41020 [2021)

A silver mt. zion.

Montreal.

Hotel tango.

Sighing synths.

Leonard Cohen.

Getting cold.

Lee Hazlewood.

Arizona into the Rockies.

Wyoming.

Road music.

Music of wide open spaces.

Charles Mingus checks in.

Bob Dylan.

Tumbleweeds.

Was QAnon bullshit?

WFMU seems to think so.

And all their hipster listeners.

Missing the Godspeed You! Black Emperor.

Chris Isaak.

My Bloody Valentine.

R.E.M.

Automatic for the people.

Rightly asking if this guy, Pauly Deathwish, is Borat.

Elvis working at the truck stop.

Nevada.

New Mexico.

Into French philosophy at a Barnes & Noble.

Film criticism.

Cinematic music.

The great philosophers.

Taking on Philip Glass.

Rachmaninoff.

Swedish version.

Poor girl with grey teeth.

Dirty bra.

Addicted to Kardashians.

And meth.

Smoking candy cigarettes.

Brutal, cold world.

No fall back.

Withdrawal back.

Wanna lock me for blood pressure.

It ain’t no cakewalk.

Ripoff.

Tech moves fast.

Write anything.

Better than nothing.

Bad press.

No press.

You have a printing press.

The Innocence Mission.

Miles.

Porgy and Bess.

A thousand planes.

Two ambient instrumentals to start this album.

Setting an amber tone.

Pensive.

Ex-pensive.

Time is a luxury.

And Miles comes in.

Bending notes.

Sighing again.

Like music from Big Pink.

John Simon.

Leonard Cohen.

Very much of the Deserter’s Songs type.

Song cycle.

Van Dyke.

And Coltrane leaps in.

No bends.

Solid sax.

Honky.

Low mids.

Leaping up.

Transposition.

A little noodling.

And WHAT THE FUCK.

Now we are in Blue Hawaii.

On a jukebox in Nashville.

Sawdust on the floor.

Just spit that tabaccy anywheres.

It really is Elvis.

Loaded.

Lou Reed.

Doo-wop.

We’re in east Texas with George Jones.

Straight country.

Classic country.

Bona fide redneck interpolation.

“Daisies on Your Doorstep”.

Troubled relationship.

Robert Altman.

Nashville.

Hitchcock.

Traut.

Birds.

Grandaddy invades!

Modesto!!

And back to EXPANSIVE verb.

Cathedral.

Serious shit.

Country gothic.

Phil Spector would have loved this.

The plandemic that killed Phil Spector.

Biggest celebrity to buy the farm.

Buy the farm?

Or sell the farm?

During this whole plandemic.

Write copy.

Boilerplate.

You have no publicity.

I block all reposts.

I wanna EARN it.

Organic.

Diminished 7th.

Dissolve into what?

More Mercury Rev homage.

Drums from “Desperado”.

Another lonely bloke ended by “Holes”.

Favorite song ever.

Happy end.

Drunk room.

Tom Waits.

The chord.

Spring.

Le Sacre.

Back to regularly scheduled programming.

Knife in the Water.

Austin.

R.E.M. again.

Big Star.

John Cale droning away on the viola.

No tremolo.

Swing it.

Ragged time.

Texarkana.

Arkansas.

And Texas.

Definite Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci nod.

Nick Drake.

Again The Innocence Mission.

Birds.

Pink Floyd.

Fairport Convention.

Psych barn.

The Byrds.

Gram Parsons.

Neil Young big time.

Stooges meet Beach Boys meet Messiaen.

But the Bowie knife is orange.

Made in Germany.

Kanye West and Wayne Coyne drop in.

An anti-hit.

When you can sing, but you get raped by auto-tune.

Loosen that shit up.

Going all Arabic on me.

Raga.

Spinal Tap.

Clouds of sound on almost every track.

A very ambient album.

Mood set.

Mood retained.

Mature.

Duran Duran.

Peaches DJ Berlin.

Where’s Warhol?

Nigel Godrich.

Jonny Greenwood.

Thom Yorke.

Grinderman.

Roger Waters again.

Microtonal blues.

Straight into Bjork.

Does she umlaut?

Sounds of a Mac.

Swan.

Alarm clock.

Gentle waking.

Paganini.

Rachmaninoff.

Elton John.

Stevie Wonder.

Sly Stone.

James Bond in Rio.

Drax.

Os Mutantes.

Jobim.

Korean frogs.

Shinto.

Spy guitar for reprise.

Tom Verlaine.

Richard Lloyd.

Paul Simon.

Rhythm of the saints.

Graceland.

Beethoven emperor concerto.

Slow.

Beloved.

Tokyo.

Press roll.

Sushi.

Kill bounce.

Phil Selway.

Colin Greenwood?

A masterful track.

“Icelandic Pastiche”.

NOW WE’RE TALKING.

Papa Trump back in the house.

For the apocalypse.

Rocky Balboa.

L.L. Cool J.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Second coming.

To save.

Vengeance is his.

Everyone given a chance.

A fair chance.

NASA.

I hear a single.

“Landslide”.

Wisconsin decertified.

Ramthun came through.

About fucking time.

There’s a riot goin’ on.

Paperclip Nazis.

Eric Carmen.

Smokey Robinson.

Tears of a motherfucking clown.

Oboe.

Michael Stipe.

Gil Evans.

Having the French horns get groovy.

Amelie.

Sketches of Spain.

Sunday morning.

Loveless.

Kevin Shields.

Belinda.

The Soft Bulletin.

Christ coming down from the clouds.

Like a ton of bricks.

Anvil.

Don’t call it a comeback.

Not all the way.

Staple Singers.

Rick Danko.

Rocket pans across stereo field.

Jesus talkin’.

Crucified.

Died.

Buried.

AND ROSE AGAIN, MOTHERFUCKERS.

Jesus more space than NASA.

Really a masterpiece of sample placement.

Crystal-clear mix.

Clouseau.

Peter Sellers.

Bass solo.

Absolute Mingus.

Bloody jaw-dropping.

This is like a fucking lost Roland Kirk album.

This track!

Concerto for Booty and Orchestra.

Montreux.

Can never spell.

System hacked.

No more spelling.

Adieu au langage.

Flute loops.

Cocteau Twins.

Ties together album.

Last track coming on like Faust.

Built to Spill.

Silver Apples.

In memory of a bloke who bit it.

End of Night on Earth.

Real recorder.

Charity.

You will live forever, my friend.

I never knew you.

You aren’t forgotten.

Thought of you put in this track.

Catharsis.

Yerself is steam.

Smashing Pumpkins.

Siamese.

Great album by Pauly Deathwish.

Spotify.

iTunes.

Solid.

-PD


The Boys from Brazil [1978)

CodeMonkeyZ blocked me on Telegram.

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https://t.me/deathwishpauly

Pretty fucking hypocritical of a free speech advocate

I’m sure it was just some jerkoff moderator.

But I’m over it now.

Because we have a mission.

I believe Ron Watkins is a good person.

I believe President Trump is a good person.

The 2020 election was allowed to be stolen.

Operation Warp Speed was a trap.

The globalists fell for it.

Trump’s “I got the Pfizer” interview was military deception.

To throw the NWO off the scent.

And to buy some time.

As Q group takes out (one by one) all the bad actors worldwide.

Methodically.

Patience.

You only get one chance.

The OWS trap was one in which the NWO jumped into a tiger pit.

From which they will hopefully never emerge (God willing).

But the war is not over.

Havana Syndrome + vaccines = mind control [MKUltra 2.0]

Graphene oxide + 5G = mind control

https://www.infowars.com/posts/damn-you-to-hell-you-will-not-destroy-america-read-the-spartacus-covid-letter-thats-gone-viral/

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It was this 5G which really pissed off Twitter.

I had thought the 5G thing was probably a red herring.

Guess not.

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Q group was behind the “Snow White” leak from the Jes Staley case.

It serves a dual purpose.

To put bad actors on notice.

To make them nervous.

They know what it means.

We MIGHT know what it means.

But also to encourage anons and autists.

If you have been living under a rock of fake news, you might not know that the CEO of Barclays bank (UK), Jes Staley, has resigned after it was discovered that he had lied about his relationship with Jeffrey Epstein.

The two exchanged at least 1000 emails.

And the phrase “Snow White” was supposedly passed back and forth between the two (apparently without a common-sense context).

So what does Snow White mean?

What did it mean between these two?

Well, there is this:

https://www.chicagotribune.com/news/ct-xpm-2000-01-13-0001130129-story.html

A code name for the CIA Directorate of Operations.

Why might Epstein (definitely a pedophile [and probably a blackmailer]) be talking about CIA covert ops?

And why would Staley be talking about it?

Indeed, from news reporting in the UK (Financial Times?), it is unclear whether Epstein or (conversely) Staley used the phrase.

Or whether they both used it.

Nor is it clear how many times it was used.

All that has been revealed is that it seemed to be used as a sort of coded phrase.

So who is Jes Staley?

[other than being a former board member of USCBC (an organization with a lot of Pfizer presence over the years)]

http://www.china.org.cn/business/2012-06/28/content_25758315.htm

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Does he have a Twitter profile?

Not that I can find.

But his brother, Peter, does.

AND WHOA IS IT A DOOZY!!!

Any public figure (like AIDS activist Peter Staley) who leaves their Twitter profile set to public (as opposed to private) is inviting snoopers.

Why?

Because enquiring minds want to know.

You can tell a lot about a person from their Twitter profile.

You can tell the ORDER in which they followed people.

Go back.

You can see who they have been following the longest.

And, conversely, who they have been following for the least amount of time.

You can also find interesting groupings.

Various people or organizations whom they followed in relatively quick succession.

Here’s the thing about Peter Staley.

He is Twitter “friends” with Ali Fauci.

Ali Fauci is the daughter of Anthony Fauci.

Ali Fauci has her profile set to private.

This indicates that Peter Staley and Ali Fauci may indeed know each other in real life.

As Anthony Fauci does not have a Twitter profile (as far as I know), this is the closest thing to Anthony Fauci making a trusted online connection with Peter Staley.

But Peter Staley’s interest in “medicine” does not end there.

[BTW…Ali Fauci is a software engineer for Twitter.  Is she in charge of censorship?  Or is that strictly the purview of Vijaya Gadde?]

Peter Staley also follows Peter Daszak.

Now that is a bit weird.

Daszak is the head of the EcoHealth Alliance.

EcoHealth sent National Institutes of Health (U.S. taxpayer) money to the Wuhan Institute of Virology where gain-of-function research on bat coronaviruses was performed.

[to be fair, the Defense Threat Reduction Agency (housed at Fort Belvoir) is STILL sending U.S. taxpayer money to the EcoHealth Alliance to study bat diseases in “western Asia”.  How much you wanna bet that money’s going to WIV?  And how did INSCOM not know about this??? https://www.usaspending.gov/award/ASST_NON_HDTRA11710064_9761 ]

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In private emails, Peter Daszak THANKED Anthony Fauci for dismissing the WIV lab leak theory.

That’s strange.

Because as we all now know, that theory is probably the most plausible.

Although China will not admit it.

Back to Peter Staley.

Sometimes you can’t tell the people.

You must show them.

OSINT is a beautiful thing.

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Following the CEO of Moderna, eh?

Do you see how these data points are piling up?

Epstein’s friend’s brother is REALLY interested in the minutiae of this pandemic and the big pharma aspects of it.

Why?

[BTW…there is a good chance that Bancel is one of the ones who actually released the virus.  Why?  Because Moderna came up with their vaccine in 48 hours. https://www.infowars.com/posts/damn-you-to-hell-you-will-not-destroy-america-read-the-spartacus-covid-letter-thats-gone-viral/  The same suspicion falls on NIAID’s Anthony Fauci.  And Event 201’s Klaus Schwab, Bill Gates, and (now promoted by Biden to head the entire American intelligence community [ODNI]) Avril Haines (a John Brennan promotee within the CIA whose promotion was out of the ordinary [i.e. she did not, in any apparent way, even earn THAT position…didn’t work her way up to it within the ranks.  Odd]]

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Peter Staley (who is HIV-positive) LOVES him some good old fashioned gay sex.

Apparently.

And he also, around the time he was feeling horny (?), decided to follow one of the prime suspects for having unleashed COVID-19 on the world:  the aforementioned Peter Daszak (who, as you can see, has me blocked).

Was it something I said???

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Peter Staley also follows Deborah Birx.

Remember her?

The scarf lady.

Fauci’s right-hand woman (for many absurd press conferences).

You will also notice that Birx’s profile is set to private.

Which means at least two things are possible.

Peter Staley followed Birx before her profile was set to private.

OR

Peter Staley ALSO knows Deborah Birx personally.

The second possibility is supported by the fact that Peter Staley follows Ali Fauci.

It is highly likely that Ali Fauci and Deborah Birx both had to give express permission to ALLOW Peter Staley to follow them.

Why would they do that?

Maybe because they know Peter Staley in real life?

Let’s pause for a moment.

Ask yourself.

Why does a guy, whose brother was emailing “Snow White” in over 1000 emails to Jeffrey Epstein, personally know two of the main players in the COVID-19 saga:  Fauci’s daughter (a proxy for Anthony Fauci) and Deborah Birx (also, in a way, a proxy for Anthony Fauci)?

Now.

REMEMBER that Fauci was involved in AIDS research.

But Fauci is not necessarily highly-thought-of in this context.

Did Fauci run a program where experimental vaccines in the ’80s were given to gay men?

Did the AIDS pandemic break out RIGHT AFTER THAT??

What was in the vaccines???

This isn’t Anthony Fauci’s first rodeo.

He has tortured dogs.

Fact.

Now he wants to give your kids vaccines (when the vaccines have been shown to be dangerous [particularly to young people]) even though kids do not get sick and die from COVID.

Fact.

It is very rare for a child to succumb to COVID-19.

On the other hand, there are almost 10,000 (9,549) reports of death associated with the administration of the three COVID vaccines in the USA so far:

https://www.cdc.gov/coronavirus/2019-ncov/vaccines/safety/adverse-events.html

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But let’s get back to Peter Staley.

 

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I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that Peter Staley votes Democrat.

Lincoln Project is all but a front operation for jackasses like Mitt Romney, Liz Cheney, and Adam Kinzinger.

And they have problems with pedophilia.

As in, certain among the Lincoln Project are apparently pedophiles.

How many?

One?

More?

I will let you do the digging on that.

But let’s pause again.

Pedophile Jeffrey Epstein and Jes Staley (until a few days ago, head of one of the biggest banks on earth) were apparently emailing the coded phrase “Snow White” back and forth.

And Staley’s brother Peter appears to support the pedophiles over at the Lincoln Project.

Hmmm…

Also in the last shot, we see that Peter Staley felt it necessary to follow Francis Collins from the NIH.

Collins is also suspect for his behavior during this pandemic.

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Peter Staley also appears to be a fan of both Greta Thunberg and CDC Director (and serial liar) Rochelle Walensky.

Thunberg is also a serial liar (or, in this case, more like an actor [from the same central casting that gave us Malala]), but that’s another story for another time.

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Here’s a real classic.

Nothing says “I was so careful I can’t believe I got AIDS” like following Jack “Cum Machine” Mackenroth.

But, again, there is a very real possibility that the AIDS pandemic was caused by Fauci and the vaccines he pushed just prior to the first big AIDS outbreak in the United States.

Indeed, you might call that Fauci’s practice run.

No one cares about the homos, right?

So just test an experimental vaccine on them.

Watch them die from some new, exotic disease right after that.

What were they testing?

A time-delayed bioweapon, perchance?

https://www.bitchute.com/video/qs9X8Blr4Ucv/

I think you are going to see the current crop of time-delayed bioweapons (made by Pfizer, BioNTech, Moderna, Johnson & Johnson, and AstraZeneca) start causing mass death within the next two months.

And it will be called “COVID”.

A new wave.

The “fifth wave”.

[if that doesn’t do the trick, Bill Gates (who just outlined this scenario https://www.independent.co.uk/news/science/bill-gates-smallpox-terror-attack-b1951245.html ) and company will likely release smallpox.  What Gates was referring to was war-gamed back in 2001 under the title Dark Winter.  It was executed by the same people (Johns Hopkins Center for Health Security) who gave the world Event 201 RIGHT BEFORE THE CURRENT PANDEMIC.  How many times have you heard Joe Biden strangely utter the phrase “dark winter”???  Here’s why.  Check out the CIA presence (Woolsey) which would be replicated by Avril Haines in 2019 for Event 201:  https://www.centerforhealthsecurity.org/our-work/events-archive/2001_dark-winter/ ]

And in the process, the Northern Hemisphere (particularly the USA and Europe) will then be subjected to the same tyranny to which Australia has just recently been subjected.

Australia was the test run.

How much will people put up with?

The absurd “no tolerance” policies of Australia and New Zealand (and, to a certain extent, China) have been a pretext to unleash the most unseemly policing ever to be seen on this planet.

I believe that is coming to the USA.

And Europe.

It is already fairly well advanced in Canada.

And it will come back…even harder.

In the next two months.

Jes Staley might not have a Twitter account, but his brother (and one of his two daughters) do(es).

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Meet Alexa Staley.

While Fauci is obviously the Mengele of this whole pandemic, who is gonna oversee the electromagnetic mind control of the Havana Syndrome/vaccine graphene oxide/5G synergy?

You’d think you might need a few physicists, right?

[N.B.  Jeffrey Epstein likely had plenty of scientists (Santa Fe Institute) blackmailed.  Why was Epstein so interested in underage girls…and science?  I believe the science part was to make sure that this plandemic went off without a hitch.  No (very few) whistleblowers.  The big doctors are compromised.  Harvard as an institution is compromised.  Larry Summers (Harvard) most certainly rode on Lolita Express.  Find his name.  It’s in there.  How many prominent scientists can you also identify?]

epstein-flight-manifests

[Excursus

Epstein most definitely wanted to create his own “super soldiers”:  https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/9741060/jeffrey-epstein-new-mexico-zorro-ranch-prince-andrew/

Is the New World Order’s super soldier research about to come out?  Are they preemptively covering their asses by exposing Russia?  https://www.the-sun.com/news/4055022/russian-humanzee-human-ape-experiments/

Will the NWO try to pass off vaccine/Havana Syndrome/graphene oxide/5G mind control as “a good thing” (the same way their minion Biden administration has attempted to portray inflation as a good thing?) https://www.thedailybeast.com/injectable-gel-reversed-paralysis-in-mice-with-spinal-cord-injuries-human-clinical-trials-are-next

Look at Dr. Jonathan McGreevey’s (aka Ryan Dark White’s) interviews from the past year.

He was right.]

But back to Alexa Staley.

Where does she fit into this nexus between her dad and Jeffrey Epstein?

Do her qualifications even fit the kind of DARPA mind control stuff we are talking about?

See for yourself.

http://alexastaley.com/resume.html

[N.B.  Alexa Staley seems to have made her current employer a matter of privacy on her resume.  I believe she has done that within the past 24 hours.  Why?  I can find no archived version of her website.  That is a bit odd.  Any good researchers wanna find one?]

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She lives in San Francisco.

She wouldn’t happen to be friends with Ali Fauci, would she?

Alexa Staley appears to have gone to Colombia, while Ali Fauci went to Stanford.

But they’re both in San Francisco?

Where is Twitter HQ?

Are all their software engineers there?

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Thank you for the help, Peter Staley.

Oh, BTW…he was also allowed to follow the personal Twitter account of Elton John’s husband David Furnish.

So that makes a third (Ali Fauci, Deborah Birx, David Furnish) instance where he appears to personally know some very powerful, well-placed people.  

Two of those people (Fauci [through her father] and Birx) are intimately connected to this pandemic.

Good.

Our director, Franklin J. Schaffner, was in the predecessor to the CIA:  the OSS.

At least the OSS were military.

Schaffner is better known for Patton and Planet of the Apes.

But this film is a masterpiece.

I’m just a Steve Guttenberg.

Police academy.

Fauci is most definitely Mengele.

Fauci Jesuit fascist.

[Bergoglio Jesuit communist…first Jesuit pope in the 500 years of the organization]

Fauci and Bergoglio working closely together.

The Fourth Reich.

Klaus Schwab.

Was his father really a Nazi collaborator like George Soros?

https://unlimitedhangout.com/2021/02/investigative-reports/schwab-family-values/

As is well-documented, Soros has admitted to posing as a Christian during the Holocaust and going around with his fake godfather confiscating the property of Jews.

And Soros feels no remorse about this whatsoever.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OT1Qn6COp6Y

Lawrence Olivier is Steve Pieczenik.

Hitler’s home country will now lock down the unvaccinated.

Hitler must be proud.

https://www.dw.com/en/coronavirus-digest-austria-to-approve-lockdown-for-unvaccinated/a-59813093

Why 94?

Plutonium?

You have to track down the deaths.

This was a twenty-year plan (9/11).

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/world/scientists-deaths-are-under-the-microscope/article4134797/

Or maybe longer.

https://apnews.com/article/0f96d2d3641717f2e71df0a6fdd99a2b

The microbiologists.

https://groups.google.com/g/misc.activism.progressive/c/RKJJ-cJwZjQ

A different source.

https://cbrainard.blogspot.com/2008/08/many-dead-scientists-microbiologists.html

Updated.

Lisa Colson:  [7/28/99] Maine, age 34

https://www.orlandosentinel.com/news/os-xpm-1999-07-28-9907280051-story.html

Malcolm Casadaban (died from bubonic plague):  [9/21/09] Chicago, age 60

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1215092/New-victim-Black-Death-Professor-killed-plague-bug-studied.html

Tom Berman (Israeli):  [4/17/13]  Galapagos Islands, age 79

https://www.timesofisrael.com/israeli-expert-found-dead-in-galapagos-islands/

Mayur Mehta (stabbed during road rage):  [12/16/13] Mumbai, 53

https://www.deccanherald.com/content/374942/microbiologist-stabbed-death-brazen-act.html

Any recently?

Suzanne Eaton (death unsolved?  disappeared while running?  body found six miles away):  [7/9/19] Crete (Greece), 59

https://www.mercurynews.com/2019/07/09/bay-area-native-found-dead-during-scientific-conference-in-greece/

Stuart Levy: [9/19/19] Boston, age 80

https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/obituaries/stuart-levy-microbiologist-who-sounded-alarm-on-antibiotic-resistance-dies-at-80/2019/09/19/4011ea96-dae9-11e9-a688-303693fb4b0b_story.html

Frank Plummer:  [2/4/20] Winnipeg, age 67

https://winnipeg.ctvnews.ca/frank-plummer-former-head-of-the-national-microbiology-lab-dead-at-67-1.4797116

Paul Matewele:  [4/22/20] London, age 62

https://www.the-scientist.com/news-opinion/microbiologist-who-studied-deadly-bacteria-in-public-places-dies-67452

David Boothman (was accidentally administered fentanyl in hospital after stroke):  [10/30/20] Indianapolis, age 61

https://www.indystar.com/story/news/investigations/2020/10/30/drug-error-cancer-researcher-eskenazi-hospital-killed/5979448002/

Alexander Kagansky (fell 14 stories with stab wound):  [12/22/20]  St. Petersburg, age 45

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-9079491/Dead-Russian-scientist-involved-British-Covid-research.html

Thomas Brock:  [4/4/21] Madison (WI), age 94

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/04/22/science/thomas-brock-dead.html

Ogehenetejiri Omiragua (tortured to death by police):  [5/16/21], Nigeria, age 28

https://punchng.com/tortured-to-death-by-killer-cops-family-of-microbiologist-accused-of-gunrunning-demands-justice/

Alina Llop:  [9/30/21] Cuba, age 84

https://www.plenglish.com/news/2021/09/30/diaz-canel-mourns-death-of-prominent-cuban-microbiologist/

Wyndham Lathem (convicted of stabbing murder of his boyfriend):  [10/8/21] Chicago

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/former-northwestern-professor-convicted-murder-boyfriend-s-stabbing-death-n1281123

Microbiology is a dangerous profession (apparently).

And it all started in earnest right after 9/11/01.

[N.B. Dark Winter was the summer before 9/11/01.  Strategic signalling?  Fake out?  Audible called?]

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Robert Schwartz was killed with a sword and had an X carved into the back of his neck.  Witchcraft/vampire-obsessed daughter ostensibly persuaded a friend to murder him. https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/local/2003/02/11/daughter-gets-48-years-in-slaying-of-her-father/a1d3e0b1-698f-48e1-844c-a0403f7eaf73/

[N.B.  There is certainly a possibility that the CIA released COVID-19 at the World Military Games in Wuhan simultaneous to releases in northern Italy and Iran.  This would have been the coopted CIA working at the behest of the New World Order (just as they did in carrying out 9/11).  If this sounds farfetched, consider the possibility that the CIA has been running North Korea for a long time.  If that is true, it would not be impossible to release the virus in Iran.  Indeed, it begs the question:  is the CIA running Iran too?  Where did all those planeloads of cash from the Iran deal go?  Barack Obama???]

Nature AND nurture.

Follows exactly the brilliant, anti-CIA, Saoirse Ronan film Hanna.

Dolly the sheep (1996).

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dolly_(sheep)

Operation Warp Speed was a trap.

Klaus Schwab et al. fell for it.

A handshake deal with Hitler.

-PD

 

Two Night Stand [2014)

This year has sucked.

But maybe the past sucked more.

Writing lonely movie reviews in the middle of the night.

Again.

Because antidepressants are a motherfucker to get off of.

I haven’t written like this in a long time.

Because I haven’t been lonely enough to hunt through piles of movies to find a gem.

This is a gem.

Do you know that feeling?

Has a movie ever saved your life??

Elton knows that feeling.

I bet.

Sometimes we get degrees without thinking our lives through.

Reincarnation.

Me?

I have two such degrees.

And the first one makes more sense.

Because I DO love music.

But I live in Texas.

Don’t let anyone tell you that Austin is the capital of dick as far as music goes.

It’s mediocre.

Modestly vibrant.

Business makes less sense.

I can’t get a job at a bank.

I am weird.

Like our lead character Megan.

It’s embarrassing as fuck.

To be unemployed.

When you want to work.

I want to work.

Let me tell you.

I stopped drinking.

I stopped using tobacco.

I got off of Ambien.

I got off of Xanax.

And now maybe I’m on the last part.

But it’s taken 8 months.

And my insomnia has gotten worse.

That’s a good first draft of a life.

A story that might connect.

Who knows?

It is my story.

And absolutely true.

But it will float in the ether.

Probably until the Internet ceases to exist.

I am as close as you are going to find to Herman Melville.

Or Henry Miller.

I am a film critic.

And a musician.

And a recovering drug addict.

It’s fucking embarrassing.

Maybe it helps my street cred.

Have you ever had a verbal altercation?

A really nasty conversation.

Where two sides are trying to demoralize each other.

Are you familiar with those?

There is some great acting here by Analeigh Tipton and Miles Teller.

God damn.

And some great writing by Mark Hammer.

The story takes it a long way.

But having really inspired, talented actors is necessary to take it over the top.

And we shouldn’t forget director Max Nichols…who made this all fit together.

Hammer gives us “Please be a crossdresser.”

There is, in fact, a Psycho reference earlier in the film.

Part of some witty banter.

God…relationships are complicated.

And this film takes weird romance to a whole new level.

It is very inventive.

And, frankly, heartwarming.

Have you ever done something stupid in love?

Ever regretted anything?

Ever almost lost it all???

Maybe like It Happened One Night.

But hell if I know.

Because I’m a lousy film critic.

I just do it for the fun.

For the expression.

To express.

No other realm will have me.

Those who can’t, critique.

Yep.

But I’m a feisty little devil.

As Roger Moore said in For Your Eyes Only, “We’re not dead yet.”

That’s right.

Special ed forces.

Survival.

Positive mental attitude.

The Spy Who Loved Me.

And, in case of a blizzard, “shared bodily warmth”.

Stalking is a skill.

Google.

And some duct tape to fix the neighbors’ window.

Pretty bad ass.

Megan is PISSED OFF.

Great acting!

Yep.

I’ve done that.

Hundreds of songs.

Some not even listened to.

Why?

Is it because the rest of the world are morons?

Perhaps.

Drozd.

Maybe because I’m so captivating.

Self-harm tattoos.

Reliving childhood trauma.

I’m still working.

Hollywood can go to hell.

I’m still here.

I came out the other side.

[more or less]

I almost blacked out there in the middle*

I guess there is a connection to Austin.

But not me.

Down here living in bumfuck San Antonio.

Sitting on my luggage.

With my Stetson.

Done been run over by a stagecoach.

Horses.

And manure in the air.

Yeah.

I was in Brooklyn when this film was shot.

But I had no idea it was being shot.

Back when I was a professional musician.

It’s true.

And sad.

But I’m still here.

Rotten Tomatoes can kiss my ass.

I don’t need anybody to tell me what’s good.

I waded through a ton of crap tonight to find Two Night Stand.

It is a fine movie.

Inspired.

Clever.

It will last.

Fuck everybody else.

 

-PD

Blondie’s New York [2014)

Man…

So much I could say about this one.

But it’s one of the few times where I can say, “I worked with that person.”

Clem Burke.

Probably wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire.

Now.

Because I’m a Trump supporter.

But he was the best drummer I was ever in the same room with.

And drumming was the longest “career” I ever had.

I’ve played drums since I was a kid.

All of them.

The set.

“Traps” 🙂

Orchestral snare drum.

Marimba.

The whole 4-mallet thing.

Jazz vibraphone.

But when I worked with Clem, I was a bass player.

That day.

That year.

For awhile.

It was the bass that took me to England.

To Scotland.

And to Spain.

And it was the bass that first took me to Los Angeles.

But this is about Blondie.

The band.

And what a band!

Based on my own experiences just mentioned, I can attest to the extremely high musicianship of Clem Burke.

And watching this relatively-short documentary (an hour) convinces me of just how special each of the band members were/are.

But perhaps my favorite part is seeing Mike Chapman work.

The record producer.

What a talent!

It was my dream to be a record producer.

Didn’t really work out 🙂

Tough business.

Maybe you fuck up.

Or maybe no one helps you.

Or maybe you get one chance.  And only one chance.

But that’s ok.

Because life goes on.

Marilyn Monroe aged.

Lou Reed sang about it on the Velvets’ “New Age”.

And Godard wrote about it.

The aging of Marilyn Monroe must have been a traumatic phenomenon for the first generation of movie goers.

The first generation with that color reality.

And with the television buttress.

And Marilyn…

Even Elton John, a homosexual man, was in love with Marilyn…in a sort of way.

“Candle in the Wind”

Which brings us to Debbie Harry.

The former cocktail waitress from Max’s Kansas City.

Chickpeas and lobster.

Park Avenue South.

And brings us to the album Parallel Lines.

This documentary is almost strictly about that album.

About Blondie’s breakthrough into the mainstream.

Yeah, they were punk…

Had the street cred.

But they transcended.

Mostly due to musicianship.

A bit like the Talking Heads.

The other bands were hopelessly arty.

Of this scene.

My favorite, Suicide.

[R.I.P. Alan Vega]

I met Alan once.

Changed my life.

But Suicide never really had a hit.

[Nooo…you don’t say?!?]

Yeah.

The name.

Whoa mama!

But that was punk.

And my whole mission is a bit of a punk mission.

Pauly Deathwish.

Uh huh.

Not a name I came up with.

But given to me.

I remember that day.

And the personages.

But my mission is also a bit like the mission of Greil Marcus.

And Lipstick Traces.

Now I’d just prefer to read Debord.

Or read Len Bracken on the Situationists.

But Greil tries (valiantly!) to pull it all together.

And I’m a bit like that kind of wanker.

Just hoping to SOUND like I know it all.

And someday have Harvard written on my spine.

But we’ve hardly discussed Blondie.

Or this excellent little film.

Which is currently streaming on Netflix in the U.S.

Again Kino Lorber’s marketing team (?) seems to be absent behind this release.

There’s no Wikipedia page.

And the iMDB page lists the title of this made-for-TV-affair as Blondie’s New York and the Making of Parallel Lines.

Ok, so it’s not Citizen Kane.

But it’s well worth watching!

Directed by Alan Ravenscroft.

He does a fine job here.

It really is a magical story.

Punk.

New York City.

CBGB-OMFUG.

The Fugs! 🙂

New York, a magical place.

Hell, even mayor Ed Koch is in this.

And he’s much easier to stomach than Bill Clinton.

I don’t care…liberal, conservative…whatever.

Just don’t be a dick!

And if you’re a dick, have the schtick down!!

Like Trump.

He has the schtick down.

He’s learned to lie.

In his many years.

“The babies, the beautiful babies…the innocent babies”…

There were no babies, my friends.

There was no chemical attack.

That footage was in the can for some time.

But it’s a white lie in the world of geopolitics.

It’s like telling your kids that Santa Claus delivered the presents.

There’s no way to explain, “I’ve gotta bomb Syria to make an impression on China.  And the bombing has to happen almost simultaneously with dinner…at Mar-a-Lago.”

And McMaster must be lying too.

That’s ok.

Just don’t make a habit of it.

Because then you’re CIA.

And that’s a dark road.

To get wrapped up in lies.

But the white lies are synthetic terror where nobody dies.

Even the Russian/Syrian body count.

Likely false.

Especially the “four kids” detail.

Pithy.

Icy.

The Democrats are really (I mean it, unfortunately) exceptionally dumb.

They only sense the general outline of the conspiracy.

Russia’s faux indignation.

But they don’t understand that their infantile foreign policy made such machinations necessary.

Blondie 🙂

And Quintilian.

See the documentary.

Forget about North Korea for a moment.

By all means, don’t watch inferior propaganda.

The Propaganda Game?

Great film.

Songs from the North?

Cinematic equivalent of toilet paper.

The Cinémathèque Française knew the value of propaganda films.

Henri Langlois.

Back when they were educating “the five” (Godard, Truffaut, Chabrol, Rivette, and Rohmer).

And Godard understood the importance of “good”, well-crafted, persuasive propaganda.

As Jacques Ellul wrote in 1962, “Ineffective propaganda is no propaganda.”

In other words, it has no business calling itself propaganda.

It’s less-than-worthless.

But kick back with some Machiavelli.

And The Art of the Deal.

And remember the unholy marriage of art and commerce that is and was Blondie.

-PD

Tu dors Nicole [2014)

Here is filmic perfection.

God damn!

Fucking hell!

Excuse my Tourette’s outburst.

But it’s like a geyser.

Because this film really, really (REALLY) got me!

[the boy who cries wolf must get ever more creative]

Wolf!

A big, bad, beautiful wolf here…

I had no idea coming into this film–what I was getting into.

No idea about country of origin.

Or province.

No idea about actors or director.

No idea about language.

Or subtitles.

Just the least thumbnail sketch of plot.

But other than that.

Nothing.

Rien.

In French it’s shorter.

Nothing is even less of a thing in French.

By three letters.

An economy of means.

And that serves as as good a point as any (whew!) at which (yikes!) to start talking about this MASTERPIECE MASTERPIECE MASTERPIECE.

Because I don’t have to get drunk.

I don’t drink.

I don’t have to get high.

I only take my boring medications.

As prescribed.

But you know what really lights my fuse?

Cinema.

And love.

And love when it is cinematic.

And hope.

Optimism.

The hope of love.

The promise of love (however distant the possibility) when it is expressed cinematically.

In a film I feel like I’m the only one watching.

So i must first [sic] thank the universe for Julianne Côté.

As Borat would say, wah-wah-way-woe!

For nerds like me.

That little in-between haircut.

But fuck it…

Hair doesn’t matter.

It’s soul.

It’s shining through.

Ms. Côté is a very attractive girl.

But not in the meretricious sense.

That is left to the less-than-sterling character played by Catherine St-Laurent (who’s also great in this film).

Every film needs a villain.

Frenemies!

As the singularly-poetic Liam Gallagher once penned (and sang):

“You could be my enemy/I guess there’s still time”

Yeah…

But we need to get back to Julianne Côté.

Because she changed my DNA with this film.

She wrecked me (as Tom Petty might have said).

She took my soul and balled it up like dough and made gingerbread men out of it.

[ok, that’s stretching it…]

Because Catherine St-Laurent is the magazine cover girl.

It’s no accident we see her in a bikini…poolside.

But Ms.Côté just floats on the foam spaghetti.

Submersed.

Weightless.

Her face as beautiful…as the moon.

I MUST STOP HERE TO SAY THAT A GOOD MANY OF MY MORE SUBLIME THOUGHTS JUST DISAPPEARED DUE TO SOME COMPUTER GLITCH

And it is only appropriate.

As Nicole’s life is a grand series of fuck-ups and almosts.

Yes, thanks a fucking lot, WordPress.

And Apple.

You jerks.

Ten minutes of writing down the drain.

Ok, so the milk is spilt.

How to get back on track?

I don’t know where I was.

I spun my loveliest sentences.

Turned my most gossamer phrases.

And hit “Save” ever fucking second.

But it didn’t matter.

So we will go to tech metaphor.

Always fall in love with the typewriter.

Even the electric typewriter (like Histoire(s) du cinéma).

And give Microsoft no quarter.

Granted.

They are, for once, innocent.

The answer is.

There is no getting back.

Not some Thomas Wolfe trip.

But simply to say that nothing I can write will sum up the brilliance of Stéphane Lafleur’s direction.

I am exercising zero hyperbole when I say that THIS IS A PERFECT FILM.

And nothing will ever sum up my admiration (yes, love) for Julianne Côté’s performance.

Nay, for her.

Let’s quote Elton John…

“Someone saved my life tonight…”

Yeah!

Thank you, Julianne!

I will just say Julianne from now on…because my computer doesn’t like diacritical marks 🙂

I’ll say it again a few times.

Tu dors Nicole has changed my perception of film.

Of cinema.

Of what a movie can be.

It’s that good!

It’s that important!

I can’t believe what I just saw… […]

-PD

Sunset Boulevard [1950)

This is the story of O.J. Simpson.

This is the story of Phil Spector.

Too much foreshadowing?

Scramble.  Scramble.

Scramble the meaning.

This is Kenneth Anger’s Hollywood Babylon come to life.

Fifteen years before anger published.

In France they have Angers.

And every George is a multiple.

Georges.

But what passion!

Yes, dear friends…

Sunset Boulevard is one of the strangest films ever made.

If you want to know from whence Mulholland Drive came, start here.

SUNSET BLVD.

Mulholland Dr.

If you’re really daft (and I am), you’ll think you’re watching that guy who played The Professor on Gilligan’s Island in one of the best films you’ve ever seen.

But there’s a big fucking difference between Russell Johnson and William Holden.

Or is there?

Just let the wind blow through the bellows of the pipe organ for a moment.

And imagine yourself in a dream so dark it could be a nightmare.

But it’s merely spooky.

The great art.

Has mystery.

What was director Billy Wilder groping for?

Never mind, for a second, the bursting cast.

Every extra a novel in themselves.

Just the story of Sunset Boulevard is enough to make a thinking person stagger into the intersection on the Rue Campagne-Première.

But there are so many intersections…

Mon ami.

It starts bad.

Like a second-rate Raymond Chandler ripoff.

But it compels you to stay with it.

A little underwater photography.

Novel.

The adjective.

So much hinges on Paramount Pictures.

The gate.

The arch.

And how criticism can thwart a career.

The straw that broke the needle in the camel’s eye.

It’s like something out of Breathless or Dr. No.

The precipitous turn.

Kicking up dust.

Before the boulevard was broken dreams and crack vials.

Syringes.

Just ordinary fascism.

Triumph over violins.

And we trace the line.

A shoulder.

A chin.

A palazzo.  A collection of post-Impressionists.

Because we want to know.

For nothing could be more mysterious.

Lost a husband to the Spanish flu.

Lost two more, too.

But one lives as a ghost.

And his monocle groove is strangely vacant.

Erich von Stroheim.

Unreal.

Whether in a Jean Renoir picture or here.

Whether behind the camera or acting in his own film.

In two places at once.

Like Schrodinger’s cat.

But nobody remembers Schrodinger’s chimpanzee.

And a little coffin.

And the steps Stroheim has to take to stand in a hole.

This is the story of Michael Jackson.

This is the story of Emmett Miller.

Not gone, but forgotten.

And it is the true way entertainment worked.

When mass media was born.

At a million miles an hour.

1900.

Or 1898.

Churning out pictures.

From the dream factory.

And wax cylinders.

And who cares about these young girls…we can always find more.

But Buster Keaton sits in for Miller.

Because there is nothing more sad than a sad clown.

The waxworks…

The rogues gallery.

It could have been Elektra.

But it had to be Richard Strauss.

1909.  1911.

Great silence on one coast.

And great noise on the other.

Direct from Europe.

This is the story of Thora Birch.

The greatest star who ever was.

And I am just a humble servant.

Max.

There will be Max.

Always a sadness over beauty.

When beauty is counted in but one way.

One dimension.

3-D clustered, but without 4 time.

But you can’t bullshit a bullshitter.

And actors are all full of nothing.

Must empty out.

Each time.

To fully fill.

May the best shell win!

So that she stalks the shit outta him.

Like some Transylvanian octopus.

And Igor schleps his stuff in the middle of the night.

Like some dream from Dreyer’s Vampyr.

What the fuck?!?

Poor William Holden is living in the decline of the West.

The sagging tennis court.

The bowling alley in the basement we never see.

Because it would be like the Biltmore on hard times.

Truly grotesque.

Decay.  And decadence.

Taken separately.  Different connotations.

A piece of rotting fruit in the trash.

And champagne supernovas of drunken, naked excess.

But they are one and the same.

When rooted word-wise to rot.

Gloria Swanson is the hysterical car-wreck-of-an-actress here.

You can’t look away.

Bride of Frankenstein.  Hell, Frankenstein himself.  Sex changed.  Sexless.

More hideous internally than externally.

And more nuts than the peanut gallery of an old picture house.

But no locks.

Perhaps a lock of hair…

But no gas.

No blades.

No.

It’s quite a spooky thing to be trapped in such luxury.

Such trappings.

Camelhair.  Vicuña.

What the hell!

She’s paying, right???

Tails.

For godsake, man…Valentino danced the tango here!

But now the tarantula hums.

Manipulative receives new meaning.

An actress.  A star!  And that Roaring Twenties, gilded, cocksure, brassy optimism.

Unfazed by decades of disuse.

“She’s doin’ the ballet on/both of her wrists”

Goddamn…

If Echo & the Bunnymen were around in 1950…

William Holden has been sucked in.

To a vortex.

And it ain’t no fun.

No funny business.  No funnymen.

Plenty of echoes.

Of his past life.

Mingled with her omnipresent portraiture fecundating the stale mansion.

“He could die happily ever after”

Bob Dylan knew about the pillars.

And the pillory of fame.

And so C. B. DeMille was a natural choice.

To depict the heartbreak.

Of a washed up life.

Hate to break it to you, kid…

But the diva is in denial.

Yes, the bitch is back.

Take Elton and a whole gaggle of crocodiles…and the Isotta Fraschini with the leopard seats.

Several leopards died for your ass(es).

How’s the weather up there?

And so she rides a white swan because she’s born to boogie.

With the swagger of Bolan.

Norma Desmond.

Monomaniacal about beheading the past.

On a platter.

American montage shows the unwieldy devices–to make young again.

Strobo-oscillo-sonic skin tauteners.

Franju had a less frightening story sans yeux.

Face without eyes.

Ah! […]

But the eyes have it all!!!

The fire of once-great dominance.

Champagne.  Caviar.

The eeriness of Sunset Boulevard is that Gloria Swanson WAS once a great star (sort of).

And even more so, Erich von Stroheim WAS (REALLY FUCKING WAS) a great director!

And so Billy Wilder managed to tell their stories.

Only the names were changed to protect the guilty.

Devotion till the end.

Love for cinema.

Love for a woman.

A woman is a drum.

Where’s Duke Ellington when you need him???

Jealousy.

Jalousie.

Film noir.

Horizontal shafts of light.

But shadows all the more prominent.

This is our Rembrandt.

Our chiaroscuro.

How insensitive…

Norma with bitter, vindictive precision.

And then the curtain is pulled back on the waterworks.

And the fucking Pompidou explodes in hideous reds of dysfunction.

Yes.

Come and see where I live.

In a lonely place…

Maybe it’s better you don’t know me.

But he really wants to say, “Will you marry me?”

On this night.

What sadness.

We think such overwrought misery only exists in the movies.

But the intersections of real life sometimes make such tragedy possibly.

And we shouldn’t wish such on our worst enemies.

She can’t stand the shock.

But cinema is the ultimate beauty.

So fragile at the end…

We give thanks to see such a picture.

To see Stroheim one more time.

“Alright, boys…  Let’s rev up those cameras!”

To see the silent era stagger down the stairs one more time.

Like a wrought-iron flower.

With a green patina.

Nickelodeons penny on the dollar.

Kicked to the curb.

Save for Langlois.

She just needed one more shot at youth.

It was too much, too soon.

One last shot in the arm of that excitement!

That camaraderie of Hollywood.

Before it became a drag.

Her youth.

Memory is scary as hell.

-PD

Un condamné à mort s’est échappé ou Le vent souffle où il veut [1956)

I wanted to write last night, but the Internet fell asleep.

This is one of my favorite films ever.

But I needed to rewatch it.  As I always do.  Every movie.

Real fear.

Real danger.

A long project.

Extracting yourself from the superjail.  The prison planet.

A Man Escaped.  We have it easy in English.

But witness the fullness of the French title.

It speaks to care.  Rope.  Hooks.  Months.  Of planning.

And it all started with a spoon.

Tin nor aluminum will do.  Neither.

We must wait for iron.

Steel?

Iron.  Hardness.

It’s World War II.

Today.  World War III.

And for the CIA, World War IV.

Chemists.  Physicists.  And now mathematicians.

Computer scientists.  Statisticians.

No, that’s post-War.  Japan.

But for now we are locked in a room of our own making.

If we can only get through the door.

tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap

tap tap tap tap

tap tap tap tap tap tap tap

Which isn’t to say, taps.

We must succeed at this chess game.

Playing against an adversary with few weaknesses.

Multiple layers of defense and surveillance.

Doors and locks and gates and bars.

And silence.

It is the silence which will betray us.

And so, Dr. No, we must slip our shoes off for a little putting practice.

It is a real battle.

CIA vs. FBI.  Refereed by the NSA.

NGA vs. NRO.  Chantilly lace vs. a pretty face.

A girl and a gun.

ASIS vs. DIGO.  Or dingo.

Rich.

ASCAP vs. BM.I

But let me back up to the kebab organization known as SHISH.

Apologies to Belgium.

But it is worth noting SV/SE vs. CSIS/SCRS.

Scissors.  Suckers.  A scissor.

A pair of scissors.

He would need more leverage.  The most overused word in business.

And as meaningless as “innovation”.

What they mean is “interesting”…that’s innovation.

And by false flag, “not what it seems”.

Dear NEADS in Rome (NY) uttered collectively the phrase of Baudrillard’s lifetime:

“Is this real-world or exercise?”

But we have remembered it as simulation.

Going over his escape a million times in his head.

With poor reconnaissance.

Except the dead would-be escapee.

“He’s practically free.”

“No one’s practically free.”

Jessica Lange, incredulous.

But she’s not in this movie.

She’s headed to Roswell.

Named after Yale graduate Roswell Rudd.

A little town in New Mexico.

Out of time.  Mind.

CSE vs. GCHQ.  Or CSEC.

An animal with five eyes has no competition.

Within himself.  The owls are not what they seem.

Fifth wheel.  Hokey pokey.

Valuable antipodes.

And RCMP vs. FBI.  Horses.  Or moose.

Hippopotamus.  POTUS.  Not amused.

DND seems incorrect.

What was Fontaine in for?

And Jost?

DIPOLCAR.  Position.

MSS vs. RSS.  Seems so simple.  Really simple!  And so complex.

Pledged ΚΥΠ.

But the division.

ÚZSI vs. UZI.  Sounds dangerous.

With PET we get to canned milk or breaking wind.

A lovable Lego intelligence agency.

Of one.

Just one?

KaPo vs. capo.  Vs. ligatura.

Hitchcock’s rope vs. Bresson’s rope.

For this is Robert Bresson.  The movie.  Under consideration.

SUPO vs. sumo.

But we really get fired up by DGSE.

And it’s only appropriate.

DGSE vs. BND.

The only war which has ever been fought.

Das Fenster vs. la fenêtre.

The most delicate element of escape.

A crack in the breeze.

SIN vs. voodoo of all sorts.

GRLS.  Girls?  Gorillas?  Scalded ape?

When you need headache relief quick.  Choose BAINTELKAM!

A Buddhist temple with a surrounding population 95% Muslim.

Amazing.  Elton John.

MOIS.  Ooh…  Now we are getting serious.

Putting the me in month.

And of course “the Institute” (moving alphabethically).

Lisping along.

How will you project your escape.  Like Desargues.

And Poncelet.

The movie camera.

Go directly to jail.

Whale song matryoshka.

AISE.  Must be the coolest.  Standard issue Ferraris.  And meals in Modena.

Like Matthew Broderick’s brief moment of cool in Election.

Gid Tanner and his Skillet-Lickers…coming to the Kingdom of Jordan…real soon.

SREL.  Sreally?  That’s SRAL.  Like SalvaDali.

CISEN as sí señor.

Not quite hermeneutics.

FIB vs. SIN.

PST.  Masters of recruitment.

And FOST vs. SIE.

The big daddy ISI vs. ailleurs.

The canal of SENIS.  Central American zipper.

Could have been Lake Nicaragua.

AW 🙂 Georges Sand approaching Chopin with flowers.

He was a woman.  Mr. Sandman.

SIRP vs. usurp.

SVR vs. GRU. [now we’re making some sense]

And DEVGRU vs. GRU.

GIP is priceless.  One letter from perfection.

VOA vs. VOA.

NISA vs. NASA.  And the incomparable skills of PIS.

In joint operations with SENIS.

CITCO vs. Citgo.

Must it be?  It must be.  It MUST be.

And back to our MI6 and DIA and ONI.

These are the thoughts of a man in jail.

Where having a pencil is punishable by firing squad.

And so he builds his hope on escape.

From the mundane.

He is a true soldier.

Though he be stripped of any recognition.

Wisdom is that final step.  On a journey which started with mere data.

 

-PD

Masculin feminin: 15 faits precis [1966)

I don’t write about the film, I write about me.  I don’t write about the film, I write about the world.  No.  I write about the film the best I can.  I am on a mission to start every sentence with I…from now to the end of eternity.  Not quite.

I don’t know what pops up in your reader.  You know about the reader?  Tell me about the reader, Charles…  Yes?  And???  Right.  The reader writes.  Correct!

We are some macro-blogging mofos.  Four times I wrote it and four times it autocorrected to micro.  And so the stupid hyphen.  Just like the titles.  Diacritical marks are the first to go in totalitarian societies.  Then the dollar words.  Soon, all words which might express inefficient, ineffective concepts such as tenderness.

Now we are rolling.  Give the anarchist a cigarette!

D’accord…

Allors…

Jean-Pierre Léaud was the Jason Schwartzman of the 60s…or vice versa.  And while we might think primarily of Truffaut, here we see Léaud in a truly penetrating role.

Chantal Goya.  She plays the ice-cold bitch pretty well…completely meretricious, vacuous, etc.

And then we run into red hypertext “links” for Catherine-Isabelle Duport and Michel Debord.

Yeah, we all know:  the children of Marx and Coca-Cola.  Could have been.  Tarzan vs. IBM.  Could have been.  The ape and the onion.  Mercury Rev.

Well, yes:  it could have been.  Today.  Particularly dreary.  All week.  Usually I embrace it.  Pretend like I’m Liam Gallagher in Manchester.  But not today.  Not this week.  Only shadows in the night gets it right.

It’s a bummer.  I’m too old to be young.  Too perverted to be romantic.  Too romantic to live.  Etc. Etc. Etc.

And yes:  I catch the aspect ratio.  I yell Trotskyite.  Not really, but parallel.  I detest the cowardice…when I myself am a basket-case.  It’s ok.  We are human.

We remember Marx and Coca-Cola, but we forget James Bond and Vietnam.  We forget the military-industrial complex.

Let me tell you how it happened.  I lay down as always with my sea-foam-green (eau-de-nil) headphones ready to continue my reflection on the great oeuvre.  And my computer doesn’t cooperate.  It’s as if I have conjured the spirit of JLG.  The sound outraces the picture.  Chaplin-fast to Notre Musique-slow.  The waves come crashing in.  Ingmar is hijacked and ridiculized.

Translation:  my computer won’t play the disc.  After 15 minutes of relatively good play, it jerks and stops and pauses and reloads in an endless loop.  It’s like as a kid with that De La Soul CD…I’d physically pick up the player an inch and let it drop down.  Somehow it would catch.  It was just that disc.  No, not this time.

I have cared for this film like a child.  It is one of many baby Jesuses in my Jodorowsky stable.  Manger.

And so I traveled far to rewatch this.  Fifteen paces maybe.  15.  So what?

Et allors?

Pauvre Wikipedia.  Lion-wannabe.  Quick!  Call Tim Rice and Elton John.  Pathetic.

Yes, she keeps abreast of the pop charts.  Cashbox.  And he likes her type of breasts.  Why not say it?

And isn’t there anything else you like about me?  Well, Miss 19, there’s not much more to like.  A Big Mac and a pair of Nikes and you’re happy.

Yes, Seymour Glass.  I’m sure he just backed up too far on the balcony…trying to get all two of them in the picture…in Florida…like Richard Manuel.

Duport eats a bananafish.  Marquis de Sade.  Such a perfect day.  Cassis and mineral water.  And Orangina for Marlène Jobert.  Perhaps.  Who cares.

You can tell a redhead even in black and white.  She should have been more famous.  Eva Green’s mom.

yé-yé all day long

Mozart

the orchestra is fantastic

clarinet concerto

middle movement

Paul.  Again with the Paul.  It started tentatively in Vivre sa vie.  And then Paul Javal.  Contempt.  In the name of the father.  And now again without Christian name like Le Chiffre.  James Bond and Vietnam.  Same complex.  Inferiority.  Military-industrial.

With that I am at 666 words.  Ed Sanders decides to consult Harry Smith on how to levitate the Pentagon.  Exercise the demons.  Nothing like a demon with love handles. Give ’em a good workout.

B-A-C-H.  Psychotic fugue on the Mashed Potato.  Dee Dee Sharp.

What other kind of fugue is there?!?  Jonny Greenwood would surely tell you it’s reversible.  Amnesiac.

ménage à quatre

bullshit

intellectual parlor games

Wikipedia

I know.  I know.  Hawaiian.  Quick!  Vite!

caméra-couteau

probing, probing

like Tony Parker

pass the goddamn ball

I’m not sure you want to know.  I am a lip-reader.  Baudelaire.  Au lecteur.  Samuel Fuller.  Les Fleurs du mal.  No one under 18 admitted.  Strictly no admittance.  778 words and I haven’t gotten to the film.

-PD