Dog Poet Transmitting…….
Greetings my friends, such as you are, such as you were and such as you will be. As bad as it is we have it good because we have each other. We have each other in the best sense; virtually …so as not to get into that ‘familiarity breeds contempt’ thing. It’s kind of like having our cake and not having to eat it too. I know we are prepared to like each other, even if we don’t always accomplish that… moving right along. Nothing to see here.
Every now and then you do see something here; one voice gets raised in outrage against the vile murdering thugs that just do as they please because they own the banks and the currency printing presses. If the love of money is the root of all evil, then they are bewitched and entranced with such an armore (that’s amore!) that no other passion may rival it. You will see more and more of this as Mr. Apocalypse revs his engines. The scat is out of the bag; no need to set it on fire on somebodies porch. It’s in the air all around us. “I can feel it poisoning the air tonight.” Bottom line is they aren’t that good at it and then they have to brag about their ability to do it. You can screw some of the people some of the time but you can’t screw all of the people all of the time or else you are going to need a really big supporting cast. Ben Dover! Ben Dover to the white courtesy phone. I don’t know how people get accustomed to being rogered all night and day. Can I have another, Sir!
You know what the bottom line is? One day you won’t be here. Think about that folks. All your struggles and ambitions swim in deliquescent ‘might have beens’ for what no longer is. One of my little escapades in the long nights of reflection that come upon me… oh… every night… is to think about what it is like to be someone like Little Georgie Sorrows. Yeah… I lay there and I think about being George Soros and no matter how badly things might be going for me, my heart is filled with ebullient joy that I am not him. There seems to be no pesticide to cover this demon spawn, who freely frolic in the pastures of our discontent. He walks in worlds of color and behind him, as he passes, everything turns to a gray Detroit skyline; post Robo Cop or maybe it is Escape from New York but it’s not New York. It will be though. First we trash Manhattan and then we trash Berlin.