Cinematic Music with Pauly Deathwish
Season 1 Episode 4
Cinematic Music with Pauly Deathwish
Season 1 Episode 4
“Flying Cloud”–Dinosaur Jr.
“Jealous Guy”–Roxy Music
“Suite bergamasque: III. Clair de lune”–Claude Debussy
“Goodbye Blue Sky”–Pink Floyd
“Blue Clouds”–Mercury Rev
“Big White Cloud”–John Cale
“China Girl”–Iggy Pop
Way behind on Pauly Deathwish.
Right off with XTRMNTR.
Spirit of rock and roll.
His most popular track at this time.
Drugs flowing through the veins.
Overdose of light.
God is the ultimate drug.
Coming back from depression.
Girlfriend goes on a date with another bloke.
From London to Paris.
Vintage keys like French band Air.
Every touch from two tracks imbued with Radiohead experimentation.
Pink Floyd bass.
Here come the warm jets.
Camera clicking photos.
Levon and Robbie Robertson.
Rhythm of the saints.
This bloke has nothing to live for.
His girlfriend is a total fucking bitch.
Alone in the world.
Trying to overcome.
She don’t give a fuck.
Info op birthed.
Bloke has sophistication in attack.
Wars back started BLM.
Kept powder dry.
Amazing hip hop.
The Sea and Cake.
Stereolab as always.
Trump supporter smart.
Assessment of coup against Deep State.
The balls to review his own albums.
Dark side of the moon.
Of the wall.
Noel feeding back.
Liam blowing harp.
Ringo’s son on drums.
Don’t believe the truth.
How she lives now.
Nigel Godrich as always.
Big Star Third.
As important as the Velvets.
Big Star early albums.
Like The Byrds.
Phil Spector lives in the glockenspiel.
Lester Bangs lives here.
Many disappointed patriots.
Lamenting the shitty U.S. military.
While honoring the 13.
And Colonel Scheller.
A handful of gems in a culture of shit.
I love faggots as much as anyone.
David, Lou, Iggy.
God is the only hope.
So I prayed tonight.
Nobody loves me.
See you on the other side.
Rolling the dice.
So long, Charlie.
I’m guessing you got the vaccine.
Happy Hairy (?) Hardon Q.
QAnon Christian Slater.
The first of a long succession.
Anthemic melodies befitting Handel.
Matrix done right.
First song to mention Event 201?
“Follow the White Rabbit”.
Very Jefferson Airplane.
Power to the people.
Pro-Trump psych rock.
Be a rebel.
No vaccines, asshole!
Great snare work.
Verging on adrenochrome.
Hefner and Monroe.
Sexy dead bodies.
Pay to grind for eternity.
Absolute Flaming Lips.
Transmissions from the satellite heart.
What is God gonna do for America?
What is America gonna do for God?
Nation falling apart.
Hail to the creep.
Scorsese Glass Kundun soundtrack.
Carl Stalling project!
This is a SOPHISTICATED FUCKING RECORD.
AUSTRALIA, WAKE UP YOU CUNTS!!!
Give me ANZAC!!
Fucking awesome return to Bobby Gillespie.
Great fucking song!
“Australia, Here I Come!”
Even uses the comma correctly 🙂
Riot city blues.
Baby won’t ya?
Love and Rockets.
Bitch who dumped me.
By not giving a fuck.
By not participating.
By being a selfish cunt.
Q Team, come in!
How many years?
Second American Revolution.
There’s a Riot Goin’ On.
Second Pauly Deathwish song to mention Jean-Luc.
Who the fuck is this nigger?!?
She’s a fucking black hole.
I take it all back.
A pathetic bleeding vagina.
Money soothes all pains.
She’s a loser.
Jack Nitzsche all the way.
Rips your heart out.
I will die lonely.
Having given it all away.
Hear the typewriter click.
Are there two people?
QAnon stylometric analysis.
Obvious split in styles.
Gimme the rain, the rain, the rain, the glorious rain!!!!
I got close.
Freezing your tits off.
Seeing your breath.
We coming for the sexy bitches.
With stellar boob jobs.
Factory Records above all.
Baggy as fuck.
Gimme them saggy titties.
Real better than fake any day.
Ain’t returning my messages.
Would love that bitch like Cleopatra.
Suck her toes.
Conspiracy theory king and queen.
Blew it several times.
Because heartless bitch usurper.
Same birthday as Lester Bangs and Nostradamus.
Ends with Pocket Symphony.
Ya feel me?
Jesus and Mary Chain.
A dangerous confection.
Hit to Death in the Future Head.
Summer is here.
Vacuum cleaner solo.
Boys peel out.
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!
It starts just like Charlotte Gainsbourg.
But there is something different.
A shruti box?
A little distorto guitar.
A little Yo La Tengo.
Built to Spill.
Guitar carries it for a second.
And then into an Amon Düül II warble.
Like Marc Bolan.
Most annoying sound in the world.
Into Pink Floyd.
Circa The Wall.
Almost a premonition of impending doom.
Calm before the storm.
J. Spaceman telephony.
Floating with no highs and no lows.
Strong opening track.
Immediate Delgados shift.
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.
Strings open up.
Orchestral bass that Lou loved.
This guy’s a bastard.
Is this a breakup album?
I thought the last one was a breakup album?
Into Gorwel Owen.
The last GZM album.
Money never runs out.
Cheap air organ.
A very apropos album title.
Spring water Scotch.
And then the Great Reset arrives.
Like a fucking spaceship.
What is this glitch business?
Thom Yorke blasts upon the scene.
Drums James Brown.
Caught by Lee “Scratch”.
Guitar all mangled.
Bert Jansch out of fucking nowhere.
Track rejected by Bond franchise.
Acoustic to electric.
Now it’s Serge.
More Brian Wilson.
Van Dyke Parks.
Still a sadness.
That the old world is passing away.
Right into some Leonard Cohen shit!
How the FUCK was this recorded?
Sounds like 2″ tape.
how has this Pauly Deathwish released three albums in two months?
I can’t even keep up with this guy.
Like a Christmas album.
See You on the Other Side.
A review in the liner notes.
Record pillaging wizard.
Lots of fucking glockenspiel on this record.
But it’s nice.
Like Ennio Morricone.
Again with sugar plum.
Fresher than the sweetness in water.
Light, British, airy.
Is this the single?
A little neo-psych Hendrix moment.
It’s definitely GZM.
Repetition until transcend.
Stereolab first album.
Definitely some breakup here.
Lots of drum machine.
Drum and bass.
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.
This is COMPLEX music.
Mixes sound polished.
Some Chinese stuff.
Noise floor fucked for the first time ever.
It’s THAT good.
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.
More Beach Boys vibes.
But mentally sharp.
A spark of genius.
A little bluegrass.
The old world is passing away.
Incredible String Band.
Back and forth.
And across to Ireland.
There’s the single.
“Makes Me Wanna Stay in Bed”.
Hate is all you need.
Coming in from the cold.
Delayed bass from The Wall.
Good fucking song!
All Is Dream.
Hard following up.
Emma Pollock solo.
With Alun Woodward singing.
The Great Eastern.
Let It Come Down.
A Rush of Blood to the Head.
This bloke is serious as fuck.
I’m sensing a Jandek promotional strategy.
Final track Richter.
Big symphony night.
Excitement of New York Phil.
The fucking french horns!
A story in dynamics.
A folk album.
That glow in The World’s End.
But a sadness.
My Bloody Valentine.
Sloshy grunge hats.
I Am the Cosmos.
Yerself Is Steam.
The disappearance of Madeleine McCann.
You don’t know how it feels.
I can only give you everything.
Black magic warded off by honesty.
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.
The confusion of ridiculous counterpoint.
Tonal, yet dissonant.
Thick Billy Corgan.
Definitely a sadness here.
All you need is hate.
The Inflated Tear.
Columbus, Ohio with duct tape.
Posing with a bass clarinet.
Did I ever write one?
Yes, I did.
Or is it contrabassoon?
Nadia Boulanger can tell you.
My teacher’s teacher (twice over).
The Left Banke.
Transient Random-Noise Bursts with Announcements.
A little lo-fi.
Changes that pull at your heartstrings.
A fucking marimba solo?!?
Are you kidding me???
Pauly Deathwish collaboration with Gordon Gano of Violent Femmes.
Lost Bayou Ramblers.
Gordon knew him as Death.
I have become death.
Tim Gane tone.
Back to J. Spaceman.
Dirty ass rock and roll with pristine horns.
Is this the artist we’ve been waiting for?
R. Stevie Moore?
Sounds like Jack Nitzsche.
Major Velvet vibes.
Dylan with P-bass.
Too much attitude.
Let it Come Down.
Fucker kicked the bucket.
First to be vaxxed.
First Suicide album.
The Soft Bulletin.
Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space.
Gimme some lovin’?
La Monte Young.
First rehearsal tapes.
New York City heroin.
Warhol Factory torn down.
Across from YMCA.
Great throwaway lyrics.
Sound of universe.
Direct into mixing console.
Blood pressure rising.
I think I’m in love.
Will the circle remain unbroken?
When I had dinner with Roky.
First Velvets album.
But you gotta buy it.
Cop shoot cop.
On the jukebox.
Eat at the gas station.
First time in Texas.
It’s definitely Bowie.
Old is new again.
A fuck ton of flutes.
Flute loops literally.
Little fluffy clouds.
Gay glam chorus.
Boys peel out.
Gives me pants.
A Shot in the Dark.
Under the Western Freeway.
With Sean Mackowiak.
Comes back loud.
One song mastered soft.
The main influence of Pauly Deathwish’s debut album.
Chariots of fire.
Such a groove.
By the side of a freeway.
Under an underpass.
Not like RHCP.
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.
Trail of Dead.
Because Pauly wrote the string arrangement on IX.
Snot on the crowd.
Lost Bayou Ramblers lost sessions.
This was all made on an iPhone?!?
Major 7ths in uppermost range of piano.
Almost indistinguishable from octaves.
Only for the sensuous ear.
Waters delayed bass.
No nonsense drums.
Humble Pie reference?!?
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.
Great debut album (if I do say so myself).
Here is a troubling masterpiece.
Because as history unfolds, old modes of expression fall out of style.
They become crude.
And yet, this is a funny fucking film.
We encounter almost the same phenomenon with the priceless, all-world The Party of 1968.
If you like Peter Sellers as an Indian (“Do you speak Hindustani?”), then you are racist.
This is what we are told.
So, then, we are not allowed to laugh at Peter Sellers anymore.
However, notice the double-standard at work in the Pink Panther films.
No one ever says, “Clouseau is such a racist depiction of the French!”
It is because “the white man” has had the rug pulled from underneath him.
The French have everything…
The Louvre, great bread, Dijon, Bordeaux…[a nice meal coming together there, that!]
So therefore, the French should be dispossessed of their wealth in all its many manifestations.
And, sadly, that’s socialism.
Make everybody the same.
Take by force.
Doesn’t sound very civilized to me…
Rather, sounds fairly barbarian.
A shortcut on hard work.
But I’m really aiming to get under your thumb (er, skin) as regards “race”.
I put it in skeptical quotations because modern genetics has proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that the concept of “race” is ridiculous.
As Geoffrey Carr of The Economist puts it, “One group of 55 chimps in West Africa shows more genetic diversity than the whole of humanity.”
I usually don’t trust The Economist farther than I can throw it.
Because there are no bylines.
And it is a clearly globalist rag.
But Mr. Carr has a point.
To put words in his mouth…if there are no races, then there must be no racism.
I’m sure some other word will suffice.
I’ll get back to you once I wade through Euclid’s Elements.
But I hope my point is clear.
If races don’t exist (a notion the globalists are pushing very hard…for ulterior motives), then racism is an absurd concept.
But still, SOMETHING exists.
Perhaps it’s just a “rose” by another name.
Which brings us to this film.
Three Amigos. It’s racist, right?
I mean, the Mexicans in this film aren’t doctors and lawyers.
They don’t speak flawless English with no hint of accent.
And though they run a small gamut, there are indeed stereotypes at work.
But is it mean-spirited?
I would argue it is not.
Or else, the Pink Panther films should all be banned out of deference to the French.
Which is no less absurd than saying John Landis’ masterpiece under review is “racist”.
But let me bring a different slant (no pun intended) to this dialogue.
In my area, south Texas, a mixing of “races” is apparent.
There are white people. And a few black people. But mostly there are brown people.
And then there are gradations.
So-and-so is darker than what’s-his-name. And so on and so forth.
And we know that this darkness in skin pigmentation (for Mexican-Americans) comes largely from the Native Americans who populated what is today the U.S. and Mexico.
Before the Europeans arrived.
But here’s my personal two bits.
This film, Three Amigos, was cherished by me and all my school chums when we were growing up.
People with last names like Lopez, De Los Santos, etc.
We were all friends.
And though we may have fallen out of touch with one another, we all seemed to find enjoyment in Three Amigos.
Indeed, my Hispanic (Latino) friends apparently found the characterizations of Mexicans the funniest.
And, dare I say it, because (as the adage goes), “It’s–so–true!!!”
Whether any characterization of Mexicans in this film is or isn’t true…that’s immaterial.
I am not the ultimate judge.
But things have changed.
And it’s not just the Trump effect.
Over the years, people have become more and more “polite”.
That’s a good thing, right?
Well, I’m not so sure…
Because it’s not a genuine politeness.
It’s a politesse which is enforced topdown.
It’s not really a choice.
And, to make dead clear, it is our old nemesis: social engineering.
It is in this sense that social engineering is truly defined.
Any other definition (the activities of a pickpocket, a conman, a hacker) is insufficient and misleading.
Social engineering is, by-and-large, practiced at the highest levels of government, at policy institutions, and in commerce by Ivy League jerks (both male and female) who wish to mold society into a shape pleasing unto them.
And like those pernicious Fabians of old, they have no qualms about smashing the world to bits if such means lead to their desired end.
The Fabians, of course, never rush anything. Unless they panic. At which time they reveal themselves. To be the losers they are.
Yes, I am no fan of the Fabian socialists.
Because their whole programme is predicated on deception and secrecy.
And, as such, it should be thoroughly suspect whenever encountered.
But this is a comedy, right?
Yes! Amen!! Something we can agree on!!!
This grand apologia is to introduce one of my favorite films.
It is not “politically correct”, but then NOTHING was in 1986.
And with “correctness” we have lost our sense of humor.
We are too easily offended.
We need “safe spaces”.
Ok, ok…I promise I’m not about to get all Bill O’Reilly here.
Because I have railed AGAINST Fox News for many years.
And, dare I say it, the real heroes in the USA were those who took CHANCES…BIG FUCKING CHANCES…to preserve liberty.
Trump came to the party late.
And I came to Trump even later.
But the real heroes are people like Alex Jones.
Indeed, there is no one like him.
But with the “Joneses” came others like Steve Pieczenik.
And so the tables have turned against the globalists.
Thank God for BREXIT!
Thank God for Trump!
And may God bless Marine Le Pen!
Because the neoliberal nightmare in which we are now mired (including the neoconservative, never-ending wars) has set the globalist agenda back decades.
The European Union is falling apart.
And rightly so.
Because it was a bad idea in the first place.
France must get rid of the atrocious Loi Gayssot.
And other European countries must follow suit.
We must be allowed to TALK!
The Internet will not allow tyranny.
Every government which seeks to control will find itself obsolete.
And so call it whatever you want.
If you’re “free market”, then the Internet is the genius of capitalism.
If you’re fond of sharing (so am I), then the Internet is the redistributive genius of socialism.
And, finally, we have the monstrosity of China.
Clearly no longer a communist state.
Yet neither a capitalist free market.
The mutant which is China…that juggernaut has been smashing the world in terms of productivity.
But there is a limit.
Now the people want FREEDOM.
[or so we are told]
At any rate, the blowback of globalism will ensure that the Chinese people crave the OPPORTUNITY (at least) to behave like Westerners.
THAT much is human nature.
And so I am not against natural globalization.
In that respect, the Fabians are right.
If “gradualism” is taken to mean “let nature take its course”.
But I am and will forever remain AGAINST synthetic globalism.
Globalization vs. globalism.
Suffice to say, I am very much against FORCED globalization.
And perhaps Erdoğan is a manifestation of reaction.
“Reactionary”, as the socialists always say. The worst insult a leftie can level!
As such, I have nothing against Erdoğan, but he can’t hold on to power IN SPITE OF the people.
Same with Trump.
Trump barely squeaked out a victory.
Because the globalist machine is so strong in America.
But rural pride was stronger.
And the Electoral College defeated Hillary Clinton.
But Trump will have to produce.
He knows this.
The clock is ticking on his four years.
And he has had adversaries on all sides.
So it remains to be seen…whether he will make good on his campaign promises.
I am standing behind him.
I am supporting him.
But I am ready to call “bullshit” when the moment is ripe.
Hopefully that moment will never come.
Hopefully he will be a wonderful President.
Which brings us back to “race”.
It’s not meant to be “a symbol”, it’s meant to be a wall.
And we in America have long known that the story of 9/11 is seriously flawed…like Swiss cheese…it is not plausible.
I often shoot my mouth off (my defining characteristic), but I have done my research on 9/11.
It may be the most complex event ever.
But it certainly was not the work of 19 blokes with boxcutters.
And everywhere…we saw the stand-down.
Two parts to Roberta Wohlstetter’s pet theory.
9/11 was no more Islamic than Mickey Mouse.
And so many signs proved this case.
If it had been an attack actually emanating from outside the United States (as opposed to an inside, CIA job), then our southern border would have been secured toot sweet.
But such was not the case.
And those of us near the southern border had all the information we needed to put the final nail in the coffin.
That 9/11 was a self-inflicted attack.
[with help from Israeli Mossad and others]
It was a team effort of the globalists.
However, to paraphrase Guy Debord, “deceit deceived itself”.
9/11 was the day when the Ivy League lost.
Once and for all.
Never again will Yale be the same.
Never again will Harvard be guiltless (if they ever were [and they weren’t]).
Brave people spoke out.
Webster Tarpley (of Princeton).
Steve Pieczenik (of Cornell and Harvard).
But now our Ivy League President (Penn) has a chance to reverse the sustained-lie–the 8-year-nightmare of Barack Obama’s unreality.
The Democratic Party squandered its chance to see the neocons swing from the gallows.
It would have been the end of the Republican Party.
But the Democrats chose more deception.
You can’t kill a dead man (bin Laden).
The fraudulent War “on” Terror waged on…with many innocent patriots deceived unto death.
And now race…racism…is but one problem plaguing us.
So, my friends, I urge you to see Three Amigos.
Let yourself laugh.
And “think about it” (as Jerry Lee Lewis was wont to say).
But don’t think too hard.
Because hell too is part of the divine comedy.
[CRUEL STORY OF YOUTH, (1960)]
Today was a bad day.
You would be shocked (dear readers) if I asserted the opposite.
No, there is no sugarcoating it.
But that’s ok. [Ah!]
Such anxiety. Such fear. Such trepidation.
Ah! That wasn’t so bad.
But don’t breathe relief too soon. [Sigh…]
We’re surrounded by morons. Condescending illiterates.
A fistful of assholes.
Yes, that Japanese up there indeed does not read Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist.
Things fall apart. Shit happens. Sometimes, the shit hits the fan.
That is the story of Nagisa Oshima’s Cruel Story of Youth.
Seishun Zankoku Monogatari…that’s what it says.
Kinda like Ugetsu Mongatari (which I reviewed some time back).
And it is. More or less.
The story of Mako and Kiyoshi.
No magical powers here. This is like the Japanese version of À bout de souffle.
If we don’t understand French (and we don’t), then we really shouldn’t be fooling around with Japanese.
That is my 2 cents…me, and the royal we.
Mako and Kiyoshi.
Will they survive this cruel world?
Perhaps they must be cruel themselves to survive it?
And perhaps only Kiyoshi (cool as Jean-Paul Belmondo) is cruel?
Mako is no Jean Seberg.
She might be a coquette, but she’s not une dégueulasse.
Our film followed on the heels of Godard’s Breathless by a mere four months.
And what about Jerry Lee Lewis’ “Breathless”?
It preceded Godard’s film by two years (1958).
Any one else out of breath???
How about those Japanese protestors?
They weren’t keen on the Anpo treaty.
[Treaty of Mutual Cooperation and Security between the United States and Japan]
Yeah, a mere 15 years after Hiroshima and Nagasaki…and Japan was a beaten nation.
Because they joined hands with their brethren (us) who had so recently vaporized them.
And so no wonder people were protesting.
But we don’t see protests in movies.
Not real protests. Not anymore.
In fact, Japan does not even exist for the U.S. anymore.
Japan is like a house cat.
Japan protests nothing.
Their economy slides with ours.
They are between a rock and a hard place.
It is a geopolitical fault-line.
In the film we see South Koreans protesting.
This ended long ago (for us brainwashed viewers in the West).
Only the Chinese protest.
Tiananmen Square. 1989.
And CNN had a bird’s-eye view of tank man.
A bit too perfect.
But yes: every nation protests.
Except the well-behaved Japanese and South Koreans.
But what about these recent tremors?
As recently as February of this year.
Just what is going on?
Anpo is that famously robust treaty…in effect longer than anything since the Peace of Westphalia (1648).
I am reminded of my most erudite friend’s knowing focus on the war which these treaties (a series in 1648) ended.
It was a bad day for Mako. Rape.
The valiant rapist.
It is like Dostoyevsky.
Stick around and the plot thickens.
Buked and scorned by Yuki (the sister).
Youth…how cruel it is to be taken.
And then our lovers reenact The Kid with no windows (but plenty of stones).
But I’m most sad for Horio.
It’s the old man in me.
Finally the reification gets to be too much for Mako.
And a tear rolls down her cheek. In her sleep.
Busy signal. Pink Floyd’s The Wall.
A cement mixer.
Is she? No. It can’t end like that!
“This ain’t prostitution…IT’S EXTORTION! (tortion)! (torsion)!”
They call them the diamond dogs.
Oshima with a shadow play.
Kiyoshi holds Mako in the foreground.
Aki implores Yuki in the background.
[And for subtitlers everywhere, please think before you use the phrase “for old time’s sake” in a Japanese film.]
In her polka dot dress with the leeks peeking from the grocery sack.
The futility of youth.
The grimy uncertainty…the shifting sands.
The idealism made to lick the city sidewalk.
The valiant rapist saint.
And Mako, fragile, with a bloody cheek.