Introversion [2021)

Teenage Fanclub.

That glow in The World’s End.

But a sadness.

THE sadness.

Emily Dickinson.

Unrequited.

Unattainable.

My Bloody Valentine.

Sloshy grunge hats.

Edge echo.

Chris Bell.

I Am the Cosmos.

Yerself Is Steam.

Slowdive.

Rutti.

Brian Eno.

The disappearance of Madeleine McCann.

Tom Petty.

You don’t know how it feels.

J. Spaceman.

Abbey Road.

Air.

George Martin.

Beck.

Badfinger suicides.

Loser.

Spiritualized.

Royal Albert.

I can only give you everything.

Rick Danko.

Loping.

The Delgados.

Dave Fridmann.

Black magic warded off by honesty.

Good timing.

Divine.

Sigur Rós.

Nigel Godrich.

Pocket symphonies.

Charlotte Gainsbourg.

Serge on the way.

Lenny Bruce, even.

Hit to Death in the Future Head.

Wait at least until track three to break it down.

Southern Harmony and Musical Companion.

Gorecki.

Arvo Pärt.

Deserter’s Songs.

Absolutely.

The confusion of ridiculous counterpoint.

Aaron Copland.

Tonal, yet dissonant.

Thick Billy Corgan.

Siamese Dream.

Definitely a sadness here.

Dawn Upshaw.

Tabula rasa.

Death.

Immense Mellotron.

Tchaikovsky.

Abrupt modulation.

Sugar plum.

Lou Reed.

Ennio Morricone.

Cinema Paradiso.

All you need is hate.

Upstate.

Chaliapin.

Basso profundo.

Jussi Björling.

Dvořák.

Memorial day.

The Inflated Tear.

Columbus, Ohio with duct tape.

Debussy.

Posing with a bass clarinet.

Primal Scream.

Get Duffy.

Rock ferry.

Smokey Robinson.

Sad clown.

Dead clown.

Kinks.

Grasshopper.

Suzanne.

Woodwind quintet.

Did I ever write one?

Yes, I did.

César Franck.

Saint-Saëns.

Organ symphony.

Or is it contrabassoon?

Nadia Boulanger can tell you.

My teacher’s teacher (twice over).

The Left Banke.

LSD.

Herb Alpert?

Hummel.

Handel.

Strawberry fields.

Stereolab.

Unequivocally.

Transient Random-Noise Bursts with Announcements.

A little lo-fi.

Vocal doubled.

Vox continental.

Great hook.

Changes that pull at your heartstrings.

More melancholy.

A fucking marimba solo?!?

Are you kidding me???

Makes sense.

Pauly Deathwish collaboration with Gordon Gano of Violent Femmes.

Lost Bayou Ramblers.

Gordon knew him as Death.

I have become death.

96 Tears.

Farfisa.

Partials.

Tim Gane tone.

Faust IV.

Doogie Howser?

Scary.

Impending.

Suspense.

Rock bass.

Ozzy.

Black Sabbath.

Amazing Grace.

Pete Townshend.

Front.

Back to J. Spaceman.

Dirty ass rock and roll with pristine horns.

Expensive drugs.

Sophisticated changes.

Éminence grise?

Is this the artist we’ve been waiting for?

Rodriguez?

R. Stevie Moore?

Wesley Willis?

Sounds like Jack Nitzsche.

Major Velvet vibes.

Suck-ceed twice.

Dylan with P-bass.

Mick Taylor.

Too much attitude.

Keith Richards.

Let it Come Down.

Shakespeare.

Fucker kicked the bucket.

First to be vaxxed.

Maricopa.

First Suicide album.

Bossa nova.

The Soft Bulletin.

Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space.

Gimme some lovin’?

Steve Winwood?

How old?

La Monte Young.

Slow changes.

First rehearsal tapes.

Alan Vega.

Martin Rev.

New York City heroin.

Warhol Factory torn down.

Across from YMCA.

Trump dances.

Great throwaway lyrics.

George Harrison.

Sound of universe.

Spacemen 3.

Savage tone.

Revolution.

Direct into mixing console.

Fried signal.

White album.

Sonic Youth.

Derek Bailey.

Lou ecstacy.

Late Lou.

European son.

Blood pressure rising.

Brutal.

Frankie Teardrop.

I think I’m in love.

Dub bass.

Will the circle remain unbroken?

When I had dinner with Roky.

13th Floor.

First Velvets album.

Heroin.

Drug rush.

Invincible.

But you gotta buy it.

Dirty Baltimore.

Cop shoot cop.

Cheree.

On the jukebox.

Eat at the gas station.

On tour.

First time in Texas.

American Supreme.

Iceland.

13 Angels.

It’s definitely Bowie.

New career.

Same town.

New old.

Old is new again.

Mercury Rev.

Savvy programming.

Dynamics.

Break beat.

A fuck ton of flutes.

Flute loops literally.

Bowie sax.

Little fluffy clouds.

Every drop.

Gay glam chorus.

Tony Visconti.

Don’t underestimate.

Pere Ubu.

First album.

Méliès.

Boys peel out.

Boces.

Inspector Clouseau.

Phone.

French ambulance.

Pants.

Gives me pants.

Videogames.

Cutting hole.

Pink Panther.

Herbert Lom.

A Shot in the Dark.

Grandaddy.

Under the Western Freeway.

Weeping willow.

Under that.

With Sean Mackowiak.

Square waves.

WarGames.

Tympani.

Rollerskate Skinny.

Dublin.

Kevin Shields.

Comes back loud.

One song mastered soft.

Definitely Low.

The main influence of Pauly Deathwish’s debut album.

Honegger.

Pacific 231.

Chariots of fire.

Vangelis.

Such a groove.

Nancarrow.

Polyrhythm.

Immense sadness.

By the side of a freeway.

Under an underpass.

Not like RHCP.

Much darker.

Like Godspeed.

Philip Glass.

Eno.

Blackstar.

How did a Trump supporter make this album?!?

I thought all Trump supporters were redneck morons???

This is way fucking better than Ariel Pink’s dabblings.

This sounds like a debut album.

Songs saved up.

Like The Strokes.

Cinematic as fuck.

Glitch Radiohead.

Trail of Dead.

Makes sense.

Because Pauly wrote the string arrangement on IX.

Dark.

Killers.

Disco compression.

Distressed.

These lyrics!

Johnny Rotten.

Trump 2021.

Snot on the crowd.

Arcade Fire.

Makes sense.

Lost Bayou Ramblers lost sessions.

Montreal studio.

This was all made on an iPhone?!?

Guy Debord.

Aladdin Sane.

Time.

Rick Wakeman?

Olivier Messiaen.

Major 7ths in uppermost range of piano.

Almost indistinguishable from octaves.

Eerie.

Slight.

Only for the sensuous ear.

The Wall.

Waters delayed bass.

No nonsense drums.

Humble Pie reference?!?

Ha!

Great lyrics!!

Predating new Bob Dylan album.

Check SoundCloud timestamp.

This is definitely the QAnon anthem.

This hook should be on a million conspiracy videos.

“10 Days of Darkness”.

Tell ’em Large Marge sent ya!

My end is my beginning is my end.

Grinderman.

No pussy.

Early-’90s.

Nirvana’s wake.

Finnegans Wake.

Great debut album (if I do say so myself).

Usual suspects.

Spotify.

iTunes.

Pauly Deathwish.

-PD

The Great Reset: The Deep State vs the Great Awakening [2020)

Something is afoot.

If you’re not curious whether there was election fraud in the U.S. during this recent election, then you’re not paying very much attention.

It has been 22 days since the U.S. election.

For the American mass “news” media, everything is all wrapped up with a bow in a tidy little package.

They pull from here and there.

Yesterday it was Paul Ryan.

Since when did Democrats OR Republicans give a fuck about Paul Ryan?!?

Since pretty much never.

The U.S. “news” media trots out Mitt Romney.

Liz Cheney.

The criminal organization which is attempting to illegitimately install Joe Biden as our next President is DESPERATE to seal the deal.

Which makes it infinitely-interesting that President Trump retweeted a Lin Wood tweet.

The surface layer of content in Lin Wood’s tweet was this:

https://themarshallreport.wordpress.com/2020/11/22/sidney-powells-kraken-is-dod-cyber-warfare-program-we-are-at-war/

But the golden nugget embedded in the article was this:

How long will Alphabet Inc. leave it up?

You have the title.

The Wayback Machine has no working records of the YouTube video.

I would archive it, but I’m sick of fucking signing up for shit and being tracked.

So fuck it.

You can track it down.

And we’re gonna do a little oral transmission here.

Spoiler alert:

this film review will be strictly spoilers and nothing but.

Not my usual m.o..

I’m not selling anything.

I don’t generate income by you clicking on this story.

I have no link to any content creator above.

I write very strange film reviews.

It’s called free fucking speech.

I also write music.

All my music is free to stream and download.

And I’m not gonna post a link.

Go find it.

The purpose of this article is strictly to get information out.

I am a conservative.

The same kind of conservative Donald Trump is.

Like it, or leave it.

I belive in Jesus.

I love God.

If you don’t like my foul mouth, then you can leave now.

I curse because I’m angry.

And I curse because I will not be told what I can and cannot say.

This is my website.

I’m using my free speech.

I’m gonna walk until they make me run.

So I’m here today to tell you about what I think is going on.

I scour the internet every day (especially these past 22 days) in an effort to avail myself of actionable intelligence.

I have a thirst for knowledge.

But more than that, I have a thirst for truth.

I support QAnon.

I support Trump.

I love my country:  the United States of America.

I support our military.

I support our law enforcement officers.

And now I’m going to get around to the fucking point.

I watched this entire one hour, eight minute, and 44 second video – – – – – – so that you don’t have to.

But I still recommend you watch it.

And archive it (if at all possible).

Wayback Machine is my jam.

I’ve never been asked to “log in” until today.

Whatever…

Fuck it.

You can work a little too.

Here’s the beef.

This whole video is good.

All of the guests are good.

But there is one particular guest (the first one) who drops what I find to be some new and illuminating information.

The guest is Major Jeffrey Prather.

It should be noted that several of the six guests (including Maj. Prather) appear to be forthcoming content creators for this new outlet:  American Media Periscope.

I’ve never heard of this outlet.

I get the impression that they have only been around a couple of weeks.

AND ALREADY TWEETED OUT BY THE PRESIDENT!

Which brings me back to my point.

Something in here MUST be salient.

And my guess is that it is the first guest:  Major Prather.

If you haven’t heard of Sidney Powell by now, you have been living under a rock.

While most of America is being blasted with “Sidney Powell is even too crazy for Trump” blah blah bullshit, those who know (Trump voters) are well aware that Ms. Powell is an accomplished lawyer.

Her most recent claim to notoriety is successfully defending General Michael Flynn from the petty bitterness of sore losers.

Update:  if you’re just waking up, the Flynn case has been dismissed (within the past 24 hours).  This according to a tweet by one of Flynn’s brothers.  Go find it yourself.  I.e., Flynn’s not gonna need a pardon.

We’ve known this for awhile.

The government has no case when the government has no prosecutor.

Judge Emmet Sullivan is a really atrocious example of a judicial activist.

An activist.

Not a judge.

Sullivan dragged out the case another three months…after the Department of Justice withdrew its case.

But I digress…

It does not take a fucking genius to imagine that the exceedingly-persecuted Michael Flynn might be very grateful indeed for the legal services of Sidney Powell.

Flynn fought hard for Trump in 2016.

Flynn was unfairly targeted by Obama’s illegal Crossfire Hurricane program (run by the FBI).

Flynn’s life has been ruined (in a worldly sense).

But he has survived.

I believe the man had to sell his home to pay his legal fees.

Thirty years in the U.S. Army and that’s the treatment he got from Obama, Comey, McCabe, Strzok, Lisa Page, Loretta Lynch, Susan Rice, Bruce Ohr, Rod Rosenstein, John Brennan, James Clapper, and (last but not least) Joe Biden.

So Michael Flynn has some scores to settle.

Because of his ongoing case, he was essentially precluded by the judge from publicly speaking for the past four years.

What a illegal travesty!

So now we come to what should be obvious to any thinking individual as the massively-fraudulent election of 2020.

We have been waiting three years for any of those aforementioned people to get in trouble…FOR ANYTHING!

We would have been happy if Hillary Clinton had gotten a fucking parking ticket, but she didn’t.

We have waited through:

-Jeff Sessions

-John Huber

-John Bash?

-Bill Barr

and

-John Durham.

We have been built up by a bunch of tick-tock bullshit.

Maybe it had a purpose.

Surely it did.

But what I am about to report casts it in a slightly different light.

You can decide for yourself whether what I convey seems plausible.

I belive Q is legit.

But it is a HIGHLY, HIGHLY complex and nuanced PSYOP.

I do not believe it is a fucking LARP.

And if it’s a LARP, then so what?

It has been effective.

WILDLY-effective.

It is a part of world history.

It has gotten people DIGGING like never before.

Me and a few other people tried to expose 9/11 as an inside job/false-flag stand down/what have you.

We didn’t really prevail.

We were ignored.

Maybe we were completely wrong to doubt the official story of 9/11.

But I don’t think so.

I researched that event like my life depended on it.

BECAUSE IT CHANGED THE WORLD…FOR THE WORSE.

We didn’t need to go to war in Afghanistan.

And we didn’t need to stay there 20 years.

We didn’t need to go to Iraq.

Again.

Correct me if I’m wrong (and I’m sure you will), but I think we could have arrested Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld and a few others and called it a day.

Which brings us to the current times.

There wasn’t enough of a GREAT AWAKENING to reach critical mass.

But that was 19 years ago.

I can’t really recall Q ever having talked about 9/11.

That’s alright.

Maybe Q will tell us that 9/11 was actually the work of 19 beardy guys with boxcutters working out of a cave in Afghanistan.

And maybe that’s the whole story.

But I don’t buy it.

I believe the CIA was involved.

So does Dr. Steve Pieczenik.

Do yourself a favor and buy his eBook American Warrior in Crises.

I get nothing for plugging that.

He’s not a friend of mine.

I’ve never spoken to or exchanged correspondence with him.

I just respect his work.

Immensely!

Is he always right?

Probably not.

But for my money, he’s as close as we get to truth in this day and age.

So here’s the rub.

Flynn has some scores to settle.

The other military people who saw Flynn become a political prisoner also have some scores to settle…ON HIS BEHALF.

You cannot fail to serve your country (like Obama) and then turn around and ruin a guy’s life who did (for 30 years!).

You shouldn’t prosecute a guy for a process crime and, in so doing, make him lose his house.

I think I donated 20 bucks to Flynn.

Damn right I did!

I worked at Starbucks.

And I was proud to give my hard-earned money to a MILITARY spy chief.

And there’s the rub.

I used to want to work in intelligence.

Maybe I still do.

But I’m old.

Washed up.

And, honestly, I’m a fucking musician.

So just call me Sherlock Holmes.

And a shabby one at that (perhaps).

But I take great pride in TRYING to know what’s going on.

Because, again, I LOVE MY COUNTRY!

And who taught me to truly love my country?

Donald Trump.

And who else?

Steve Pieczenik.

And who else?

Michael Flynn.

If you don’t think that Sidney Powell is privy to some very interesting information by way of representing General Flynn, then you are incredibly naive.

Which finally brings us to this YouTube video.

Major Prather.

Major Prather (according to his LinkedIn) worked at the Defense Intelligence Agency for 17 years…and in a very high position at that!

General Flynn headed the DIA.

It might be said that the DIA is the military rival in the U.S. to the civilian CIA.

That’s right:  the CIA is a civilian intelligence organization.

A weird thing.

Created in 1947.

The CIA’s predecessor was the OSS:  a military intelligence unit.

Although the OSS were a bit kooky (thanks to their head William J. Donovan), at least they were putting themselves in harm’s way.

But again I digress.

The CIA has lost a little more than 100 officers/operatives in the past 73 years.

That’s the official number.

And it sounds about right.

The DIA has officially lost 21.

That number makes less sense.

But it makes sense in that the DIA is sort of the cream of the crop for military intelligence in the United States.

The NSA may be thought of as being even more elite (and powerful as a unit) because of the unique types of intelligence gathering they do.

The NSA supplies intel to the CIA, FBI, DIA, etc.

The NSA is a military intelligence organization.

Back to these casualty numbers.

The CIA has officially lost 133 of its employees on the job…in 73 years.

The DIA has officially lost 21 of its employees on the job…in 59 years.

But that doesn’t really tell the true story.

Sure, the CIA has its paramilitary strike teams.

They used to be called SAD/SOG (Special Activities Division/Special Operations Group).

These officers were largely recruited from the military special operations units:  Army Delta Force, Navy SEALs, MARSOC, etc.

Other than these agents, the CIA is more pencil-pusher, wear a tie, James Bond shit.

And I do mean shit.

Once upon a time, the CIA used to help overthrow communist governments.

This might seem inhumane.

Until you live under communism.

In which case, you see just how humane it really is.

But the CIA has gotten away from that mission.

So much so that they ended up with a Director who had once voted for a communist for U.S. President.

That’s right:  John Brennan voted for Gus Hall.

It should have been a disqualifying factor by some estimations.

The CIA and FBI apparently share the same requirement upon beginning official employment:  you must pass a lie detector test…and one of the questions is something to the effect of “have you ever supported a group that has sought the overthrow of the U.S. government.”

John Brennan admittedly had a tough time answering that question.

But he might as well have answered:

“Not yet.”

To my eyes, John Brennan is clearly a traitor to the U.S.

Following closely behind him is Michael Hayden (who led both the CIA and NSA respectively).

But Michael Flynn is cut from a different cloth.

He’s a spymaster.

But he cut his teeth doing the real thing.

Serving in Army intelligence (INSCOM).

Putting himself in harm’s way.

The same cannot be said of John Brennan (and most of the CIA).

[Michael Hayden is a strange case of…well, I don’t know…I just have to assume he is corrupted and coopted to such an extraordinary level that he doesn’t even really love his country any more (if he ever did in the first place)–he loves himself…first and foremost]

So I give Major Jeffrey Prather (formerly of the DIA) a great deal of respect as a foregone conclusion.

[keep in mind…the DIA has had its share of bad eggs…James Clapper chiefly among them]

If you watch no other section of the video I posted above, watch the segment with Prather.

Akamai.

Where do they fit in to this election?

Which brings up 9/11.

And the incredibly strange/significant “death” of Daniel Lewin.

Yes, I know I put death in quotes.

I’m about as sure Daniel Lewin died on 9/11 as I am sure that Adam Lanza was a master with an assault rifle.

Which is to say, not very sure.

But the Electoral College will meet on my birthday:  December 14th.

Massachusetts.

Akamai.

Serbia.

Ok, we know about Dominion Voting Systems and all the programmers they have/had in Serbia.  A bit of a strange locale.  Wonder if the company memos are in Cyrillic?

China.

I don’t now why I wrote that down.

I’m going off notes.

Frankfurt.

Ok, yes.

Obviously.

Something appears to have happened there.

I’m not sure what Prather’s point was on this.

What was seized?

From Scytl?

From the CIA?

And seized by whom?

The U.S. Army?

I should take this opportunity to point out a strange assertion of Prather’s.

I find this one a little hard to believe, but I suppose it’s possible.

Prather asserts that the U.S. Army, U.S. Navy, and Marines have all had their computer systems compromised.

Might this have something to do with the DoD contract with AWS?

Amazon Web Services.

The CIA uses them too.

Look it up, you lazy fucker!

It’s an article…in The Atlantic.

Dig!

There have been rumors that the votes in (for example) Michigan were sent by Dominion Voting Systems by way of AWS (which is to say, over the internet?  cloud???) to Europe in order for the votes to be tallied.

Giuliani has pointed out just how ludicrous this is.

And it is!

But what’s the exact chain?

We know there is a company called Scytl.

They are headquartered in Barcelona.

They are rumored to have a “back up” data site (servers) in Frankfurt.

There is good evidence that internet traffic in Frankfurt, Germany on the night of the U.S. election set records for that city.

Look it up.

Find it.

WikiLeaks exposed the fact that the U.S. Consulate in Frankfurt is a giant CIA hacking base.

This can be found in the Vault 7 materials from WikiLeaks.

So, did the CIA hack our election?

Seems to me like a high probability.

Indeed, Prather outlines this dichotomy:  the civil war in the U.S. has already started…and the SO/LIC confrontation can so far best be described as DIA vs. CIA (or, perhaps more accurately, military vs. CIA).

I believe this is probably accurate.

It is borne out by all the intelligence I have personally gathered (OSINT) over the past few years.

The CIA has lost its way.

I once applied there.

Thank God I didn’t get the job.

I also once tried to sell my soul to the Devil (true story), but that tale can wait…

I am saved by the grace of Jesus Christ.

I am the worst among sinners.

Which is why I need the grace of Jesus more than anyone.

I also applied for Air Force Intelligence once.

Didn’t get it.

Maybe because I have a fucking music degree and an MBA.

Not exactly what’s commonly thought needed to assess China’s answer to the F-35.

Which brings us to Prather’s point.

According to Major Prather, only the U.S. Air Force and the newly created Space Force have retained the security of their computer networks.

This is a bold claim.

I don’t have anything to really gauge it on.

Except that I have a soft spot for INSCOM (because of Q and Flynn) and a soft spot for the 4th POG (because they followed me on Twitter for some odd reason [before Jack Dorsey squashed me like a bug]).

Prather then pivots to his concerns.

He talked about possibly-imminent “interdictions” against Iran.

We have heard Q talk about Iran.

I love Iranian psychedelic music from the ’60s.

Before the Islamic revolutionaries fucked everything up.

I have nothing against Muslims.

I love them.

I have nothing against Iranians.

I love them.

I LOVE Kiarostami [RIP].

But let’s take stock for a moment here.

Joe Biden “won”.

Netanyahu pretty fucking quickly called to congratulate Joe.

And THEN…YESTERDAY Netanyahu calls to congratulate Jonathan Pollard on his release.

What in the actual fuck?!?

How pro-Israeli does a President [Trump] have to be in order to get a little respect from Israel?

Ok, ok.

I know.

Maybe Netanyahu is working with Trump behind the scenes.

Entirely possible.

Maybe we should have a sort of FVEY agreement with Israel.

But probably not.

Because, you know, remember the U.S.S. Liberty (you fuckers!).

Back to 9/11.

I have no idea if the Israelis were involved.

There was definitely some suspicious shit.

Zim-American Israeli Shipping.

Vacating the WTC right before the attacks.

And the moving truck company [Dominick Suter].

Mossad had some strange presence in and around NYC leading up to 9/11.

I don’t know what they were doing there.

And then there were the Mossad “art students” (which Pieczenik has attested to from personal experience).

All I know is this.

9/11 could not have gone undetected (and undeterred) by our military.

To the list of Rumsfeld and Cheney (Liz’s dad), we should add Ralph Eberhart, Richard Myers, etc.  And almost certainly Paul Wolfowitz, Douglas Perle, etc.

Keep in mind, nobody ever got in trouble.

The two tallest buildings in America fell down (were blown up) and all we did was waterboard KSM 183 times.

Perhaps Flynn and Anthony Shaffer could set me straight on some stuff.

I get the general gist of Able Danger.

But it still doesn’t explain a lot of things.

I’m gonna have to side with Pieczenik on this one:  we’ve seen one long procession of (unpunished) false-flags since 9/11.

Now comes the pain.

Pieczenik seemed really sure about those watermarks on the ballots.

And I believe him.

Shaffer seemed to corroborate their likelihood.

But I was of the understanding that DHS was running this election sting.

After watching this YouTube video, it has dawned on me just how suspicious Chad Wolf has been acting.

See something, say something, right?

Why wouldn’t he fire Chris Krebs?

Even more importantly, what in the actual fuck was CISA doing on the night of the election?

Alexandra Bruce brings up some pretty excellent points in this video.

If I understand her correctly, she seems to be saying that cisa WAS IN ON THE WHOLE THING!

[Which would make sense in the same way that NORAD was doubtless in on 9/11]

But here is perhaps the most intriguing bit of information which Major Prather dropped.

It is his assertion that Ezra Cohen-Watnick is, in fact, Q.

Or rather, he says something to the effect that there is a [and I paraphrase] “very high likelihood” of this.

Call me dumb, but I never even thought of that possibility.

I know who ECW is (not personally, of course).

Thomas Wictor drew attention to this personage years ago.

Said there were no pictures of him because he’s military intelligence.

It’s all starting to click.

I find the ECW theory highly-plausible.

But then Prather throws a massive curveball.

Maj. Prather asserts that Bill Barr is getting ready to indict Ezra Cohen-Watnick (!).

For what?

For being Q??

A final bit of potentially disheartening information from Prather is that “Durham has done nothing” (paraphrase).

I.e., John Durham has not, and will not, bring any of the Crossfire Hurricane [coup #1] traitors to justice.

Sure, we got Clinesmith, but give me a fucking break…

I’d still rather see Hillary get a parking ticket.

So there you have it.

The other guests in the video are all quite good.

They all have some rather harrowing predictions for the coming days/weeks/months.

All seem to agree that Trump will probably prevail and be elected to a 2nd term.

But it could get really ugly.

Ms. Burke brings up the specter of military tribunals.

I see her point.

It may be necessary.

I also highly recommend the PSYOP officer.

And the big fat guy with the beautiful brain.

-PD

Cuban Fury [2014)

“You got no fear of the underdog/

That’s why you will not survive.”

Britt Daniel wrote that lyric.

And it’s the only song by his band Spoon which has even the most remote bit of soul in it.

Such a soulless band, Spoon…

The ultimate plastic hipsters.

A male supermodel and his gang of H&M monkeys behind him.

It would almost be artistic…in sort of an Andy Warhol/Factory sort of way.

Except there is no humor in it.

Spoon are dead serious.

The irony is (ATTN:  hipsters) there’s no irony here.

All that being said, Britt Daniel wrote one of the best songs I’ve ever heard.

And it’s the one I quoted above.

“The Underdog”

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter that my path crossed Britt’s path.

It doesn’t matter that I was invited to audition for his band Spoon as a keyboard player.

It doesn’t matter that he probably saw me in an outfit that wasn’t quite svelte enough and promptly canceled my audition before it ever happened.

Because he underestimated the underdog.

And that’s why he will not survive.

Last I heard, Spoon (or at least their godhead, Britt) relocated to Portland.

I suppose Austin wasn’t hip enough anymore.

Either that, or his shitty personality had shit off everyone in Austin and he needed a new lot of cunts to shit on.

But I digress…

Because, as stated, Britt had a point.

Once.

In one song.

[whether he learned the lesson he sang about or not is a different story]

But it is very much germane to OUR story–to this fantastic film:

Cuban Fury.

You almost always see Nick Frost in tow behind his partner in comedy Simon Pegg.

But not this time.

And so here we start a new investigation.

The test was simple:  could Nick Frost carry a film by himself (without the great talents of Simon Pegg)?

And the answer is a resounding YES!

We start all Billy Elliott (that one thing upon which Admiral General Aladeen and his presumptive torturer could agree).

Ass kicked.

Sequins eaten.

A future star quits mid-stride.

What could have been…

Have you ever had such a moment in your life?

I have.

LIFE beat me up.

In the span of a couple of months.

And now, instead of laying down tracks on 2-inch tape, I’m making songs solely with an iPhone.

You can feel the excitement.

It had to have been at least 20 years for Bruce (Nick Frost).

He gave up his passion.

Thought he would never cross paths again with salsa dancing.

He had been on the precipice of the youth national title in Britain.

Then his life went humdrum.

Works an office job for a company specializing in lathes.

The most nondescript industry possible.

But he gets a new boss.

Rashida Jones.

She is excellent here.

She hits just the right notes in her performance.

She is Bruce’s new boss.

But, as fortune would have it, she (an American in Britain) loves salsa.

Bruce is gobsmacked.

Enough so to turn his life around.

To attempt to reel in the years.

Equally brilliant as the first two players I’ve mentioned (Frost and Jones) is Ian McShane.

You might remember him as the head of MI6 in The Brothers Grimsby.

But ironically, his role here (as Bruce’s former dance teacher) is far heavier.

Think Burgess Meredith with an occasional lisping Spanish one would expect to hear in Madrid.

And McShane injects some Keith Richards pirate couture for good measure.

This is a HARD man.

Drinking tequila the whole film.

And he’s a fucking dance teacher.

A TOUGH dance teacher.

He’s tough because he sees the potential in his student.

And he won’t let his student half-ass this endeavor.

Either you go “all in”, or you go home.

Passion.

El corazón.

This film is truly a joy to watch.

…to see Nick Frost regain what truly makes him happy.

To dance.

It’s the story of someone reclaiming themselves.

Rewinding life…just enough to relive ones happiest former version of being (and relocate oneself).

But here’s the other part.

The ladies.

Or lady, here.

They just see Nick as a fat schlub.

No way this guy could dance salsa, right?

Every day suffering insults from a particularly nasty coworker.

Let me illustrate.

For me, supporting President Trump brings me daily grief.

Every day I am made aware (by “liberals”) that they hate me.

I am treated badly.

In person.

At work.

Online.

Simply trying to start my romantic life over and date.

I am very upfront.

Listed front and center:  “I voted for Trump.”

Kind of like an, “Abandon hope, ye who enter”.

But more like:  Let the Buyer Beware.

I lay it all out there.

“I live with my parents.”

etc.

And I get some shitty shit.

Which is why, every once in awhile, I think God is looking out for me.

I think maybe that God sees what I go through.

I’m not mean.

I’m not rude.

I don’t proselytize in a political sense.

I try to show warmth to others.

I try to show God’s love with my actions.

And boy do I end up throwing my pearls before swine sometimes…

Often, perhaps.

Lots of swine.

And it gets me down.

But I thought today was gonna be better.

Since last night.

Things had been going really well for me.

And now, here at 4 in the morning, I find myself back in a similar spot.

But it’s ok.

Because God loves me.

And if a bunch of braindead bitches wanna ignore the underdog,

then we won’t be surprised why they didn’t find happiness.

So this is a love story.

Forbidden love.

Nick Frost is in love with his boss.

Because his boss is perfect…for him.

It’s FaTE.

God puts us in the position to win.

But true winning is not always capturing first place.

“You can’t always get what you want…

But if you try sometimes,

you might find,

you get what you need.”

Where have I heard that song these past four years?

Ah, yes.

She was never supposed to lose.

Hillary Clinton.

She underestimated the underdog.

That’s why she did not survive.

Before this goes totally off the rails.

Love is the greatest victory there is.

But love has to be reciprocated.

If you’re a superstar (and I know you are, my dear reader), then you deserve AT LEAST as much as you give.

When you give love, compliments, gifts, affection, etc.

If you find yourself always to be the giver…and never allowed to be the taker (because nothing is given to you), then you just might be in the wrong situation.

I know I was.

And, praise God, I am out of that for the time being.

Except for at least one catch.

The world, our world, is primarily composed of takers.

Ingrates.

People without manners.

Humans unfamiliar with common courtesy.

Unpracticed at recognizing fairness.

People who have very little conscience (if any whatsoever).

And they are either unaware that they are such assholes, or they are aware and they simply do not care.

So again, it’s just me on this computer here.

Sitting in the dark.

Typing.

But that’s ok.

Because in this movie, a fat guy gets a beautiful girl.

And he gets her because he’s good at something.

Do you feel me?

But we must be righteous too.

Let us not underestimate OUR personal underdogs.

Let us not defile the name of God by letting superficiality reign.

God will show us the way.

Let us do what is just.

I ask that all who read this may be helped.

That each of them may know that God loves them.

And I ask this in the name of the Son of God.

I ask this by the power that is in the name Jesus.

God works in mysterious ways.

Our loving God will not be mocked.

God will not lose in the end.

We are entrusted with great responsibility.

But we know who wins.

And we know that the ending is magnificent.

And we know that all are welcome in the Kingdom of Heaven.

God only asks that we have humility.

The humility to ask forgiveness.

And God does not demand perfection.

The coin which God accepts, for eternal life, is faith.

And God charges no interest on this coin.

It is given freely, yet it is the most valuable thing in the universe.

Praise be to His holy name.

Indictments = start.

 

-PD

Wonderwall [1968)

When the whole world tells you you’re worthless.

You stupid insomniac.

In your room.

Samuel Beckett goes here.

Jack MacGowran.

Penny Lane played by Jane Birkin.

The object of your desire.

Gallagher brothers.

Holes.

Dug by little moles.

To fill the Albert Hall.

Rear Window.

Peeping tom.

Stop hoovering.

Frittering.

Vacuum cleaner solo.

Concerto.

Metropolis.

Squat house.

Low doors.

hygge

Psycho.

Lime green is actually apple green.

Corps.

cores.

Magritte.

mod lang.

Directed by Joe Massot.

Not bad.

Song Remains the Same.

Makes sense.

Surreal.

Strange career.

Pallenberg.

Keith and George.

This soundtrack long with me.

Through me.

Pakistani.

Bangladesh.

Only way to get deeper.

Remember what you saw.

Fixing a hole.

Where the rain gets in.

The Nutty Professor.

 

-PD

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory [2005)

I was very apprehensive.

Because I loved the original so much.

1971.

Trying to remake one of the best films ever.

An unenviable task.

But Tim Burton was bringing it all back home.

1964.  Roald Dahl.

But let’s take a step further back.

Camp X.  Ontario.

“Established” December 6, 1941.

Yes.  You read that right.

The day before the attack on Pearl Harbor.

It was established by the “real” James Bond:  a Canadian by the name of William Stephenson.

His codename?  Intrepid.

He oversaw British intelligence, MI6, for the entire Western hemisphere during WWII.

(!)

Roald Dahl, the author of the children’s book Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, was one of the men trained at Camp X (today known as Intrepid Park).

So it should go without saying that we are not dealing with just any children’s author.

And herein lies the secret of Tim Burton’s success.

He reimagined.

I fully expected full-on ball-tripping excess in homage to Mel Stuart’s “wondrous boat ride” of 1971, but Burton managed to restrain himself.

Indeed, the psychedelia of this film (and weirdness in general) is evident throughout almost every part of the film…EXCEPT THERE.

And so I must hesitantly call 2005’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory a masterpiece.

Against all odds.

It’s only fitting that the lead child actor who plays Charlie Bucket (Freddie Highmore) was born on Valentine’s Day.

Yes Virginia, perhaps some things are fated.

Highmore is fantastic in a role created by Peter Ostrum.

And though we miss Diana Sowle and her priceless rendition of “Cheer Up, Charlie”, Helena Bonham Carter is quite magnificent in her limited scenes as the cabbage-cutting Mrs. Bucket.

But Tim Burton updates our story considerably to make it more relatable to the Harry Potter generation (and the service-industry pipe dream known as the “third industrial revolution”…for the “adults” in the crowd).

Yes, we needs must only revisit Eliyahu Goldratt’s “business novel” The Goal to remember the shortsighted “local efficiencies” which factory robots can produce.

By the way:  there’s a father Bucket.  And he runs into a patch of robot trouble.

Updated.

But Tim Burton does not stop there.  Whereas the original film focused tentatively on child  spies (remember the purloined Everlasting Gobstopper?), the film under review seems to situate itself amidst the full-scale industrial espionage (and, in particular, intellectual property theft) which the United States attributes to China.

But let us pay our respects here.

David Kelly was fantastic as Grandpa Joe.  Truly a wonderful performance!  And we are sad to have lost his talents in 2012.

Reading from back to front:

-our Augustus Gloop is somewhat forgettable (save for his Lowera Bowie hair tint)

-AnnaSophia Robb is appropriately snotty as the overachieving brat Violet Beauregarde  [How did Tarantino not hire this girl for his next refried kung-fu film?!?]

-Julia Winter (who strangely has no Wikipedia page) is really special as the mouthy tart Veruca Salt

-and Jordan Fry plays Mike Teevee (though they might as well have gone with “Hacker” Mike Xbox or some such first-person shooter sobriquet).

And that leaves us with the big dog himself:  Johnny Depp.

Stepping into some very big shoes.

Gene Wilder.  Taken from us just months ago.  A truly magical being.

And so Depp and Burton needed a strategy.

And it appears it was something like, “Ok, let’s make him weirder.  Like, lots weirder.  Remember those sunglasses Keith Richards wore on Between the Buttons?  And the hair like Brian Jones.  Prim.  Proper.  Rocker.  Ok, ok…but we want the Salinger recluse thing with some Prince or Michael Jackson oddity.  Purple velvet.  Ok, yes…we’re getting somewhere.”

Most striking, however, is Depp’s accent.  Very Ned Flanders…but possessed by the thoughts of Salvador Dalí.

But the Burton touch shows through.  That macabre glee.

A little cannibalism joke here.  “Which half of your child would you prefer?”

Oddities.

Though tempered by quick-tongued childlike wonder, Depp is still a rather darker Wonka than Wilder’s fatherly archetype.

Yes, Depp could fit fairly well into Kraftwerk (especially germane had Augustus from Düsseldorf won the grand prize).

Johnny and his purple latex gloves.

Not a touchy-feely Wonka.

Doesn’t even bother to learn the kids names.  [there’s only five]

Totally off his rocker.

Makes Gene Wilder’s Wonka seem like Mister Rogers in comparison.

But this is mostly secondary to the success of this film.

Tim Burton evidently didn’t feel making a true family film was beneath him.

And so, perhaps with a bit of inspiration from Wes Anderson, he made an immensely touching picture here.

Charlie Bucket is the kid we need in the world.

The chosen one.

The needle in the haystack.

And it is Wonka’s quest to find such a unique child.

Charlie almost gives up the ticket (sells it) to help his desperately poor family, but one of his four bedridden grandparents must have read Hunter S. Thompson at some point.  And so Charlie is convinced to “buy the ticket, take the ride” so to speak.

It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Enter Deep Roy (Mohinder Purba) as ALL (and I mean all) of the Oompa-Loompas.

It is in the short (!) song sequences where Burton’s debt to David Lynch emerges.

Kind of like Danny Elfman’s debt to Tom Waits.

Comes and goes.

Burton, being the mischievous connoisseur of all things dark, manages to make Veruca’s exit an homage to Hitchcock and Tippi Hedren (albeit with squirrels).

Very inventive!

Sure, there’s some crap CGI in this film (not to be confused with the even more insidious Clinton Global Initiative), but it is generally restrained.

At a few points, it gets off the rails and threatens to damage an otherwise fine film.

But I tell you this…there are plot twists here which for someone who has merely seen the first film (like myself) truly baffle and surprise.

And they are touching.

So it is with no reservations that I call this a family film.

Sure, some of the jokes are a bit obtuse.

But the framing story (the Bucket family’s existence) is indescribably magical.

It is then, only fitting, that Christopher Lee be the one to welcome the prodigal oddball Depp.

Which is to say, this film has a sort of false ending…which is inexplicable…and genius.

It is at that moment where the film finds its soul.

Family.

Love.

Humility.

Sacrifice.

Happily, Burton gives us a fairy tale ending in which the young mind can work with the eccentric master…and the eccentric master can once again know what home is like.

Home.

Wow…

-PD

Twin Peaks “The Last Evening” [1990)

The essence of Twin Peaks is make-believe FBI.

Our main character (arguably) is a Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

He is a shining example of honor.  A professional.  A vestige of Norman Rockwell’s America.

And before we go crying kitsch and digging up old Soviet propaganda posters in the spirit of Milan Kundera’s distillation (“Soviet kitsch” from Nesnesitelná lehkost bytí), let’s pause for a Mom and apple-pie moment…and a damn good cup of coffee.

Ahhh!

Do one nice thing for yourself every day.

Says agent Cooper.

And he’s right.

Fit as a fiddle.  Healthy as an apple.  A strapping young man.  Not to be confused with the boy with the Arab strap.

Lime in the coconut.  I knew but I didn’t know.

Fleeting.

No, I never spent hours on the beach.

Always a day late and a dollar short.

But we learn.

Attack the attackers.

Neutralize the threat.

While setting Mexican standoff traps to protect all of your resources.  Capabilities.  Core competencies.

You might just achieve a competitive advantage.  And achieve strategic competitiveness.

THis is the meaningless parlance of business.

Leverage without mechanical advantage–without the amplification of force.

And always a metaphorical lever without the equally necessary fulcrum.

Stay with me!

Twin Peaks was the era of VHS.  And cassette tapes.

And mixtapes…  [Now don’t we miss those?]

Something beautiful about the analog warmth.

Analog to digital and back to analog.

And when the tape would unravel…?  Oh well, as long as the tape player is alright 🙂

IT’s really a nasty prank.  But Lara Flynn Boyle fits the Nancy Drew role like a reincarnated Bonita Granville.

And James with his Harley-Davidson…by her side.  like Sade.  Sha-day.

Not as Yoshimi as Saoirse Ronan in Hanna, but I digress.

THe drum-machine universe keeps on boppin’.

Seagrams?  AMF?  Seeburg?  Seberg?

I can remember the magic fingers of Merlin at the Wurlitzer.

That suitably sums up “and Russ Tamblyn as Dr. Jacoby”.

That old television credits ritual.  Need a history on that.  Stat!

Wigs and fake mustaches.  In a little undersized briefcase.  Like Lon Chaney.

Walter Olkewicz seems quintessentially from “down the bayou”, but it’s a mashup with QUebecois generalizations…transposed to British Colombia.

Ahh, how my heart years for Bellingham…

[film is truth 24 times a second]

cuckoo’s nest

Can’t blame Michael Horse.

The lesson here is, Never wash your hair.

Which is to say, Keith Richards has a method to his madness.

His long life.  His longevity.

So much intercutting.  Such convergence.

The strands are not tied up, yet we come to a significant knot in a series of many mini-loops.

D’you know what I mean?

 

-PD

Les Visiteurs du soir [1942)

I don’t know what I’m doing.

But I’m happy.

For once.

Quarante-deux.

She could slow down time with her Aeolian harp.

Silk strings.  So tired.  Suddenly…

Arletty.  Femme fatale.

And Alain Cuny.  Homme fatal.

The first punk rock band.

A duo.

The Devil’s Envoys.

Yeah…look at us!  In chain…  With the dogs!

Like Alan Vega and Martin Rev.

Except Arletty’s in drag, see?

So she’s taping her breasts down like a fashion model.

Which is exactly what she was.

Reified.

But Marie Déa breaks my heart the most.

You want to know where Adèle Exarchopoulos comes from?

Well, here you go.

No doubt.  Kechiche.

Quarante-et-un.  Quarante-deux.

A perfect film from Marcel Carné.

Existentialism is a Humanism.

And Bob Marley.

But never a more convincing devil than Jules Berry.

No doubt.  Rolling Stones.

Master is a Margarita.

Same death-rattle laugh as Keith Richards.

As flaming a devil as Elmyr de Hory.

Raffinato!

Like Sergio Marchionne after 11 espressos.

And all while a love shines through which you might find in the quiet thoughts of Clayton Christensen.

As you might expect:  the devil is all business.

A harsh exterior.

Nay…merely forbidding.  Yes.

Only the highest level of French society.

True censorship would have forbidden a villain altogether.

In occupied France.

Glorious, glorious.  Never let on your form!

Complete your poésies.

From Peshawar to Prussia.

From Barvikha to Batman, Turkey.

 

-PD

Pravda [1969)

There are few things more difficult.  More difficult.  Than divining the truth as it is happening.

Happening?  The truth happens.  Or is.

We don’t know.  Prague Spring.  PRAHA.

Did you know that Ceaușescu condemned the Warsaw Pact invasion of Czechoslovakia?  Really.

Fascinating.  We hear that name and we think bad guy.  Maybe.  We do.

Youthful errors.  I can only affirm the brilliance of this film in absence of French comprehension.

In absence of Italian comprehension.

In absence of Czech comprehension.

In absence of Marxist comprehension.

You will notice the monolithic structures as a Western capitalist on the outside looking in.

On the inside perhaps some saw provisions for all.

Heat in winter.  Food on the table.  Poverty squelched or shared.

Socialism.

It explains why this film is barely in print.  You must remember how radical the Dziga-Vertov Group was.

You either find it brave or you find it disgusting…like the Aden Arabie cell from La Chinoise.  Juliet Berto chanting

Revisionist!

Revisionist!

Revisionist!

…as if brainwashed.

Skoda.  Now owned by Volkswagen.  How ironic?

Skoda.  Founded by two Vaclavs.

There is a 20-year gap in Skoda’s history on Wikipedia.  Škoda Auto.  My guess is we can thank Volkswagen for “cleaning up” the history a bit.  They cleaned a little too well.  Now there’s a hole.  And it’s noticeable.

Two shirtless fat men.  Two Vaclavs?  I have no idea.  But these gents make it all worthwhile…shoveling dirt in front of a post office.  One of the two so impressively hirsute (back and front) as to have a pseudo-shirt.

Socialism was a belief in something.  The U.S. lost the Vietnam war.  Little debating that.  And now Vietnam is socialist (at least in name).  Did the globe stop spinning?  Of course not.

These are not brave details.  I have been much more bold before.

Yet reason.

She was so beautiful as to make us cry.

We stood no chance.

She never smiled.

Not like the first one..

To understand Marx.  To understand European socialism.  To understand Russia riddle enigma matryoshka.  Through the lens of Dostoyevsky.  Karamazov.  Religion.  Culture.  Vast expanses of land…

I may be at the end of the world.  It may be necessary for me to take a step back.

Mmmm…to be intoxicated by something so bizarre, so rare, so taboo, and so unknowable…for now.

It is why Alex Jones’ films fail.  They are artless.  Had he channeled Godard there would have been no stopping his cinema.

But the spectacle is where James Clapper, much to his own chagrin, realizes that “deceit deceives itself” (to quote Debord).

TPTB have never grasped the coded messages in Shostakovich.  Stylometry can only undermine a Snowden email.  If that.

Like Dylan I have no big answers.

You will be punished for thinking.  That.

Thought crime.

Guillotine.

Guileless in Seattle.

We are getting closer to the truth.  Dangerously close.

You will know knowledge hack.  Coined term.  Here.  Like 4’33” Cage.

Life hack.  Kryptos.

Somebody forgot to take their medicine.

We can joke.

Did Ezra Pound’s punishment befit his crime?  His crime?  [DHS] [[VHS]]

Kino Pravda.

Should keep several good intelligence analysts busy for a week.

Several petaflops of drivel occupied.

To not be fucked with.

Moloch in Bohemia.

Practically free.

Just keep the angles which predate Orson Welles.  Dziga.  Vertov.

The Académie française will never accept.  Their loss.

Propaganda will always show blood dripping from fangs…even if blood is dripping from fangs.

We could make a deal.  He says.

Petaflops.

Liquidated.

Rights reserved, wrongs reversed.

Elision says stylometry.

Experimental literature.

This is not a film review.

Think on your sins.

Gets to feeling like a powerful shit.  Ripe for manipulation.

A lot of things can happen to dog shit.

Flash tits change world.

Sure, you know what’s going on…but you don’t REALLY know.

Two-way mirror of social media.  Instant fame.

We’ve been trained to utter scumbag.

” ”

Twice.  de Chirico.

Yep.  Someone else has caught the scent.  Freud cerebral.  Marx visceral.

The angles converge.  Méliès.  Rampling, Charlotte.  Trampoline.

I need a love to keep me happy.  Keith Richards said that.

It is the most fertile field of Godard study.

This key-logging software is really slowing me down.

Doesn’t matter.  We take the stairs.

AIPAC, Carole King, Black Maria?!?

Now you know the key.  Of a different sort.

-PD

Sympathy for the Devil [1968)

To reach a moment of genius.  The genius must rethink.  Through many blind alleys and breezy revolutions.  Rehabilitated.

To speak of clever things.  No.  It does not explain this moment in time.  Police vs. blacks.  Continuation crime.

To quote Juvenal or Sallust.  You have no recourse in the moment.  You will have your name dragged through the mud.

And so we apologize.  We are sorry that we weren’t more harsh.  A final gob of spit before being shot once and for all.

A film by Jean-Luc Godard which achieves genius just as it is diverted.

Punched the producer in the face.

The revolution of everyday life.  Vaneigem.

To speak of the actors would do injustice.

Anne Wiazemsky.  Red flag.  Black flag.  And the wind of god.  On the beach.  The paving stones.

We have got it backwards because we don’t speak English.

Keith Richard.  Sans s.

And my favorite drummer Charlie Watts.

And now we have let routine take over.  Just as we asserted a revolutionary principle.

Through our fingers like sand.  Run, run, run…little kitty.  Machine guns for all.

Makes sense to whom?  Makes no difference.  Sense.

A review.  A summary.  A dissection.

An affront.  An attack.  An absolute about-face.

And so in 2015 we can only speak of Snowden.

We can only speak of extraordinary rendition.

We can comb the news like Matt Drudge.

He knows where his Red Sea is parted.  Which side his bread is buttered.  On.

We can rattle the cages like Alex Jones.  Rattle rattle.  Police gone wild.

We can blame everything on the Jews like Wayne Madsen.  What a poor aspect of great criticism.

Mostly we can find the remnants of SMPTE for the devil at globalresearch.ca

Hot link.  A sausage of…something.  Upton Sinclair Lewis.

We can thank Michel Chossudovsky because we first knew him in print.

Like Webster Tarpley.

When books have disappeared, we will know that the technological age is upon us.

And so as something of an expert I admit that I know nothing.

It leaves me mystified.  No more bands.  No more groove.

Prisoners to click tracks.

The metronomic underground must assert like Radiohead hippies.

Godard would have preferred Beatles.

It’s ok.  History proves him not wrong.

And I would be doing you a disservice if I condescended.

I must regard you as one mind with myself.  Even if false, it leads to the path of truth.

We’re a humble website ready to lay down our arms…rather, our lives.

We are not revolutionary.  Merely students.  Research on globalization.

-PD