. Indeed. Dear worst-reader. It was a tough chapter to read. But get through it I did. And so. Is my manliness still intact–unlike Rusty’s?

The capacity for wit and humour and more wit knows no bounds in this book. Does that mean it’s opened my mind to read more of Vidal’s novels–since I’ve only read his historical novels and various essays up to now? By-the-buy, the reason for reading only his historical novels is simple. Like most #Americants , important things get lost in the ether of the greed $hitshow. Or they get lost in the hope and want of Disney. Or both. At the least, being an #Aemricant can be very convoluting. And so. Every #Americant should read Gore Vidal’s Empire novels. In fact, all public schools in my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant should stop all the pseudo-history they’ve been learned (taught) so far. In fact, fire all the pseudo-teachers (of history) now. Simply replace it/them all with reading Vidal’s Empire series. You know, Burr, Lincoln, etc. It’s probably the best way to learn our history, don’t you know. But on that note, I should digress.

The version of Myra I have also contains Myron, which is supposed to be a follow-up novel. But I also ordered The City And The Pillar which I’ve prioritised to read next–unless I get to another Empire novel. I guess I’ll eventually get to Myron but somehow I’m not as motivated. Perhaps Myra was enough. Indeed. I’m really, finally, thinking more in terms of getting around to finally reading Washington DC, which is the one important Empire novel I’ve still not read. I’m actually missing something in my soul since I haven’t read one of Vidal’s Empire novels in awhile–and perhaps also because of finally reading Myra. Again. Nomatter.

Myra Breckenridge is a hoot to read. Set in Hollywood of, I guess, the 60s, Myra is a teacher of sorts at an acting academy. And guess what she teaches? That’s right. At an acting school in Hollywood she doesn’t teach acting. No. She teaches posture and empathy. Who would have guessed that such a thing exists/is required for Hollywood? In fact, the great scene (Chapter 29) where she tries to set the story’s Adonis-like acting student’s spine straight by breaking his heterosexuality, she does so in the name of… wait for it. Posture. Although Myra’s motivation is to dominate and manipulate others (a well established #Americant Hollywood creed) via her fluid if not didactic sexuality, she is also obsessed with another burgeoning #Americant-ism: that of acquiring wealth without means, i.e. through the death of her late husband Myron. I’m now convinced Vidal had something quite different in mind with Myra other than creating something for $hits & giggles–which is the #Americant way of dealing with sex. By-the-buy, such an iconic (literary) character could never be properly portrayed in a prude #Americant movie of the 1970s–even if it did star one of the greatest bombshells of the twentieth century. I’m worst-wondering if the film could/should be remade? Nah. #Americant still ain`t ready for it.

Considering the discourse today regarding sexuality, compared to what I grew up with, e.g. hardcore 1960 > 1970 feminism plus a krapp load of closeted gays, Vidal just might be a prophet above and beyond his fictionalisation of history as he’s done so well with his Empire novels. At the least, what Vidal writes about in Myra is only slightly askew from my personal experience(s), although I never met a transexual… a transgender… Sorry, I’m still confused about all that stuff. Nor have I ever lived in Hollywood. But I have crossed paths wit a bunch of fags in my day. Nomatter.

Much has been said about Myra Breckenridge since its publishing (1968). But I’m curious if much of what need be said has been said about it. You know, #Americants and prudes do find a way to suppress this sort of stuff in the best and usually not subtle ways. On the other hand, Vidal has seen into the future with this book. A future I’m now living in. The only thing missing from it, IMHO, is a proper conclusion. Perhaps I’ll get that conclusion after reading Myron. Then again, my guess is I won’t. That’s the one criticism I have of this book. It’s too much about Vidal’s personal POV regarding his sexuality which I’m guessing is old school faggism. You know, no anal, lots of hand-jobs, a few more blowjobs, no PDA and never, ever, go overboard with acting über-feminine. Or maybe not.

Myra Breckenridge (the novel) is something between a kind of Hollywood soap-opera and a very dark comedy run amok. But I think Vidal’s text says a lot more than portraying a man as a woman as a man. This book is a depiction of #Americant and its true face, including its true heart and how morally corrupt it all really is–simply because of the confusion caused by what is really amorality. Yeah, so much for family values, eh! Read in 2019, it’s still as sad and sorrowful and infantile, yet also inspiring, as it should be. If only #Americants (like Vidal) could be as unapologetically hi-larry-us as the Brits with, say, their Monty Python stuff. Or maybe not.

Rant on.


PS Compared to the book, the movie really does suck–although it might squeeze out a laugh or two while gawking at Raquel Welch.

  1. I can’t remember exactly; I either saw it at my university cinema or on VHS during a college drunken stupor. Nomatter. ↩︎
  2. After constantly being reminded of the significance of GV’s teachings. ↩︎

Oh Yeah, Daniel Boone…

What Daniel Boone, like George Washington, was up to was intruding upon sovereign Native land so as to covertly survey it and sell it to white settlers, who would then form themselves into militias to murder the families who had been living there for generations. Some were successful and grew rich and powerful, such as George Washington, while others, like Boone, never attained wealth, his land speculations resulting in bankruptcy. Regarding Boone’s hunting career, it was purely commercial; he killed animals not for food, but to sell their pelts for profit. Boone made a modest living as a market hunter. Annually, trekking alone or in small groups of other market hunters, he would go on “long hunts”–months-long expedition into unceded Indian hunting grounds. Collecting hundreds of buck deer skins in the autumn, he would then trap beaver and otter for the valuable pelts over the winter. In the Spring, market hunters returned to sell their bounty to commercial traders. In this business, buckskins came to be known as “bucks,” originating the slang term for “dollar.” But the legend and lore that mushroomed around Daniel Boone advanced notions of the hero explorer and adventurous hunter, and were written over the fact that he was a merchant, a trader, a land speculator, and a failed businessman. -from “Loaded,” Chapter Five – Myth of the Hunter, by Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz

If you’re interested, more on this book here.

Rant (and quote) on.


A Thread Runs Through It

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Subtitle: Pseudo-Review of Loaded by Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz

Metaphorically worst-writing (or is it analogically) I often use the idear of a thread, as in, a thread runs through it to explain something. I can also worst-say it thus: Without this thread the whole quilt will wilt. For worst-moi and the emotions I wield for my beloved & missed #Americant , the thread up to now that holds the whole $hit$how together hasn’t been so much the violence but instead… The Stupid. Indeed. THE LAND OF FREE TO BE STUPID. My beloved & missed #Americant is a quilt of stupid. As in: stupid thread runs through it. But on that note I digress.

Just finished reading the book Loaded by Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz. It’s a terrible book, don’t you know. Wait. I don’t mean terrible as in a terrible written book. No. In fact. It’s a totally well written book. When I say it’s terrible, what I mean is, it’s a terrible (terribly) printed paperback. For indeed, dear worst-reader, this is the third physical book in the last five books I’ve read (or so) that is real, aka physical book. Does this mean I’m steering more and more away from e-books of yore–which at one point I thought I would never yield? Not sure yet. The next book I read I plan to read on a screen. But which screen? Nomatter.

We were worst-discussing a thread runs through it, right? And poorly printed cheap paperbacks. Well get this. There is one thread that goes through the entire history that is the quilt of my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant –and this little poorly produced book addresses that thread brilliantly. Which means, we can tolerate a bit of poor/cheap printing. Or? Anywho.

Can you guess what the thread is I’m referring to here, dear worst-reader? Here’s a hint (spoiler alert): guns. Ok. Maybe it’s not a hint. Nomatter.

The author of Loaded manages, within around two hundred pages of a really cheap printed paperback–the latter third of those pages printed as though Gutenberg were on a heeling ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean–to locate that single thread of quilt-history and thereby lead the reader onward and onward and onward to some hard truth about #Americant . The only thing that’s missing is the other thread of the grand #Americant quilt according to expat worstwriter: STUPID. But let’s not get too far off worst-subject. Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz ain’t worst-writer!

TOC of Loaded almost summarises the #Americant history of violence galore.

I’ve always been a skeptic when it comes to the idear that #Americant was built on slavery. I mean, obviously, slave labour is part of the founding of the grand greed $hit$how. But the realty is, that part of history was perpetrated by Europeans–not Americans. At least not Americans as we/the world knows them since, say, the 1950s–which is what I consider to be the America the world knows today. Indeed. And so. It was the Dutch, the Belgians and of course the British that gave the world mass exploitative labour that enabled the building of… new & improved Egyptian Pharaohs. Even those numb-nut colonists, aka George Washington & Co. (new Pharaoh #1) were more European than what would eventually become gun totting hamburger slobs all on the verge of killing not just his/her neighbour but the whole $hit$how of slobs. In other worst-words, don’t you know, #Americant wasn’t built on hard work, ingenuity, industry, etc. No. It is a place of exploitation, sexual repression (which is a conduit to further exploitation and violence) and the propagation of ignorance in order to have a system of wealth creation for the few and far between, i.e. the new & improved Pharaohs. Because of its shear size and economic magnitude, though, it’s easy to avoid facing the reality of what a $hit$how things have become. And so the European slave makers became #Americant . THE LAND OF FREE TO BE STUPID.

Although Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz would have you believe it was all about guns, there is something she misses in her story. But that’s neither here nor there. For worst-writer would only counter her with this idear: No, Madame Dunbar-Ortiz, it was not built on guns (violence) but instead on STUPID. Then again, Madame, you might be right if you focused on the only way to control STUPID is with the proliferation of guns in order that STUPID may cull itself.

But. Once again. I’m probably off subject.

This is a great book for anyone wanting some word-ammunition on how to combat a gun-nut when faced at a bar, a turkey shoot or family Thanksgiving dinner. It is not a book that will you help survive a mass shooting, though. It’s also a great read if you want to follow a single thread that has run through the entirety of #Americant history–but forgetting a few other threads. It is not a book that will help anyone figure out how to change things–which can only be done if/when someone addresses all the STUPID.

Good luck suckers.

Rant on.


Whose Freedom Is It To Give Anywho?

While re-reading The Grand Inquisitor this morning after or almost at the same time ingesting another day of newz from my beloved & missed #Americant where THE FREEDOM TO BE STUPID rules all, this quote got to me.

“For fifteen centuries we have been wrestling with Thy freedom, but now it is ended and over for good. Dost Thou not believe that it’s over for good? Thou lookest meekly at me and deignest not even to be wrote with me. But let me tell thee that now, to-day, people are more persuaded than ever that they have perfect freedom, yet they have brought their freedom to us and laid it humbly at our feet. But that has been our doing. Was this what Thou didst? Was this Thy freedom?”

“I don’t understand again,” Alyosha broke in. “Is he ironical, is he jesting?”

“Not a bit of it! He claims it as merit for himself and his Church that at last they have vanquished freedom and have done so to make men happy.”

-Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamozov, Book: Pro and Contra – Chapter 5 – The Grand Inquisitor

Rant on.


More Greek Mythology Galore To Me

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Subtitle: Or at least we now know where all the crazy comes from.

While approaching the end of Mythos by Stephen Fry, I was happy (relieved?) he threw this in at the end of his retelling the story of Narcissus. Take special notice of the cynical or sarcastic asterisk.

Narcissistic personality disorder and echolalia (the apparently mindless repetition of what is said) are both classified in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, which medically and legally defines mental illnesses. Narcissistic personality disorder, much talked about these days, is marked by vanity, self-importance, a grandiose hunger for admiration, acclaim and applause, and above all an obsession with self-image. The feelings of others are railroaded and stampeded, while such considerations as honesty, truthfulness or integrity are blithely disregarded. Bragging, boasting and delusional exaggeration are common signs. Criticism or belittlement is intolerable and can provoke aggressive and explosively strange behaviour.*

Perhaps narcissism is best defined as a need to look on other people as mirrored surfaces who satisfy us only when they reflect back a loving or admiring image of ourselves. When we look into another’s eyes, in other words, we are not looking to see who they are, but how we are reflected in their eyes. By this definition, which of us can honestly disown our share of narcissism?

*No one we know, of course…

-Stephen Fry – Mythos, from the chapter Echo and Narcissus, The Gods Take Pity

Once this book started to veer towards mortals and their stories–as opposed to the stories of just The Gods–I started to get bored. Not that Fry’s writing is boring, don’t you know. Of course, I probably don’t understand most of his wry British humour anywho. No. Indeed. Yet even though Fry’s writing is fantastic, there is a level of boredom and monotony when it comes to the endeavours of mortals and their being sucker subjects of The Gods.

Note: I’ve read these Fry Greek retelling books out of order. Here my worst-thoughts on his second book, which I read first. Speaking of which. I liked Fry’s Heroes more than Mythos. Reason? Heroes felt more like story telling whereas Mythos feels more like a textbook that tries to also be entertaining. The good news, though, is that Mythos also feels more biblical and paternal. which might be good for my life-long endeavour to understand the origin of human-stupidity. Where Heroes entertains, Mythos informs. And that’s a good thing, right? But I’m not referring to information about Greek mythology. There’s something else at play here. At least in my worst-mind there is.

I’ve always been curious about the stories that gave way to that which has steered the world for that past two thousand to twenty-five hundred years. I’m worst-writing, of course, about human-stupidity galore aka religion. In my limited and redneck reading of and about religion, the thing that’s always been clear is that it really is nothing but a story told over and over and over and… Indeed. It is a story that people want/need to believe–and never question. Once you get people hooked on that, you got ’em! That’s where politics and religion mix, right? That’s their secret, right? Hence the world we live in today. With that in mind, though, what came before The Story?

Fry in no way, shape or form answers my worst-question. And I probably shouldn’t expect an answer from him–at least not in these books. But his writing does motivate me to think anew as he has become quite the conduit to writings I’ve previously failed to comprehend. For example. Humanity went from polytheism to monotheism thousands of years ago. And I can only imagine that the transition was bloody and horrific–but it is all part of a true story that can be retrieved from stories told over and over and over, etc. For example. The story of religion. In this story we know that monotheism replaced polytheism. But what was before polytheism? I mean, could there have been a time where man didn’t rely on irrational thought to deal with his reality? If so where is the story about that? I know. I know. I’m batting at the wind.

The thing I’m gonna take away from reading these two books by Stephen Fry is this: Greek mythology and Christianity are the same joke told by the same joke maker that humanity fails to laugh at enough so that we can wake up from stupid-time. For some that might be exciting. You know, on account you can actually comprehend the classics. For others, it’s a turn-off on account they could give a hoot if all the classics once again conveniently burn away in Alexandria. But since I just recently found out what the term “bottoming” means, I think I’m making progress in my quest to understand life, the universe and why men want to stick their dicks in anything that moves.

So. Yea. That’s what I got out Mythos. The Greek Gods, especially the main-god Zeus, really did a number by sticking his dick in anything and everything that moved. How convenient that it only took a thousand years or so to reign in men trying to be their own little Zeus, hence the advent of prudery aka Christianity, of which Jesus Christ must have been well aware–since most of his life was probably spent in Alexandria, Egypt. Is there a coincidence here? Irony? I mean, isn’t Alexandria where the whole Greed world kinda ended? You know, and then all that Roman shit stepped in until monotheism could finally get a hold on everything? Oh. What the hell do I know? And so…

Good luck with loving the story of your faith fiction that tells the lie fo the mind of your bitter-sweet nothingness prudery that dates back to something like… three to five thousand B.C. where dicks reigned supreme on account they could be stuck anywhere and in anything. But on that note, I do die-gress.

Rant and read on.


Too Much Fun With Stephen Fry

Below is one of Stephen Fry’s shortest chapters in his book Mythos. Even though I’m reading them out of order, his sequel to this book really motivated me. So far this book has not been a disappointment. I hope I’m not breaking any rules by posting the whole, short chapter here. But I got as much fun out of typing it as I did reading it. Indeed. This text really took me for a loop. Even though it may or may not be just another retelling of a story told many times, Fry’s writing is fantastic.

From the book Mythos, chapter Apollo Reads The Signs, by Stephen Fry:

“Hermes may or may not have known it, but on his first night on earth he had travelled quite a distance. All the way from his birthplace on Mount Cyllene north through the fields of Thessaly and as far as Pieria, where he had found and rustled the cattle. And back again. In baby steps that is quite a distance. §What Hermes certainly could not have known was that the white cattle belonged to Apollo, who prized them highly. When news reached the god of their disappearance he set off in a fury to Pieria in order to follow what he assumed was a vicious gang of thieves to the their lair. Wild dryads or fauns gone to the bad, he imagined. They would regret taking property from the god of arrows. §He lay down in the cattle’s field to examine the ground with all the thoroughness of an experienced tracker. To his astonishment the brigands had left no useful traces at all. All he could see were random brush marks, meaningless whorls and swirls and–unless he was going mad–one tiny infant footprint. Any impressions that might have been formed by the cow’s hoofs seemed to be heading, not away from the field, but towards it! §Whoever had stolen the cattle was mocking Apollo. They were practised and expert thieves, that much was clear. His sister Artemis was the most skilled hunter hew new: would she dare? Perhaps she had devised some cunning way to conceal her tracks. Ares didn’t have the wit. Poseidon wouldn’t be interested. Hephaestus? Unlikely. Who then? §He noticed a thrush preening on a branch not far away in one smooth action drew his bow and brought the creature down. Slitting open the crop the god of oracles and augury peered forward to read the entrails. §From the colouration in the lower intestine, the kink in the right kidney and the unusual disposition of the thymus gland it was clear at once that the cattle were somewhere in the Arcadia, not far from Corinth. And what was that clot of blood on the liver saying to him? Mount Cyllene. And what else? So! It had been a baby’s footprint after all. §Apollo’s usually smooth brow was drawn into a frown, his blue eyes blazed and his rose-red lips compressed themselves into a grim line. §Revenge would be his.”

Rant on.


Everything Greek Mythology Galore


Alternative title to this worst-post: How Stephen Fry read it all so I could finally cheat-it-all and thereby get a grip on some seriously ancient literature stuff. Thank you Stephen!

Question: Were you there, dear worst-edumacated-reader? You know. Were you there… while you was in college? Or was I the only one fiddling around with my girl’s button-downs (while in college) and thinking I was gonna get me some edumacation? Seriously. Was I the only one drinking too much at the local pub after every $hitbag tutor session from you-know-who professor that must have been so much like just another Harvey Weinstein? And after it was all said & drunk… Was I the only one trying to pay attention to whatever ENG201 or LIT301 class at University of… How To Fill The World With $hitbags?

Yeah. I’m sure you were there. In your college. Or is there another way to read worst-writer dot com?

But here’s a question for all my worst-readers: While attending so-called higher education in order to make a buck or three in a future of no-fate, did you ever ask yourself this: was it really your intention to become just another college grad $hitbag automaton that would steer the world to where it is today? Or did you have something else in mind?

Indeed. And enough with worst-writer’s non-sense about how the edumacated have ruined everything for the rest of us by thinking/assuming they learned something/anything during those years of post-adolescence put on hold. Then again, I’m dreary at times, if not inebriated, when I think of those days gone, days long gone, where I had my way with that one girl’s button-downs who was really my everything–and she got away. And on that note, I do die-gress.

Although I had hoped college would be different than high school, not unlike Barry-O’s presidency so many years later, I was wrong. The only difference between high school and college in my beloved & missed #Americant–you know, the place that has given way to Stupid-Rule (as opposed to the lie of Democracy)–is that in college, as they say, you are of-age. That is, you don’t have to worry about parenting anymore by erstatz-parents, aka teachers and school authoritarians. You also don’t have to worry about $hitbag siblings or dirty uncles who do funny things with fingers in your body parts, etc. In college the only thing you have to worry about is the police–and their being the final score in raising you to know who’s boss in this world of how little freedom you really have. Of course, there’s another form of authority you have to deal with post high school $hitbaggery. In other worst-words…

I quickly realised what it is like to be part of the lower middle classes once I got to college. College forced me to really get to know my poverty. You know, as in, the financial police are dictators of behaviour as you starve for a few nights in order to afford being able to purchase reading material so that you can listen and adhere to even more dictates of some $hitbag tenured professor who would rather be fiddling with your girl’s button-downs. Wait. In other worst-words…

I remember reading Oedipus Rex in college and having somewhat of a good time with it–because, other than a good time in #Americant, there is nothing else to do in college. That is, even though I had already read Oedipus Rex, whereas most of my colleagues read CliffNotes of it, I decided to turn my knowledge of the play into an attack on that $hitbag tenured professor–who thought he owned me. In fact, I still have the used paperback version of the play that I bought for a previous class and was subsequently scolded by the $hitbag tenured professor for trying to save money thereby not buying the recommended book for his class–which would have cost three or four times more that what I could afford. While professor $hitbag scolded me and said that I wasn’t playing along in his $hitshow and that would result in my final grade, I proceeded with a written and oral argument about the illegitimacy of Oedipus Rex being a king because he, ultimately, he is not part of a kingly bloodline. And since I knew my professor was a semi-professional priest, I proceeded in making a Jesus vs. Oedipus comparison that would rock his world. I argued, in line with Greek mythology, that Jocasta was nothing but yet another tainted and über-angry woman–married to a tainted and über-angry man–and no one quite knew where the key to her chastity belt was. Unlike Jesus’ mother, though, everyone knew where her chastity belt was. I then threw in a few examples of ancient Demi-gods and how those Demi-gods were nothing more than the result of war-torn booty-calls–especially booty-calls from the likes of Zeus & Co., who all have the eternal keys to not just war-torn losing side females, but also their tainted chastity belts. And so… Like all Greek mythology, the entirety of Christianity is a narrative for suckers and blind believers and/or those unwilling to not only question EVERYTHING but to even think critically about answers found or avoided by questioning EVERYTHING. And so… I really pissed off that tenured $hitbag professor with my pseudo comparison that was also a bloated $hit on his religious beliefs. You know, he was a devout evangelical #Americant $hitbag who couldn’t keep his lying eyes off my girlfriend’s button-downs on account his wife was probably more frigid than Zeus’ ice-cock. So at the end of my oral argument I said something akin to Oedipus shouldn’t even be studied anymore on account it does the same damage to unquestioning minds that the fcuking bible does. But enough of my sentimentalising about how much I hated having been edumacated in #Americant.

After five or so years of struggling with tenured $hitbag professors who never taught me a thing, I finally gave up on college. Degree-less and wanton of something other than becoming just another automaton, I swore then and there that there were two things that I would never trust for the rests of my life. The first is systematic and collective edumacation. I had attended three colleges in my beloved & missed #Americant. I attended a fourth college in #Eurowasteland. Considering that college is a stepping stone (or is it step-ladder?) to get anywhere in life in the past thirty to fifty years, it’s no wonder that the world is so fcuked up. I mean, can you believe it, dear worst-reader? Look at all those college grads! Look at all those higher-edumacated dunces running corporations, governments, the media. Even President Stupid, über-$hitbag #Trump himself, proudly claims that he is edumacated from an elite and privileged class of… University of Free to be Stupid. Yeah, just look at what school can do. But here’s the real-sad thing about my days trying to get some knowledge on.

  1. All I wanted was to learn and I wasn’t allowed to do so because I’m actually poor.
  2. I wanted, potentially, possibly, to become a teacher because, while failing in college, I did realise that I loved the interaction of teaching and learning–and I wanted to be a teacher that wasn’t a $hitbag.
  3. Even though, for all practical purposes in the game of getting by in life, I learned nothing from either high school or college and to this day, there is something seriously wrong with that.

I know. I know. Perhaps I’m a bit idealising that whole learn(ing)-thing. Considering the meritless situation the world is in right, learning might not be all it is cracked up to be. Still. Every few weeks or so, I yearn to get a book in my hands–as it’s been my sole source of learning for the past thirty or so years. Heck, I’m even so far & wide with reading, I yearn to download another book on my iPad if I go a few weeks without reading something–even if there appears to be nothing out to read. Yeah. Ain’t nothing wrong with reading books on hand-held computers out boredom. Or? Nomatter.

The other day I came across a book that I just had to give a try. After reading a few sample pages of it (electronically) and then seeing that purchasing the paperback version was cheaper than the electronic version, guess what? I bought Stephen Fry’s “Heroes”–in real book form. As in… I bought a physical book. As soon as it arrived, though, it sat on my coffee table for about a week before I picked it up to actually read it. Reason? It’s the first time I ordered a physical book in two or three years. It took time for the whole idear of having purchased a real book to settle in. I actually swore way-way back that I was done with physical books. So. When a real book arrived with snail-mail, I kept staring at it while it rested on my coffee table. It’s actually real, I thought to myself. I mean, don’t get me wrong, dear worst-reader. In 2018 I bought new bookshelves so my better-half and I could finally combine all our physical reading material in one place. You know, a bookshelf for decorative and sentimental reasons. Our own little library, if you will. So I didn’t stop buying real books because I have something against them. No. It’s just that…

Our physical/real library!

Once I started reading Fry’s brilliant re-write of Greek mythology, I couldn’t stop. Reason? From beginning to end, I can’t recall ever reading something so familiar but, at the same time, reading something so new. In fact, I killed the over four hundred pages of this book in three days. Just before worst-writing this worst-post, I re-read the chapter on Bellerophon, too. So get this…

I did not know anything about Bellerophon. Of course, I knew about Pegasus. I even had a vague recollection of Pegasus’ birth out of the neck of Medusa. But Bellerophon? Whaaaaaaa? And Fry doesn’t stop there teaching anyone willing everything that need be known about Greek mythology. I did not know that Heracles freed Prometheus from that whole side-of-mountain thing during one of his labours where a bird eats his liver every day. Whaaaaaaa? And then there’s Medea. Wow. What a witch-chick that one was, eh! Anywho.

Fry really nails it with this book. If anyone is interested in a concise and precise cliff-note-like, yet beautifully narrated summary of everything Greek mythology, this is the book. What a joy.

Rant and read on.


PS Although out of order, reading Heroes first, has lead to reading Mythos next, which is Fry’s first book of the two. Yeah, out of order is fine.

Books To Read Delivered Biggly

Source: worstwriter iPhone 6s still learning to take pictures

Just a little surprised at the size of the packaging for a single paperback. It also took several weeks to get here even though it was sent from a book store in Engaland. Then again, if my expectations of this read turn out to be warranted, how it got here doesn’t matter. 

Rant (and read) on. 


Still Trying To Learn The French Revolution. Because.

One of the best of the few too many books I’ve read on the subject. Had no idear this was gonna be so good–on account worstwriter learn something galore. 

It’s also kinda funny-sad how some of the rhetoric from yore is no different than today–even though we’re supposed to have progressed. Progressed to where? Note on the pic: my highlighting is a bit sporadic. Pretty much the whole text on both pages is relevant–especially when considering some of the things said, insinuated since the pervasion/vomit of #Trump  replaced all the other über-bad from Reagan on. 

Rant on.


Links also relevant:

Sizing Up Your Read

sizing up books.png
This pic is a screenshot

While e-book shopping the other morning I couldn’t help but notice this image. Why in the world does Bezos & Co. think it necessary to provide a size-comparison of a friggin book as part of their tech-enormity galore? Then again, considering that this corpo-giant is what it is because, well, at this state (iteration) of capitalism run-amok, the day of the scavengers has arrived. So. I guess. Sizing up books seems as good a tech-idear as any.

Rant on.