Tag Archives: Pauly Deathwish

drugs [2021)

We are finally catching up with Pauly Deathwish.

Here on his sixth album, drugs.

Good psychedelic surf start.

The romance must have seemed possible.

Christian trappings.

A great opening track.

Psychedelic Christianity.

Think of those private press releases from the ’60s and ’70s.

I’m hearing the joy and gravity of Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci.

The breakdown of this song “An Ocean of Cough Syrup” is where it’s at.

Maybe a bit of Kevin Ayers.

Wasted innocence.

After the party.

The party at the end of the world.

Certainly song lyrics reminiscent of Wayne Coyne.

Sonic Youth.

Yummy Yummy Yummy.

Pop psych.

Monkees.

Maybe the romance has faded.

Tabloid.

Even Dire Straits.

Walk of life.

Track 2 with acrobatic chord changes.

Music school.

Straight-up Fort Leavenworth presentation.

A pop song about biological warfare, economic warfare, psychological warfare, and divide/conquer.

This is some serious shit.

Not sure whether to call Billy Bragg or Glenn Greenwald.

This is the kind of shit that wins Nobels.

So maybe we are hearing the new Dylan here.

Imagine if Thom Yorke actually had something to say.

The bends.

Lift.

Leonard Cohen.

John Cale.

Anthemic.

This dude is definitely right-wing.

I guess you could say.

Imagine if Bob Dylan was actually in the John Birch Society.

That’s what you get here.

Hey, take it or leave it.

Ezra Pound!

But this dude is all about ‘merica.

And i got no problem with it.

Climax.

Constitution of the USA.

Time’s up.

“memes at the ready”.

Information warfare taken into the realm of head music.

Songwriting.

This guy is a danger…to the lame liberal establishment.

THIS MOTHERFUCKER HAS RELEASED 7 ALBUMS THIS SUMMER!!!!!!!

Kraftwerk.

Jon Spencer.

Martin Rev dipping Copenhagen.

Ministry?

Butthole Surfers?

Dabbling.

“Latinas for Trump”.

Wow.

Track 3 is a trucker song.

Set in Switzerland.

With production like Nigel Godrich.

It’s a long track.

But enjoyable.

Drum machine and acoustic guitar.

And funky clavinet.

Jerry Reed.

Amos Moses.

Yodeling!

FUcking hell.

Haven’t heard this since Jerry Lee.

Dwight Yoakam.

Chris Isaak.

But this is the kinda shit cognizant about There’s a Riot Goin’ On.

Spaced cowboy.

Travelogue of Swiss sites from cinema history.

I have a feeling this guy would drink Klaus Schwab’s blood.

This conspiracy platter is fine listening.

Variety.

French/German.

No Italian.

Except Cortina d’Ampezzo.

No Romansch.

Motorik.

NEU! meets Gram Parsons.

Who is/was this “Swiss Alps Truck-Driving Gal”?

Cosmic funk.

Like French band Air.

Great bassline.

Dancy filler track of highest quality.

Mike Lindell needs to hear this shit.

mark_packet.

recieve_good.

What if Wayne Coyne and Dave Fridmann actually made songs that spoke to something larger?

They’ve hit it occasionally.

You gotta have Jesus in your heart.

Brian Eno first four records spun out again and again.

Cornelius.

Stereolab.

And WHAT THE FUCK?!?

Delta blues?

Country blues???

Yes, indeed.

“COVID-19 Blues”.

Like late-period Dylan.

Seriously.

If Dylan passes, this dude is next up.

I know it sounds implausible.

Communism used to be risqué.

Now the tables have turned.

Paul Joseph Watson needs to hear this shit.

The human condition.

Dr. Steve Pieczenik needs to hear this song, “COVID-19 Blues”.

This is Stax.

Muscle Shoals.

Atlantic.

Booker T.

But with that San Antonio twist.

Pauly Deathwish from the Alamo city.

Augie Meyers.

Flaco Jimenez.

Is Trump still the President? 😉

When was this written?

Why that move to Bedminster?

Cabinet meeting.

A unifying song.

Like “Dixie”.

Ask Abraham Lincoln about “Dixie”.

Masked and anonymous.

QAnon line as money shot.

Sweet harmonica.

Linn drums.

Beck.

Loop.

It don’t matter.

This record rocks the Walmart parking lot.

GUITAR SOLO!

Jimmy Vaughn.

B.B. King.

Richard Manuel tickling the ivories.

Band brown album.

Call Q.

Call Mojo.

Call Uncut.

Side two for all you vinyl lovers.

“Let’s Get Creative”.

Floyd delay.

Sexy song.

J. Spaceman.

Jeff Tweedy.

Kid A.

Really special production.

Which just goes to show that anything can be done with an iPhone.

Except privacy.

Tim Cook cocksucker.

In shitty record store.

Radiohead were our Beatles.

Or their Beatles.

Now many friends have left.

You can’t say White Lives Matter.

Can someone please tell Pauly Deathwish this?

Not that he SAID it.

Because he didn’t.

Trail of Dead.

Which makes sense.

Read this motherfucker’s bio on Spotify.

No slouch.

I happen to know some extra details which I may divulge at a later date.

Lots of training in music composition.

Multiple touches with Nadia Boulanger.

Sexy song.

T. Rex.

Bolan.

Jonny Greenwood.

Scott Pilgrim.

Edgar Wright needs to hear this shit.

No cap.

Dead ass.

Trans.

Neil Young.

Dead Man.

Thurston Moore needs to hear this shit.

Funny mention.

Watch the water.

August 20.

Rollerskate Skinny appreciation society.

St. Johnny.

Boo Radleys.

First Stereolab album.

Grandaddy.

Harvest drums.

Like it!

Like a Sonic Youth country album.

Made in a barn.

Nothing Ween about this shit.

Except for the trucker song.

Which is funny as fuck.

This dude definitely a QAnon.

“Midnight Rider”.

Paul Revere.

One if by…two…

Mercury Rev.

Suzanne Thorpe.

Applied memetics.

Oh shit.

First Eno record.

Desert island.

THIS is impressive.

Turns out to be motto of 4th Psychological Operations Group (4thPOG) at Fort Bragg.

The PSYWAR just got real.

Vietnamese ghosts amplified.

But this is Chinese.

China bio attack.

Fauci through China.

Focus on Peter Daszak and his absurd opera-singer brother.

There is going to be hell to pay.

Q-uantum of solace.

PCAPs.

Obviously, Pauly Deathwish loves the instrumentals from Bowie’s Low.

This is a constant touchstone.

Trance.

Meditative techno.

Ugh.

When the bass drops in on “Verbum Vincet ’72”.

Who was Q?

Who is Q?

Was Q a psychological operation?

From whence might it have emanated?

Roger Waters.

Hell to pay.

Criminal networks wiped off the face of the earth.

Peking opera.

Sue me.

LeBron James is a worthless cocksucker.

I think I would get along with this Pauly Deathwish guy.

8964.

We have it all…in Utah.

“Bluffdale” like Marquee Moon.

Meets chiptune.

Super Marquee Moon.

Even a bit of John Bonham.

Good drum sound.

Dubstep?

Riots worldwide.

No vaccine passports.

Here’s where BLM and MAGA come together.

Don’t vax us, man.

A unifying event.

The real racists are the totalitarian Democrats.

Am I doing this right?

Pepe Lives Matter needs to hear this shit.

Klaus Voorman bass.

Leave it in.

Smacked out of your gourd.

Phil Spector murdered by the Rona.

Lee “Scratch” producing The Clash.

People want to sleep forever.

Sleep through this global nightmare.

Gotta wake up.

But the reality is crushing.

So God gives us solace here and there.

Black ark.

Meandering.

Oar.

Moby grape.

Hal Blaine back in the barn stoned on some world-class shit.

Nodding.

Space-age.

Astral weeks.

Nick Drake.

Ending album on serious note?

“Cotton Ball Soup”.

Will the masses win?

Against the vaccine passport bastards?

Montreal.

Where’s GYBE?

No heroes can be found.

Where’s Thom Yorke?

Radiohead?

Bob Dylan?

WWIII.

iTunes.

Spotify.

-PD

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glitch [2021)

Cobra and phases.

Emptying a sampler.

Pierre Henry.

Schaeffer.

Always Flaming Lips.

A twist on bass.

Fridmann.

The church of Michael Ivins’ hair.

Jazz odyssey.

He wrote this.

Straight up.

Bold start to Pauly Deathwish’s 5th album.

Stretching out.

Space jazz.

Squiggle.

Sonic Youth.

Watch for upcoming single.

Cleared.

Glenn Branca.

Bitches brew.

Live eviL.

Mercury Rev.

Grassy.

Hit to death.

John McLaughlin.

Tribute to Jack Johnson.

Steve Gadd slow nerve action.

Hendrix.

Chuckin’.

Television.

Tom and Richard.

Hippies cool at CBGB.

Makeover.

Bowery toughened.

Are you experienced?

Paul Simon never sounded this tough.

Or desperate.

Always too cool.

But the lyrics give him a run.

Into Radiohead.

Another COVID album.

The best.

Pauly Deathwish.

Headlines.

Zeitgeist.

Epstein.

McAfee didn’t uninstall himself.

Charlotte Gainsbourg.

Lady Godiva.

A dentist chair in Florida.

Soros’s scumbag Rubin.

Forgot a fuck.

Not for kids.

Not safe for work.

F-bomb Ferguson.

Plastic Ono.

Primal.

John Paul Jones keys.

Real.

Frustration key of E.

The pitched song.

Godspeed You! Black Emperor.

Remember this connection.

“Montreal Heartbreak”.

Pure perfection.

Repetition.

Bravery.

Transient random-noise.

Hal Blaine on Harvest.

Trying to make it pay.

Hotel to Tango.

Stopped in Oklahoma.

Back when concerts were played in Austins.

Tonight’s the night.

Neil in Ontario.

A Canadian pastiche.

Bowie low.

Cohen Quebec.

Visconti.

The cure.

Ivermectin.

Hydroxychloroquine.

Disintegration.

The only artist to review his own albums.

Because, you know, fuck it!

9/11 will come out.

Everything building to a head.

First Zeppelin album.

Black mountain side.

Jimmy’s eyes glowing magenta.

They tell me he’s evil.

Maybe.

But you gotta know the story of the blues.

I tried to sell my soul to the Devil.

But I am saved by the blood of Jesus Christ.

Jesus protected me.

Satan wasn’t buying.

Down in the basement of the Gunter Hotel.

I tried to sell my soul for the world.

But God didn’t let it happen.

Thinking it was bad enough.

Only through Jesus am I saved.

The worst among sinners.

Trying to gain the whole world.

Willing to forfeit my soul.

God is good.

And I can out-produce Jimmy Page.

Because God is my guide.

I have a dirty mouth.

Mary Magdalene.

Go and sin no more.

We’re in a fucking war.

We gotta put Jesus first.

On the battlefield.

Out greatest stealth.

Delta blues.

Emerald Mound.

Barbecue.

Poor.

Rural.

I don’t know how to make copies.

And my black neighbors don’t know how to use the internet.

Joe Biden can get fucked.

But me, I like women with big tits.

Alex Jones quote.

I relate.

I don’t wanna be a part of this sick cult.

We need God on the battlefield.

Mercy is waiting even for Jimmy Page.

Turn from the evil ways.

Recognize King Jesus.

The sky is crying.

Hound dog.

Muddy.

Wolf.

Flange.

Phase.

Straight Thelonious.

With Coltrane.

Miles.

Pre-electric.

Second jazz tune.

Straight off blues.

The Monk solo.

Dissonant as a motherfucker.

MTHRFCKR.

Acciaccatura.

Who, me?

Carnival.

Honing in.

D.

Watery solo.

Buttholes.

Kuntz.

Is a joke?

Weird Al.

The Residents.

Don Cherry.

Malachi Thompson.

Soprano trombone.

Roland Kirk.

Reeded brass.

Klang.

Straight jazz.

Philly Jo.

Watch for first cover.

Unpredictable.

Mercury Rev.

John Peel.

Straight into a QAnon song.

Reggae.

Durham.

CodemonkeyZ.

Flynn, in fact, did not go to jail.

Spy dub.

Bob Marley gets all conspiratorial.

Haiti.

Obama gets arrested at his own birthday party.

Strzok blocked on Twitter.

Army Counterintelligence.

A bunch of cunts?

Not Seth Keshel.

The real deal.

Tony Shaffer.

Counterterrorism.

Will the FBI be shut down?

Department of Justice is the very heart of the Deep State.

Rosenstein is linchpin.

Bill Barr was miss.

Cymbals Eat Guitars.

Each given a chance.

Lou Reed.

Rollerskate Skinny.

Music like this hasn’t been made in 30 years.

Bowie would be proud.

The debris from the Nirvana signing.

The truly good bands.

Some Boo Radleys here.

Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci.

Beach Boys.

Good production.

Lee “Scratch”.

Black (Oak) Ark.

A disgusting record collection.

Mildew.

Lovingly preserved in filth.

Vinyl still good.

Cop shoot cop.

Strong statement against Antifa.

Dylan.

This guy is bold.

Deserter’s.

Amy Helm?

Rambo.

J. Spaceman.

Jack Fate.

Dylan tongue cheek.

Summer 2020.

BLM.

Only person to listen to this.

Pet Sounds.

Bellingham.

Fredonia.

SUNY.

Boces.

Wanker jazz.

Deep.

Boys peeling.

Give the anarchist a cigarette.

This is a fucked up record.

Calling David Lynch.

Gonna be hard for the Left to write off this guy.

Paradigm shift.

This dude troublemaker.

Name fits.

Trail of dead.

We know you, but do you know us?

Debord, eh?

Capitalism!

Soundgarden.

Chossudovsky.

Deep Pieczenik research.

9/11.

Space Force.

Satellites.

Leonardo.

NRO.

NGA.

And the beloved NSA.

More accurately: CYBERCOM.

Not yet split?

Nakasone double duty?

Architecture?

Who could bring down?

Two QAnon songs in a row.

Beatles.

White Album.

Magical Mystery.

Macca bass line.

Welcome to the revolution.

Sgt. Pepper.

Euros Childs.

Megan Childs.

Gorwel Owen.

Beautiful breakdown.

Bert Williams.

Good shit!

The jazz and blues build up into rock and roll.

Conspiracy songs.

Fort Meade on repeat.

780thC.

Army G2.

Cheyenne Mountain Alerts.

Air Force Cyber.

MARSOC.

Strobo.

Marquee Moon.

Big Pink.

Rhythm of the saints.

Tuatara.

Crime podcast.

Tettix Wave Accumulator?

The Supremes.

Berry Gordy trippin’ balls.

A Lisbeth Salander ballad.

Noomi Rapace.

FBI + CIA.

Both worthless.

But serves to delineate.

Interior and exterior.

Intel romance.

Smarter than Strzok and Page.

Richard Lloyd.

Too fucked up to catch Velvets.

I hear you.

It’s a bitch.

Rick Danko.

Thom Yorke knob twiddler.

Eno in Roxy.

Bogart.

The big sleep date.

Noir and chill.

Mulholland.

Breathless.

The harder they fall.

Shoot the piano player.

Doug Sahm.

We are here in San Antonio.

We are making the best of it.

Driving around.

Eating ZZ Top nachos.

Beer drinkers and hell raisers.

A real jalapeno.

Australia to steam like teapot.

Last song.

Spiritualized?

Joshua Tree.

Bono.

Epic.

Adam Clayton.

Comes with new iPhone.

An anthem like U2 ain’t written for a bit.

This is Dublin territory.

Sexy God believers.

Cigarette.

Irish whiskey.

A Guinness.

Cloves.

The wraparounds.

Luna.

My heroes.

Sterling Morrison.

And Jack Nitzsche.

But Bono can sing opera.

A good dude.

Needs to drop the carbon bullshit.

Global warming is giant fucking hoax.

Just like COVID.

The Edge knows.

Grow some balls.

Stop kissing the Pope’s ass.

This commie Pope is a fucker.

Jesuit dipshit.

Epic lift.

Pauly can play guitar!

Fucking hell!!!

Album builds up to last song.

Even last song builds up.

Fucking brilliant.

Glitch.

iTunes.

Spotify.

-PD

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zenith [2021)

Jesus and Mary Chain.

Black tar.

Caramelized sugar.

A dangerous confection.

Hit to Death in the Future Head.

Summer is here.

I hear.

Vacuum cleaner solo.

Theremin.

Race cars.

Boys peel out.

High-speed boats.

And again with the UPC scan.

Breaking up on reentry.

Serious audio fuckery.

And from this right into kung fu.  Peter Sellers on Bowie’s Low.  Trance.  But really what we have here is excellent counterpoint.  Lunatic Harness.  Polyrhythms.  Album breaks down soon.  Fast.  Abruptly.  Mental block regarding Wuhan origin.  Harmonic outline you would never find in China.  Terry Riley.  A Rainbow in Curved Air.  Eno.  Visconti.  And the others involved.  A beauty that inspired Philip Glass.  This is what we have.  Low and heroes.  Symphonies.  Glass.  Riley.  Minimalism.  Album called zenith.  Track two already hits “Nadir”.  What’s the arc here?  Arc-en-ciel?  Arkansas?  Immediately pensive.  Very unnerving.  Pop rock track.  Into existential oblivion.  Abrupt modulation.  Uncomfortable.  Eccentric.  Was there a thought process behind this?  Commerce ruins everything.  Imperfect masterpieces.  The rules of the game.  Radiohead.  Joseph Arthur?  Sparklehorse.  The Magnetic Fields.  Gay baritone.  Sad sack confessional poetry in the world of Berryman’s Dream Songs.  Brian Jonestown Massacre.  The Verve.  Strung out in heaven.  J. Spaceman shooting up while praying.  Don’t knock it…  Drug addiction is real.  Mental problems are real.  Here we are.  2020 fucked us up.  And now we wait for the next shoe to drop.  Smashing Pumpkins.  “Silver Fuck”?  Into Sonny Rollins?  Epstein.  Gene Ammons.  Hard to tell it’s (not) real.  Which parts?  Yes.  No.  Fooling the ear with Dave Fridmann.  A totally schizophrenic record so far.  Here we go!  “Belgian Lace, Pale Black Mascara…”  This is more like it.  Rollerskate Skinny.  Martin Rev.  Lots of counterpoint here.  Fux me up.  Disney xylophones.  Internal rhyme-sanity.  Dylan puking up brilliance.  Always Roger Waters with the bass.  Always The Wall.  Pompeii.  Hail to the Thief.  Again and again.  Trying to break new ground.  And it does.  Yerself is Steam.  Album starts to make sense after five tracks.  1 & 5.  This is not bullshit.  I don’t know about the jazz.  I don’t know about the monotonous instrumentals.  Absolutely “Car Wash Hair”.  Suzanne Thorpe would be proud.  Seems to be talking about tits.  A good ride.  Drum machine chugging away.  Can still have a good groove.  Wild Acoustic Chamber Orchestra.  W.A.C.O.  Woodwinds and glockenspiel.  Boces.  What the fuck is this shit?  O.K. computer.  Sounds like some QAnon stuff.  I feel Carlos Santana coming on.  This is what Assange jams out to.  Lots of plays at Fort Meade.  Salsa.  James Brown.  Puerto Rican funk.  As AOC goes to jail.  Serious national security issues for lyrics.  Fictional charges?  Tracers everywhere.  This theory involves an actual conspiracy.  Criminal conspiracy outlined.  By players.  Event 201.  Short circuit.  Johnny 5 is alive.  Legalistic funk.  QAnon wet dream.  FISAgate.  “Spy Gate”.  Somebody send this to Sean Hannity.  Obamagate.  Where is John Durham?  Ryan Dark White knows the truth about Rosenstein.  How many coup attempts by the Left?  Back to Billy Corgan.  Ok, so we have an Alex Jones connection.  Early-’90s goodness.  Butch Vig.  Dream pop.  James Iha.  Bet this guy knows the real story about the Standard Hotel(s).  Great lyrics!  Must be some inside jokes here.  But HOLY FUCK!  He nailed the “Holes” trumpet solo.  Deserter’s Songs.  God damn it.  How did they do this?  The liner notes say Pauly Deathwish has also produced all four of these albums.  Kind of a Jimmy Page thing going on.  Great drum sound.  Yo La Tengo.  “Mayonnaise”.  Siamese Dream.  Benjamin Britten reference?  Slick!  So this guy basically had a music education on par with Jack Nitzsche.  And then went for scumbag rockroll like Phil Spector.  Gotta respect this weird marriage.  This fascination with grunge.  Dinge.  And the facility to clean it up like a chandelier.  Very fucking impressive.  No record label.  Kinda sounds like no funding.  No budget.  The Delgados.  Hate.  The Great Eastern.  More Spiritualized telephony.  The Wall.  Which is to say, Bob Erzin.  And as dark as Berlin.  Which is to say, Bob Ezrin.  Neil Young vibe.  Tonight’s the Night.  Some dark-ass shit.  Nick Kent, where y@t?  IV Thieves.  Coulda done this.  What if Chris “Frenchie” Smith had produced this?  This kid like a protege.  I hear the moniker (stage name) was bestowed by Frenchie Smith.  Strings good.  Eastern European orchestra.  Must have cost a small fortune.  Arcade Fire.  French cinema.  Romantic-era harmony.  But pierced.  Sophisticated.  Absolutely Floyd.  “In The Flesh”.  Last track on Harvest.  Words between the lines.  The promise of the ’60s went to shit in the ’70s.  Where’s QAnon?  Where’s Nakasone?  Where’s CYBERCOM?  Keith Alexander on Amazon board.  Velvet Underground feeding back.  Les Rallizes Denudes.  Primal Scream.  “Swastika Eyes”.  ADAT.  DAT machine.  Sampling.  Stereolab.  Back to another standout track.  “Chaconne”.  Will Smith in the summertime.  Some slick shit.  Messiaen.  Jonny Greenwood.  Lyrics world-class.  All those sand paintings.  Write and destroy.  Suicide girls.  Thom Yorke’s brain doesn’t have this facility.  He’s a great stylist.  Definitely an homage.  And to Godard.  Snow white and psycho.  Heavy shit for Laetitia Sadier and Tim Gane to check out.  Not far from Faust IV.  So sweet.  John Paul Jones.  Ramble on.  Charlotte Gainsbourg.  Keren Ann.  Last track noisy as fuck.  Lo-fi.  Tom Waits.  Sticks together.  Some sad shit.  Music from Big Pink.  Mournful trombone(s).  John Simon.  “Bird on a Wire”.  They don’t make records like this anymore.  David Bowie not dead.  Great phrasing.  Sinatra.  Mark Linkous.  It’s a Wonderful Life.  Believable bass.  Upright citizen.  Bayou curious.  Noise floor drops out.  Some perverse humor here.  An “album”.  It is.  Ten songs.  Ten different directions.  Some tracks stick together.  Like a deck of cards shuffled.  Lots of variety.  Circus peanuts.  The orange ones.  Pure sugar.  Chewy.  Strange texture.  Lots of melancholy here.  What’s this bloke so sad about?  Tell Thurston Moore.  You gotta hear this shit.  Pauly Deathwish’s 4th album (this summer!).  Is this guy trying to set a Guinness record or something?  And he already has a 5th one out.  Christ!

-PD

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Mad Max [1979)

Crunch time.

Ghost rider.

Motorcycle hero.

Chain Bowery.

Hand.

Mind games.

Fifi McAfee.

IMG_0865

Toecutter is Wayne Coyne.  Hugh Keays-Byrne.  On Highway 61.  In a forrest-green Ford Focus?  Oklahoma plates.  Near Emerald Mound.  Flaming Lips poster tucked into the back of the driver’s seat.  Soft Bulletin era.  Before Yoshimi.  Dead in December of last year in New South Wales.  Peacefully?  In a hospital?  At age 73?  12/2/2020.  Gay Bubba is Marc Almond.  Satanist.  Now says it was a joke.  This is quintessential Antifa.  As if Johnny the Boy had his eyes gouged out.  Dumb driver runs away.  Left his woman.  Pitiful.  Steve Bisley with compassion.  Goose is Max von Sydow.  We are going to win Australia back for Australians.  And win Canada back for Canadians.  And win the U.K. back for the English and Scottish and Welsh.  And the Irish of Belfast.  My mates in The Answer.  Google me.  No one showed up.  And Johnny walked free.  It’s time to show up, Australia.  Here is your song, Australia.  We will make it together.  https://soundcloud.com/paulydeathwish/australia-here-i-come-original Bernard Kerik is now on our side.  Goose.  We won’t lose.  Lori “Eraserhead” Lightfoot. IMG_0853

That THING is not the Mayor of Chicago.  Intel from Bobby Piton that she is a CCP operative.  Interesting.  Singer licking her lips.  Could suck a golf ball through a garden hose.  Goose’s last taste of life.  Went out with a bang.  But burnt to a crisp.  And not out.  Alive and suffering.  Bike in the back of a fuck-ugly ute.  Under which Goose is cooked.  Antifa tactics.  Mean, nasty people.  Cowards.  Sadists.  Unhappy adolescents who remain unhappy adolescents for their entire lives.  Sick utopians.  If only everyone saw things their way, then the world would be a wonderful place.  They think.  Rebels without an understanding of their cause.  Which is to say, without a cause.  The cause is only a prop.  And so nebulous as to be virtually nonexistent.  West side story.  Cascadia.  Rosa Brooks.  Nils Gilman.  Transition Integrity Project.  Brooks involved in Soros projects like Open Society Foundations.  Gilman with Berggruen in California.  Which is to say, China.  Intimate connection.  Berggruen Institute.  Satellite offices mainland.  Tries to quit and get out.  Some good times.  Family time.  Swimming.  A child.  Tender moments between man and wife.  Sharing childhood memories in vulnerability.  Fifi needed him.  McAfee.  Abandoned.  Had to make a choice.  Chose family.  I chose family.  And now I can buy Bitcoin and shrink Abbey Road to the size of a matchbox.  More or less.  At least as passable as Radiohead glitch fidelity.  Sprog is sperg.  Autists activate.IMG_0647

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Reconcile.  Contempt meets Rambo.  Again it’s Cascadia.  Twin Peaks.  Knives in movies.  They drew first blood, not me.  Paul Hogan.  Mel Gibson never finished fixing the fan belt.  If you wait, it’s too late.  Death Wish.  True romance.  It would seem they needed Toecutter for the sequel.    Good versus evil.  The Flaming Lips versus me.  Versus the Devil in fuckery.  You can saw through the cuffs in 10, or your ankle in 5.  Joanne Samuel beautiful and great acting.  The Mel Gibson contingent is taking back the world.  Just you watch.

-PD

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MZFPK [2021)

Breakfast cereal video game.

Pauly Deathwish’s 3rd album.

I am behind.

I can’t keep up with this guy.

Out of the gates like Flaming Lips.

30,000 feel of despair.

The gash.

Right into Isao Tomita.

Doing Debussy.

Marching.

Martial.

Fantastic noises.

Like first Stereolab album.

Here Come the Warm Jets.

Cheyenne Mountain jams.

I can no longer see what I’m typing.

  • What if I type in white?  Ahh, yes.  That does the trick.  But it ruins my style.  Louis-Ferdinand would not be happy.  Totally Air.  Pocket Symphony.  Who is Kevin?  Shields?  Ayers?  Fairlight.  Synth clouds.  Rich chords.  Very sophisticated harmonies and arrangements.  Cornelius from Japan.  This sounds very modern.  OH FUCK!  Groove is in the motherfucking heart.  Vogue!  So on track two, we are straight up on a catwalk.  But it could be Alan Vega or Martin Rev.  Kinda Sun City Girls.  Zoviet France.  Fridmann never gets this crazy with bass.  Wayne is driving it weirder.  This was, from what I hear, done with ZERO budget.  Is this a dance album?  First you have poetry.  Then you are prose.  Amateurs.  Into Odelay.  That was a good drum break.  The Strokes.  Fuzzy vocals.  Paliament/Funkadelic.  Sly Stone!  Later Stereolab.  Tim Gane processing.  Counter melody!  For fuck’s sake.  Somebody listen to this bloke.  Whoa.  What is up with this chorus?  Roland Kirk?  Like in Switzerland?  Definitely hitting some Os Mutantes twee.  Lo-fi as fuck.  Great Godard tongue in cheek.  Apparently about Neil Young and Rick James being in a band together when they were young and still in Canada.  Yonge Street?  Beats.  Drake needs to hear this.  Bit crusher lisp.  Spiritualized at the grocery store.  Swipe barcode.  Song peaks at end.  Masterful mix.  A true climax.  Savage mastering on every album.  Whole mix jumps.  It works.  Needle skipping.  American Supreme.  Claustrophobic.  COVID.  Sad.  Scared.  Apocalyptic.  The concept of the gaze in cinema.  Bass drops in.  Feel it in your sex organs.  A sexy song.  “Cobra Strike”.  This is unequivocally a dance album.  EDM all up in here.  Lots of panning.  Spliff it.  Micro gestures.  Pandemic planning.  How long will it last?  Soul-crushing.  Zombie metaphor.  Shaun of the Dead.  Masterpiece.  Beatle drums.  First Velvets album.  Rat trails.  “Black Angel’s Death Song”.  “The New Pollution”.  Dr. No.  Walther PPK.  What does this kid know?  He can’t possibly know, can he?  Pure phase.  Visconti.  Lanois.  Acid jazz.  Nick Cave.  Montage, mon beau souci.  Flaming Lips.  Jeff Tweedy drawl.  Jesus and Mary Chain team up with The Cure.  Disintegration.  Heartbreak here.  Who broke his heart?  Bleeps and bloops.  Robot noises.  Heartbeeps.  Jazz funk ’70s experimental upright.  Great lyrics.  Superimposition.  Steenbeck!  Fucking great lyrics on “Snip Snip”.  Oh, damn.  Glockenspiel at just the right time!  Icy.  Air.  Virgin suicides.  Dazed and confused.  Blonde.  Braids.  Like glazed bread.  German.  Texas.  Floating world.  Old world.  No one to smoke a doobie with and stare up at green trees.  No tits.  What is wrong with this world?  Rambo.  Fort Bragg.  Delta.  Boykin.  Intelligence Support Activity.  Send me.  George Crumb.  Black angels.  Jungle echoes.  4thPOG.  Ghosts.  PSYWAR op.  Make it loud.  Romeo foxtrot.  Shall we dance?  Charlie don’t surf.  Death on the dance floor.  Public Image Ltd.  Modes of limited transposition.  Messiaen.  Primal Scream.  Standing with Johnny Rotten.  #Trump2021 .  But this is more about big tits.  Giant opals.  Garth Hudson.  Telegraph.  Total loss.  Persona non grata.  Window still missing.  Swastika eyes.  Paul Weller.  XTRMNTR.  Shoot speed.  Kill light.  Eyes owned 2020.  The ugly had a chance.  Masks work…if you’re ugly and need to get laid.  Back with another block rocking’ beat.  Private psychedelic reel.  War metaphor.  Is this about election?  No.  Too early.  Look at liner notes.  Living in COVID times was like a world war.  War just beginning?  Got my pina colada.  Fuck it!  Arizona.  Living boldly.  Masks have lost.  Two weeks.  Could have been a contender.  Circuit bending.  Talking about big titty schizophrenic.  All footwork ruined.  Toys.  Falling apart gremlin workmanship.  Awkward line about Thora Birch.  Explicit warnings a little lazy.  Getting a bit Lenny Bruce up in here.  Russ Meyer.  Second line.  Double time.  Crazy drums.  Smooth as Sade.  Tambourine is the star.   One organic element.  Wrote a song.  She didn’t care.  Wrote her 200 songs.  She didn’t care.  One has zero plays globally.  She never bothered listening to it.  Some things not meant to be.  Liberals and conservatives.  Go and create.  Lobster.  Work wasn’t.  Bought her every flower imaginable.  Thousands of dollars on flowers.  Yoshimi laser warfare.  A piano not standard.  Some Tori Amos bullshit.  Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli.  Only the finest pianos.  Internationally famous.  Neither deserve it.  Pulled the plug at the wrong time.  Would he have still kept the same track listing?  Maybe so.  Heartbreak to rehash.  Goes by quick.  Good drum programming.  James Bond future theme.  Brian Wilson.  Phil Spector.  Absolute Nigel Godrich.  Cinematic.  The album that never was.  But this one is worldwide, motherfuckers.  Third this summer.  And a fourth already out.  I can hardly keep up.  I need to review movies.  Doesn’t Pauly Deathwish know I don’t have time for Galaga?  Falling apart.  Short-circuit.  Charlotte Gainsbourg.  Flashback to Bucolic.  
  • -PD

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bucolic [2021)

It starts just like Charlotte Gainsbourg.

5:55.

Air.

Nigel Godrich.

But there is something different.

A shruti box?

A little distorto guitar.

Ah, yes.

Chuchotements.

Françoise Hardy.

A little Yo La Tengo.

Built to Spill.

Guitar carries it for a second.

Good lyrics.

All mood.

And then into an Amon Düül II warble.

Like Marc Bolan.

Jim Carrey.

Most annoying sound in the world.

Into Pink Floyd.

David Gilmour.

Circa The Wall.

Strange sadness.

Almost a premonition of impending doom.

Calm before the storm.

J. Spaceman telephony.

Floating with no highs and no lows.

All mids.

Strong opening track.

Very slow-moving.

Luxurious.

Immediate Delgados shift.

Paul Savage.

Pauly Deathwish.

Glasgow effect.

Great counterpoint for a pop musician.

But if you check this bloke’s CV…

You’ll know he went through Fux.

Gonna have to say Elliott Smith.

Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci.

Megan Childs violin.

Around the warm fire.

Welsh.

Expansive.

Strings open up.

Hate.

More Fridmann.

Pointillism.

Schoenberg.

Timbre.

Richard James.

GZM.

Beethoven.

Another Welshman.

John Cale.

Orchestral bass that Lou loved.

This guy’s a bastard.

Jaded.

Hurt.

Is this a breakup album?

I thought the last one was a breakup album?

Ahhh…

Into Gorwel Owen.

1968.

Floyd.

Atom.

Mad cow.

The last GZM album.

Rockfield.

Bohemian.

String band.

Money never runs out.

Cheap air organ.

Tubes?

Fan.

A very apropos album title.

Woody.

Tobacco.

Spring water Scotch.

And then the Great Reset arrives.

Like a fucking spaceship.

Dark shit.

What is this glitch business?

Thom Yorke blasts upon the scene.

Drums James Brown.

Good groove.

Savvy.

Whoa!

Marching band.

Drumline.

Snares.

Caught by Lee “Scratch”.

Guitar all mangled.

Melodies solid.

Mogwai?

Bert Jansch out of fucking nowhere.

Definitely Lips.

Pet Sounds.

Track rejected by Bond franchise.

Convincing.

Acoustic to electric.

Now it’s Serge.

Requiem.

Stereolab.

Break beat.

Absolutely boffo.

BOF.

More Brian Wilson.

Van Dyke Parks.

Phil Spector.

High Llamas.

Still a sadness.

That the old world is passing away.

FUCK!!!

Right into some Leonard Cohen shit!

Scott Walker.

How the FUCK was this recorded?

Sounds like 2″ tape.

Question:

how has this Pauly Deathwish released three albums in two months?

I can’t even keep up with this guy.

Mercury Rev.

Deserter’s Songs.

Levon Helm.

Chamberlin.

Mellotron?

Like a Christmas album.

See You on the Other Side.

David Fricke.

A review in the liner notes.

“Everlasting Arm”.

Definite vibe.

Record pillaging wizard.

Baritone.

Lots of fucking glockenspiel on this record.

But it’s nice.

Like Ennio Morricone.

Cinema Paradiso.

Mandolins.

Jackie Gleason.

Dean Martin.

Herb Alpert.

Tchaikovsky.

Again with sugar plum.

Slick!

Very light.

Chiaroscuro.

Fresher than the sweetness in water.

Hearing Dungen.

IV Thieves.

Makes sense.

“Frenchie” Smith.

Dig CV.

Light, British, airy.

Good hook.

Hooky.

Is this the single?

A little neo-psych Hendrix moment.

It’s definitely GZM.

Repetition until transcend.

Stereolab first album.

Not looped.

Manuel.

Carpenters.

Messiaen.

Definitely some breakup here.

Sonic Youth.

Sister.

Experimental.

Thurston.

Lots of drum machine.

Drum and bass.

Panning.

Definitely holds up with Radiohead.

How the fuck was this made?

PD tells us that it was all made on an iPhone with only a Telecaster.

That is some serious trickery.

Ear fooling.

This is COMPLEX music.

Mixes sound polished.

Clarity.

Some Chinese stuff.

Noise floor fucked for the first time ever.

Bacon?

Rollerskate Skinny.

It’s THAT good.

Shoulder Voices.

How was this made?

This heralds a new talent.

But this bloke is 44.

Tour sponsored by Ensure.

Not hearing a sophomore slump here.

Two albums in two months.

Review third forthcoming.

This dude is emo as fuck.

I dig it.

This guy is a mystery.

What is his deal?

This sounds more like a cohesive album that Introversion.

Introversion sounds like a debut album…in all the best ways.

Songs saved up.

A greatest hits.

Go big or go home.

This album deals much more in subtlety.

Not every song here is a home run.

This album breathes.

Ambiance.

Negative space.

More Beach Boys vibes.

70s.

Sad.

Bathrobe.

But mentally sharp.

A spark of genius.

A little bluegrass.

Bill Monroe.

Dock Boggs.

The old world is passing away.

Jonny Greenwood.

Georges Bizet.

Live forever.

Nonesuch.

Elektra.

Hoyt Ming.

Incredible String Band.

Wales, Scotland.

Back and forth.

And across to Ireland.

Oh, no.

There’s the single.

“Makes Me Wanna Stay in Bed”.

Emma Pollock.

Hate is all you need.

Coming in from the cold.

New Radicals.

Delayed bass from The Wall.

Pavement.

Spoon.

Good fucking song!

Eisteddfod.

All Is Dream.

Hard following up.

Unenviable.

Emma Pollock solo.

With Alun Woodward singing.

The Great Eastern.

New Spiritualized.

Banjo.

Let It Come Down.

Abbey Road.

Coldplay.

A Rush of Blood to the Head.

This bloke is serious as fuck.

Sad eyes.

I’m sensing a Jandek promotional strategy.

Final track Richter.

Ravel.

Emperor.

Philip Glass.

Conlon Nancarrow.

City/country dichotomy.

Urban/rural.

Urban encroaching.

Something felt.

Big symphony night.

Excitement of New York Phil.

The fucking french horns!

Automation.

A story in dynamics.

Lesson.

A folk album.

bucolic.

Pauly Deathwish.

iTunes.

Spotify.

-PD

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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

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The Hunt for Red October [1990)

Political officer Ivan Putin killed.

Poutine.

The music of submarines.

What can your ears hear?

Sensual ear.

Cornell. Harvard. Stanford.

My teacher.

Hsueh-Yung Shen.

His father.

M.I.T. 1949.

Cornell professor.

Shan-Fu Shen.

U.S. Navy.

Consultant.

Jack Ryan’s cover.

Naval uniform.

Pieczenik.

Writing books for the CIA.

Perhaps.

Not quite.

I had no idea.

But we will win the war this way.

https://www.nap.edu/read/12473/chapter/45

Analyst.

Meaning, psychoanalyst.

Knowing the psychology of Ramius.

Scott Glenn excellent as in Silence of the Lambs.

False-flag to ditch crew.

False-flag to convince the world that the sub has been sunk.

Five shots.

New Hampshire.

Rhode Island.

Maine.

How did Alec Baldwin turn out to be such a cunt?

Q visitor White House laminate badge.

James Earl Jones.

Combat tactics.

Death wish.

Rig for red.

-PD

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The Filth and the Fury [2000)

Here we go again.

Twenty years later.

Four years later.

The polls.

The first film.

Are they skewed?

This is a really fine film.

It starts off approaching the genius of Histoire(s) du cinéma and F for Fake, but miraculously (?) loses its way around the midpoint (or a little before that).

So it is not an all-time cinematic masterpiece.

So what?

It is still important.

And germane to today because one Pistol has had the bollocks to stand up for Donald Trump (the underdog [just look at those fucking polls]):

namely, Johnny Rotten.

What will today hold?

Johnny Rotten has said that he would vote for Trump.

So, I suppose, we can assume he did.

It wasn’t a joke.

I voted for Trump.

Again.

And proud of it.

Most celebrities have spent the past four years agreeing with one another that Trump is literally Adolph Hitler.

Good for them.

Whatever.

And from the throng of brainless celebrities emerged Johnny Rotten.

He made me feel more comfortable out here in the cold.

Am I a typical Trump voter?

I don’t know.

I have a degree in music theory.

I wrote a string quartet.

I toured England, Scotland, and Spain as the bassist in a hard rock band.

I am from Texas.

I played on Steve Jones’ radio show in Los Angeles.

I toured the world (U.S., Canada, France, Germany, Sweden, and Denmark) as the drummer in a French-language Cajun punk rock band.

[at least they were punk when I was in the band]

I have an MBA.

I could quite easily vote for Trump just based on my knowledge of economics.

Free-market capitalism works.

No, it’s not perfect.

Communism/socialism does not (in the long term) work.

It is an economic death wish.

It produces so little value * relative to capitalism.

But, you know, fuck it.

I also like Trump!

And so does Johnny Rotten.

Me, Pauly Deathwish…

I like Trump.

Trump has gotten me to see the light.

Trump has taught me to respect our great U.S. military.

Trump has taught me to respect our wonderful American law enforcement officers.

And Trump does not take any shit FROM ANYONE.

Particularly the press.

I always knew the press was full of shit since 9/11/01.

And I found out that the Democratic Party was just as full of shit after I voted for Obama in 2008.

I thought Obama would hold the neocons responsible for the 9/11 false-flag/stand down.

I was wrong.

Obama was/is a fake.

In every sense of the word.

Trump has fought tooth and nail for four years AGAINST THE ESTABLISHMENT.

And he is still going.

This motherfucker is TOUGH!

And the more I learn about Joe Biden, I realize he’s just another corrupt career politician scumbag.

So what’ll it be, America?

You have the opportunity to throw off the mind control which has blanketed you since birth.

Throw off 99% of news coverage.

All of it says that Trump sucks.

Every day.

In every way.

That’s all they say.

Is it because he’s mean to them and their feelings are hurt?

Not exactly.

It’s more sinister than that.

It’s more un-American than that.

You have been brainwashed by Jeff Zucker and others of his ilk.

But go ahead, swallow the blue pill.

Zucker’s CNN told you in 2016 that Hillary would win.

They (and every other American news outlet) proffered that Trump had almost no chance of winning in 2016.

Why does that sound familiar?

Oh, that’s right.

BECAUSE IT’S THE VERY SAME FUCKING THING THEY ARE SAYING THIS TIME.

But this time they are saying that Trump has LESS THAN a slim chance of winning.

The hyperbole is staggering.

So, you know what?

Might as well not even vote, right?

How many CNN viewers will get lazy?

How many MSNBC viewers will get lazy?

They say (“the polls”) that Joe has had a massive lead for months.

And his lead hasn’t changed at all.

Do you believe that?

Do Democrats believe that?

Then why even vote?

Is there a possible boomerang effect from such an audacious PSYOP???

Trump voters know that the polls can be wrong.

Biden voters SHOULD know that.

Trump voters will vote either way.

Sure, there might be some “casual Trump voters” (though the type seems pretty improbable) who get discouraged by Joe’s seeming victory before the match has even been played.

Brexit voters would remember.

“Leave” had no chance, right?

“Remain” would take the day.

All the polls said so.

But what happened?

That’s right:

“leave” won.

And Johnny Rotten stood with those people.

When the people had decided, he stood with the people.

Brexit was fine with him.

And Trump is fine with him too.

I support Britain’s exit from the EU.

The EU is a nightmare of well-meaning mismanagement.

Can “control freaks” be poor managers?

Apparently so.

Just look at the EU.

I’m not gonna make a prediction here.

I don’t know who’s going to win today (or next week [or two months from now]).

But I am dedicated to the idea of America.

I’m not gonna freak out like a child and go out looting and committing arson.

I’m not going to make life miserable for “Biden supporters” (if they even truly exist).

Biden is a joke.

And not a very funny one.

There is no true enthusiasm for him…not anymore…not within his own party.

He’s a “safe pick” (like Mitt Romney was for the Republicans).

I didn’t vote in 2012.

Obama had disappointed me.

No neocons were brought to justice re: 9/11 false-flag terror attacks.

And I had no desire to vote for Mitt Romney.

So I just dropped out of politics.

I didn’t care.

Until Trump came along.

At first, I too thought he was a racist, etc.

Then I came to the realization that those thoughts had been planted in my head by way of misleading “journalism” (propaganda) which assailed me at every turn.

I broke out of the matrix.

I came to see that it was all bullshit.

Calling Trump a racist was the kryptonite that the Dems thought would keep Donald out of the White House.

It didn’t work.

And the world has never been the same since.

-PD

1 Comment

How to Lose Friends and Alienate People [2008)

This film is squeaky clean.

Antiseptic.

And that is not a compliment.

It is waste of great actors (and a decent story).

Jeff Bridges is good.

Great talent.

Excellent contribution here.

He plays what must certainly be a backhanded homage to Graydon Carter of Vanity Fair.

A magazine I used to read.

Dreaming of entering that glitzy world where my idol Nick Tosches wrote.

All is, in fact, vacuous in such a world (as this movie plainly shows).

Which brings us to me.

And this.

Dossier du cinema.

Pauly Deathwish.

I am almost done.

Being an addict.

Being a basket case.

Almost done.

Almost.

Maybe tomorrow?

Kirsten Dunst has great breasts.

Linchpin.

Melancholia.

Poor men love breasts (as it turns out).

Danny Huston falls like the last laugh of Murnau.

Wiping the shitter.

Riches to rags.

Saudi Arabia.

Gillian Anderson plays the villain here (of sorts).

Megan Fox is boring.

Skinny woman are, in general, unattractive.

Real.

Be real.

Keep it real.

Restecp.

White Russian as bridging mechanism.

Ms. Lebowski.

R. D. Laing.

Lord Byron.

The only cinematography is when Dracula is depressed.

I’ve been blessed (?) with a complete lack of suckcess in my lifetime.

Good bit with La Dolce Vita.

Reminiscent of the open-air movie in Cinema Paradiso.

This film could have been a lot better.

Simon Pegg is an all-world talent.

This kind of tripe is beneath his abilities.

 

-PD

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