According to the New York Times, famous Hollywood actor George Clooney is hosting a $40,000-a-plate dinner for incumbent Presidential candidate Barak Obama.
I don’t know what their serving, but I hope it’s good. That’s more money than I made last year, before taxes.
Maybe its spaghetti…
Maurice Sendak with Max
“Kids don’t know about best sellers,” said Sendak. “They go for what they enjoy.”
“They aren’t star chasers and they don’t suck up.”
“It’s why I like them.”
Maurice Sendak was a brilliant father to the world’s bastard youth. We have lost a bright and shining star in the world of art and literature, and gained one in the heavens.
Jack Paul–F*@#$ A$# arrested in Florida for possesion of cocaine and driving under the influence. The more things change…
Have you used word perfect lately? OMFG! What the holy fucking cock suck! How often do they revamp this piece of shit for absolutely no reason except to make it more of a less usable piece of shit. Between the undecipherable and impotent iconic horse crap at the top of the page and the way that they don’t do anything direct or useful, I’m about to pull out may hair. I recently switched over to an older model Apple and the recent, so called upgrades, leave me baffled in most instances in how to get the damned thing to make basic and ordinary changes to compile a paper. What happened to the ‘edit’ tag? How in the fuck are you supposed to get the SOB to single space? When I can actually fiind wherever the hell the single space command is–The spacing shrinks down by a half a centimeter and is for all intents and purposes is still double spaced with the rest of the text because I didn’t pre-set the spacing before I typed the rest of my paper.
And its not just Word its everything. Its one great big huge assed pissing party and we’re the pot it all drips into. One humongous rain barrel full of industrial piss. My older model Apple computer a Quicksilver G4. It is highly functional in many ways. I finally switched over from the “PC” because I wanted something that I could actually play music and do video on. I’m still confused why the Apple requires more than twice the Ram to watch Netflix, which my computer does not. And recently facebook is requiring a browser upgrade which my Quicksilver G4 is no longer on fit for. It is being retired from the top of the industry. What the fuck. Now I need to spend $2000 bucks on a new Mac, which is undoubtedly what Steve Jobs is trying to get me to do from his secret lair in Napa, but certainly not what I intend to do. Whenever I get around to it, I’ll upgrade with a used model from someone else who has been kind enough to fork out the big money for a new sometimes actually does what you want it to do, information house droid. The way I see it, its like buying a new car. Why the hell fork out a shitload of money on some piece of shit that is going to depreciate as soon as I drive it off the lot and then break down and cost me more money.
And that brings us to the other societal thwart, the American automobile. What a fucking hunk of shit that is. How in hell did they ever find the fucking morons to buy those gas hog pieces of shit in an economy that hasn’t been this bad since the seventies? How do they afford the gas for their precious ‘Hemis’ and their 2 ton payload Ford trucks. And Car And Driver is complaining about Obama’s increased milage standard, and how the European automobile has sacrifice horsepower to achieve their fuel efficiency standard. Big fucking deal! They have some sensibility and have come to realize that there is more to life than swinging an oversized dick around, clubbing burgeoning world marketeers and detractors of the America’s freely exploiting trade practices, so that Marge Vealstein can fart up her air conditioned Suburban as she drives back to the suburbs drinking her breve after dropping the kids off at football and cheerleading.
The world is upside down.
When I was a young communionite, wandering the halls of Saint Mary’s CCD institute of religious education guiding me in paths of righteousness and correct order, almost any order would do, I read upon the wall, upon a poster, a printed script, ‘Believe 50% of what you read, 25% of what you see, and none of what you hear.” It was this or something close. And I’m not sure that it matters what order that you perceive it, especially in this day of modular information. But fuck it.
What is it that could possibly be real in this present information age? I a lad, named JohnPaul, that is how I spell it, why should you give a fuck how I wish to spell the name of my personally identifiable person. If you want spell my name differently to any other person other than my self, then knock yourself out. Otherwise, learn to spell my name correctly or go fuck off with your other circle jerk of intolerant friends and leave me out of the people with whom you communicate with.
But information, as an element of idiosynchronousexistence, its true its false it exists. Cops are good, The pope is always right…What information should we believe at trust to be true? God exists…Nothing exists…Sin, rebellion, and carson are the true paths to self fulfillment…?
Can’t we find a meta-truth or universally understandable and recognizable truth, that we can all recognize as a good thing? Possibly, but what will it cost our personal understandings? Can’t we at least agree to tolerate our outer personal bullshits to the degree of trying not to kill each other? I realize, at times, that the me that is somebody else can be so fucking annoying and personally disruptive that i wish and project that they did not exist in a protrusive way in my life, but can’t we solve the problem without explosively eradicating innocent and sentient realities from the equation.
Can we not agree that a man in a banana hammock, somewhere is o.k., and that God’s self in the form of a carnate man in replica, dipped in piss…somewhere…and that men and women can or cannot be circumcised or “believers” of some fucking set system of belief or heterosexual or jock, mano-e-mano competo-centric to be a valid, respected member of society. Can’t we just give it up for a personally or mutually granted ejaculatory pop or wush of self exclaimed extasy…isn’t that all right?
s life
Sat October 22, Occupy Reno continued its presence and voice of opposition in favor of the 99% against corporate greed and economic hostility against the middle and oppressed classes.
Orders of business and ratification of the “occupiers code” were discussed. As can be seen on the Occupy Reno WordPress Blog, Occupy Reno ” support[s] a culture of love, respect, and understanding over hatred in any form. Further, we support peace and non-violence.” Nine points of order are addressed in the guidelines concerning public order within the community of protesters. The guidelines were ratified by process of consensus.
Public address for general assemblies is achieved through human microphone, where the speaker is repeated by the congregated mass of protesters present, so that everyone can hear with out the use of a bull horn. “Mic check!”, was a call often heard as a new speaker was given the opportunity to speak.
A permit for a permanent site for the “Occupiers” is being considered by the city council for the location of Moana Pool at 240 W. Moana Ln. and according to Jared’s entry on the WordPress blog, a second site is being proposed for the old Citifare bus station downtown.
At the organizing meeting on Thursday, held at Moana Pool, plans were stated as maintaining a constant presence there of 50 to 75 people through winter. The permit would legally allow protesters to remain there for 30 days with a possibility to renew thereafter.
According to one Occupy Reno organizer, the city counsel is shortening the permit process to about two weeks instead of the usual 90 days. He also said that the mayor sat down with Occupy Reno organizers and said that he would like to see Occupy Reno at every city counsel meeting.
According to Stacey’s report on the Occupy Reno blog on WordPress, OR is on the agenda for the City Hall meeting scheduled for Wednesday, October 26. They will be petitioning to have their fees waved, and if their permit is approved, they could be legally occupying 240 W. Moana on Thursday.
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Who knew God wasn’t the bar? Driving south of town, high wheeling pushing straight lined pulleys past an arrow send. Dreaming of and remembering that piss-hole stop, a little bar in a small, little town, as anonymous at it needed to be to breathe in and out in a small Berg like this. “Jack and Coke,” a fine drink in a fine town. There are standards. And the country is beautiful everywhere. And people are the rotten scourge of humanity everywhere, but the country is good. The country speaks of God. Things grow; things that are circular roll. You check the oil…leaking…wipe the remains in your hair and keep rolling. Driving down the road, dreaming of stopping journey in some piss-hole town, and getting some piss-hole job, what you were going to do anyway wherever you were going in the first place, and spend out your time. You have your guitar; you have a few books that you never really read anyway. Too bad the “minimum wage” doesn’t really pay the bills that necessity demands. How much pretend shit is involved in making a living anyway? Play-dough excellence seems to rule the workforce cosmos. Can I lick the anal cortex of your socio-class defecator, and shape its proceeds into a pretty hovel, where you and I and god can live and go to work? Should I get the bar tender to adopt me, my favorite game…that I never really win…and find a job? I strum my guitar, I vaguely push and pull my hand at poetry, as I drive my large, green go-cart down the road…
Workin’ hard at the old U of N, R.
