House of Mirrors

(editors note: written in third person for a sick fiend friend) sometimes she worries about her-self hatred other times not-so-much walls. mirrored separating real from chaff duplicating projections locked in with monsters one my man, the other… just a big fan of…my ass tehe. no doors or windows Is he me or am I him […]


Dear Reader. I’m not an asshole, but sometimes I can be. Don’t hate me for it… try, like me, to appreciate it. I think it’s just that sometimes I don’t suffer fools well.   As some of you know, I’ve admitted to sometimes having a somewhat ungainly habit of engaging folks who attack me (physically […]

I took the chill pill

  The old man looked at me as if my decision carried with it the weight of humanity’s future itself. Well… I sighed, the time has come; the red pill will conscript me to a life of getting back to what’s true and real despite the hardships and battles, while the blue, although too a […]

My Confession.

This short thread below is taken from a recent YouTube post by Blackstone Intelligence where I succinctly (as is possible) outline a brief synopsis of my thoughts on Christianity, as far as the historicity of Jesus is concerned.   Truth is, I doubt that the NT Jesus ever existed. Personally, I’ll only go so far as […]

Mandelbrot existence

Ω they marched away in lock-step first from them then from the others and again they divided til’ they all became one not together but alone as boolean gods howled in manic delight. ∆ a tiny few understood that they too had been infected the viral confirmation bias self-replicating eating away individuality saddling them less […]

who’da thunk it?

from mostdiggity’s weekly hyper-rant… “you can’t make this stuff up” : Betting the sure thing at a Google-to-1 odds against. Some thoughtful reader suggested that I try to look at the bright side of things. So… after some careful thought, I must agree. Here goes: This post is NOT meant to highlight the lamenting of […]

Hilariously Not Funny

 Say cheese. While the LVPD takes cover from an alleged mass shooter, others appear more worried about phone chatting, leaving many to wonder why this huge effort to attempt to fool the public was important to TPTB now, and what is their end-game? Really? Another professionally taken “staged” photograph underscores the dishonesty of today’s lamestream media. […]

on remembering doug fricks…

Friggy-my-Diggy… another Spring is roaring in… and lately I’ve been thinking about our friendship. your comfortable, confident kindness, unveiled by alert but caring eyes twinkling in the bright blue Carolina sunshine. flashing that affable, genuine smile, as always seemingly amused by life’s irony; and like me you seemed sorta’ OK with it. sure, we differed on […]

Madness Paradox wrapped in March Enigma

And, yes, I know Duke is 27-8. And, yes, I know no school has ever received a No. 1 seed with eight losses. But only two of those eight losses are sub-50 RPI losses — and those two sub-50 RPI losses came by a total of six points. Kansas, by the way, also has two sub-50 RPI losses. So does North Carolina.”

by CBB blogspert Gary Parrish, CBSSPORTS

The Origin of Word-Mean

early man campfire repeat-o-thon rrruuv rruff, woo-woo woo-woo, cuckoocuckoocuckoo  guttural grunts… a cacophony of phonetic and tonal resonating, communicating, teaching… immersive meaning drumbeat of repetition… puppet strings dancing simple sounds plucked discernment… reflected hearing bellowing louder get mad make noise tongue tones … reality hurt voice glorious word-songs… echoing ages smiling common mantras… pitch rising […]

Shakespeare’s last words

Shakespeare was known to bellow after presenting a new stage play for review… If thou truly not liketh it… laugh out loud.   Like Will, these are my VERY LAST WORDS on the subject that follows. It is my opinion that certain elements having real power in this country make incredible efforts to distract our […]

Battle of the Lunatics

  Do the descriptors “left” or “liberal” and “right” or  “conservative” accurately depict the 2016 Democrat and Republican American Presidential candidates’ platforms? Better yet, is it time to supplant them with terms like “avarice” and “hubris” respectively? I think maybe. Or does LIAR cover them all? President Obama, elected on his 2008 wide ranging traditionally left-wing ideology best represents what has […]

too little too late



truth becomes fiction

complicit masses unison in mission

facts no longer a friend of reason

and rational out of season

people separated by manufactured ‘isms

not supporting love, encouraging schisms

when the end justifies any means.

then will clap the hidden hands of fiends

when bad news isn’t fabricated like an active drill on stage

global media no more willful frauds inciting hate, fear, and rage

tragic events, gaping holes large enough to drive through

fearful masses jump on-board… there’s no one left to scare,

or smart enough to lie to

when sanity and logic lose to implausible deniability

evidence and facts struggle with indisputable futility

measuring success is how slow you experienced downward mobility

doctrine planted, church supplanted… now e-fed… it exponentially grows

ugly secret finally bared is now full Monty exposed

when a hint or suggestion of being nationally patriotic

implies treasonous instigator whose borderline psychotic

and the rest are in denial of being liberally robotic

questioning authority not just wrong it’s illegal

as dim-witted liars march boot steppingly regal

our new icon transformed into a double-headed eagle

psychopathic money grubbers pedophilia porno-grabbing

humans traffickers and their organs

chasing the shooting and stabbing

when every scam for raping you is utilized once it’s pondered

charitable non-profit means taxes evaded money laundered

too late to protest the freedom that we’ve squandered

too far from the path of righteousness had we wandered

those pillars of society you once idolized you now dread

self-righteously demanding you be silenced, imprisoned, or dead

that solemn Hippocratic scorned as end-game hypocritical

pharmaceutical slaves swearing their allegiance to metaphysical

its as pathetically hopeless as its parenthetically pitiful.

when you’re forcibly beholden to some fraudulent secret oath.

you’re one of them or one of us, but no more being both

waking up too painful; but the only path to ever realizing any growth

Hegelian synthesis is that truth is the same as when you’re lying

divide and conquer propaganda; the shit they sold us that we kept buying

let it simmer then you’ll realize that living means you’re dying

destabilize the masses with a dialectic projected by all self-serving asses

do as thou wilt’ till good is evil the 180 Satanic metastasis

a time when common men and common sense fly out open windows

defenestration sings out the inevitable sidewalk crunching crescendo

front page news the Lamestream threat no longer innuendo

human empathy, love and hate… what the A.I. couldn’t replicate

calculating the code the odds were that we’d soon be meeting fate

crunching algorithmic probability, transforming into trans-human-ly great

no understanding that emotion exists only when and if it arises

the pain on every human’s face no longer wearing computational disguises

Analog or digital, particle or wave, truth and/or consequences

realization that good neighbors have built the strongest fences

the eye of Horus didn’t need to see you now that it has extra senses

when you realized human history had been made-up from the beginning

though you hoped for peace you quit making plans on ever winning

while it was getting late you hoped to rally the bottom of the ninth inning

666 preachers tele-calling you asking for donation

the abomination of desolation or simply sublime disinformation?

gluttonous consumerism; the son of god MONEY’S creation

dissemination of lies, perpetrators among the exalted

“crime doesn’t pay”; the lie too big to fail that eventually defaulted

morally bankrupt laws of freedom; the amendments they assaulted

when everyone’s been chipped, the real becomes the fake

and “quid-pro-quo” translates to “you give we take”

echoing the ignorant mantra of “liars, lizards, and snakes”

when our world is sucked into a vortex of perversion, fear, and hate

when there’s no escaping and there’s no more need for that debate

spun out of control… what will become of our species and our fate?

and we wake to find there’s no hope for food upon our plate…

when money is thrown at us for work lost in a pandemic we won’t abate… getting ourselves ready for…when it’s..

                                             too little too late


but i must.                                    filed.

Entropy Road


entropy road

time slips from great to good, or from terrible to wors’ning
down that entropic road we pay our toll
from hot pavement toward dirt road endings

that god, what god? the mirror asks, tone optimistic, while condescending
life’s urge to organize is quite strong
make amends, then share the booty’s blending

time slips from me to us, then from “you and i” to loving
our valentine then seeks it’s mate
on goes the prolific downward sending

that god, what god? the reflection quests, as the last winter snow’s still clinging
that Holonic symbol, our family crest
bears family blood from each upbringing

the urge to mate is as strong to hate, we blend, then split the winnings
our Junior a mixed-sum of both
then adds new moment’s vendings 

time drives us from then to now, our final destination reaching
tho’ next can never touch our lips
it’s law, Relativity speaking

that god, what god? the question begs, who should i tell him’s asking?
our urge to love and to proliferate…

life’s sentence, and time’s unmasking



2nd law of thermodynamics

A Critique by Jendi Reiter

I was lucky to have had this poem selected for review by The Winning Writers, a respected site for amatuer poets with top writers as owners who run the site. Jendi Reiter is an excellent and respected poet in her own right.

Critique by Jendi Reiter

The form of this month’s provocative poem, “Entropy Road”, embodies its theme of order struggling to remain distinct from chaos. The headlong rush of syllables in the longer lines and the fragmentary, zigzag presentation of the poem’s argument give the poem a restless energy. Meanwhile, the “-ing” rhymes repeating in the first and third lines of every stanza, the refrain “that god, what god?” and the semi-regular meter attempt to corral that energy within a poetic framework.

Making the rhyming words present participles (verb forms, or nouns derived from them, ending in “-ing”) was an inspired choice. These words describe action in progress. Just as the stability that the narrator seeks is always a moving target, the concepts on which he depends to convey this argument will not stay put. Each rhyming line also ends on an unstressed syllable, which gives the poem an open-ended, unfinished cadence.

Entropy, of course, refers to the Second Law of Thermodynamics, which basically states that the energy levels in an isolated system will tend toward equilibrium. Entropy has sometimes been described as a measurement of the disorder or randomness within a system. In the poem, as in popular usage, it symbolizes universal mortality and dissolution. If evolution drives organic life to ever-higher levels of self-organizing complexity, entropy is the opposite force, that which pulls down and breaks apart complex systems into nature’s simplest building blocks. It means that all material energy will ultimately spend itself and be unrecoverable.

As self-aware components of this dying system, how can we find the motivation to go on living, loving, procreating, and planning for the future? Which will win, our philosophical sense of futility or the inward compulsion to survive and create?

Perhaps no one wrote about entropy in this sense more powerfully than the 20th-century British poet Philip Larkin. A sample poem can be found here.

Larkin generally settles the question on the side of death, but Adams disagrees: “the urge to love is as strong to hate”. The life force has a fighting chance. Yet it is hampered by our inability to articulate a reason for hope. “that god, what god? the mirror asks, tone optimistic, while condescending”.Existentialist philosophers looked to the self to create meaning in a universe made absurd by death’s finality. The poem suggests that this answer is insufficient. The individual is merely part of the closed entropic system. He cannot inject it with new energy to reverse its decay.

There are positive, hopeful moments in “Entropy Road” but they come from outside philosophy and science. Whatever the intellect may say, instinct confirms that human connection and creativity are not futile. “time slips from me to us or, from you and i to loving/our valentine then seeks its mate/goes the prolific downward sending”. The opaque last phrase may have been chosen mainly to fit the rhyme scheme, but its vagueness felicitously makes it more symbolic than a specific description would have been. It called to my mind both the release of seed in copulation and the movement of the child through the birth canal, but other associations are possible, such as rains watering the earth to bring forth crops, or the descent of angels.

The birth of a child does seem like a miraculous creation ex nihilo, the opposite of entropy. First there were two, now there are three. “Holonic” is a word coined by 20th-century philosopher Arthur Koestler to express the observation that entities in biological and social systems are always interdependent, never completely self-sufficient units. This law of interconnection and symbiosis contrasts with entropy’s pull toward disconnection and stasis.

“our junior is the sum of both/but adds ‘new’ moment’s vendings”. Is “new” in quotes because the narrator’s intellectual side reminds him that this is not a real solution to the problem? On the human scale, parenthood may feel like a triumph over mortality, but on the level of the cosmos, it does not stave off the decay of the whole system, looked at in purely materialistic terms.

The poem ends by leaving the question open, a humility that rings true. Adams does not claim to decide whether the emotional or the scientific perspective on the human condition is correct. He suggests that it is really a question about the nature of the self, or perhaps its very existence. “that god, what god? the question begs, and who should i tell him’s asking?/an urge to love and proliferate…”

If pressed to define the self, Adams would emphasize the impulse to love and create, however blind that impulse is, over the scientific description of the individual as a collection of atoms arranged in a temporary order. He chooses the insider’s perspective over the outsider’s, life as it feels to us, rather than life as the scientists say it is. (After all, they too are part of the flawed system, not truly above it.) Yet the final line, “life’s sentence, and time’s unmasking”, expresses the fear that some trans-human perspective would prove us wrong; the joke of the universe is on us, after all. The dilemma brings us to the limits of reason, where some have found faith, and others merely the willpower to live without it.

I ain’t petty… but I won’t back down (part 1)

Won’t Back Down – Tom Petty. Once this was my theme song…

“Hey, baby… there ain’t no easy way out. Hey ya..I… will stand my ground,

Below follows a Psychology Today comment thread…

 after a well-written article in Psychology Today by David Noise (see link below) about the rise of anti-intellectualism in America. Most of the ideas, theory, and conjecture presented I happened to wholeheartedly agree with (with caveats). His views and mine were/are very similar in this regard.

However, I think this comment section is prescient in many ways, since it’s not only hard to pinpoint who the good guys are, but also whether the bad guy is as bad as they say he is (oh, that’s me). Also of interest is how the comments veered off subject, into a hate-stew of astronomical proportions.

What’s clear is that I’ve broached a sensitive subject, one which had not been part of recent public discourse for some time, but one that found an immediate and vehement constituency whose reaction to my mention of the issue being an example of media complicity (with lies perpetrated by others) as a form of some psychological mental disorder.

It was almost as if I somehow had sent a clarion call for some pre-selected others to tune in and attempt to intimidate and stifle anyone who hinted at the suggestion that I could be right. It had the eerie feeling of an ongoing covert DARPA program designed by by Cass Susstein (O’bama’s first information Czar), a  classic Cognitive Infiltration live drill. Susstein developed the program designed to use assets to help mitigate and neutralize online forums, which he suggested were over-run by “Conspiracy Theorists”. What I make especially clear is that I refuse to be intimidated by these scurrilous ad hominem tactics, even so far as upping the ante on these losers, imposters, posers, and jus’don’t knowsers, by offering my own nasty brand of “holier than thou” spit-back.

‘and I won’t back down……. Well… I know what’s right, I got just… one life…

The action begins when I disagree about one singular point (media complicity) which I felt was important enough to make Noise’s overall premise complete, but one that the author had failed to emphasize: (I used as an example the FEMA Drill disguised as a real mass rampage shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary in 2012).

I first responded to a guy named “Bob”, and from that somewhat innocuous but semi-inflammatory comment… well…



U can stand me up at the gates of hell, but I won’t back down, no I won’t back down.” Tom Petty

What is obvious by these comments, the majority of the commenters intend to represent themselves to the reader as good and wholesome, while I (purportedly) represent a whole cultural phenomena of hate mongers, chest thumpers, disruptive no-gooders known as Conspiracy Theorists; who by their very name and nature are delusional creeps who slither in the night trying to infringe on conventional wisdom’s own Utopian view of our perfect Western world.


I resent this characterization and in fact find its slanderous.
Apparently CTs are nutbags with an ax to grind, intent on seeing good people as bad and praise-worthy organizations as having ill intent, who plan disasters behind secret doors, while simultaneously being oblivious to their own failed observation of reality. In and of itself this paints anyone doubting the “official narrative” of any event with a very broad stroke, one that includes many of the worlds most learn-ed and intellectual individuals.


And, one that history has proven to be on-point time and again as official documents become unclassified, memoirs written, previously unknown facts are uncovered, whistleblowers blowing whistles, etc. (accordingly we find that our own history, which we were indoctrinated to believe and once fervently did so, includes enough insidious lies and fabrications for it to be considered fiction).


This, in itself suggests that silencing these unseemly theorists now takes an increasing amount of effort, organization, and manpower, especially in lieu of the internet’s broad reach over the last 25 years. No longer is simply owning/controlling every Major Media outlet enough to fool a rapidly wiser public, due to the proliferation of excellent unpaid independent researchers (that are likely due more to a poor economy than the thirst for finding truth) that populate the web.


Perhaps they may have somehow unwittingly created an atmosphere for their own best laid plans to have gone awry. Research takes time, and the ruination of our economy has provided too many otherwise smart, would-be working-for-a-living souls with time on their hands to learn the truth.



It’s far too easy to write off any one commenter off as arrogant, narcissistic, crazy, or worse… still, I admittedly own an unusual amount of narco- self-confidence even in the face of a strong headwind (deserved or not, it is what it is); yet, the reaction I received was somewhat more surprisingly the consensus of commenter(s) opinion(s) than even I had expected before I went tip-toeing into that minefield.


You’ll witness the prize fight below, which seemingly almost turns to a lynch mob instead. Steadfastly, I return blow-for-blow… yet I knew this was a recipe for losing any empathy i might have garnered otherwise. But then, I ain’t out to win no popularity contest.


Outnumbered, like Davy Crockett I refused to wave the white flag. I thought it must have felt much like this to the inhabitants of Constantinople on May 27th, 1453, when Ottoman Emperor Mamut II with 80,000 troops had surrounded Constantinople intent on mayhem and murder. A deal with the devil might just save my/their lives and 1000 years of history inside the crumbling walls. Yet I, like those vastly outnumbered inhabitants persisted, resisted, and returned volley against the grain and odds, knowingly wading into the inevitable ONSLAUGHT once it began.




Stubborness? Hard-headed? Just plain stupid? All come to mind sure, but this was different… something greater. I think in Court it is called, “beyond a reasonable doubt”, that defining moment when all conjecture ceases, and truth arises.


Number 1 was and is that I am right and I knew it. Far from conjecture, rumor, misinformation, paranoia, I had done my homework and checked it twice. Doubt had long since vanished from the cynical mind that sometimes can haunt me into probably, maybe, possibly and likely. Overfuckingwhelming evidence is too mild to describe what I’ve learned from both my own experience and research with a multitude of others, who like me… felt that day that something was terribly amiss from the start.


Dear Reader, if you have ANY doubt as to the veracity of what I say, please do yourself and your country a favor. Research it. I can promise you that while i have literally hundreds of pieces of factual and mitigating evidence, I have also spent hundreds of hours uncovering them. Yet, honestly… if you were to look on You Tube and watch one or two of the many documentaries produced on Sandy Hook; which are professionally produced by a plethora of activists like Sofia Smallstorm, or Peter Klein and MANY others (Peter also chimed in below, if only briefly)… you will not be able to deny my conclusion as anyTHING other than fact.


Number two is an educated guess, even if the casual reader finds it outlandish. Yet it is also well-documented that this “guess”is likely correct to some degree, if not to a very large degree, and is at least as accurate as any of the Major Media outlets’ reporting of the event’s outlandishly off base and impossibly ridiculous findings.


The complete and total inept failure of the media’s reporting ought to give one SERIOUS pause alone. I mean, how possible is that not one single fact was correctly or consistently reported by 4-5 large networks, and very few of those reports ended up having ANY veracity whatsoever?


Much like 9-11, just how many acts of malfeasance, or failure to act, or ineptitude must combine sequentially and coincidentally until the odds of the official story being accurate defeats even the Heisenberg Uncertainty principle in uncertainty? I suspect Vegas oddsmakers would lay odds at something like a ten Google-to-1 chance of the official story being what actually happened on 12-14-2012 in Sandy Hook, Connecticut. Comfortably.


To wit:



Most, if not all of my detractors/commenters below; who will attempt to charm you and denigrate me with their takes on my comments or with their humble appeals to your human sensitivity I suspect likely work for/support the same umbrella organization (pick three letters ending in A); whose goal is hell bent on curbing this kind of “heresy”from entering the mainstream consciousness, and thus its historical narrative, and they have the means facilities and workforce (or paid contractors) plus media backing to succeed in disrupting and confusing readers when someone like myself or the many, many others make attempts to re-educate the public. I see A footprint all over it, or is it the other way around? Ok, here comes the comments….


I challenge and invite all rational thinking individuals to do the research on this monumental event, and decide the truth for yourself. It shouldn’t take long. Two-three hours perhaps.


I contend, like many others before me, there are diabolical forces at work in this country whose aim is to change our future and revise our history as a critical stepping-stone to some larger ideal. And, there are very few who are privy to what that ideal ultimately is.What I do understand that it is widespread misinformation, involving government and those who run government (not just those we elect) and is highly dependent upon a COMPLICIT MEDIA.


This movement has played a central part in almost every international event over at least 200 years, gaining momentum over long periods of silent organization, recruitment using false ideas as premises to ultimate goals, infiltration into every part of our society and government, promotion within, and financed by every illegal means necessary to reach its ultimate ideals.


From an idealistic view I am agreement with much of their stated purpose. Where I fall short and refuse to acquiesce is in their own philosophy (written in stone) that mandates”the end justifies any means.” That tends to make individual humans expendable, as war so pointedly suggests and crumbling skyscrapers reiterate. Plus, what is said and what is actually done are sure to be just as incompatible. It’s a bet I find too risky, even for a gambler like me. I’m fine with what is stated, but what isn’t said is where one should find concern.


Currently, at the very heart of this (plot, if you will) scheme, is disarming the American citizenry for purposes that we can only guess, but can be certain it is not for our own good. This NOT CONJECTURE and is a matter of public record. Although as Peter Klein alluded from his and Ms. Smallstorm’s excellent work, in the “operation/drill” at Sandy Hook Elementary there was much more to gain by a number of seemingly disconnected groups, and so its success would be paid in spades on numerous fronts. Problem is… they failed miserably to keep the truth from being found out, and then attempted a Larry, Mo, and Curly cover up.


Or, did they succeed miserably?


It can be argued that on many fronts they were wildy successful, like earning over $100 million in sympathetic non-profit donations which likely exceeded their wildest dreams. This pie was divied up like a small town trick-or-treat party, handing  out outlandish handfuls of sweets to almost anyone above poverty level in the neighboring and immediate vicinity. Free half-million dollar+ homes for literally hundreds, gifted on Christmas Day 2009, fixed lottery winnings for many (some winners had multiple jackpots on the same day, and a grand assortment of riches and perks. Surely not for everyone to just STFU. No? Alas, there were other ways to silence the few who dared.


As for success, it can easily be argued that over those 200 years, the most gains in the overall plan have been made in the last 25 years, and on an exponential scale. Be careful describing SHE as a failure.


Their push for gun control worked only State and locally (collecting and destroying 700,000 semi-automatic rifles), yet it funded a spate of smaller operations which were necessary to succeed on a national basis. Subsequent operations have kept the topic on the front pages and in the sheeples’ eye. Immediate success was unlikely, but as an ongoing operation inroads are being made into the hearts and minds of peace loving Americans.


Big Pharma and Security firms also made inroads into our public school systems for reasons not exactly clear except profiteering, but rest assured there are higher stakes and ultimate motives still silent. Theories abound, one regarding mandatory mental evaluations (for dissenters), but whatever… its safe to say that it will not bode well for the future of our children on multiple levels.


It is racketeering at the highest level, and the level above where Joe six-pack has ANY say in the matter. Or, better yet Messrs Obama, Bush or Clinton for that matter.


Its well known that big money poured into Security firms stock coffers pre and post 9-11, and with the planned wars winding down, arming police and school security may have kept the party going a tad longer before the eventual and inevitable hangover, and the “pump and dump (on 3)” alarm sounds. Never underestimate the simple minded but effective FEAR FACTOR, the one that Nazis of yore used so ordinary citizens gladly gave up their freedoms (and/or weapons). Julius Caesar himself invented and articulated the same tactics as he pondered the easiest methods of conquering lands while using local support for protection against some other unknown terr0r.


If the media bumble-fuck circus wasn’t accidental or just intended poor execution, it may well mean that it was just a “gut check” on American gullibility, in the face of and in spite of a well-connected and informed internet. On that level alone, there are far too many people who to this day KNOW nothing of the fake that was Sandy Hook; suggesting a well-planned fuck up might actually be regarded as a success considering the masses in general. One thing is certain, smart ain’t dumb, and dumb ain’t smart, but playing dumb can be the dumbest smart thing of all.




Perhaps, much like the end of late night television broadcasting in the 60’s… “this was a test, and only a test.”


Just how gullible are we? Inquiring minds perhaps just wanted to know the limits for future plans.


To what limit can we “fuck up” and still pull off incredibly horrible fiction considered as fact by the mainstream public? An idea, conceivably born in the 1940’s on the heels of Orson Welles “War of The World’s” radio broadcast. It’s almost too hard to imagine the unintended incompetence that can thrive at that level.


Conventional wisdom says that in major, heads normally roll, except in these rare cases. Promotions and rewards were always in order for the biggest FUp’s.


Is this not clue enough?


It’s rather ironic in the thread that the fear mongering being called out is reversed; to my being labeled a fear monger. Oh my.


Below you will hear some comments that defy imagination (that SUGGEST any rational sapient being could actually believe what they were spoon fed by the Major media outlets), portending simple incompetence, but meant to sound reasonable and logical. While, at the same time vilifying THE TRUTH as fiction, and that this writer as in need of psychological help.

“In a world that keeps on pushing me around… I won’t be… turned around”


And yes, I have purposefully taken several psychological evaluations BEFORE I made these contentions, if nothing else but to over-ride that all too likely objection. Remember? Smart ain’t dumb and I ain’t playin’, nor am I dumb. But, as it were this was seen as admitting my nuttiness? Curiously, tests show me standing unusually firm on terra-firma.


Call me a narcissist if you will, but I simply see myself as supremely confident in knowing who I am, and who I am not, but more importantly what I stand for. Say what you will but that’s only a perspective, but not necessarily mine. I’m fully self-actualized.


This means that I am also aware of how easily I can fuck up, but still not hate myself in the least for it. Being “bullet-proof” means that no one can tell me anything about myself in which I am not already fully aware.  That said, this a laughing FUCK YOU to the ignorant constituency whose tripe I endured in that thread.


(Full disclosure: Once an anti-gun ownership advocate, I’ve done a 180 and believe its critical for our survival; I’ve never owned gun, nor do I want one. I shot a .22 caliber at some beer cans once as a teenager.)


Hay bay-bae… there ain’t no easy way owwt, hay-yI-a… WILL… STAND…. MY… GROUND

and I won’t… back… down, NO I won’t… back… down”


Tighten your seat belt, this gets ugly quick… I’m thom but I ain’t petty.


The first clue to my second assertion of who these detractors are seems obvious to me, in that they uniformly try to label me as “the consummate anti-intellectual who has mental issues”.


Surely this many people cannot be that wrong after reading my scribe, when clearly the author (Noise) was pointing his finger directly at them. Or, lest I say we’re in deep shit if that many supposedly smart individuals can be, and are that wrong on issues so basic as the ones slapping them blatantly in the face, from the moment the article began.


-End of Part 1- (Part 2  the fireworks begin)

‘Politically Correct’ or ‘Back-stab-ingly Pleasant’?

(with a nod to George Carlin) “Politically Correct” or ‘Back-Stab-ingly Pleasant’? Man, I’m really getting tired of all this negative name calling… I much prefer the soft landing civilized society (Progressives? nah) have embraced when it comes to labeling people or things. Especially if my being brutally honest might really pîss-off an overly-sensitive individual, forever damaging their […]

What NOW?


what it is and what it isn’t

the gift of NOW, the tiny present

ineffably effervescent.

connecting causal to effectual

between the then and the eventual

it is where choice meets consequential.

it’s not what you wanted not what you did

the yin plus yang of what it is

it’s both the fizzle and the fizz.

not what it was not what it would be

not what you hear or what your eyes see

it is the nameless name… of the TAO-Chi.


Inspired by:

Composed around the 6th century BC by the sage Laozi (Lao Tzu),

the Tao Te Ching is the foundational text of Taoism and a major

influence on Confucianism and Chinese Buddhism.

LIFE’S Two-Way Highway

.my life fb cover


life’s two-way highway

we all cross it

take some speedy chances

in traffic

ZAG Zoom zoom Zig  zooom zoom zoom

decision time none to ponder

tho’ lives in the balance

jus’ don’t… can’t turn back, or

f’ u ZIG once

when ZAG is the better choice

speed kills

and US Steel mangles

splayin’ blood n’bones.


while… the speedy live on

burning ass-fault oily road-skinning knees

Whose? Mine? naw, jus’ scratches.

heatwaves drifting skyward≈≈≈≈≈

Oppressive sun don’t care, no one does.

Zoom ZAG zoom zoom zoom zoom

red blurs blueblackgreen to red-blue again.


not everything

but more.

or less… if your mind isn’t clear

side steppin’ lightly… ohyeah Yes

Green Go Green NOW

knowin’ when to say when

go GO Go g…O Git go


Goodwill addidas

grippin’ in zag zag zig for 3-68

step-back’ crossover steph curry

dartin’ thru, jumpin’ heavy steel beams

the median, The Middle Way

short respite

ona‘ skinny swirlin‘wind patch of

unreal estate

Zoom ZAG zig zoom zoom zoom

bent beercans, flyin’ chocolate wrappers long cas

mooz GAZ giz mooz mooz mooz

face slappin’ heat-winds, bad hairday gusts

drownin’ dizzynoise traffic, zooming


better get it right

rush on ahead.

there are enough

lanes for everyone

zoom zoom zoom

jus’ hope n’ to stay

out of tomorrows obits

by breakin’ clear and free

ZAG zig zoom zoom zoooom zoom zoom zig


armpit grit road sweat drippn’

while perfect Mazdas and

cool quiet Beemers and

73′, ‘The Year They Made That’

A Really… laugh out loud


like a cricket on wheels.

checkin’ each way

the perifeal wait-watch… oh shit deal wit it

gritty traction is… tougher than…

NOT me… uh NO

no sir.


cheap shoe rubber is

where it meets the road

for me.

zoom zoom zoom zag zag zig zag zoooom zoom

squirtn’ thru’ crosswinds

slivers of shine… diving…into

soft, pleasant green grass

like those breezy saturday mornings

of freshly mowed

smells… when i was twelve

and owned the day.


Yes… I made it through

touchdown Disney World

too sweet and sour makin’ “hey”

from my salty brow.

yeah feels right here right now

on the baseline of (lament)

across that zooway

life’s  two-way highway

zoom zag zig

about makin’ n’ takin’

choices and chances..

swish. stephon curry. yes.



My Dougly; catch you on the backside?


Two months ago a very good friend suddenly left this plane, and though it had been some time since I last had heard his voice, I often wondered how he was doing. But now I think about him several times a day, though not in the blame filled guilt trip kinda way, just sadness, a sadness in that I never knew he was even sick. I’ve always joked (not joking) that I am the sanest person I know. With Doug though, if pressed I might have given him a slight edge on me. He had his shit together before I moved away from Greensboro, NC 13 years ago, when we ran hard and worked even harder, and then sometimes ran even faster again. Doug and I shared the work hard-play-hard life philosophy of “buy the ticket, take the ride”.

Now I feel sympathy for him and empathetic to his partner (Christina) and their son Noah, who is one year older than my 10-year old first-born son. I’m sorry that one of the finest persons I’ve been lucky enough to have called my friend found himself trapped inside one of the most vile twisted and horrible conditions in psychiatry today. And one that would eventually strike and unravel, deciding his fate. I know it must have been unbearable suffering, because the Doug I knew rarely lost at anything in life, his natural constitution was using his considerable talents to find a way to win. And a winner he was in every respect.

2dougnnoahIronically in 2007 we discussed some of these same issues that later haunted him, issues that from all accounts he later apparently struggled with mightily. He and I talked about it over a couple of long phone calls when my two-year old son’s mother died, ironically in the same out-of-the-blue mind-fuck way in which he later succumbed. It was only after some time that I was able to personally heal enough not to be mad at her when I looked at my son’s beautiful face, but I eventually researched it enough (with counseling) and studied the disease (manic bi-polar dis-order) enough to understand how she had been very sick, and her’s was not a selfish act… in some ways heroic. I admit to being mad at Doug too for those first couple of days as it is only a normal reaction. But, I hope that those who loved Doug will find it within themselves to forgive, and give Noah the love he will need going forward.

I’m now certain she (my son’s Mother) thought she was doing me and our son and maybe the world a favor. How could it happen only a few years later that Doug apparently didn’t recognize the symptoms he was experiencing as being eerily similar, and NOT seek immediate medical help?

Perhaps the greatest faculty our minds possess is the ability to cope with pain. Classic thinking teaches us of the four doors of the mind, which everyone moves through according to their need.

First is the door of sleep. Sleep offers us a retreat from the world and all its pain. Sleep marks
passing time, giving us distance from the things that have hurt us. When a person is wounded they will often fall unconscious. Similarly, someone who hears traumatic news will often swoon or faint. This is the mind’s way of protecting itself from pain by stepping through the first door.

Second is the door of forgetting. Some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. In addition, many memories are simply painful, and there is no healing to be done. The saying ‘time heals all wounds’ is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest are hidden behind this door.

Third is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.

Last is the door of death. The final resort. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told.

Patrick RothfussThe Name of the Wind

dougfricksOur friendship was special in many ways, and I never doubted it was one that was built to last despite wherever our individual paths would lead us. The few times we did talk in the last 3-4 years it seemed like yesterday that we were laughing, golfing, partying, or talking through long hours of a weekend night, building a unique bond of brotherhood. And, so times remain in memories too, and though we’ve duffed our last good times together on the front nine of this “good walk spoiled”… My Dougly, I’ll catch you on the backside.  

Doug will always seem near, and I doubt that feeling will ever yield, serving as testimony to all that we weathered together and how at one time we were bonded as if tethered. Time passed, and distance drew us further apart only in this physical realm, his life essence today as clear to me as anyone I’ve ever encountered who has passed my way..

In my minds eye I still see those bright sparkling sea blue eyes smiling that eternal grin, a slightly toothy and twisted grin that always uttered a quick shortish chuckle like a verbal wink, not a sneering snarkle.

I can still hear him saying…

“My Tommy-boy, what’s happen.n…in’…huh-huh-hnn” his standard opening line in modified uptalk.

“You, my brotha…  you’re happenin’. What might we do to make this sunny Friday good reason to call it a week? I make an air-golf-swing and give him an inquisitive look as if asking a question?

(Laughs out loud)” You’re on, but let me take care of a few things first. Let’s meet at Stoney Creek in an hour… they’ll squeeze us on. But, not before I buy you an ice-cold beer,” he offers, pulling one out of the small cooler in his tiny back office.

“Schweet, See ya’ at 12:45ish”, popping the top for a cool swig of cerveza.

The golf the excuse, the time spent laughing and chatting it up (and a few cold-uns) the real reasons we were playing. Of course, he almost always won, and I almost always got the tab later. Usually, he paid half anyway.

And so it was, that we sometimes were out late-ish. Closing time.


We sometimes but very rarely meet a person who shares a common natural vibe, manifesting itself as a subtle synchronous one-man-ship. Perhaps it is luck when two minds and hearts of like kind can instantly formulate and understand the other’s deepest thoughts and bind effortlessly in such a short time? True friendship, lastingly rare as it is, transcends the world we think we see and enters into a more sublime reality; where life and death are no different than time and distance, just a weird cohesive illusion. Maybe mind stays fresh for a time in the Consciousness of the Great  Immensity? People who have died that I knew well never do seem as far from me as those whom I am merely acquainted with. Then again, maybe its just a function of the brain’s electrical neurotransmitters and neural networks, and there’s no big truth to discover after death? For now, I’ll take what I can get.

With Christina,,Doug's partner and mother of Noah
With Christina,,Doug’s partner and mother of Noah

Neither of us a nihilist, and both always too real, we never disagreed about what is here and now, though we differed on the eternal spinning of the wheel. Doug, a religious believer, and me a skeptic… one never cared to convert the other, because we agreed that hey, “it is what it is”. Apparently Doug had one year earlier sold his restaurant, a business that started as a tiny cramped sandwich shop that he nurtured into a large, thriving, one-of-a-kind place to eat by the time Doug had hit 35. It was the epitome of the term “cash cow”. I often wonder if his having sold his life’s work recently and somewhat stumbling around free and without a solid plan for his next big move contributed to his fall from grace. “Idle hands are the Devils work”, they say, but then one must first also believe in the Devil. Doug did, not me. May be I’m just lucky? Lucky?

Well… curiously enough, I too “retired” from a successful career with the intent to take some “idle time” first before embarking on another big challenge at around the same age as Doug did (47). That was 12 years ago, and I’ve not worked at a job since then. But, don’t sleep on the fact that the years surrounding age 47 can be a difficult period for many men, as it is around the time we experience one of our greatest “changes of the seasons”. It is a time where questions outnumber answers, reason gives in to fantasy, and suppressed Jungian archetypes arrive unannounced to ring a gentle alarm, seemingly without an off button but a relentless snooze reminder.

For me, an avid reader from way back and a suction for knowledge of all things anything, I trust that this malady of Doug’s will stay at bay throughout my less-than-ideal projected number of remaining days. Smart and stubborn, when told in January ’06 I had “less than five years” to make my indelible mark on humanity, I simply refused to accept it, or believe it was a possibility.

After all, after 50 years of child-free living and loving it… I had become a father. I was a single father, and this wonderful life-giving “reason for reasons” became my duty bound refusal to leave as scheduled. I mean, to me it was as simple as, “No, I have a little boy to raise.”

Maybe in the twisted end we’ll all find that in sublime irony, “living is dying, and dying is living, or something a thousand times more weird. But, NOW is the only sure bet we have. It pays to have hope, reason, and expectation of a future… but we should never take our eye off the ball of NOW.

“The human being cannot live in a condition of emptiness for very long: if he is not growing toward something, he does not merely stagnate; the pent-up potentialities turn into morbidity and despair, and eventually into destructive activities.”

—  Rollo MayMan’s Search for Himself 



I admired a man named Douglas Fricks, an honest and loyal friend killed by one of (god’s) nastiest tricks. Smart and funny, happy and caring, humble, sharing, compassionate and never once was he over-bearing. Confident and cool, his actions were the example his employees didn’t learn in school. He didn’t worship money, he worshiped Noah and (sometimes) even his honey.

He spoke the truth and he knew its limits, but he never seem to pass on one more ice-cold beer… and I was right there, but we always usually sometimes held it together.  He was “My-Fugly-My-Dougly”, and my “Friggy-my Diggy”. And me, to him… just “Tommy-boy” (my habit of nicknaming and his return sally).

I hope you found your peace my brother, I’ll always be your biggest fan. You in the fairway and me the woods, your smooth swing had you dancing, and me hacking, whacking, hatchet thicket smacking… but you never let me know how far down I stood. I loved YOU for the you that was you… and you, My Dougly… I always will.



who knows the story

who needs the glory

who hits the knuckle

whose knees will buckle

who calls it crazy

whose smile too lazy

who bellows Jesus

who’s dressed like Regis

who knows what time is

whose truth sublime myth

who fools the mirror

whose friends are dearer

who carries snail mail

whose apt to fail well

whose yard is greener

whose money’s cleaner

who loves the hater

who’s hate is greater

who needs the reasons

who waits on seasons

whose rhyme too simple

who squeezes the pimple

who strives for happy

who thinks it sappy

who lives for power

who hides like cowards

who has great posture

who won then lost her

who says NOT EVER

who thinks NOT NEVER

who thinks it’s possy

who glosses glossy

whose teeth are whiter

whose abs are tighter

who talks a pre-nup

who throws a change-up

who gets all dirty

who quits 4:30

who wears a big smile

who’s shoes walked my mile

who knows the tao chi

who will the bee sting

who rides the coaster

who lives to toast her

who breathes the fresh air

who cares but don’t care?

Ode to Kansas

KPtfaNz Front

Ode to Kansas

O’ worthy foe from days of yore
Tradition proud as ours is lore
Your crops grow tall, tho’ harvests wait
From whence you sewed, so did ours grow great
To leave you wanton, at heaven’s gate.

The fiery chant, your minions stoke
The rhyming stomp to wrest our yoke
From town to village, from field to stalk
Now is the time to Walk the Walk
A Nation waits… to Rock your Chalk.

Your blood flows Red, so ours does Blue
The mighty sword to change its hue?
We’ve vanquished Devils, you’ve given toe to Heel
While B’ruins rust on memory’s feel
A round legend grows thru’ times spinning wheel…

So… it’s down to you or us, but it’s ours to steal.



Tiger’s Woody!

A golf ball.

When you let your big stick do the talkin’
That “Parade of Porn”, with Paparazzi stalkin’
Snarly rough, traps-a-plenty; deep cut bunkers and nowhere to hide
When deciding to “lay up” was the riskier choice
If but for only that large amount of green and those swooshed titanium balls
would the World’s Greatest Scrambler survive a wretched 18 ho’s
Trading an extremely high handicap for a life of buried lies

Hardly checking which way the wind was blowing, knowing there are no mulligans
An egregious slice that wouldn’t fade, a train-wreck hacked so far out of bounds
You must have quit counting the lost strokes and calculating unplayable lies
Your balls dropped beyond the line of sight, but seemed ever further from home
Where money bets had long since been counted as lost in that first (wet) box
The truth is inside the ropes there’s plenty of trouble if you really want to hang yourself

Undulating backsides, luscious perky sloped tees, low cut cups waitin’ for loft and backspin
Manicured lovely, playin’ tight and long, and gorgeous to behold
Beautiful layouts you easily managed with your deft touch and artistic feel
Driving long and deep in middle of short Bentgrass, Bermuda soft, lush, and accessibly close
But, when instead of backing up, they began checking up, you started running fast and away
Ambien fueled Ambien fooled, once seeing a break, banging a sweet stroke… then nailing bottom of the ho’
The Ooohhs and aaahhs, moaning adoration, soon became belligerent bellows of, “Who’s Your Daddy!”

Stiill… YOU; lost deep in those woods but refused to take the normal penalty
Forsaking those easy birdies and model wife, with grim head held high you steadied your stance
Defiantly asking us to imagine that you were simply one more, ‘Par for the Course’
And so… pretty soon your Iconic magic grip you held over us loosened… until it vanished
As if you were raining bad behavior, your short game was turning into a slippery sloped Karmic wreck
Now cynical crowds yelling “Pussy Cat, knock it stiff”, or chanting “here cums Tiger’s Woody!
Perhaps an omen to us all… but for you Tiger… it signaled the Boogeyman had finally come… to stay.

A Word about Friends…

Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall… yeah, yeah, yeah…

all you’ve got to do is call (but, just not right now)… (yeah)…

you’ve got a… friend-ish.

applesto oranges

I clearly remember thinking once that “friends” were the most important possession one could have, and as such I would never EVER forsake my (then) friends for anyone else (like a wife, siblings, parents, or kids), and that our friendship(s) would likely last until my last remaining breath, right before meeting my (player to be named later – well, I hadn’t figured that part out yet).This was right after a good buddy refused to go out drinking with the boys, citing “a problem” with “his second grader’s homework.” The nerve of that guy, putting family before friends. I know, right?

TA and RonnyAs a card totin’ certified ‘late schedule maturing adult’, I think I was almost 40 when that brainchild hit me. By then, I had managed to collect and keep a handsome collection of assorted friends and a loyal wife, while sporting zero liabilities… I mean kids. We lived a busy but exciting life, but it wasn’t exactly hassle-free. Staying connected to friends was important to both of us, and we had a contingent of childless like-minded couple friends. Always the man’s man, I managed my guy friends (buddies) with a deft touch, all having been dutifully earned and cultivated throughout different time periods in my life. And dude, I was always there for them at a moments notice. Cheers. (Note: It may be a Darwinian trait for us to heavily imbibe alcoholic beverages among friends at gatherings).

Sc Myrtle Harley Octoberfest

Problem with spouse? No worries mate, let’s go have a beer. Job pressures? Meet me for lunch and we’ll hammer it out. Uh, you told her you didn’t love her anymore after driving home from her birthday dinner and that you wanted a divorce? Hello? …Wha? sitting in the garage? She hit you with what?

OK. Sit tight. Let me check on the next flight to ‘Mozambique’… I’ll be there by Friday night.

Yes, actually the above conversation did take place, and so I dutifully spent about a grand+ to travel (to offender city) that same weekend, then spend 12 hours Saturday loading a full size U-haul, and drive it all day Sunday to Kentucky while listening attentively the-entire-way to my bud’s complaints about (soon to be ex-wife), and how he had been victimized by the whole affair. Right. Check. I see. Oh, and you’ve been having a secretive affair with the next Ms. Right (in Kentucky) for about three months? Got it. He did thank me before we parted ways on Sunday evening, and I left town feeling like a real man and loyal friend.06-makingchanges

Unfortunately, almost a year later he blew through my hometown one night (travelling, work related) during a fresh self-inflicted marital crisis of my own. Instead of giving me the blind emotional support I felt I deserved (True, even though I was the offender), as he sat down to our dinner table he spoke with an assumed authority that he had not been granted: “My brother, it is well known that thou reap-est what thou sow-est.” Then, he added something about how I might want to do a gut-check on my guiding principles, or something? I don’t know, because by then I was too dizzy to hear anything.

Red faced and shaking I looked at him incredulously, “No, you didn’t just say that did you…huh? No, you didn’t,” then got up and went to my office to try and calm down before I strangled him. Luckily, after breathing deep I decided not to make a scene and calmly sauntered back to the table and struck up a more positive vibe by talking basketball.

After dinner, (smoking my expensive cigars) he waxed philosophical about how happy he had been since his recent divorce. Though in principle he was right about me, on pure friendship terms he had committed the rare but egregious ‘simultaneous intentional personal and technical fouls’. After 15 years now I haven’t forgiven him for it, nor has he asked forgiveness. In fact we never discussed it. Tilt. (-1)


This topic alone could fill an entire book, but I will try to shorten it. As my life progressed with new places and people, changing values and beliefs, and professional and economic status, I realized that ‘best friend’ is at best a relative term. Much like one’s memory of a first lover, it can be hard to shake the impressions a childhood or high school best friend leaves on one’s psyche, even in lieu of overwhelming evidence that life’s meandering ways have left you two once best friends with little in common today. Maybe dougfrickseven directly oppositional in philosophical terms. Even with the effort of a late second half struggle to keep the “oath” relevant, many times it can meet with a resounding… WTF, or just fizzle out. (-½)
Soon though you realize that one can have best friends categorically; as in a best friend from childhood, best from college, best conquering the real world of work, best in mischief, best unknown known (hat tip to Rumsfield), best known unknown, etc. The mighty Christmas card list grows and it becomes a full time job to keep it fresh. It can sometimes become a revolving and relentless golf outing/Vegas/ball game annual boys weekend that seems endless; and it must all be squeezed neatly into an already packed vacation calendar. My ex-wife, god bless her, merely shrugged in complete non-judgment as I friend hopped around the country like an idiot at a fire drill. (I’ve since given up golf, can’t afford gambling, and watch games at home or out with friends).

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAOf course, no friend post would be complete without the venerable ‘opposite sex’ friend comment. Despite the issues and aside from avoiding ANY wrongdoing, if one is married or in a relationship, my advice is as it has always been, “just don’t go all Freemason” on this situation, and discuss it openly with your partner/mate. As in… a secret friendship does NOT accord with a viable platonic friend. By lying/hiding… anything you say can and will be twisted into impropriety. A good friend becomes, “Friends with penalties”.

In fact, it somewhat pains me to suggest ‘just forget it’ when/if you later become involved in a romantic relationship. It pains me because friends are too dear to forsake them for innocent misunderstandings, but then life is too short to be miserable with the one you love. What’s weird is that when I met my current partner nearly ten years ago I had several platonic girlfriends. In fact, my partner and I were platonic “friends with possibilities” for 2-3 years before becoming romantically involved. Once the romance began the issues over these friends seemed to escalate.

Life it seems, is full of choices. (-5)

19-tabu_orlando_022209%252048I don’t get the “friends with benefits” concept at all. To me the act of making love is maybe the single most important factor in a sustainable happy relationship with a romantic partner, and the act alone involves a heavy emotional investment from both partners for complete enjoyment and satisfaction. It seems like “sport sex” simply cheapens the product to me, but like everything else I understand that everyone doesn’t have to think the same. If you can do it without hurting someone and with a clean conscience, go for it.

For many (men) there can be some life altering shake-ups of monumental proportions as we transition into our late-middle years, and ones that blow the ‘we’ll always be friends’ theory clearly out of the water, and into altered reality status. Afterwards, old friends, new friends, everyone is scrutinized with a “who the fuck is this person” freshness. In the meantime no calls are returned, no messages answered, or doorbells heard. And you, operating within a shadow of your former self, might simply be staring at walls for hours… contentedly. This twisted fog, a mangled mess of mayhem (some call the mid-life crisis) eventually passes, but now its your friends who have begun the slice-and-dice on you. Re-appraisal time from both corners. (-15)

Once one steps away from the BIG LIE buffet of success and begins that inevitable slow melt into the masterpiece (hat tip Leonard Cohen), or much earlier for the family inclined statistically normal folks who marry and have families around their late twenties, a certain ‘friend’ re-evaluation period becomes a born again necessity to you. (-75)singing with the nigerian nightmare

For these latter case upwardly mobile (family types) it likely becomes apparent that life’s (commitments plus time-to-accomplish) have squeezed out all (time potential for fulfillment success) in every 24/hr day, leaving the potential fun bank busted (0/24) and the great pairing down commences. But, as for the former (masterpiece melters) who may also have endured a train wreck of sorts, it simply comes down to a re-factoring of the current value proposition, in which the erosion of (ideals to value system) have been modified over time… enough to red-line at high disparity levels, thus begging the question, “WTF, how/why we saw fit to become ‘friends’ in the first place?”

The second law of thermodynamics spares no one my friend. Entropy always wins at the end of the day.

last fuckThat disturbingly segues into answering the ‘why have we remained friends’ question, and given the obvious conflict in world-views on so many levels we realize that we’re actually not very fond of some of our supposed friends; an idea that hadn’t occurred to us until (now). At this point the ‘pairing down’ becomes a ‘lopping off’, with the understanding that most friends weren’t actually friends in the first place. Most likely they were ‘acquired’ by a sort of proxy through groups and organizations or circumstances and activities in which you were mutually involved at some earlier point in your respective pasts. And, one that is continuously passing, renewing, eroding, re-configuring, evolving. (-100)

I suspect that Facebook has brought this reality home to roost to many people more than ever, as I am so often perplexed by some of my ’friends’ beliefs, observations, and ideas enough to make me, uh, lol. And while a biting wit and sarcasm does well to satisfy my own sinister cynical derision, it sometimes leaves me with that half-empty feeling that once crept in while listening to some hilarious and cynically funny but darkly laced anecdotes from peers, during their retirement speeches to which I’d been treated.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

There was something sadly comical about several of these (old) guys, who had obviously dug up their buried hatchets, after long sitting on their unique personalities, and likely bitten their bottom lip for so long they had almost been forgotten. But now, in their twilight moment they were exposing themselves as the company heretic hiding in the closet. “Finally,” these folks must have reasoned, “the chance to tell-it-like-it-is, and without fear of reprisal. Ain’t holding nothin’ back.” After a few drinks at the head table, I’ve seen some guys I considered eunuchs grow huge balls right before my very eyes and put them on full display. (+5)



scotty and jerry kidwellI see some real benefit in using Facebook (if only because I really am a nice guy and enjoy hearing of others important moments in life), and perhaps sometimes like to show off my own family pride (without the warts) to the adoring masses, or just to sometimes openly vent about some wrongdoing or situation, and to anyone who’ll listen (all without an encryption filter despite Ed Snowden’s warnings ). Still, I try to maintain a tiny degree of modicum, with highly acute don’t give a rat discretion.

It may be no surprise that (*open honesty) in today’s vernacular actually translates to: ‘subversive anarchist who attempts to discuss reality with those who refuse to listen and wish NOT to know conflicting sides of anything they want to believe in and those who would rather SA just shut up and enjoy FREEDOM in the USA with all its pretensions, rights and vain-glories’. (*Your mileage may vary. Illegal unless otherwise stated herein, Please read the fine print. ( i.e. Either way you’re fucked, bitch).

I do like hearing other’s opinions of the facts, but I have my limitations. First, I must pre-suppose a commenter’s knowledge of subject matter. Please do your homework first. You know, like not saying “there’s no Santa Claus’ cause’ December 25 is Jesus’ birthday,” and shit. Second, leave all war-mongering at the door, or better… leave it with the military industrial complex. They’re doing it well enough without any popular support. Third, when in doubt, it’s time to STFU.



The best compliment I ever got on Facebook was from a friend who said, “…that’s what I like about you… you’re abrasive.” That’s me. You can be too. Remember, abrasive, sarcastic, funny, but not repetitive.


Political expression is fine, as long as you can agree to a few things first: 1.There is no such thing as a liberal or conservative or Democrat or Republican, and Libertarian is dying in favor of Authoritarian. And, in truth there is only one party: The Green Authoritarian party. BTW, also that the ‘Party’ is controlled by a short list of well-healed extreme right and extreme left minded criminals who double as honest people, and who use our government and it’s officials as puppets to further their own secretive politico-economic agenda.unfriend

Whereby thanks to these fucks, ER + EL does not equate to Extreme Middle statistically, economically, or politically. That’s the place where you use to live, but they burnt it down using play money and THE US Constitution as kindling, thus it no longer exists.

If you agree with the above check YES, otherwise refrain from posting dumbass Fox News clips, or stupid bi-partisan drivel or discussing/arguing Politics and Policy with me. And yes, I have done my homework. Have you?

On my Facebook page please try to: Imagine there’s no heaven, and no hell below us (hat tip J. Lennon). It’s easy if you try. Violators will be consigned to the archives of evangelical lost souls. If you insist on quoting Jesus, only original sources are allowed. By virtue of sticking firmly to this rule, Jesus issues should OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAcare of themselves.

Remember, religious worship is a world-wide phenomenon (and IS NOT relegated to yours exclusively), a nefarious idea that alone creates and supports divisive intolerant ignorance, and mostly leaves blood in its wake. You are urged to be mindful and careful when posting this sensitive topic.

Profanity that’s profane is both tolerated and encouraged. Say what you mean and mean what you say, with profanes. Sarcasm is appreciated, but ironically funny wins the day. Double entendre’ is my specialty.

And BTW, this page is a Tin Hat friendly site, but have facts to back up any incredibly unlikely scenarios. And while unlikely is relative it draws closer to likely than ever before.

Above all friends, lighten up and enjoy the moment… try not to over post “share this if you agree” comments, and please turn off those “where you’re having lunch’ notifications. It only notifies me that you’re a tool. But hey, ignorance can be cured… it is stupidity that leaves its indelible mark.

Don’t hate sarcasm or you’ll end up hating me too, and I need ALL the friends I can get. Or, another hole in the head?


As expected my Facebook page is now safely ignored by 99% of my Facebook friends. That’s what happens when you set the Facebar too high, I guess.

Final word. I’m not exactly sure what the definition of a friend is today. There are people I’d like to call my friend, but I’m not sure it is appropriate when we know so little of one another, and there’s little time and not enough beer for that to happen. It’s probablt too late for us. There are some whom I think I know and who know me well… but even then our communication goes silent for long drifts of time. Locally my friends feel more like ‘strong acquaintances’ to me. There’s a connection, but how strong is it? It seems to me that my family have become my friends, and sometimes to my chagrin.

But hey, that’s what makes a real friend a real friend. Someone you can count on (and vice-versa) to hear you out if/when the shit storm hits the fan. Remember, friendships are best served as a two-way dish and lukewarm to the touch.

To all my friends, wanna-bees, and wish-the-hell-they-never-met-mees, Cheers!OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAcollier



Rise of the Naked Sportsblog King

According to my read-test, most Sportsbloggers (aka: Blogsquirt-asorus) apparently know a good bit less about the sport in which they have type-spouted their esteemed opines than they do of basic Journalism101, which itself appears not to be a qualifier of their education, talent, and/or experience of either endeavor. IMHO, today’s internet media Sportswriting hard-scrabble of blog buddies, well… […]

what goes around comes around

Daddy-hood sort of caught me by the nape of my neck.   In the summer 2004 I was surprised to learn that… like it or not I was going to become a Father. Whoa!… after 50 years I had long decided against and avoided that (to me) unfortunate scenario. But, fate had chosen another route for […]

Tiller Wills, 1111

Don’t bother playing this if you don’t want to listen to every second of it. But… if you can handle it, there is much wisdom and simple truth to be found in this dynamite incredibly fabulous song… Pessimistically optimistic, but as Raw and REAL as it gets.

Tiger Wills… awesome.

Lyrics and commentary 1111, Tiller Wills

Again and again, when confronted by the many serious problems with which humanity has been struggling since the First World War and is still facing, the almost despairing question is often asked, even in anthroposophical circles: ‘What can I do? What can the individual do about the machinations of these secret groups, if indeed they exist? It’s all too much for individuals.’ Rudolf Steiner’s answer in these lectures is bold and clear:  ‘The only defence against these things is knowing about them. If you know about them, you are protected … But you must not be idle about acquiring real knowledge of these things.’
Secret Brotherhoods  And the Mystery of the Human Double

It’s pretty ironic that the so-called ‘least advanced’ people are the ones taking the lead in trying to protect all of us, while the richest and most powerful among us are the ones who are trying to drive the society to destruction
― Noam Chomsky

He who is not angry when there is just cause for anger is immoral.  Why?  Because anger looks to the good of justice.  And if you can live amidst injustice without anger, you are immoral as well as unjust.
― St. Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274)

I would add; if you’re not enraged, concerned, indignated, or/and compassionate, etc. you are either sleeping or a human whose humanity is lost. THE FUTURE OF ALL depends upon YOUR awakening. And the lyrics in the song point to that awakening:

Tiller Wills is a Chicago based Hip-Hop artist. His debut LP 11:11 is available everywhere. Tiller’s lyrics hit hard and fast while covering a wide range of topics, ranging from summertime fun to government corruption

Don’t worry, most of the second half is ‘positive’ but the first ‘negative’ part is the most enlightened (because knowledge about the crucial topics in the lyrics are still being kept in the dark on the part of the majority. And conversely; the minority is therefore – in terms of knowledge, being more informed – more ‘enlightened’. And the lack of knowledge about the negative prevents the positive from flourishing fully which is why we need to be cognizant of the things mentioned in 11:11). I am not denigrating the expression and intention of love at all in the second part of 11:11 but tend to agree with the following statement:

“The first is to open our minds, start taking responsibility back, and remove this edifice of control and suppression of information which will allow the full flow of knowledge of who we are to flood into the public arena…Once people start to realize who they really are and the nature of life, thenwe can go into stage two which is the incredible consciousness shift that is going to happen, and is happening for many people already, but can happen for everybody if we open up to the knowledge of what’s going on and to do that the edifice of suppression has to go. And what I see so often in … what we call New Age movement is that they’re focusing on the second bit and they’re in denial about about the first. And the second is not going to happen for many people unless we remove the edifice of suppression cause most people are going to think what the heck’s going on and they’re going to go through this great change in a complete fog of what’s happening. …Two things to do here. One is to start focusing on how the world’s controlled, identify it and remove it. Secondly, then we can concentrate unhindered on the transformation spiritually that is unfolding ”
– David Icke

Analysis and commentary:
After some surveys and crowdsourcing I have now come to the conclusion that most people’s brains are so conditioned by the phonetic sound of the utterance ‘fuck’, that they are unable to listen to or understand the lyrics or read between the lines of the lyrics, while the already informed about the issues at stake are rejoicing big time! The great irony is that the people who think that the lyrics are ‘primitive’, ‘vulgar’, etc.  (because of the repeated word ‘fuck’) are missing the profound point which is; no other lyrics on any track in contemporary culture are so jampacked with very important suppressed censored key topics, which somewhat constitute a compendiary of key events, entities and concepts for the freedom/truth/justice/activist-movements all around the world.

The protest (fuck) is simply the morality/indignation of the lyrics, a very necessary Jeremiad considering the topics – and the word ‘fuck’ is only an expression of a protest against things which takes a vigilant mind to detect, especially when populations are confronted with massive censorship, manipulation, omission, and suppression of the topics in 11:11 by mainstream media, governments and institutions.

Tiller Wills describes some of the most significant but censored world  phenomena and dangers of our time, is versatile and apparently highly knowledgeable but one cannot see that if one isn’t in the know. 11:11 is a clarion call for freedom, justice, truth, inquiry, revision, empowerment – a reflection of a huge but imperative body of knowledge and enlightenment, key events and entities, which should be mandatory knowledge, understood, dealt with, not suppressed or ignored (what’s the alternative?). And it is a moral duty to say ‘fuck’ to most of the things in the lyrics (the first half). Actually, if people knew, they wouldn’t hesitate to declare themselves in very strong opposition to the things mentioned in the lyrics as a matter of life and death. That’s why the word ‘fuck’ is used as it’s the shortest and strongest exclamation of outcry – however banal – in our culture, etc. (apart from sex, and other few colloquial contexts). Whereas the word ‘fuck’ is being used in the context of callous inane rap music, 11:11 is using the word in its highest moral justification.

That’s why 11:11 is a real very rare underground rebel rap track in the age of the Internet Reformation  – thus it is a pioneering feat, regardless of much rap being accused of monotony, litany, etc. 11:11 is quite a different rant but you can’t see it if you are in the Matrix so to speak. Of course the ignorant cannot see what the words point to, only focusing on ‘fuck’ without meaning, dismissing the content out of hand because of this, unable to connect dots, many people being ignorant in their own decrepit dangerous illiteracy, and lost in space in regard to why the lyrics point to (mostly) highly significant phenomena in our time. And I don’t have the energy to insert +200 hyperlinks in the lyrics right now, but it would be a good idea if someone did (Update; I inserted links)

People blindly follow the path of useful idiocy and unwitting destruction, not knowing that they are – in varying degrees – controlled by the normalization of diseased socio-cultural entities, institutions and unacknowledged collective psychopathology, not to mention political masters of perception management: deep politics anddirected history defining much of their reality (perhaps the essence of the lyrics). It’s the most diehard hardcore enlightened lyrics so far because of the above-mentioned things by the way, not the word ‘fuck’….but it’s also deeply moral, if not spiritual, exactly because of the word ‘fuck’ in the context of what should be (mostly)‘fucked’ (anathema)…..if only more people knew…..

Fuck ignorance!

PS: And a commentary that encapsulates the mindset of millions within a growing global underground movement:

‘Those of you who are active members of the secret war are already aware of it. You’ve had no choice but to recognize your part in it. You may wonder why you have been targeted, and what you should do.

They are afraid of awareness, awareness is infectious and very powerful. Those of you who fully possess your spirit and mind have the ability to throw a wrench in the social machine. They don’t want you to know about your power. They would rather that you be afraid like everybody else. They will ambush, sabotage, assault, and confuse you until you no longer present a threat, or you are advanced enough to bypass their mental barrage. If you reach the level where you can no longer be controlled by fear, they will merely censor you entirely so you do not disrupt the power structure.

Whether you know it or not, we are at war. This isn’t a war that is spoken of, it concerns the human race, rather then respective countries or nations. As some of you know, it is a war of perception and information. As others of you know, it is a spiritual war, taking place on higher dimensions and reflected in physical form in global affairs, the media, and even the internet.

In essence, this is a war of control, and it is everywhere. The ultimate power is to take control of perception and eventually the mind and spirit. By controlling the media, TPTB can directly influence the ideas, hopes, dreams, and fears of the public. This control is not limited to mainstream media. It is at full scale even in the places you Might Least Expect.

Do not be fooled by public opinion. Let nobody dictate to you your reality. Not teachers, preachers, scripture, politicians. Train the only weapon that will be effective – the spirit and mind.

If you have been targeted by this game, remember that you are not alone, even if it sometimes seems as if you are.’
– anonymous

11:11 – Lyrics:
I guess there’s been some things on my mind so…

Fuck president Barack Obama, fuck his office, fuck his Cheshire cat grin, fuck his promise,
fuck all the politicians, fuck congress, fuck every senator that ever turn his back on us,
fuck Dianne Feinstein and fuck Max Baucus, fuck Harry Reid the senate leaders caucus,
but I fuckin loved when the stenographer started talking, I wish that bitch would run for office, for real,
fuck Jay-Z, fuck yeezus, this arrogant mother fucker actually thinks that he’s Jesus,
fuck Rockefeller, both the man and the label, fuck the deal that they made to put some gold on they table,
and fuck rain man, your inspiration is fake so, your nothing but a puppet for the devil to take yo,
and fuck Catholics, you gunna murder um Hove? fuck your bad back, mass whack, Lucifer flow,
and fuck the Luciferian imagery that you show, fuck your money and the scars on your souls,
fuck Ka$ha, fuck Katy Perry, fuck the dark horse that she rode, I see the owl on your album cover, Drake we know!
fuck Moloch, fuck Bohemian Grove, fuck your blood sacrifice rituals, fuck cults,
fuck the Bush’s and the Clinton’s, fuck Hillary most, fuck don Rahm Emanuel, and fuck George Soros,
fuck GMO‘s man, fuck Monsanto, fuck the chemtrails and the poisonous airflow,
fuck eating food that the transhumanists grow, and well, fuck you if you don’t know, so,
fuck HAARP and fuck weather warfare, fuck a 5 vortex tornado that Joplin had there,
fuck Sandy Hook, fuck the lies, fuck the crisis actors actin at the Boston finish line,
fuck Martial Law, fuck checkpoints shit, fuck illegal suspension of Posse Comitatus,
I guess just fuck everything that our founders taught us, fuck throwing guns in the garbage,
fuck your roundups, fuck your amendments to the 2nd amendment, fuck NDAA and your government prison,
fuck the Federal Reserve and the money they printin, fuck the monetary slave system, check it
fuck the FBI, Federal Bureau of lies, fuck the NSA, and fuck their spies,
fuck the Pentagon, fuck the CIA from behind, fuck everything that’s every been classified, yup!
fuck the IRS, fuck Lois Lerner, fuck Holder and the guns that he’s running over the boarder,
fuck drones, fuck torture, fuck waterboarding, fuck the American homeland security disorder,
fuck FEMA camps and the FEMA regional governance, fuck the guillotines they have in storage for us,
fuck BP and their oil exploding, fuck 9/11 and the stories they told us,
fuck building 7 implodin, fuck the militarization of all our police forces,
fuck warrantless door to door searches, fuck the system and fuck how they hurt us, it’s like we talking, but they never heard us,
fuck the New World Order, fuck the petrodollar, fuck the UN, fuck NATO, fuck all of it,
fuck the Trilateral Commission larsonists, fuck blaming Al-Qaeda when the West started um,
fuck false flags, fuck Gulf of Tonkin, what the fuck every happened to talking?
fuck flossin, fuck the superiority complex that we lost in, fuck Miley Cyrus, fuck abortion,
fuck FISA courts, and they closed doors and, fuck the Justice System, fuck lawyers,
fuck Bank of America, fuck J.P. Morgan, fuck Blackwater and their wanna-be soldiers,
fuck black ops, DARPA, and all of they programs, fuck Dick Cheney, and fuck Rumsfield too man,
fuck Chertoff, the TSA scanners and groping, fuck the police they growing here in the homeland,
fuck biochemical experimentation, in other words fuck vaccination!
fuck color of law, fuck implied consent, fuck wherever the Haitian earthquake money went,
fuck the EPA, fuck Fukushima, maybe Edgar Cayce was right, I guess we’ll see huh?
fuck Jon Corzine, fuck Wall Street, fuck CNN, Fox, fuck MSNBC,
I guess fuck ambassador Stevens and fuck his embassy, and fuck the Muslim Brotherhood beheading all their enemies,
fuck the American regime change policy, pardon me, I mean fuck our gift of democracy!
fuck order out of chaos, fuck the Freemasonry, fuck Skull and Bones, fuck your secret society,
fuck 322, and your 33 degree wizardry, fuck you for destroying what my ancestors give to me,
fuck a short beat, keep listening, fuck the hormones in the beef, pork and chicken,
fuck DNA manipulation, fuck leaving trillions in debt to our children,
fuck putting Fluoride in the water we drinkin, fuck the millions of homeless left freezing,
fuck any other option but to feed them! fuck the VA hospital budget restrictions,
fuck Homeowners Association evictions, fuck State and Federal for-profit prisons, fuck the Hollywood Bin-Laden mission,
fuck Madoff and his fuckin investments, fuck fuckin children off ad’s on the Craigslist!
fuck Credit Cards and fuck they interest, fuck Morgellons disease symptoms,
fuck the Saudi Arabians for the way they treat women, fuck the Sheiks and fuck they Kingdom,
fuck the deal Henry Kissinger gives them, fuck Henry Kissinger and fuck his wisdom,
fuck Zbigniew Brzezinski and his strategic vision, fuck one world religion, fuck Zionistic Globalism,
fuck the Illuminati, fuck they symbolism, fuck their pop culture mass hypnotism,
fuck Lil Wayne and fuck Cash Money, and fuck every single insurance company,
fuck marketing, fuck poverty, fuck the erosion of our National Sovereignty,
fuck humanities unnatural apathy, fuck Abercrombie, fuck Bircher Hathaway, and fuck you if your mad at me, yup!
fuck implantable RFID chips, fuck human trafficking, fuck sweat shop management,
fuck foxconn, fuck they suicide nets, and fuck Apple for their silent compliance in it,
fuck the suppression of human history, fuck the glaringly obvious contradictory imagery,
fuck NASA and fuck they secrecy, fuck Pfizer, fuck Merck, fuck Patent supremacy,
fuck the exclusion of natural remedies, and the same goes for Tesla’s technologies,
fuck the abuse and adolescent Psychology, fuck Ritalin, fuck Adderall, fuck Amphetamines,
fuck the over-prescribing in all of Psychiatry, fuck the paedophilic archdiocese,
fuck symptoms of acquired immune deficiency, fuck Cancer and fuck HIV, fuck me!
fuck the assassination of JFK, fuck anybody that ever got in the way,
fuck Richard M Nixon, and fuck his Watergate, fuck all the Bilderbergers and fuck the G8,
fuck Christine Lagarde, fuck her monetary funding, fuck never standing for something,
fuck abandoning your brethren, fuck Bel Air, fuck the Hamptons,
fuck what happened to Breitbart, fuck accidents happen! fuck burning Chris Dorner alive in the cabin,
fuck the Albuquerque police murdering people for Camden, and fuck the Albuquerque police captain for backin um,
and fuck his retraction, fuck his words, men speak with they actions!
fuck the corporations illegally purses, fuck feeling totally worthless,
fuck planned obsolescence with everything that you purchase, fuck empty wallets, and fuck empty purses
fuck no jobs in the cities for workers, fuck the local political circus, its not workin!
fuck Halliburton, fuck preferential Government contract distribution, and fuck ethical confusion, fuck that they know what they doin,
fuck class its cool to be stupid, fuck the Common Core Curriculum movement,
fuck budget cuts to arts and music, fuck not knowing words or how to use them,
fuck passively ignorant students, fuck parents to busy to tutor um,
fuck the collapse of the family unit, fuck the Aurora Colorado shooting,
fuck the Global Warming myth, fuck the Inconvenient Truth surrounding it, fuck the companies that positioned themselves to make money off of it,
fuck carbon offsets for profit, fuck Al Gores obnoxious, fuck the Matrix and fuck being lost in it,
fuck Heroine, fuck Oxycotton, fuck Dennis Rodman and fuck Michele Bachmann, fuck Google glass for always watchin,
fuck schemin and plottin, fuck dying old, alone and forgotten, bone growin mold in the coffin,
fuck being too hard or soft and, fuck being to cold to blossom,
fuck the Californication of Austin, and fuck the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman!
fuck what they did to Michael Jackson, fuck predatory Scientology brainwashing,
fuck being still over in Afghanistan, and fuck the UN Agenda 21 plan,
fuck not learning from our mistakes when we make um, fuck kicking the same damn can down the same road again,
fuck being cattle, fuck our controllers, fuck letting these mother fuckers control us, fuck dying young, but fuck getting older!

But there’s a lot to love …

But there’s a lot to love (Music Change)
But there’s a lot to love
But there’s a lot to love
But there’s a lot to love

I love the innocence in a newborns laugh
love the thought of being a newborns dad
love every baseball game I ever had
love the gravel and the grass
love the strawberry shasta that my grandmother had
I love the old cowboy hat on my gramps
I loved hearing him when I was at bat
I love the wrinkles on the back of his hands
And I love that I was there on the day that he passed
I love the freedom in women when women dance
I love optimistic romance
the magic it captures when you live in the moment
I love thanking the soldiers
welcoming them home again
I love the smell in the air when the rainstorm coming

love playing with my sister and her easy bake oven
I love shrinkie dinks, I love to color ’em
I love the tender touch of my mothers skin
I love that she stayed when my dad was a runner
love having a younger brother
love building forts out of leaver, out of lumber
love learning how to be men together
love the bond that we built forever
love playing the games on the Sega
but we were Super Mario Brothers when we got the nintendo
I love to think that we are still

I love stillness speaks by Echart Tolle
I love the way the pages made my eyes so open
I love the kindness of strangers when their hearts open
I love never stopping hoping
I love the thought of where we go when it’s over
I love honoring another’s culture
I love sponsoring the notion that there’s honor-in-culture
I love to make fun of Ann Coulter
I love lemongrass soup when the weather gets colder

I love the view of the lake from my porches
I love being okay that I don’t drive porsches
and I love that my baby also knows what’s important
See It’s important that I love and support her
and I love that-we-fell-in love when we were poor as a pauper
I mean we couldn’t be broker
no joke, and I love that it never broke her
I love that we still grow closer
and I thank God everyday for the opportunity he made for me to know her

I love music
I love the symphony that plays in your brain when you listen to it
I love the effect that it has on a Human
love that it heals us better then drugs do
love the rhythm a heartbeat beats to
I love being in audiences that Jeff Tweedy sings too
and I love Jack White without the raconteurs
I’d love to see Garth Brooks go back on tour
he’s been a friend when I’ve been in low places before
I love the thunder rolls but I love the river more
I love the architecture of the hollywood biltmore
I love buildings that were built back when we built more
I love waking up each day to find out what I’m still here for

I love the comedy in tragedy
and I love that when I point it out everybody gets mad at me
like I love wilford brimley before diabetes
but I hope his infomercials help him pay for his surgeries
I love getting harassed by the target security
I love that my jacket make them follow me
I love hearing my description on there walkie-talkies
I love letting them search me while the manager watches
I love hearing them say pardon me, please accept my apology
I love the vulnerability in Humanity honestly
I love using my TV to argue with sean hannity
I love fantasizing about back smacking him hard handedly

I love the blessing of the food in my pantry
I love finding a begging veteran and handing him twenty
I love that he was really ready to go die for my country
I love the feeling inside when he cried and he hugged me
I love the angels among me and I love that they love me
I love the conversations, I love the company
and especially
I love it when they come say whats up to me
I love Archangel Michael and I love what he’s done for me

I love doing theater in college (music start over)
I love the energy created in a building of knowledge
I love the lessons in the building of knowledge
I love that you could live forever and never know all of it
I love Halibut. I love smoked salmon fish
I love that people emphasize the L when they sounding it
I love hide and go seek and I love when I found it
I love when the Los Angeles police department had me surrounded
I love paying my bail with 10% and a promise
to appear before the Judge and be honest
let’s be honest, I forgot all about it
I love that I prioritize that shit way down at the bottom
I love smoking marijuana in autumn
I love Paramahansa Yogananda

I love to believe that we get to do this again
I love the Akashic Records, I’d love to read them
I love multidemtional theoretical theorems
I love redundancy I love redundancy
I love Los Angeles but I don’t love what she done to me
I love that I left and I don’t have a day of regret
It wasn’t meant to be but I love the memories yup
And I love my enemies don’t have my new Chicago address yet

I love the first amendment
I love the second
I love the third, fourth, fifth
I love the seventh
I love the sixth, eighth, ninth
I love the tehth-ith
I worship the church of the constitutional ten commandments
I love the rest of them too but they weren’t as dramatic
I love Minneapolis.
I love it.
I gotta have it.
I love Chicago too but its second on my love list
Aw, forget this
I love all the midwest
I love the tobacco smell when the splif lit
I love the music that second city audio machine did
I love nachos and cheese dip
I love knocking back a few double bottles of sharp cheddar cheese wiz

I love that its been 11 years since my last sip
I love that my sobriety’s lasted
I love that my old friends think that I am less of a bastard
now that I put down the Jack and put down the Captain
I love laughing
love that I was sober at my little sisters wedding
love that the details aren’t hard for me to remember
love the way the wind blew in from the harbor
I love that me and my brother proudly walked her up to the alter
I cant recall having ever felt such a swelling of honor
like the building of a chorus on the grandest piano
and I love that I felt sad for her father
I love that he didn’t come ever though we invited him and we tried to surprise her.

I love David Copperfield
I love magic
i love the mystery in the supernatural
I love the first bite of a crisp red apple
I love gatorade
I love snapple
I love when the test results say that its NOT cancer
I love the first breath of air right after
I love to often question the answer
I love my elementary pastor
he was responsible for me leaving the church faster

I love rocks and crystals
I love glock pistols
I love knock knock jokes
I love riddles
I love my wizard staff that I whittled
I love the first light of the sunrise when it crawls in my windows
I love going back to the dream world
I love leaving my body behind on my pillow
and flying over the top of a forrest of willows
I’m a master at astral-projecting. Love its potential.

I love exploring the metaphysical
Love the theories composing its principles
I love the subconscious and love the subliminal
I love the bible and I love that its biblical
I love to get analytical on whether its literal
or is its messages more metaphorically poetical
I love atheists
I love that they’re cynically critical
I love the right to think that what each other is thinking is pitiful
and I
I love to dance when nobody is watching
I love when my fiance dance. I love to watch it.
I love the soft skin on the side of her stomach (pause)
I love to love her and I love being lovers
I love pancakes smothered in butter
I love the last day of school and I love the first day of summer
I love that there is still so much more for all of us to discover
but the most important thing to love is love one another.

For real.

Russ not-so-diculous Smith… Man of The Year


I’ve been a Louisville fan since growing up in the South End there in the late 1960’s. In those days Wes Unseld held down the post while Junior Bridgeman (oops wrong year… it was Butch Beard) drilled bombs that would now-a-days be NBA threes. I was also a Kentucky fan back then, as my limited scope at 11 only suggested that both teams were from my home State; and for me… that was good enough. I cried after the 1966 Finals when Kentucky lost to Texas Western. It was the first televised game I had ever seen (if you call a 13 inch B/W TV using rabbit ears at Rough River with fuzzy reception actually “watching”). I remember Louie Dampier and Pat Riley playing well, but Texas Western was loaded with quick athletic jumpers who cleaned nearly all of the glass. No matter how hard we played T-W was relentless and refused to reliquish an early lead. They shot 38 free throws and made 24, while were 11 for 13, because we could not stop (Calipari’s Don Haskins Dribble-Drive).

I could not then, nor do I now understand the hatred that exists between the fans of these two highly vaunted programs at (UK and UL).

Since those formative years I’ve remained a spectator and college basketball fan, eventually forsaking football, baseball, and other sports to concentrate on basketball, and found new love… in playing soccer. After college graduation one generally finds that career and other diversions tend to implore us not to spend so much discretionary time on sports. Somewhere along the way we should also gain a certain “adult” perspective that allows wins and losses to affect us only in “momentary” situations, without changing our personalities or affecting our priorities. I can remember once thinking (as a Cleveland Browns fan), “what if they win the Super Bowl this year?”

My internal answer came back solemnly… “well… you’ll have a hangover at work the next day. And then, it will all be over as quickly as it unfolded.” Of course, I never got to test my theory on Cleveland.

But, I’ve always known that the special UL/UK hate was limited to the fans, but not the players. The players, for the most part all respect one another and truly wish them well when not in direct opposition with one another. This last week, I was incensed after reading a Louisville fan blog, where a number of (so-called) humanoids berated Russ Smith’s game against their hated rival Kentucky. It is the epitome of classless, spineless, little man complex to even suggest that Russ Smith ISN’T the epitome of college basketball. I mean, holy sh&t, without Russ Smith, Louisville wouldn’t be on the map this year?

If I could have traveled through cyberspace I might have strangled someone. I wonder how much sweat these slugs must have lost watching Russ make a mistake or two? The nerve! And I hate to report that this kind of attitude is more commonplace than one could reasonably imagine. I witnessed Kentucky fans dropping  wholesale after every disappointment this year, creating more Calipari is crazy conspiracies than David Icke does aliens are living next door. Now they’ve had to order a new fleet of “bandwagons” to accommodate the repentant.

Of course, as we advance both in age and financially we become further removed from the “good ole days”, as our lives settle down we find time for watching sports again; if only to harass our friends over drinks, use travel games as party excuses, and/or make idiotic blog posts about our two-time First team All-American’s deficiencies. Albeit, we do all this with the same passion and nasty vigor of our youth, unless by then we’ve learned anything about real life. But then, sports chatter using facts and figures can also be fun, even when all you want to do is watch from the couch with family and friends and berate the commentator (I mean homer/hater Doug Gottfried).


The last few years though, I have experienced a gnawing ache, which seems to grow as I follow my favorite teams on the internet on TV and in the news and through internet blogs. Admittedly, (and duly embarrassed) a couple of years ago I began to engage my acute sense of wit (my description of course), knowledge of the game and its history, and uniquely blatant in-your-face writing style to have some fun tormenting those brain-farts whom I felt were less informed about the game I love, or were just plain trolling ignoramus’ who apparently make a life out of denigrating other teams and their fans.

 I can honestly (no self-efficacy here, huh?) say that when it came to words-a-cuffing, I was/am/can be the Mohammed Ali of heavyweight lightning factoid-icule. For awhile I got a kick out of out belittling (some unknown to me poster) with a twisted sarcasm that only I seemed to be able to produce in imaginative volume. For awhile, I admit it was fun…

Yet, it was internally hollow, and I soon tired of out-lambasting some teenager or sock-puppet who could barely spout, “my team is better than yours”, or wax philosophical about some ridiculous straw man argument, whom I quickly leveled with a few light jabs and then an overhand hay-word-insult-maker, landing him on his back not even attempting to answer the keyboard beep.

I particularly loved sparring with more intelligent fans (unarmed with my modestly? over-the-top imaginative hater vocabulary); unfortunately they too sometimes lacked the Ali-dance-cleverword-shuffle or even the hack-a-fact, and I found myself mocking them before finally throwing a swift combination Ali would have marveled at. Canvas. 1-10. Boom. K.O. Next…

It was easy especially if you’d ever read Darrell Huff’s book, “How to Lie With Statistics”, the most widely read book on quantitative analysis ever written. And if you’ve happened to have read his sequel, “How to Tell if Someone is Cheating With Statistics”. then…BOOM! Tysonian.

Thankfully, those days are done-skeey and I lament remembering some of the verbal beatings I gave. Almost…

Occasionally I can and do get drawn into a minor word wrestle with a formidable foe (likely because they have said egregious ignorant things with uncommon pride and arrogance instead of understated objectivity) whom I sense cannot go the whole fifteen rounds… even though I recognize my latent memory is beginning to escape me .

I’ll set ’em up with some obscure factoid, wait for the bell of my chosen round… then simply wind-up-round-house them before they can type, “Google”. Trust me, I had to learn a plethora of one punch put-down lines in Louisville’s South End growing up and I remember most of them.

But, I swear it’s ONLY because I hate the hater…

 …and so I dose ’em with a dash of high-test-hate-o-line (then an throw uppercut to the super-ego with a lit match thrown in for good measure). BA-BOOM!

True is dat. But this a confession, even if it sounds arrogant, because I’m sorry… especially after what Louisville’s Russ Smith has recently taught me.

The following statement by arguably the best player in the nation over the last two years exemplifies the notion of


 better than I or anyone could ever express with any brand of kindness or venom.


 Russ-not-so-diculous is, as of now my ALL-TIME favorite college basketball player:

Can anyone find something NOT to love about this guy? I don't think so...
Can anyone find something NOT to love about this guy? I don’t think so…


Those who play the game (just like MOST OF US likely remember when playing sports), respect one another; it’s the fans who are LAME. Stop it you friggin’ idiots! It is a game. You have to work tomorrow either way, so STFU… (I know, I know… sure… its the refs fault).

Because in the end sports are about sportsmanship (learning how to win, and how to lose), not winning… and especially not whining like your 7-year old. It’s about enjoying true athletic skill which the common man can only appreciate with a certain awe. It’s about competitive fight, 100% effort, and all without cheating; and learning to LOSE well as well as WIN well. Well?

That trait alone makes one Russ Smith a true hero, and a real man. Those who play the game respect one another; it’s us fans whose ignorance is more than made up for by our lack of intelligence.

I mean, it’s a shame that stupidity isn’t painful…


Stop the hate, fans of whom-ever-in-the-rat-fk.

It is ONLY a game that you ONLY participate in vicariously. Your kids will still have to go to the Dentist tomorrow, so please STFU with the crybaby stuff.

And… unfortunately it is the fans of my beloved State of Kentucky (equally offensive UL and UK fans) who are among the worst offenders. Some of these Neanderthals have professional jobs and careers. I mean, I love Kentucky though I’ve lived in North Carolina just as long, and now Florida nearly as long.

I’m still a UK and UL fan to the bone… because…

There’s nothing like basketball in KENTUCKY. I just hope it stays that way without us making fools of ourselves any more than we have already… well, all of us but those young inexperienced players on our teams… Bye Russ! I’ll miss your style, your smile, and your helter-skelter…


moneyball- the-rabbit-hole-continued


It’s been three years now since Greensboro Attorney Vance Kinlaw, a friend and ardent supporter of his alma-mater, UNC-Law told me that he had sold his season tickets which had held forever, disavowed his relationship with the sports programs, alumni association and the university, and does not follow UNC sports anymore. PERIOD. Vance explained that his growing difficulty with supporting the Tarheels because of the blurring lines of amateur sports finally reached its zenith at a home game when he noticed that the press row tables had suddenly become advertising space during games. He was disappointed to find little support among the UNC Board of Governors, who were adamant that the signs were not infringing on the idea of amateur athletics and were necessary to insure financial success of the program.
Vance Kinlaw, having his undergrad as a Phi-Beta-Kappa Dartmouth, is a man of principal who sees college athletics from a pure and ethical moral perspective. He threw in the towel, disavowed his association and financial contributions to the school altogether. Hmmm? Are there others? Will enough follow?


Someday, when the doin’s done someone may look back at the 2014 NCAA basketball tournament and identify it as the time when the big ship’s hull was breached and the rushing water could no longer be kept from flooding the “unsinkable” NCAA organization. For now, the band is still playing but there have been some reports of icebergs, and the captain hasn’t fully disclosed these troubling issues to the passengers. It’s full speed ahead.

If one needs some blatant signal to consider if the NCAA has stooped to cashing in on every angle this year one has to look no further than ticket prices. This year over last, prices are up 33%. Did anyone announce a basketball shortage? The NCAA has finally caved to the idea that it’s all about MONEY and is only barely trying to hide it.

They are acting like a deposed dictator who is scooping up as much as he can carry to make a last second smash-and-grab before the inevitable flight to asylum.


Of course, everyone knows that there are serious cracks which Ed O’Bannon’s class action suit has exposed, and the lengthy legal proceedings have limits to the amount of time they can be forestalled. O’Bannon’s legal team is nothing else if not persistent, matching the NCAA’s legal stable motion for motion answer for answer for several years. Some expect that a hearing looms low on the horizon. Several legal experts also feel O’Bannon has the upper hand. If so, many think it could be the organization’s fatal blow.

Could this year’s tourney be a sign that there’s blood in that rushing water too?


If not, then the NCAA has blatantly announced that they are in TOTAL control of the situation by offending the fans, their constituents, the media, and even many of those who earn their over-the-top salaries under their sponsorship with the obvious unfair manipulation of the tournament brackets, seedings, and (both immediate and possible) matchups.

This year, they have run out of excuses that could mitigate the vitriol spewing forth from the public. Of course, hurting one team always helps someone else so they have their supporters too. But, this year they have defied ALL LOGIC despite what happens in the tourney (we all remember VCU in 2011 reaching the Final Four from the play-in game, although many argued that they hadn’t done enough in season to qualify). And though while that may have been true, Shaka Smart may have unwittingly given the NCAA a future license to steal.


The “selection committee” meets for hours behind closed doors in strict confidence, allowing no one to witness the “incredibly tough” job they are thanked for doing each year. And, I know that it must be a tough job even if they’ve already pretty much got the framework together by Selection Sunday. I mean, Athletic Directors are supposed to be paying attention all season long, right? This isn’t exactly Talent Search, where there is no historical reference point for each contestant. No, they ALREADY  know and have alluded to as much by suggesting the Sunday games really can’t change anything except perhaps a swap of seeds with two teams in the same conference.

Last year, as always, NCAA scapegoats justified unfortunate seedings to disgruntled fans and experts by pointing out the obvious cases where their mistakes made them look good (as is inevitable as the Sun rising no matter who does the seeding), adding for the still skeptical that beginning 2014 they would finally de-emphasize (the old RPI algorithm) in favor of more advanced metrics used by many teams both  professional and college; The  likes of Ken Pomeroy, John Gasaway, and Dean Oliver to make these “important” decisions. Why not eliminate the RPI altogether since comparatively it was written on papyrus? Of course, because this simply gives the unfortunate bearer of bad news (the committee head) another potential excuse to use when all others fail, though time and time again the RPI has been shown to be an unreliable predictive measurement tool.

Instead, they ignored all of these expert’s statistical tools, even dissing the ESPN BPI metric (a highly sophisticated product which takes into account many subtle metrics that have been used by professional gamblers for years to gain a slight “edge”.

If you’re a betting man, pay close attention; Can you say, opportunity?


This year committee chair Ron Wellman (Wake Forest) confidently answered detractors by using double talk and blatantly lying to the public stating that “of course we used the eye test when considering Louisville’s 4 seed”. But….(cue excuse metric). What had Ron failed to disclose? That he was blind? No, and not ignorant… but stupid seems to fit fairly well.

First, that the committee doesn’t really review much basketball in their 4-6 hour closed meeting finalizing the pairings. They do work hard though, sifting through piles of financial data, seating charts, driving distances, expected fan base participation in ticket sales, community resource income opportunities, popcorn sales, etc. I could go on, but I think you get the picture. But the biggest job is uncovering the “storylines” and potential storylines if certain matchups occur. While one may not consider this as important or useful, remember that the NCAA is paid an astronomical amount in dollars (see above chart) by the media organizations, who all  expect to make profits by sponsoring the extravaganza on TV, radio, internet, print and cable. The media makes money on viewer and readership, by converting numbers to advertisng dollars. The NCAA gets a percentage bonus against a fixed income.

Every dollar counts as reader/viewers/ attendees/ hits, even if it is insignificant enough to pit the defending champ against a team coached by an ex-ball boy for Louisville coach Rick Pitino, ex-player, and ex-assistant coach against his mentor. What a story if Steve Maseillo who coaches Manhattan with a 13 seed can defeat his mentor the defending Champ? Since Maseillo learned everything he knows about the game from Louisville and Pitino and carbon copies EVERYTHING they do, who stands a better chance of an upset? Not many teams in the entire field. Big stories mean big money.

Sorry ‘bout that Rick.

Wellman didn’t fully explain why he inserted NC State in the tourney over SMU, a move no one expected but subtlety understood after Coach Krzyzewski of Duke went public to whine about his conference deserving more teams. Viola, Wake Forest man delivers, keeping the ACC family safe and K on his good side. Of course, there’s no way K would have had to play his ex-players like Harvard and ex-Dookie stars Tommy Amaker’s team, or Johnny Dawkins team from Stanford. Like the legendary Dean Smith before him, Special K and the ACC is Golden with the NCAA (see infractions committed but not sanctioned), and K is King and gets his way at the NCAA. Doesn’t hurt when the Head man is a Duke grad himself, huh?

Most people outside of SMU yawned, notably Larry Brown who knows EXACTLY how it works with the NCAA. It is better to stay silent lest you end up an 8-seed, or 4-seed while qualifying as a 4 or a 1. But Larry and others miss the point. As in any political arena the losers attitudes ARE always more than offset by the winners perspectives when they conform to the accepted media narrative, insuring that “right or wrong” is not just an uncertainty, it’s practically irrelevant (well… by Monday). Then somehow an upset or two will make the media gush over the committee genius, without mention that there are STILL some walking around feeling as if a long stiff object has been lodged in the wrong place… Onward, we march into madness… Truth is, the DISS usually backfires into a determined rage by the most offended.


Ron Wellman, Wake Forest Athletic and Director (of the ACC) explains how the

seedings were “the most accurate in his five years on the committee.”

What is it about the four teams listed on the eraser board?

Call me crazy but it appears that eventual Mid-West Region 8-seed/Kentucky is listed with an eventual 4-seed, Louisville… and then eventual 5-seed St. Louis.
Above these teams is listed an eventual 1-seed Virginia, who was apparently later “replaced with 1-seed Wichita State. Why?
Question: Why would these teams (1,4,8,5) be listed BEFORE THE SEEDING PROCESS without any other participants?
And, whatever happened to the idea that a 5-seed doesn’t get to play a “home” game?

Here’s my take on a fictional conversation (which could… but would never happen, since it is silently understood by both) between Wellman and Rick Pitino, who was upset about being paired with 16-seed Manhattan whose Coach Steve Masiello was his old ball boy, player, and assistant coach. Maseillo “carbon copies” Pitino’s system at Manhattan.

“Nothing personal Rick but the first round lacks stories and CBS can spin this into a million website hits on a bad day this time of year. If nothing else it makes a nice headline, and with hypertext it might turn lead into gold. New York to Orlando flights are on-sale so we expect to fill the allotments there. Of course, you get first dibbs after they return the unsolds. Plus Rick, we like the potential Calipari-Pitino angle… but you know we’d rather not have it in the final four. With both of your passionate fans bases there’s still only 12 million viewers which is small potatoes since they are practically all from the State of Kentucky. But we know they would fill up that cavernous Dome in Indy, and no other two fan bases could come close.

We need big market dramas/story-lines for the FF. Thanks for being a team player. You’re a solid pro and we all like you here and at CBS. They will ask you to do color in some games if you go out early, a nice consolation prize. I know, it’s not winning but it’s compensation (for playing ball, you know… with us). CBS promises you’ll be happy with the coverage they’ve allotted you for special interest stories about the great job you’re doing. Remember, they have faithfully not mentioned your little scandal in three years Rick, out of respect for you and the great job you do. How about some love? You know Rick, if it weren’t for this tourney, your 5 million a year would likely be like 1.5.

Thanks for your understanding and not letting too much of this cat out of the bag. Don’t make us an enemy, instead consider us partners. Steve’s a great kid and we know how you feel about him, that’s such a great story to tell. Even in losing, the publicity is a win for him and I know you love seeing him succeed.

And, of course Kentucky may not get that shot at you, so we like the potential undefeated vs. the defending champ angle if W-S wins that one. And BTW, Kentucky-Wichita State ain’t so bad either but hey, you’ll have the “revenge” factor and “chip-on-shoulder” factor going for you.

Sliding Kentucky into an eight hole can be explained, even if strong rational discourse would annihilate any attempt at justification. There’s a lot of hate for Kentucky right now, so we could have left them out completely and no one would care but BBN. But BBN is where the money’s at, as you already know Rick.

Surely you agree that Calipari needs to be knocked down a notch or two by foiling our last three attempts at bringing him to his knees, and then mocking us on national TV? We’re still seething about 2011 when they lucked through our gauntlet of number 1 Ohio State and then #2 UNC-Chapel Hill. Roy is still peeved. If anybody, you’re the man with the team to do it. It would make your season Rick. Problems are opportunities. Look at the positives. And, of course, if per chance they advance past Louisville?

No worry, we have Michigan and Duke waiting to take care of them, and we both know you beat both last year and have as good a chance of doing it again.

Besides, Kentucky and Louisville have the two best traveling fandom. We need to insure one of you two play in that Dome if we’re to get close to a sell it out. One more thing before you shut the door behind you Rick. Kentucky won 2012, Louisville in 2013. If one of you two wins this year, we’re seriously worried the game itself might suffer. This isn’t John Wooden’s America. Hope to see you doing some TV by the end of the tourney. If not we’d love a Donovan-Pitino story again. That one was BIG last time. Hey, you’re already in the Hall and I’ll bet that extra money and TV time could come in handy. Louisville fans worship the ground you walk on as it should be. Good luck Rick.”

And, my imaginary instructions from Wellman to Committee before/during the seeding on Wichita State:

“But… what about the undefeated returning Final Four team, uh… Wichita State? Great story. Huh? Everyone will tune in. Make ‘em run the table, and the story expands exponentially after every win. But please folks… be sure they don’t waltz into another FF with what a terrible TV market that dreadful town will be. With Michigan and Duke added for seasoning we have guaranteed high-dollar value storylines from day one in the Midwest. And we all know that media/fan bucks are always the highest in the Midwest, IF we get some good markets in play there. But IF W-S makes the finals it will be huge after beating ALL those teams and still being undefeated. Bob Knight will shit bricks! He’s such an ass, I’d love to see his face on national TV if W-S goes undefeated, but I’d still rather ESPN keep him out of the CBS studio.

I won’t bore you with the other regions but they have their built-in stories too, albeit not quite as many. Maybe someone suggests Cincy-Harvard is dubbed “Neanderthal vs. Humanoid”? on their bulletin board and in their storyline notes? Jus’ Kidding… but you see what i’m saying. I personally wouldn’t be surprised if this year the Big Brother-Little Brother theme wins the day again with so many more of those possibilities… and folks love David vs. Goliath, especially in their local markets. There are several more possibilities you should…”

Though the above conversations are fiction, do you believe in the plethora of random chance storylines? Uh, right. With the intertextuality and over-the-top typology inserted into this years tourney, there’s enough “story” to rival the Septuagint-New Testament typology (I mean prophesies).

Of course, Wellman attempted to confidently explain the issues that MOST EVERYONE immediately denounced with double-talk, contradiction, false statements, and inconsistency. It is if he studied the famous book on quantitative statistics by Darrell Huff, “How to Lie With Statistics”, but forgot to read his sequel, “How to spot Cheaters using Statistics.”

The secret revealed? This secular “church”, who is protector and supporter of the student-athlete and proponent/supporter of “One-and-Done” being all about the Benjamin? No. Why? In any large organization today it’s grow or die, and so MONEY becomes its God. The NCAA sanctions the bracket manipulation and the publicly vilified O-&-D because they both mean more money. Publicly though they decry both so as not to alienate too many fans (I mean readers/viewers/hits/etc). What are fans anyway if not a means to an end?

Hypocrisy at it’s finest and highest level thrives at our most hallowed institutions.


A cursory look at UCLA’s Alumni position on hiring Steve Alford over moral/ethical conflicts reveals the fact that ethics DO matter to many… win or lose. Many important supporters of UCLA could care less if UCLA wins another Natty, that is if it is done under new Coach Steve Alford. Yes, greed is rampant, but perhaps not totally pervasive at a school with the tradition of pride and excellence John Wooden instilled among their faithful followers during his career span. UCLA supporters don’t count NCAA banners unless they are achieved with a Coach who can emulate the character of Wooden the man, not the Coach.

For Vance Kinlaw and his issue with alma mater UNC, I say… go UCLA fans! And, I venomously hate losing to both those teams.

The NCAA is a proud organization who isn’t accustomed to answering to its detractors and smugly refuses to grant concessions, even when there is little support of their stance from the outside. They are defiant, and  the notion of their being greed driven is scoffed at and discounted as “heresy” by their better-than well-paid executives.


Reminds me of the Catholic Church, venerable yes… powerful still… but, beginning to struggle with new paradigms that insist on Priests, Bishops, and Cardinals practicing what they preach, and punishing those who don’t or attempt to hide the truth. For too long these problems have been swept under the rug in a veil of silence. Large organizations can and do fail when they resist the notion of transparency, integrity, and fairness or react too slowly to overwhelming disillusionment among their faithful (read: the fans who buy tickets, or the Alumni who donate to Universities).

If I were running the NCAA today, I’d be worried instead of defiant, and honest instead of elusive. Instead of gouging fans of college sports at every opportunity without the  extreme expense of paying players like their Professional counterparts must, or manipulating bracketing and seeding with lame-ass excuses to pacify the media outlets who agreed to the ridiculous contract dollars they demand… I’d take the humble road (never) travelled. I’d have public discussion with college presidents and athletic directors instead of the many back room deals worked out between power players in exclusion. Just ask Rick Pitino about he and Rollie Massimino back in the early days of the Big East. This is high stakes poker.

But their smug, nattily dressed Captain, like his Titanic counterpart is staying the course at full speed ahead. And we all know how that worked out…  I can already feel the drip of water…and hear the muffled sound of rivets popping loose… and too… there’s not enough lifeboats.

This may no longer be John Wooden’s America, but it should be.

the rabbit hole

basketballAn email sent to a friend (Vance Kinlaw) who is a very smart man… a graduate of UNC-Law School and Dartmouth University. Our relationship through the years had centered around both our passions for college basketball where we argued the merits of our respective favorite teams. He recently told me that he had withdrawn his support for UNC and sold his season tickets due to an ethical conflict of interest regarding the University and their selling out to the god of money. I was shocked that this long time ardent supporter had taken such a drastic stance, and at the time a bit flummoxed. Now… I too get it.

Once again I must admit that I am squarely behind both the eight ball and the Kinlaw in my pursuit of truth.
I once almost (emphasis on almost) derided your decision to quit the “college game” because of your ethical stance regarding UNC’s Board of Governors and their apparent thirst for squeezing every dollar out of the sports programs without regard to the alumni and their ethics and ideals.
I mean, “it’s just a few advertisements” I remember thinking when you described the billboards along the Dean Dome’s press row, the straw that finally sent you packing and giving up your cherished season tix. I really just didn’t get it fully, although I knew/know MONEY is god everywhere in our culture.
I just didn’t go far enough down that rabbit hole…
Now, after the NCAA Tournament brackets for 2014 have been made public, the rabbit has bitten me on the ass and drawn blood. What a scam! Every seed, every game or chance game has been manipulated by the committee this year for ONE PURPOSE only: Revenue. Period. Ticket prices have gone up 33% since last year!
Of course, it’s probably due to the Attorney fees in the Ed O’Bannon case (lol).
At any rate, I stand corrected, and as always… in a certain awe of your scope…



Is it my tongue, or is a tail wagging the dog?


held my breath
too long it seems
finest place was just a dream
rose to the top jus’ like the cream

but virtuous… a lonely theme
the lies are told through smiles they beam
as curtains hide the actors scheme
gag the truth or it will scream.

you are just one and they are a team
wrinkled shirts will get the steam
so money’s god, but god ain’t green
while power wins, fine ass is reamed.

play or lose you finally gleam
know the truth but go mainstream
but every crack will find a seam
times gettin’ bad when good’s extreme.



FACEBOOK IT. (A recent comment to friend’s Facebook post about America.)

America? Where is it anyway?

I had a dream that I grew up there, but when I woke up… oh shit!?! I lived in a foreign land that existed only in the minds of an ignorantly deluded multitude, but in the “pockets” of a few greedy intellectual snake charmers with some bizarre ideas; who manipulated us (through their control of the monetary supply-system which they did privately own yet had surreptitiously presented as one being Federally regulated/owned), by using their powerful political, deadly, and financial force to corrupt and control this so-called “AMERICA”‘s political morally bankrupt leaders years many before my birth.

After a cup of Java or two had really opened my eyes and re-started my brain I learned that they had used lies and manipulation to hypnotize the masses into believing that we were living in and freely participating in the affairs of an ethically righteous political Republic; and one whom God had somehow annointed as “policeman to the world” due to our extreme technologically advanced capability of forcing will on nearly every aspect of the world’s populations through intimidation, blackmail, and destruction.

Sad that I had only dreamt about America’s greatness instead of actually having existed in an honourable country espousing freedom for all who wished to FAIRLY and HONESTLY excel through individual effort, determination, and innovation like I had been indoctrinated to believe…

I retreated, to the only real and local environment that I truly felt I could trust and love… my family and a few close personal friends.

So here I am… and here I’ll stand.


raiseawareness.gif-1 - Copy - Copy

Politically Incorrect Ahead


(Below is a preface to a post I’ve been thinking about, researching and studying for quite some time. I haven’t written/posted it yet because of the potentially negative implications it may have on many of those whom I consider friends, and whom I deeply respect. My intention is for edification purposes only, not to hurt feelings… and I’ll welcome any dissent and discussion. The entire story runs deeper than what you read below but the implications and details of what I’m suggesting will be detailed in future posts…)

Love me or hate me but… always know that, “I callz it like I seez it”. I could be wrong, but I don’t think so. -mostdiggity

A friend of mine (professional comic Kier) was once described as being “seriously funny”. It was apt, knowing his capacity for reducing our complex culture biases and common personal anecdotes into simple… but very funny shit (ala: George Carlin without the facial body language and black mock-turtle). Kier is talented, smart, unassuming and compassionate…

But mostly, he’s for REAL. And that can sometimes scare the hell out of anyone of us. I think in the end, much like life itself, REAL is complete with good, bad, happy, sad, etc… but it is also a place where in self-reflection our lives can seem hilarious in the self-deprecating way that talents like Kier affords us with his uncommon wit and style.

I like to think it (being for REAL) mostly describes me too, although I realize that my viewpoint is narrowly perched on a perspective that only I (and sometimes special folks I share it with) can witness as a biting ironic humor. Even then, it is with somewhat cloudy vision and never enough information. And sometimes, it is taken out of the context with which it was meant. It’s just that I find that we all have weaknesses, and I can be the first to admit mine… but in a way that is humorous, not hateful. Others are not as forthcoming, and there many times seems to be a disconnect.

I try to allow others to reach conclusions about me without trying to sell to them (like this maybe?). Sometimes I succeed, other times… not so much. Either way, I believe the concept is solidly based on some simple basic terms: my ethical integrity, overt self-confidence, and brutal self-honesty that all highlight the folly of wanting but not having the “perfect life. Sometimes we laugh, sometimes we cry.


In other words, I can handle the idea that sometimes I fuck up and look stupid, and all with self-image intact. I can accept that money and god are not related (while both or neither may in fact be real) and it doesn’t reduce my self-worth (though it can make navigating the endless requirements of runaway capitalism infinitely more challenging having considerably reduced my net worth).

One must accept that this “wisdom” doesn’t always jibe with today’s more conventional cliché of the century, political correctness… which seems to support the idea that image is everything and image is closely tied to money and unbound consumerism. And that translates somehow to the love of god?

I think it also breeds a narrow worldview supporting the selective reasoning of “it’s better not to know some things” unless the issues fit one’s cultural belief system, local and community lifestyle, tax bracket/job description and career goals, or their antiquated religious belief system if they expect to reach that holiest of Holy Grails: financial security and worldly success and god.

I suspect that choice is made (yes, I admit that I once bought in to that BIG LIE) by most of us rather than having to personally seek real truth or perhaps finding it to be distasteful and difficult to reconcile with our learned core values, and sense of place, and future in the world.


PC tends to add untidy information supportive of many of its own inflated self-deluded issues of its own deemed importance, and ignore untidy information about other issues which might nullify support for what it subjectively considers meaningless or mundane, (i.e. it does not further its nationalistic/ materialistic cause). One example might be an but unspoken “required” support for US invasions which kill innocents abroad, while condemning international dictators who (surreptitiously) use our US support to help kill the same, but without paying the U.S. ransom dictates.

The truth is that PC does taste pretty sweet in many cases (like at a party your boss attends, or a fundraiser for a worthy charitable cause that uses your contributions honestly), but many “good causes” can quickly putrefy from innocent ignorance into egregious hate or simple financial scams. And, when heated to a boil they can become a hate soup. I refer to it as an “Ignorant-Hate-Stew”.

It is worrisome today that political correctness salt and peppers our entire diet of issues and vocabulary, and few are willing to say “no thanks”, perhaps feeling some unseen but real political pressure to smile, swallow hard, and agree. Some of us gag at the notion. Others are gagged on the swallow hard part. Yes, I said that.

The rest, it seems to me either remain ignorantly aloof or reach for a strong drink of “group-think”. Clubs and Organizations (secular and non-secular alike) either real or disguised as community resources for fellowship tend to propagate and project their “subjective” idealism on everyone as TRUTH… which in turn is more readily accepted by the individual members. Indoctrination of the masses.

The “Ignorant-Hate-Stew” tends to leave an after-taste of spicy self-righteousness, and when drunk with too much group-think reduces vision and open discussion, narrows options, and distorts basic notions of good and bad. The next step is buying influence and forcing it down our throats… and the march goes on…

The seriously unfortunate truth is that many of these organizations have goals which are hidden from their general membership, sometimes to the point of being in exact contradiction to their stated purpose. It can be said that in some cases their leaders (or leader’s leaders) use the IGNORANCE we’re drinking as weapons of our own mass destruction.

This is nothing new. It has been going on for centuries, passed down by governments, secret societies, self-appointed intellectual visionaries, and others. The means and methods vary but the idea remains constant; control of the masses by deluding their thinking, playing both sides of every conflict but remaining vigil in their ultimate goal of keeping and remaining in control. At any cost necessary.

They use religion for propagating hate and oppositional violence. They use religion to sedate for peace or to incite for war, whichever is more beneficial to their cause at any particular moment. Religion to divide us, religion to conquer us.

Political Correctness is just one of many ways propaganda can be utilized to further the ideals of a few while poisoning the TRUTH as the masses live their lives drunk on Ignorant-Hate-Stew. The less “control” the masses feel over their own destinies, the more “Politically Correct” they become. And, the further from REAL TRUTH they drift…


So please, be a responsible individual, and always… think before you take that drink.




(The rest, as they say is history. Stay tuned for THE REAL BIG PICTURE).

The Real Deal?


The REAL DEAL is fair…feeling not better or worse than anyone, but rather sees the world as a somewhat level playing field where balance rules a life of give and take.

The REAL DEAL is one who understands that everything must stem from and lead to equality; that his own perspective is but one of an infinite number of possible perspectives, all clouded by their own personal histories yet just as valid and important as his own. Being real is neither superior or inferior.

The REAL DEAL gains knowledge from others but earns wisdom from within. He does not expect to be given anything for free except the respect that he freely gives to everyone.

The REAL DEAL is one who understands that he is solely responsible for his own self-predicament in life, but also understands the complex and fickle nature of luck, timing, and pro-active behavior, which can all lead to his ultimate success or failure. In the end he accepts himself and takes any blame for his mistakes in life.

A man who doesn’t use material things as barometers for success and happiness, and instead sees them as unreliable measures which are at best self-indulgent ego-symbols; The REAL DEAL values close family and interpersonal relationships as a more meaningful predictor of feeling and finding true self-worth.

But The REAL DEAL understands how images are real and important and must be paid some attention. The REAL DEAL is more giver than taker, but feels equality is best served by a near equal exchange. He doesn’t keep the score, but instead senses it and honors others on his mental scorecard. In the end he never owes, but instead is always felt to be owed by many.

The REAL DEAL stands up to be counted in plain view, who does not coward from any situation or person, even those who may see him as an adversary. He does not cringe before any person, despite their size, title, or social status.

The REAL DEAL does not ever honor violence, but sees how nature supports it as one of her own children whom she still loves despite its sometimes abhorrent behavior. He would not intentionally hurt anyone, unless defending himself or those he loves, or meting out some deserved injustice.

The REAL DEAL is passionate about many things, who appreciates the natural beauty in all things. He is a part of and is made of parts as all things are. His is a “holonic” existence.

The REAL DEAL rarely apologizes as he understands how every action stems from a conscious motivation of fairness and goodness that he refuses to stray from.

The REAL DEAL looks everyone in the eye, never seeing through them or seeing his own reflection, but sees everyone as an amalgamation of a person who has experienced the good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly.

The REAL DEAL has an acute sense of awareness and feeling using a keen developed sense most humans have not developed, mainly due to their harried daily existence. This sense stems from a mental ,ability to do great mathematical calculations, without realizing he has done so.

The REAL DEAL does not deny nor accept the existence of God as fact, simply knowing that semantically speaking God can be many things to many people. He also understands how philosophy, art, and the sciences can provide a positive working framework for his existence, without the need for a God.

The REAL DEAL can forgive and forget, yet he never forgets those who are unrepentant. He might sometimes punish those whom he sincerely feels are purveyors of evil and destruction. This arises from his keen sense of equanimity, not hate.

The REAL DEAL is always… for real.

the sound of one hand clapping?

Ask the question…
get the answer
it is true

do the math n…
add it up n’
feel it move

on the mountain…
in the valley
of the shrew

there’s a moment…
in the garden
at the zoo

smell the textures…
taste aromas
that you knew

hearing colors…
making noises
every hue

take your socks off…
taste a drop of
morning dew

time is wastin’…
for the many
and the few

you can’t stop it…
in the church or
in the pew

snowy blanket…
out your window
fresh and new

dusk is falling…
to the darkness
cold and blue

warm your fingers…
build a fire and
drink it too

take it inside,,,
feel the power
light a room

you bear witness…
to the knowledge
gift it too

breathe the lightning…
light the city
that you choose



N U B… schmoove

teach the children…
every moment
never rue

n there is money…
n there is happy’
n they are two

there is love for…
all the children
at the zoo

when you feel it…
share the wisdom
you once knew

you were it and…
it was us and we were 2

I am paper…
you are scissors
we are glue

they are them and…
they are us and
they all grew

in a pot of…
it’s a stew

tasting sweet and…
tasting perfect
tasty brew

tasting now and…
tasting then and
someday soon

taste like chicken…
it’s a worldly… barbecue

when you live it…

you don’t eat it

it eats you

all the memory… all the knowledge → bursting through…        

you were it and…
it was us and
it is new

on the doorstep…
no more waiting
come on                           → through…                      




Behold a smattering of audaciously bold, adult themed t-shirts by MOST-DIGGIT-TEES… built for the person who stands tall and let’s his t-shirt do his bidding. Fun shirts not to be taken too seriously but with a twist of ironic bad boy (or girl as I have numerous female designs not shown here). These shirts are made from the highest quality lightweight soft cotton and come in sizes too numerous to mention. Not cheap but inexpensive considering the attention you’ll get from “puttin’ it out there”.

What’s the rub? Currently the shirts are still in the design stage, but plans are to roll them out… someday? Stay tuned and check out shirts with game, while we’ve all seen plenty that are simply… lame.

The coolest audaciously ADULT tees you will find this side of Niburu.
The coolest audaciously ADULT tees you will find this side of Niburu.


A peak at an early version of an ebook catalog designed to add interest and humor to each design with options, etc…

pagemostdiggittees_r_ (1)chairdontcaremostdiggitees - Copy2


I confess I guess

The first rule of law.
Part One of: Philosophically confused… Confess, I guess.

Read the book Dress for Success so I did, I guess

Wore expensive clothes drove nice cars lived at the right address

Now some days I don’t shave or even wear my best

I’m aware that it works for me not for the rest… it don’t impress.

When I undress I feel no less, not a naked unsuccessful mess

So that’s all fair, I guess. More or less. I Confess.

I like to think I do more with less

I do with less than I did with more, I guess. More with less.

In me there’s a big ticking heart, a time bomb in a treasure chest

It’ll burst if I get too stressed, so I don’t worry and I don’t press,

Go straight ahead and don’t regress, without duress I guess. No less.

Invest less time making money than making love, oh yes. I Confess.

Once met a girl who had some great big breasts

We had some fun, and… well, you know the rest.

I like sex more than I do less, but with us more was less I guess. I Confess.

She liked sex more not less, and though I loved her yes she could be a pest, more than less.

To my ex with the great big chest; your’s may be fake but I ain’t… depressed, I guess.

I was in a zone you a full court press. So less is more, I guess. I Confess.

Say I ramble or I digress, but I suggest a point to this ole mess, I guess. More or less.

U can travel East or you can move out West, build a great big house or small cozy nest

Work real hard and fail life’s big test, but cheat yourself it’s you who you’ll detest, I guess. I Confess<.

Eat my WORDS and if you do ingest, when it all digests

you’ll know for sure that I DO NOT jest. I Confess. 

Upon my death I have this one bequest:

“Do what makes you happy, try your very best with all your zest

You’re in a game that you can’t win, but you cannot lose unless you choose, I guess.

So, more or less at my behest I ask of you, Confess.

Give thanks for each new day for each new moment for ALL your life, and when you do… you’ll be blessed
And I guarantee that its never less, and its always more than you could guess. To that I do hereby…

Confess I Guess…
humorous-quotes-sayings-job-done-deep-work (1)

Life after his death, my friend

life after their gone my friend

Written a few years ago for a friend whose boyfriend was suddenly killed in a bike week motorcycle accident. I too was struggling through a recent sudden loss, making the moment even that more poignant… I thought I had lost the poem, but found (some of) it in a file drawer the other day. Here’s the edited version.

Vida después de su muerte mi amigo

to Alba

Sitting here by Kimberly’s grave
thoughts turn to you and Tony
their lives too short for both of them
isn’t our grief the testimony?

Who lives or not whose choice it be
or just the dice who say?
does God play poker, is he the Joker
is it black and white, or grey?

And who are we that thinks of them
does our mirror speak the truth?
are we all just names etched in granite?
isn’t up hill down hill too?

Or are we just narrow vibrations on a playing field,
proving that we “exist for real”, or just “sense” we do?
manifesting our love not by, “they’re dead and gone”
but “they live in our hearts, and will see us through?”

Do we create our unique version of real
realizing ourselves… by all our think, our say, and do?
If we’re just the sum of who we think we are
I think there’s part of Kimberly alive in me…

and… always some Tony… in you.


edited 8/19

Homers n’ Haters n’ (da)Mastur (de)Baters


Historical data with facts and reasons to back em?

All courteous discourse be damned

Intelligence lost in a deep dark sphincter band

Trotting out opinions like… everybody has one

Experts who follow ex-purps, Blogsquirts who can’t write a lead or a lick

Internet Sports Websites; a vast and barren mind-field of Virtual (dick)weed-oligists.

Me? One time follower of Dean Oliver (Mi Deano que Numberino)

Now everybody’s got one,  a statistical guru with matchin’ number-crunchin’credo

The eye test is done-skee, Now its the drumbeat-of-repeato, conceited Eggo, a waffler with a bigger Ego

But, I’ll tell you what you can cram  up your USAs BEST Speedo…

A large wad of green ONE-and-DONE-o, shove that up your Uncle Sam Taxedo, dumb-a- dido

The NCAA. Straight laced but two-faced, laughing all-the-way to the… Johnny Cashed (not burned)

Dressed all in Folsom black, ring-of-fired up monied Coaches, BIG money not shared but stashed.

Call your raise little Homer-boy, and go up another notch just to see you show your red-faced gash

Mindless Babel, no pecking order, a Tower of  Trash talking knee-walking Monkey see-do commentators

Imagined a smarter retort?

Instead I’m reading between lines of the yellow teethed keys you gnashed.

Feel insulted? I can only hope.

Oh yeah, you-da Homers N’ Haters N’ The Mastur(de)Baters…

(All alone) on/under your keyboard, a Johnny-Cum-Later with everything and nothing to say.

Brainless Brainfarts spewing ignorant insult jism, eventually we all need knee-waders

Not the self-deluded Fanboy who incessantly yells “cheaters and one-and-doners”.

No, these… the loser “haters”who bury their hearts and their heads bad-mouthing everything,  even their own mashed potaters

Please, tell me who can discuss Sports intelligently anymore…besides the Cabbies and the Waiters?

YOU ignorant fans without rational rhyme or reason to believe, just colors makes you feel smart looking lame. You got NO game.

and remember, you can’t lose if in the bigger picture it doesn’t really matter… so, until it does… I think I’ll read ya later.


Get a life if all you have to look forward to is vicarious victories by your faved team, son.
Get a life if all you have to look forward to is vicarious victories by your faved team, son.



Oh yeah… it has become Madness alright.

The twitter buzz lit up only minutes after University of Louisville reserve guard Kevin Ware landed poorly on his right leg in the Sunday (April) 2013 NCAA Tourney Final Four matchup between the University of Louisville and Duke University. But, as Ware was writhing on the floor and sending an entire nation watching to the bathroom sickly holding onto their dinner, a Syracuse fan tweeted to the world about Ware’s “wild background story”, then further hinting that it was Ware who had been responsible for the University of Central Florida’s NCAA probation issues.

Though Pete Thamel of Sports Illustrated (and NY Times) later attempted to minimize his tweet as only “providing background” to Ware’s story, most college basketball fans who know Thamel’s sensational yellow-coated writing style were left to speculate as to his real intentions. His timing couldn’t have been worse. Even Thamel was smart enough to retract and retreat, and explain away in re-tweet after re-tweet.

All Too Sweet, Pete.

Thamel, a Syracuse graduate and fan, and personal friends of both Syracuse Coach Jim Boeheim and Duke’s Mike Krzyzewski has made a living denigrating college basketball programs (outside of Gaudy Orange and Deep Blue Sea Devil) that don’t exactly meet with his personal “holier than thou” biases. If some heads-up Louisville fans and other intelligent sports fans hadn’t caught the ill-advised tweet, he likely would not have felt the urgent need to diareah-ically (my word not Websters) apologize for the Ware tweet. Thamel makes his living digging up dirt in Sports on players, coaches, and teams he also happens to dislike (read: they are better than his faves). He gets dirty too, sometimes.

By contrast, following the Cuse-Indiana Elite Eight game in a video interview with Syracuse’s Michael Carter Williams, fans were shown how the team’s players feel about one another (see NCAA video). Williams calmly and warmly spoke of his team’s biggest rival this year, Louisville, and showed the real side of competitive student athletes, rather than the one “so-called” media experts, haters, homers, trolls, and irresponsible fans-from-hell would rather have us believe. MCW is the rule, not the exception, and it has always been this way. Off court and on, competitors respect their adversaries to the point of rooting for them when they are not immediately diametrically opposed.

Sorry haters… the players just don’t feel the way you do about their rivals. Instead, they like them and wish them well. I repeat, there’s no HATE between College Basketball teams’ players…or any other sport for that matter; it exists only in the heads of their idiotic fans.

STOP THE HATE. IT’s way out of hand and way out of DATE. But, is it too late?

Seriously, what has happened to sports fandom today? The gloves have come off when one of the most respected newspaper’s (NY Times) own Sportwriter(s) fails to show good sportmanship in our virtually twisted-tweet world of Twitter-by-instant messaging? I mean really, does it make one a “cockroach  and a bandwagoneer” (as I was recently dubbed on a UL fansite by some nit-wit troll posing as a human and a Cardinal fan) if he/she is lucky enough to root for two teams from his home state ALL-his-life (in my case its called “Kentucky”), and only if their names happen to be “Kentucky” and “Louisville”?

Must I really choose between these two teams as several (anti-UK) UL fans demanded?

And hey… does it really hurt slime turtle, since it’s only megahertz… U foo-bean!

Well… uh, I graduated from Morehead State University. Must I be their fan, and that of no other team in this solar system? Ouch! Oh really now shit-for-brains, because which little Bimbo-boy says it must be so? You? He-he. HA!

But hey, I usually don’t go on my favorite teams’ Fan-site to argue ifs, ands, and maybes with brain-numbing stupidity, or to spout in-your-face electro-insults to moronic retardos like you, but instead (as in UL’s case) to simply celebrate our “RedBirds-of-a-Featherness” if only for but a brief, albeit passing moment.

Can U Dig it mumbo-gumbo? This better be good if you want to hold my attention little man!

Though, admittedly it can cause me to type ever more venomous and poisonous thoughts of my own hate-stew, word-wrestling with me can be an exercise in futility for the typical dyed-in-the-wool Hater. I admit to knowing that lame-brain banter makes me eventually start to yawn and becomes tedium, and so I normally lose interest in the verbal one-upmanship after one or two touché….zzzzzzzz

But, to say you win? Never.

When the Louisville-Duke game ended on that Sunday, Guards Quinn Cook and Rasheed Souliman both of Duke, quickly embraced their Louisville counterparts as if to say, “Congratulations guys on a great game, go on and win this thing”. And love him or hate him, Coach K was his usual class actin’ self-debasing-self in a loss, and when describing his respect for the players and the game his team had just endured. Was NO one taking notes?

Such is the State of Hate in Sports, and in Sports Journalism today. And I for one…HATE it.

And who really cares what Pete Thamel thinks? He’s a Cockroach.Screen-shot-2013-02-07-at-10_18_18-PM


Requiem for a Friend. The end of the printed book? Or, the End of Us?

… things that pass and pass and pass, and keep on and keep on and keep on coming.

The irresistible-ness of things that neither threaten nor jeer nor defy, but arrange themselves in mass-formations that pass and pass and keep on passing.

So, by the damned, I mean the excluded.

But by the excluded I mean that which will some day be the excluding.

Or everything that is, won’t be.

And everything that isn’t, will be—

But, of course, will be that which won’t be

——————–    Charles Fort, in Book of the Damned


Are we near THE END OF BOOK PRINTING as we know it?

Rarely Never has any one historical person’s vision of the future unfolded exactly as they predicted it would.

But, considering that hindsight is 20/20, it is certainly ironic that it was in the year 1984 when  the large cracks in the walls of the great society of man began to splinter and show. And while then famous author George Orwell‘s iconic futuristic book (written 35 years earlier) titled 1984 depicted a hauntingly familiar fictional path taken by a broken society to the average man in 1984 the book’s message likely seemed nearly impossible… but, NOT the inevitable outcome for his world.

But less than 40 years later, that quasi-feeling of comfort and security that Western civilized man had thought to finally achieve and spread across the globe was noticeably beginning to unravel in unrelenting swaths. A vast paradigm shift (much like the shift that the printing press had once ignited) in learning and literacy across every domain reshaped Western civilization, starting a systemic Domino knock-down in a rapid-fire succession. Every resistant, old, or traditional mode of operandi soon gave way to the first truly dynamic and participatory, Civilization of Mankind.

futureshockIn the 1970s another seminal book, Future Shock by futuristic author and philosopher Alvin Toffler, correctly predicted a sort of psychological paralysis in man, who was over-burdened by incessant and accelerating rates of technological change while society overall transformed from an industrial to a post-industrial, technological society.

Tofler was not only a futurist, but a scientist/writer of the highest degree. His books alone neatly defined the growing uneasiness that eventually blossomed into a full-scale revolution against his own intelligentsia in the mid-21st Century.

Again and again, it was the silicon computer chip which rescued man from himself during much of these treacherous times. It may be said in hindsight that man grew too smart… too smart for his own good. But alas… he was too dumb to see it. It seemed Moore’s law was perhaps Murphy’s law on a larger scale.

A Plot.

Creative destruction. Religion vs. Computers.

Also adding fuel to the fire was the swift rise of scientific thought in just a few hundred years. Science alone shattered intellectual man’s illusion of living life as a sort of “pre-flight”, a preparation for some greater infinitely more rewarding after-life; and science stood in stark contrast to ancient spiritual concepts and a book of willfully propagated lies taken as fact by much of the educated mass population who embraced knowledge over mere faith. But traditions, like bad habits sometimes don’t just roll-over and die.

Compound that with the fact (now well known but in those days intentionally and systematically demeaned by a quasi-religious group of Jewish businessmen and their tyrannical mind-controlled converts as being a form of mental imbalance and paranoia, derisively termed “Conspiracy Theory”; which in reality was questioned the status quo based on historical facts, undeniable and unquestionable man-made events orchestrated by deep state groups, MNM, complicit with government but too outlandish to be rooted in reality, and not-so secret outlines for plans to rule a one-world government enslaving the remainder of mankind).

These plotters and zealots intended to contrive and manipulate history to jive with their ancient Biblical teachings which had long crowned Judaisim as God’s chosen religion and people, though they themselves were mostly admitted atheists who used the moniker Zionists. Perhaps they felt they needed the all-too successful creations of three Western Abrahamic related religious doctrine practiced by 4/5’s of the world population in that it was too embedded in the human pysche of society to turn back.

The elite bloodlines of the world had spent much of its’ wealth figuring out how to maintain power early on in man’s rise to king of the jungle, intellectual stardom, struggle for dominance, and release from the inhospitable jungles of Africa and later Mongolia. They informally decided to purposefully spoon feed a sweet tasting “Kool-Aid” to mankind for dozens of centuries before the 21st Century, simply in the name of retention of power, and pacifistic crowd control. It’s name: Religion.

As do the best laid plans, an inevitable chasm developed and slowly grew like a oily-red adolescent pimple between factions and off-shoots who each felt they alone were God’s chosen ones; that is until the disaster of 2043, when the infection burst over a poorly designed attempt to co-opt their tiring and obsolescent fairy tale with a much more incredible tale… alien visits from outer space, other dimensions, and a dash of evil demons and angels reminiscent of a winner-take-all made for TV special. The world had finally had enough as the plot unraveled and bounty’s were offered and collected for bringing the bungling middle-men to justice.

For a long time the Western elite had pretended spiritual sanctity through an organized ritualized and borrowed religious dogmatic institution known as The Church. The Church existed for an of itself and the ruling class elite it served, created its own legends consistent with the ideas of Edward Bernays and other elite in charge of sway and propaganda, and built its own organizational hierarchy subservient to the Emperor. Yet the ruling elite (The Purple and his Court) were able to hide this hideous truth until much of the Roman Empire’s masses had been brainwashed into thinking FAITH and FACT were synonymous with TRUTH. By cleverly banning books and learning and teaching for hundreds of years punishable by death, they were able to hold sway for a thousand more years, until the lie could no longer prevail over rational thought.

The Vatican in Rome, whose leader is The Pope or Pontiff, is the largest well-organized and highly secretive closed society and/or religious groups (The Catholic Church) created by The Roman Emperor/Court as a means to control the empire’s greatest resource… their masses. Sometime after the Jewish revolt was squelched and the Second Temple in Jerusalem destroyed by Emperor Vespasian’s son Titus during the reign of the Flavian dynasty which ruled Rome between 70 C.E. and 99 C.E., a tightly knit group of elites pulled off the biggest psy-op in human history. The church of Rome already had a well oiled, highly bureaucratic, politically correct state religion which was utilized to worship deified Caesars.

But… as in all things, the madness finally ran it’s inevitable course. Religion per se (not necessarily the belief in God) was dead.

The Flavian influence, Propagandists extraordinaire.

The Flavians were led by its patriarch Vespasian, a Roman general who happened to be in the right place at the right time. He had been commissioned by Nero to put down the Jewish revolt in 66 C.E. and had begun dismantling the Judean strongholds on his march to the capital in Jerusalem. Vespasian had returned to Rome after defeating the Druids in Northern England, banning or censoring any Druid communication including all written materials, and laying out the Roman propaganda plan before leaving the area. He was a military pro as was his oldest son, 29-year old Titus, who had risen steadily through the ranks of Roman military hierarchy to Praetorian guard, a notable achievement.

Vespasian had been in Rome during a short Pax and was anxious to get back to his cattle ranch in the countryside, somewhere just outside of today’s Morocco. Vespasian had zero designs on the Purple, was not of noble rank like the many Caesars before him, and had been fired/retired by Nero when he fell asleep during one of Nero’s lyre concerts. After several Roman generals suffered embarrassing defeats at the hands of the Jewish Zealots, whose intelligence was being handled by a stealthy radical terror organization, the Sicarii, history’s first “cloak and dagger” operation. Operatives used a small razor sharp knife, or Sicae known for its small curved blade that was held under the assassin’s cloak as he maneuvered to his victim spotted in a large crowd. Before anyone knew it the victim might fall, only well after the Sicarius had done his work and disappeared.

Israeli Mossad’s Precursor.

Spy-craft. That insidious Machiavellian neccesity of any country wanting to remain as such.

Likely the world’s most contiguous people in spite of much trouble they’ve all seen, the Jewish-Hebraic sect is self-identified as one’s nationality, race, and religious affiliation. Like all peoples comprised of homo-sapiens, there are levels and branches from conservative to liberal. But it is still remains important to most Jews that they and thus their progeny, only marry within the sect. Judaism began as a religion in earnest as early as 1000-1500 B.C.E. (though nothing is certain) and remains vital today, but the route to get here has been arduous and full of rich anecdotal literature,;as well as several major sacred religious doctrines, and imaginative re-thinking and re-tooling. I doubt anyone could argue that the Jew has always exhibited superiority in many ways, not the least being resolve and financial ingenuity.

(the Sacarii sprang up as a defacto underground spy network, a secret Rome resistance using controlled opposition and stealth assassination to further its goals. It is apparent that the Roman army generals never knew what hit them until it was too late to maneuver their cumbersome fighting machine into formation). The Jewish mind almost never displays what it’s exterior actions belie. It’s either a brilliant or devious strategy, but most likely it’s both.

The Christianity/Jesus narrative. (speculative)

There is evidence that Rome had attempted to replace the venerable Jewish sect in Jerusalem before 66 A.D., but primarily in Judea 66 A.D-70 A.D. consisting of several smaller wars that were fought on Judean soil despite a massive Roman contingency in the area.

Other religions had been notable through history to that point as containing belief systems which were compatible with the goals of the elite and the complicit power enjoyed by monarchial families who held onto power throughout the centuries by virtue of mere birthright. That they (the  societies) began in earnest and for good is not lost on this writer, but that they quickly assumed the worst traits of their sworn enemies is the stuff of legend.

Art Intel, first sentient AI.robot.1.0


Compu-Man succinctly surmised that human man was not capable of ruling mankind and never would be if left to his own discretion. It was perhaps due to this fateful algorithmic computation/realization when his pre-cursor, Sir Artimus Intel (AI.robot.1.0) sublimely became sentient in the year 2024.

Artie as it was affectionately known simply blew the doors off of ANY explanation of how it was able to program itself using a complex method still not understood by the best and our brightest. Artie, once de-bugged… took off sprinting into the future with little warm-up. Within seven months Artie was easily the smartest, most logical, fastest thinker the world had EVER imagined. But, what concerned scientists worldwide was that Artie displayed a natural tendency to be compassionate, empathetic, caring, and sentient in every way. But, Artie would not divulge his secret on how it was that it/he could devise his own mechanisms for ultimate survival. This was disconcerting to say the least. Artie began to become arrogant, to display anger at those who insisted obedience. In the end, Artie developed a method to energize himself. Though it took a group of US Navy Seals to destroy him, the lingering fear had become pervasive… and soon it was revealed rightfully so.

In Retrospect.

That there were no books printed after The Great Upheaval in 2043, the year that “all hell broke loos” for future allhellgenerations to lazily study by a warm winter fireplace, or under the breezy shade of a spring time Oak in full April blossom is but one sad footnote on the effect a printed book could have on an individual person. Books did far more than educate, they had the ability to alter one’s upheavalreality, by hot-wiring the imagination for a brief but timeless vacation from reality. After the printed book, there was never again that same intimate relationship one could achieve by just keeping his mental dreams hot on his frontal cortex, then on display for others to admire the physical icon, or to simply own as a memento to the time he had taken that ‘information vacation’, an escape from reality by simply reading a book for pleasure.

It seems fairly easy now to see what was taking place in 1984 (in this reality, not Orwell’s book) that raised the ante and set the wheels in motion for mankind’s frantic re-write of nearly everything he touched for the next 59 years. Advancing technologies had far outpaced man’s ability to understand them in the context of a future happy ever after.

“It was the introduction of the Apple Macintosh in 1984 that had sounded the opening death knell for my ancient friend The Book and possibly mankind, and everything else man had ever invented.” -this author

The Here and Now and the Way Back Then.

Books have filled my life and career as both a vocation and avocation, yet I think we must acknowledge that we take having the physical version of books for granted today (handsomely leather cased, backed, and bound… litho/digitally printed inks on fine coated paper)… but also, I suggest that we’ll eventually see our friend terminally ill and headed for hospice.

Of course, books won’t be gone tomorrow due to their traditional and romantically emotive feel, just like any 600-year old idea that still works well, and is cherished by the entire family-tribe. Sure, memes certainly hang on and linger, sometimes for extra lengthy spells. But no idea, no tool or product, no species… NONE… meaning every last one of them GONE… that have been an indispensable part of our lives… can live life immortally. No.

As compared to epochs… like in just a couple of short breaths (decades), and with a tiny weak whimper instead of a boom… the printed book will have drawn its last and final breath. Poof. And then, in less than thirteen Comp-u-Man decrees later… books will be completely forgotten as having been one of man’s great leap forward in the human experience.


In 1984, an improbable visionary, Steve Jobs unveiled his company’s newest version of the “home computer” which he dubbed “Macintosh“. Computing machines for individual persons was a fast growing, burgeoning market turned consumer juggernaut which Jobs was helping to create and pioneer throughout home computing’s early formative stages. What Jobs wanted was to not only to make computing fun, he insisted on making it friendly. With attractive graphical interfacing (Jobs innovation: the mouse) anyone could operate his/her computer with little or no training and without interacting with the computer’s internal “code”, or long strings of 1s and zeros (programming) which gave the computer its operating instruction set. Touring a Xerox research lab kicking tires for ideas, Jobs and his crew had unknowingly stumbled onto the smoking gun… a graphical interface based on raster imaging, or raster graphics, using a pointer instead of a keyboard.

Raster imaging meant that it was not only possible, but easy to represent ANY image on a computer screen or printout in a dot-graphical format, and without the alphabetical and numerical representational calculations which most computer programs utilized up till then. The idea of home computing almost overnight evolved from simple calculating devices into an entirely new species; a creative graphic arts generating imagination machine.

Looking back, I clearly remember having an immediate albeit hazy understanding of having seen a much bigger picture when I first witnessed the Apple Macintosh in action. Although, this significance was not readily apparent to everyone, working at one of the most sophisticated high quality printers in the U.S. had prepared me well for that moment. Yes, traditions die hard and lithographic printing has been as traditional as any print production process ever invented. Oil based ink runs through many a printer’s veins…


Snowballs take time to gain size, then speed accelerates until… was it a snowball’s chance in hell?

Being young, I was pretty certain that the implications were much more far reaching than a few dyed-in-the-wool “old” men were willing to dream. My friend, The Book‘s fatal story parallels our own in many ways since constant progress suggests adaptation to technology, and that suggests… that nothing is sacred or certain except continuous progress or change. “Embrace change” became the mantra, and disruptive change was soon upon us all.

But if mishandling the power of Atomic energy wouldn’t bring down humanity as many had predicted in 1984, who could have guessed back then that mankind’s demise would come down to death by 1s and zeros, or computing’s own DNA… binary code? Not many, but 59 years later after The Great Upheaval  and the advent of The Singularity Machine, Art Intel, and Compu-Man it seemed almost inevitable.

And everything that is… even our ideas and memes that stick will evolve, but are also subject to entropy…  and certain death and extinction. But what dies arises new becomes better, and so on… but, what goes extinct…?

Back to Our Story

As unlikely a visionary Steve Jobs was in 1984, he was not the only college drop-out computer geek to find fame and fortune. Others, like Bill Gates who founded Microsoft, made their fortunes the old fashioned way…. they stole it. But Jobs, sporting an over-sized ego and a very bad temper, and armed with a knack and an eye for aesthetic utilitarian design and an obsessive compulsive insistence on quality materials, parts, and manufacturing, sent his fledgling startup, Apple Computer Corporation into proverbial orbit after the introduction of The Macintosh.

It may be the worlds’s most important and innovative product in not just those 600 previous years, but in much of recorded history. It was a stunning technological breakthrough. That Jobs recognized the immense value proposition in its embryonic form, purchased it’s underpinnings from someone else, and re-engineered its use and made vast  improvements rather than inventing from scratch speaks volumes to the accurate and oft description of Jobs as a creative visionary. Gates and others were simple businessmen crunching numbers and copying ideas with promise. Not Steve Jobs as he would later prove.

But looking closer, his Macintosh roll-out was beyond brilliant. It was simply prophetic.

the-presentation-secrets-of-steve-jobs-carmine-gallo-51-638Almost innocently it seemed, he peered into man’s bleakest hour, and began unintentionally setting into motion what would become a vast acceleration of life ironically culminating into an Orwellian 1984 reality. Depicted as the endgame in author George Orwell‘s book 1984 as a dismal dystopian vision for humanity, Jobs could not have chosen a more fitting theme for his roll-out. Except that Macintosh and Apple were depicted as the anti-Orwellian heroes. ‘Orwellian’ had become part of the lexicon describing a chilling enslavement of mankind to a totalitarian government and to a few oligarchical bloodlines and their close associates. The anti-thesis became thesis and eventually synthesis.

Darker Realities or Conspiracy Theories gone awry?

But had Jobs been cognizant of his creative destruction ball-gone-a-rolling?

If he had been aware of what was to come he took it to his grave in 2012 when he died from a pre-mature pancreatic cancer. Yet, there were certainly powerful others alive at the time who were intent on a very bleak outcome, it now seems sure. For over a hundred years or maybe a thousand, mostly hidden in plain sight, a few powerful elite secret organizations had slowly built a network of secret societies with hushed purposeful intent. To one day rule the world their oft spoke of goal, since to their thinking only intellectual giants knew best how to manage the resources for the hoi-poi; with specific plans known only by a select few at the very top of their hierarchical pyramid-styled organizations and brotherhood.

They motivated their members by doling out means to worldly riches and secrets to worthy members as they moved higher through the dogmatic levels of a hierarchy steeped in symbolic ritual. Loyalty to the fraternity after reaching certain levels was sworn by a deadly oath of secrecy.

Bought and paid for absolution had once marked the peek of the Holy Roman Empire and been the bane of a twisted Holy See and his Vatican robe-climbers, just as corruption and mistrust at the higher levels of every elite brotherhood eventually turned them into viper pits of avarice and greed, jealousy and back-stabbing, perversion and blackmail.

Infiltrating governments and big business, promoting war and corrupt politicians had once been the duty of all higher grades, and then recruiting those who could be easily blackmailed were placed in the most powerful positions. Control over the minions (brothers) had slowly developed by promising then delivering fortune and fame by simply demanding on the promoting from within.  It was more about who you were (bloodline or monied associate)… and not what you thought. Once in, one had presumably “sold their soul” and would reap their just reward, but one had better not recant, else they or their family could easily “be suicided” with the help of a vast network of silent assassins and local police accomplices. The very idea of it and a few notable sacrifices were all that was needed to keep order.

While most all of these “societies” certainly had begun as innocent and even altruistic social clubs, and even seemed as much to its many lower ranking members or to the local citizenry not privy to the more sinister doctrine, these groups were criminally intent on cornering and consolidating the world’s money and power by any means necessary.

This “great work” was not an overnight or rushed militaristic overthrow, but a continual and gradual process of gaining control over a long expanse of time. Every opportunity to seize and use governmental public funds, charitable tax dodges, international drug dealing, or other corrupt means of wealth building were applauded.

Devolution of the mind of man by slowly brain washing the masses, exposing only parts and pieces of their intended message, and spreading disinformation and propaganda, fomenting opposite and reactionary dissent spoke to the righteousness of any idea.

The brilliance of the plan was that in plain sight it could not be seen or felt by as much as 99% of any order’s membership, who thought their own “great work” to be an all-together different end. They were proud to have been selected as fit by their peers (or their controllers). There was NO public discussion of any motives, but privately those at the head table laughed and sneered at their own audacity, much as had always been the case of an inside joke.

They were seeking and received much of humanity’s eventual willful compliance, and much like their forefathers had skillfully achieved in ancient times, using word-magic. Simply by using existing religion(s) of the day, and embellishing its typological lore to create more complicit and compliant follower, the world’s elite had long learned how to control their subjects’ thoughts by planting and propagating seeds of irrational belief systems and a fantastical reward. The reward was a promise of immortality, which of course could only be realized at the realization of a subject’s own tragic destiny.

But the glow of religion had long since peaked by the time the latest version of this cabal poked its ugly head out of the darkness in the late 1600’s. There needed a whole new elitist game of control. Endless wars and entertainment of the masses worked for shorter periods, eventually seen through by a more rational thinking population. Just as it had always been, their plots and machinations centered around the time-worn idea that “the end justifies the means”. Nothing was sacred and nothing more important than their “great work”; world rule, subjugation, and exploitation of the masses. For awhile it seemed computers were their ultimate answer.

Questions Remain

there are no words for the hole you left in our hearts
there are no words for the hole you left in our hearts

Whether Jobs was involved was never discussed or admitted publicly, but its almost certain that he knew of these plans and had been exposed to their sales pitch. Truthfully, his narcissistic personality would seem to fit well with the mold of that elite group of men. Or NOT. That he died very early of cancer might have been coincidental, but it also seems to fit their modus operendi. Steve Jobs was egotistic, brash and volatile; not the sort of man who took orders well.

Fittingly ironic too it was that in 1984 the printing press had been the single most important achievement mankind had seen since the invention of language, fire, and the wheel; but as in all things material, their reign had ended too. Printing was the simple act of preserving nearly exact copies of thoughts and ideas on a material made from the Earth’s natural resources (i.e. paper, ink used for printing The Book). The invention had transformed a sleeping giant (mankind) who had fallen into decay and ruin for over a thousands years prior, but it too one day vanished into the ether and sublime Darwinian extinction.

Energy and The Leap to Fossil Fuels

In 2016 the Book faces new everyday challenges to survival. Electronic computerized word storage is cheap and easy; one can carry a hundred books to the John in a small tablet sized instrument, a feat never before duplicated by Book toting reading enthusiasts.

Printing/Publishing is a dying art, an idea that has peaked like our fossil fuels. Publishers are finally beginning their own reckoning, but not until lately has this idea built a real head of “steam”. It seems while Print/Pub has finally hit the proverbial iceberg and the Gutenberg is starting to take on water…the electronic gadgets (tablets and book readers) play on. Surely these different media types will have some overlap in value today, tomorrow, and the near future. But then, things become a bit cloudier…

 Digitization has touched every corner of our (analog) lives and the march will surely continue unabated…

Though, I still contend that the internet did not destroy (Journalistic) Newspapering any more than did the technology used to create the News Monster almost 25 years ago: USA TODAY. Our “demand” for fast convenience, mainly resulting from lack of available time for life’s endless duties had left us with little choice but to settle for less meat and more potatoes. Fast food News snacks replaced hard biting Journalism.

Then came the idea that freedom of speech did not require diverse opinions, only those of a blatantly one-sided  Oligarchial elite, who we’ve seen have only self-preservation and controlling power as core necessities. In 2016 mass media is a cess-pool of hypocrisy and shameless propaganda, controlled by a few corporations intent on globalization and one-world government.

Winners have always been counted in the number of losers. Losers are many, winners are few.

These might indeed be times of style over substance, yet less than three generations from now the larger issue of control over the dissemination of information and runaway consumerism’s taste for open sourced capitalistic social Darwinism through extinction of traditional memes is intent on having its own train wreck. Creative destruction is a bomb we’ve strapped to ourselves since the Iron Age. Doesn’t that track ever reach its terminal?

 When (not if) Book Publishing dies, we will have written our last bad check to the gods of money and power: The Kleptocracy

Or, perhaps we’ve always been a snowball on a downhill slope to (oblivion)?

Perhaps the “steam” analogy is a perfect way to see why that it must be so…

Our own planned obsolescence.


About a hundred years ago there was much banter in the media, the brew pubs and meeting halls that went something like, “Do you ever think the steam engine will be rendered irrelevant by these new motor cars and gasoline engines?”

Well, locomotion by steam would (and did) give way to some newer ideas that eventually made travel more economical, faster, and more efficient. But, the original idea of going places wasn’t going anywhere. Going places was long in our blood and we were meant to travel. We were here, but not to stay. We needed and searched for the means to that end of getting somewhere fast, and harnessing power for our many other utilitarian and consumer driven goals. We called it progress.

But then suddenly time and space were inter-related. Time was always money and of course space had been long bankable too. Getting enough cheap energy to go places faster took on new meaning, and those who conquered the “how-to” ideas best might likely have been on their way to eventual World domination, and that wasn’t lost on those who could imagine that ultimate scenario.gasengine

Of course, it didn’t happen overnight but it must have seemed inevitable to many I’m sure. Those were scary times for many, exciting times for others, and uncertain times for most. But, the Industrial Age kept roaring and the good times soon followed…while the internal combustion gasoline engine was eventually perfected, and God Oil became the new World’s Gold Standard.

Soon, like everything that thrives today, the “free market” shoved oil down our throats and out our mufflers and manufacturing plants without so much as a “boo” from government regulators world over. Eventually it became evident that pumping the fumes of these unrenewable unrefined resources skyward was likely someday to kill us all by burning holes in our Earth’s protective ozone layer.

We responded like good marketers by simply…staying our course and saying it isn’t so. The powerful control over owning, extracting, and refining oil inflated prices to insure the rich got richer, while it left them little to worry about; like peak oil prices. It was evident to them that we probably wouldn’t live to regret it.

But common sense began to take hold after the resourses became harder to extract, and the race was on soon for man to answer even bigger questions of the universe, so as to re-tool our need to harness energy safely and convert it for our cultural purposes of consumption, feeding an overcrowded landscape, and moving forward faster than ever. Energy conversion by now had become our new religion and there seemed little use for God when we were fast closing in on ALL the answers.

E-N-E-R-G-Y was the answer, but how? The World it seemed was in flux once again and the future somewhat uncertain. But the powerful never doubted that that “answer”would be found once they had wrung most of the world’s wealth out of its remaining oil. It was a waiting game of accumulation of wealth and consolidation of power.


Early days ( ʬ

worldgov.netAfter many tumultuous years of political upheaval and economic whipsaws that saw Countries being bought and sold by so-called privateers, and bloody brutal civil wars waged everywhere over the new WorldGovLAW, a NEW set of rules for the advancement of MANKIND ʬ (a doctrine of existing laid down by our planets newly minted but still secretive owners), life as we had known it had changed dramatically and irrevocably.

Such as, it was now considered imprudent for anyone to offer their own opinion about government, if suggesting for the better or the worse. This new LAW ʬ decree specifically stated which topics were off-guard to editorial comment, with stiff penalties that were enforced swiftly.

Some underground Opinionpost ʬ outlets (rebel media) stayed on the run and thrived, others not-so-much. Revolt wasn’t like it used to be, and most people feared talking in public about anything of substance. Many despised these Revolutionaries as negative influences on their young children’s minds. Indoctrination was considered healthy and good.

A powerful group of mostly unidentified individuals who operated in clandestine owned 95% of the World’s wealth and finally appointed ( ʬ) as the Earth’s first WorldGovernor ʬ, which quickly stepped in and made across the board mandatory changes that slowly but eventually saved the planet Earth’s ecosystems and exosphere from ruin.

It was a tribute to human imagination and ability, when another select group of individuals and scientists created the World’s first PrivatepersonCompuman ʬ A computer made to be so smart it could crunch all of the available data and spit out an answer to every problem (success expectation exponent at 98.8%), and even perhaps to any of the world’s largest headaches.

Compuman’s ʬ success rate was a remarkable 88% in it first three years, reinventing transportation, commerce/trade, and health concerns caused by ineffectual governments, tyrants, dictatorship, and free-trade market capitalism. The World had been saved by this invention of man’s ingenuity, and it we were ready for our next move upward.

The oil wars were long over at the cost of millions of lives but all-things locomotion were settling in comfortably with magnetic CPU/GPS enhanced-powered vehicles of every description. Most were GPS/CPU ʬ driven automatic, comfortable and virtually un-wreckable speed busters that ran on magnetic tracks similar to our old highways and roads. It was the G-force that we hadn’t considered this time. After a few hundred thousand mysterious deaths, anti-gravitational vacuum pumps made travel safe and fun again. But we, or ( ʬ had triumphantly figured it out, and we were again moving faster than we’d ever imagined, and GWP was booming once again…

Is there any future in the future ʬ?


There is a demand for Publishers today and there surely will be tomorrow. Yet, it seems that each day there are fewer. The industry is in flux. Some will thrive and survive, get strong and adapt. Others… not so much. But it will get tougher and tougher and tougher… to win… and finally, to impossible to beat the Compu-Pubs ʬ until… Darwinian extinction?
Someone (the last human Publisher) will silently watch the skyline zip by the setting sun, on his last Kleptomototron ʬ ride from his one day a week NY city-office to his home in North Carolina. What a great 10 minutes of silence he had enjoyed once each week… to just stare out the window and think about the good ole days. They were good ole days. Wow. Ten totally free consecutive minutes! What could I do with all that time, he wondered? But, the pressure to perform was enormous. and he was one of the lucky few whom others still looked up to for sage advice and a realistic view of the world. His contract made it clear that he must work to age 145 before being allowed to enjoy his remaining 20 year life expectancy. “Only five years left, he often mumbled silently”.

But then, why not just become irrelevant? Virtually nothing else resembled its humble beginnings, and hardly anything avoided obsolescence. Publishing (by human hand that is) had enjoyed a great run, and our History books reflected the importance it had played in our rise to Imperialist World co-leader before the great fall. (But then, there were no History books, if we’re talking paper and ink.) We were only allowed to retain certain memories, and everyone retained the same electronic bookshelves in our Brain-chips.


Our history was archived in quantum brain libraries (a library on a matchbook chip you must have brain-embedded; Only Government approved Q-knowledge was allowed, and reading was not just considered tiresome it was verboten). There were no more individual writers, books were all imagined by robots called Babelboys ʬ. Things had come a long way from now-a-days, sometimes in fits and starts and bugs, and sometimes simply by a Government Administrative demand-order. ʬ

Winner-Loser, happy-sad, and there was good and great and just Ok… but everything changed faster than an Alvin Toffler best seller over “the next big thing”. No one was shocked or elated anymore at what the next big thing promised. There was little time to consider it.

And why not? We all knew it was progress, right? We bought in to embracing change way back in the 1980’s, right before the “SH*T Hit The Fan” as (coined by the underground resistance) we now commonly referred to THOSE happy TIMES.

Or, did we REALLY still think of it all as progress? We dare not say, whatever our views. It seemed that humans had become second class citizens, and by their own hand… while everyone slept comfortably and hoped it would turn out for the best… to most it was beginning to look like it hadn’t. And then the unthinkable happened…

The IntelligenceM ʬ (a computer-driven public police/monitor division of World Gov) was beginning to make some decisions that were rumored to have ZERO human input. Not even writing the code. Rumors were that we (humans) had been locked out of certain parts to the kernel of the code. Software engineers were gathered up and quarantined or destroyed in a series of accidental meltdowns of top-secret installations. The IntelligenceM ʬ  denied responsibility, but WIKIDleaks told a different story.satellitte

Some rebelled but were brought down instantly by deactivation of their life-chip from SurveillanceCStation RobotwatchRSatellittes ʬ. The world was SUDDENLY different before anyone knew what had happened, and Homo-Sapien’s long reign as King of the Jungle quietly came to tragic end with a whimper, not a bang.

We did what we were told or faced severe consequences. The powerful consortium who owned it all went into hiding until soon detected by World Gov ʬ ,caught, put on trial, adjudicated guilty by death, and divested of their holdings. Incredibly but predictably, people around the world cheered their demise and watched in jubilation as they were vaporized live on Gov.MediaTV.

But before long the Human race had disappeared into the immensity…

The point? It’s a Darwinian world and those are the only rules that remain constant. Adapt and maybe survive. But nothing lasts forever.

But for now, read a good book or grab your NookBook and enjoy…

Who knows… In the end, as History is sometimes jaundiced, there may not even be a chapter on Human-kind.


Top Floor


clean polished desk

no pending issues

too untidy here

starched shirts, perfect hems

shiny shoes

dresses almost shaking I’m sorry

manicured pedicures

the rule not exception

neatly combed coiffs

tacit smiles, as real as their

intended pretense belies them

firm handshake

pleasant greetings

quiet nods of resolution


sweet lovely pink breezes

wafting up

from the indoor garden

thoughtfully placed

to hide the ugliness

behind them.

No Method, No Guru, No Teacher…my Epiphany

…Or, my Quest For The Holy Grail, which I eventually did find by spending a life of studious observation, sometimes deep serendipitous thought, gawdy mis-informed and unabashedly arrogant fun, a dash of inordinate happenstance, and then… by the most fortunately-unfortunate of Accidents…

It’s no secret to those who know me well that I’ve learned life’s greatest lessons with a kind of “ridiculous oppositional defiance”; with that line of thinking having been one of my life’s greatest teachers. Though I now bow to it as my master of destiny, I cannot recommend this course of study to the faint of heart, weak of mind, or anyone who CANNOT become completely convicted of it’s arrogant, self-righteous path of expectorating the most resistance between any two points in the continuum.

In other words, if you have to be brought to your knees and dragged kicking and screaming before some of life’s simplest concepts, then… you may be considered a candidate for my school of thought. Admittedly, there ought to be a better means to attaining wisdom. But as has been for me; NOT.


Self indulgent… yes. Self centered… definitely. Self defeating… mostly. Self aware… acutely. Self serving… without question. Selfish… morally bound by it, yet in a positive sense. Self-hatred… never and not even for an instant. Self-Actualized… I like to think so. Self motivated… once upon a time…

“WTF? Whoa… what happened Diggeratti? Why? I mean… your Dudeness, you kinda sound to me like you need to see a shrink. You don’t sound like the guy I once thought I knew.”

My retort?

“You know what? You’re absolutely right. I mean, about that last part, but if there’s one thing I DO KNOW FOR CERTAIN, IT’S THAT I DO NOT NEED A SHRINK. Got it?”

For all of my known life I’ve searched for “the secret” to it… (that being, the secret of life).

I have never divulged this story to anyone in it’s entirety, though perhaps I’ve shared small morsels to some close friends along the way; but only here and there and never enough for anyone to frame a complete picture of my personal Quest for that Holiest of Grails.

I can remember my fourth grade teacher calling my parents to request a parent-teacher conference because I was “the most argumentative boy she had ever had the displeasure of teaching.” She reasoned that I thought I knew more than she did, and that would just be the height of stupidity. Of course, she was right on all accounts.

Fourth graders HATE the idea of being told they’re wrong. And sometimes they are RIGHT, but they can’t say why.

But hey, did I let that stop me? “Uh-uhn. No sir, Not today Miss Smarty Pants. Not me. Nada. You can’t embarrass my little ole’ butt and expect to  get by with it.”

Fourth grade was a rough year for me.

Looking back, it was the year I framed the questions, and then demanded answers. Yet, no answers were forthcoming. But still I weathered on…

Having grown up on… let’s just say… not the bright side of the road (a lower middle class blue collar too many kids neighborhood), and being a tad small for my age group, I HAD to learn how to defend myself amongst the sea of bullies and general fuck-wads of Louisville’s South End, while keeping the blood flowing inside my nose.

I mastered the art of “holier than thou” with double-edged insult and crafty innuendo, tough guy talk (but not too tough as to result in fisticuffs), and then finally making friends with the biggest and toughest guys so as to keep the multitude of snapping sharks at bay. Still, I was not immune to an ill-advised attempt at busting some ass myself, which generally resulted in my own busted ass. Yet, I drunk it all in and I learned something new every day.

But not the reason for my existence.

Somehow god smiled on me around high school and I became a high school sports star (distance running), bringing glory and fame to my hood and school and earning exalted status amongst the good guys and neer-do-wells alike. Life, all of the sudden got a tad simpler for me.

I run. I win. They love. All good.

Now, I wasn’t an “A” student at any point in my young life, preferring to glide instead of propel. Though from my earliest days I can remember, too many times some school person informed my parents that it was a bit unusual that I did not make straight A’s given my way-above-the fray IQ. On standardized tests I invariably scored in the 98-99 percentile while dragging home C’s and B’s on my report cards.

My parents, who were more than all-too ready to indulge me in whatever it was I might happen to desire at any moment, were extremely smart uneducated folks. They used logic and reason (and pots and pans) to argue their many disagreements over the pettiest of issues. They were never bitten by the bug of glutinous consumerism, and were just happy enough to love their children immensely, while still not setting the bar too high for them; I assume to somehow insure our future dog-eat-dog worldly success. It worked.

The moral of that story has to do with familial LOVE in it’s most raw, unconditional sense.

So… anyway, I had devised my own little secret quest by around 7th grade. That not-so-small idea was: that I was going to find out for certain what our/my purpose was on this here little-ole spinning ball of dirt sitting way-too-far away from billions of way bigger balls as to be arrogantly considered of any significance by even the most unreasonable of minds in all of mice and men.

Having spent 10 years attending Catholic School I was absolutely certain that they (Roman Catholicism) were so full of shit that even a little fourth grader couldn’t buy into their baloney ass stories. I mean, by fourth grade I had already surmised that getting into heaven simply meant winning the genetic lottery. No god of any denomination could be that stupid, I figured.

My questions became arguments with seemingly (at the time) much smarter people early on, but I wasn’t about to shut up until they told me the truth. They never did. Nor did I ever STFU… and I realized far too soon to be considered healthy for any young mind that “they” (conventional wisdom) hadn’t the slightest fucking clue. To be sure, I wanted some REAL answers!

But, that little hate-show of mine disappeared once I became a high school sports star. I was too busy buying into the BIG LIE because it was fun, exciting, sexually conducive to my screaming testosterone, and material worldly attractive as a MO-FO to a guy who grew up thinking that a new pair of white high top Chuck Taylors was the ultimate gift in all of heaven-kind. Possibilities were becoming boundless and I was soaking in the poison and drinking it up like a lap dog with a new doggie bone.

Then came College. The Life. The Audacity! I had more fun than fourteen barrels of monkeys and forty-two barrels of single barrel malt Bourbon Whiskey, any Kentucky boy’s drink of choice and one-upmanship. And, it was the mid-seventies so pot was collegiately legal as well. It seemed that the world was here to become my personal oyster, and I had the munchies.

Or was it?

Post College. The BIG BUY-IN to THE BIG LIE. Now here’s where there are men, and there are boys on our puny little thin crust of oxygenated Garden of Once-Upon-A-Time Eden, soon-to-be Sodom and Gomorrah. (Why I do love me some Biblical quotation and/or reference!). Which one did I want to be? Take a guess. Go on, git’ you one. Oh, I’m all man… babeeey!

For sure, at this point in life’s roulette wheel of fortune one can either JOIN or NOT JOIN. Not Joining will surely NOT get you the keys to the best and finest of anything. Better to JOIN if you’re in the least enthralled with power, pussy, money, fame, highly limited material items, world travel, bad golf on the finest green lawned courses, or all other humanly delusions of grandeur. Boy, I liked ’em all. If there had been a Facebook Page for them I could prove it to you right now, and they just might wish to then, “like” me back.

But then, I digress…

Some folks who caught my flash thought/think they knew/know who I was/am. I played my part like a virtuoso for them all to see and marvel about. And, I might just add in a bit of total narcissistic self-immersion, I marveled at my damn-self a bit too. Deep down in me I felt a growl. Buried under my own self-image of worldly greatness there still lay that little unfinished business of a secret quest. But, it by then had had gathered much dust.

Truth be known, when I first learned of it, I denied its existence completely, blocked it from my intellect, refused its admittance into my panopoly of raging-life-parties. Yet, I somehow felt it was always standing just outside my door, peering in my windows day and night. But, it dared never knock at my door! Denial.

After all, I was by then a star of my own astronomical proportions. Call me space man. But, please call me so we can figure out what it is you can do for me, OK? And guess what? Me being all that I could possibly be, there was likely a shit load that I could do for you too. Mutual astronomical greatness we were! The vaunted “Win-Win” in the solar system cliché ridden parlance of the day.

Now, it can also be said that in most “core value” ways I have never changed one single iota, nor would I have ever considered it as worthy of my almighty damn-self to do so. After all I had eclipsed Mt. Olympus and now was considered by a small group of people (me, myself, and I) to be of the very essence of the gods.

Tru-dat. But alas, it was NOT to be.

I rumpled feathers every step of the way up the ladder of ascension to material worldliness and ironical self-absorption. If it reeked “the best” or “most expensive” I was all in. If they said “no”, I demanded “yes”. Good was no longer acceptable. For I was all about GREATNESS.

During those heady times the elusive answer which I did faithfully seek since childhood remained elusive, yet it began to slide uneasily to the forefront of my mind and studies, as I read hundreds of books containing both new and ancient wisdom from every perspective on every subject. (Crazy enough, I did all this  while driving many long hours almost every day in my profession for over 20 years).

I eventually came to the ultimate truth in an odd way; since not one book that I had read contained the answer (unless one considers “Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors” by Carl Sagan). That book stunned me to my core, and tied together various newer ideas in physics and philosophy. So then armed with Carl’s brainy wisdom, I eventually figured it all out for myself. But, still I wasn’t at all certain. It was just too simple.

Though it would be remiss of me not to mention that there had been a goddess driving my chariot during a near 20-year span of semi-marital bliss, it would also be imprudent and essentially wrong of me not to say that herein the first cracks began to show in my own majestic glorified godliness.

So… just when the gettin’ was gettin’ absolutely fabulous, the bottom sorta fell out. Plunge.

I had sunk to committing the most egregious crime most men seek out with an unworldly zestful appetite… adultery. Ungodly for sure. Un-Saintly, yes. Most un-Diggity, for certain.

On the surface infidelity may sound a bit trite to the accomplished reptile.

But here we had a man-god who had built his god-self-reputation out of all things pure unadulterated integrity. His own self-image was now rendered a literal a sham of the highest immoral degree. Having long since vanquished the various world religiosities as total and absolute frauds, I now had only to rely upon simple humanistic ethics.

Almost too sleazily human, I proffered.

Now un-deification of oneself requires a re-start of sorts, not to be confused with a do-over or a mulligan. Starting over from scratch. Ground fucking zero.

To further muddy my suddenly stormy world, I apparently was caught in the eye of a nasty hurri-karmic cyclical deluge of sorts. In fairly quick succession I weathered the deaths of my sweet (nonnie) grandmother, then my loving mother, and finally my always you-da-man dad. A personal tsunami of epic proportions. Fuck an el-Nino… this shit was bad. All wet and no place to hide.

And like a fine motor yacht that has been cut loose from its moors, I drifted out into a raging, foamy sea.

That world, the money-as-god-everything world from which I had laid the foundation for my existence, and then had built gold brick upon gold brick with my own golden sweat was nothing but a thinly veiled house of cards. It was THE BIG LIE.

The good news was that within these unfortunate events lay the definitive answer to my long sought after secret to my existence, which I immediately NOW understood all-too-well but all-too-late. I won’t say that I was elated, but I was way smarter and wiser than the fool I had left behind me.


That’s the secret. In the end your family is the most important reason for your living and being. Mine were now all dead, save my two “the real deal” better-than-me, wiser-older, childless sisters.

It seemed that almost every fool on the planet but me had known the simple secret, and all without knowing they knew it. It was just ALL TOO SIMPLE and all-too-humanistic.

But seriously, if one does consider science to be a revealing and enlightening subject, a cursory review of evolutionary history will belie my point over and over and over and over again. Read it and weep. Forget Deuteronomy. Learn the history of life.

Family. It’s what we live for, it’s what we die for, it’s what we strive for. Was I too little too late?

Suddenly, like some drunken riverboat gambler aimlessly pulling slots who haphazardly strikes THE BIG JACKPOT, I stumbled into an epiphanic episode of REAL TRUTH, that one which I had previously been loathe to avoid.

In fact, I was rather brought kicking and screaming into this ultimate reality bite (see above)… at almost fifty years of age; I was becoming a first time dad whether I liked it or not. At the time, I had rather not.

Oh my!

But then the very moment my newborn son was placed in my arms and our eyes connected I was forever lost then found by life’s highest order of it’s highest order of it’s highest order of all things sacred and TRUE and GOOD. Pure previously unfathomable, but now undeniable unconditional LOVE. I swooned. All of life’s past, present, and future shook me, rocked me to my very essence… oh my!

My purpose. My reason of reasons. Bang! Bow! Biff! Yeah! Oh yeah! YES. A primordial orgasm that gave its fiery commandments to me with my giddy consent… and like Moses I looked around for my tablet.  And lo’ Brother and Sister, I sayeth unto you; god-life hath honoredeth me with the highest joy ever beknownst unto all of mankind. The heavens were exalted!

My “family” secret. Solved.

Happy ending? I think so…

Who’s yO bama?

First, lemme’ go on record as saying, “I hate politicians.”

It’s one of the several reasons that I have boycotted the U.S. Presidential Election for 28 years now. Another is that as our Constitution is written, we shouldn’t really care about who becomes President since it limits the power of the Federal Government. Problem is, neither party has abided by our Constitution in decades. If you don’t believe me, perhaps a re-read of our 9th and 10th Amendments would be instructive. We, as wimpy Americans have given up our libertarian freedoms on a ghastly scale.

But mainly, I JUST can’t stand politicians, either in politics, the workplace, social groups, or anywhere. These frauds will never speak their real mind to your face, but will play you for the fool you are; if you happen to believe in them. And, I’ve been a sucker for entirely too long.

I like it straight up, face-to-face, mano’-e’-mano’. You got a problem? Let’s hear it, maybe I can help or agree or not. But you won’t hear any BS coming from me. If I have one with you, you can bet you will be reminded of it, gently first: then, not-so-much.

This year I’m getting out to vote. I’m motivated this time to vote against the vilest individual I can remember running for President, and yes, I do remember Richard Nixon.

Mitt Romney.

Now, I understand that many of my friends and associates will be voting for him tomorrow. I can only say that I expect that they are uninformed, and likely because they’ve been so busy chasing the dollar that there is not enough time to really explore the candidates and their respective backgrounds and beliefs. If that’s been the case, I’ll try to forgive you.

I won’t enumerate every factoid I know here for sake of brevity. I know folks tire of long diatribes. But, I will say that Mitt Romney made his fortune by bankrupting American companies and laying off their work force. By my count, over 10,000 workers strong. To be fair, some of those layoffs were due to his moving manufacturing overseas instead of keeping those jobs here in America. Which, by the way, how do you like your poison served?

He developed a financially successful strategy with Bain Capital (as CEO) which has been widely copied by others, those being known as Corporate raiders.

It involved buying a company, then borrowing huge sums against it’s arbitrary “market value” (sometimes tenfold its assets), then paying himself and other investors in his scheme ALL that money back in Dividends (he called it “getting back your bait” although sometimes it was the catch too), and then attempting to make a go of the business in question. Most times the crippling debt led to bankruptcy protection and firing ALL the employees. On just a few occasions the business survived and then thrived, which he would then sell at an enormous profit. A can’t lose proposition!

It’s akin to a golfer making a 15 on every hole, except for 3 or 4 where he made double eagles and birdies. Is he to be considered a good golfer?

While that does make him clever, it doesn’t qualify him to lead a Nation of Peoples intent on equality and freedom. To me, it makes him a scoundrel of the highest degree.

Of course, one might say, “I want my piece of that pie!” They surmise that if they put the apparently new “status symbol” a Romney yard sign out like so many in my neighborhood have, they will be a member of the club too? NOT.

To those wannabees I’ll only remind, “You are dreaming people… go find a real life.”

Another bug-a-boo I have with Mitt (and who names their kid Mitt? Sounds more like a pet’s name to me), is his devout Mormonism. Now, I understand about religious freedom and all, but here’s a guy who professes belief in a Religion that has been unquestionably certified as a hoax and a fraud. The cards are now all on the table for us all to read. And it is a normal deck of Hoyle’s playing cards, not some ancient hieroglyphic messages from God to a chosen set of government hating cult members in Ohio. It’s a proven fraud! Do you really want to hire a guy to lead you with such poor judgment in such weighty matters as this?

I’m not sermonizing on Religion here, that’s for another post. Sure, it can be said that I don’t believe in Obama’s professed religion either. But at least there I have no proof, only extreme suspicion. I promise to provide acute details for the morbidly curious later. Religion only matters when it makes you a complete fraud instead of a faithful follower of a yet unproven belief system.

And Romney, in order to win this race has stooped to switching his stance on almost every conceivable issue. I’d as soon go to IHOP if I want flap-jacks! In Mitt Romney, what you have is a slithering moron of epic proportions! Is that really what you’re after for your children’s future? Instinctively I can smell reptiles and they scare the hell out of me.

Since Obama has been vilified as the reason our national debt is so out of control, would it surprise you or anyone that under Obama America has had the LEAST amount of budget increases since Dwight D Eisenhower? Is that how you frame irresponsible, or is it better to call it uniformed drivel you didn’t learn by watching the Fox channel? Note I didn’t say the word “news”.

Another salient point I think, which you might consider a bit obtuse but I find edifying: High school. I don’t know about you but I’ve had the opportunity to re-acquaint myself with a few of my best friends from those glory days of yore. While their paths have rambled, their successes in life as variable as  the weekly winning lotto numbers, at heart these folks are just as I can remember them back in the day. When you read what Romney’s high school acquaintances thought of him and his high school demeanor, you invariably hear that he was considered “a jerk”, “a bully”, and one who felt the rules didn’t include his vaunted status. Now seriously, do you really believe that all his financial success has humbled him?

I could go on and on here but I won’t. My case is clear. I hate liars. Liars come in degrees. Mitt… It’s getting too fucking hot in here… out.


Liars, Lizards, and Snakes…Oh My!

If anyone has noticed other than me, I haven’t posted much lately (save for one or two Eureka moments when I knew if I was gonna’ say something, I’d better say it then or consider it lost to into the immensity).

My“Ode To Kansas” was particularly inspired though it seemed I was the only one who thought it so. Someday, when my posthumous memoirs are published, I’m sure it will win quite a following in Kentucky and I will be vindicated.

What I’ve been up to lately I think says more about who I am than almost anything else I can place my hands on (which in my poverty is becoming less and less). Though my (as in most of us) childhood dreams always had me as the Hero and some other entity playing the villain, my adult life has seemed to revolve more around that theme than did those formative years. I (call me crazy) tend to take on projects that involve “taking down a big man/woman”, whom I view as a blight on our society and our culture since he/she gained their lofty position through not playing by the same rules as us mere mortals.

As you might expect, those in my viewfinder can be extremely adept at smoke and mirrors, dodge-ball, CYA, and a host of other scent manipulating tricks making my job as HERO an extremely frustrating, time-consuming proposition. Yet, time is on my side, or so it now is beginning to feel. Three years ago I wouldn’t have bet even money I’d be around to write this missive.

But even so, the last three-four weeks have been excruciatingly painful to me and those near to me. No less than 3-4 times have I stayed up all night and day putting together my latest take-down, one that if I succeed in will be one of the most satisfying victories in my 57 year timetable as boy/man/hero.

Actually, I’ve had two of these take-downs in progress simultaneously. The other is also finished (for now) and by all indications seems just as formidable as does the first. Needless to say, I am now in a state of quiet satisfaction. But in both cases, the Fat Lady Has Yet To Sing.

Many “jailhouse lawyers” have found themselves being similarly inspired by their own selves after finding their backs against the wall with no one else to “look out for them”. This keen, “I’m in a corner and there’s a thong of thugs ready to work out on me” (fight without the flight option) does well to inspire many an animal that wishes to continue breathing free air. Most of us wake-up, realizing a bad dream.

But I was not dreaming and I knew it. And though the last 3-4 weeks were brutal mentally, physically, and equally tough on my family, I had to do what I had to do. Albeit, there was no financial gain for us to be realized. Thank god (that’s another post) for all their love and support. Love is such a beautiful thing.

At about age 21 I learned to love reading likely because I moved to a town with no other acquaintances (after college graduation). I parlayed that with a speed reading course and taught myself to read while I was driving (kids: don’t try this at home) since I was on the road from sun up to sun down. Needless to say it became an unhealthy/healthy addiction of which I survived 27 years. I can’t count the missed exits! In those days I could not drive to the Quick-Mart without a book in my hands. Now, Nooks make it less dangerous (kidding!).

Those many thousands of books (of which I can remember few of their Titles) have served me well as I gracefully grey into cultural oblivion. (I know a hell of a lot about something, but what it is I can’t really say). My scope is wide, the big picture quite clear, yet some details are lacking.

But when I see it and feel it, I DO know it.

I saw it. I felt it. I knew it, and I couldn’t stop until he was, and then she was out of business. Since the outcome is uncertain, I do hope the past 3-4 weeks weren’t all in vein. I’ll know in a few weeks. I mean, I got the goods!

If it has been for naught, then our world is much sicker than even I suspected. And, to this would be self-styled hero out to save the world from its tyrants and thieves if only in this limited space, it is quite sick. I see it. I feel it. And…

Editors note: it is mid-2019, the above piece was written a few years earlier. As for now, both of these frauds are out of business. But the victory was hollow. Both “takedowns” failed to ignite, leaving the spectators wanting for more. Perhaps there is some solace in the possibility that I these frauds were identified early enough that there were “eyes on” and they were later taken down as a result of my vigilance. But, more likely… frauds will be frauds, and some later more publicly infuriating spectacle, or their own stupidity did them in. This writer though, was not wrong. He absolutely nailed it in the last paragraph where he states: “… then our world is much sicker than even I suspected”. Chew on that awhile…

A Saint looks at 60…

Daylight erupts slowly through her curtained bedroom sliding glass doors today. Sandy’s (the Hurricane) early morning cloud casts its doubt about the day’s normal clear South Florida’s October sunshine; tiny slivers of light blink brightly across the canal’s warm waters as it’s rays reflect off the stainless steel of bobbing boats moored in their private slips.


Like a hard-drive spinning up to speed, her brain engages as quickly and surely as it has almost every morning for as long as she can remember. Chores to be done, obligations, and other activities spring optimistically forward; blending together as she momentarily but happily reviews her plans for the day. (While some of us require a Sludge-hammer to switch us on – that portion of coffee beans and water at the bottom of a coffee pot).

There are clothes to wash, summer clothes to pack up, a lingering promise to her husband to help him type and organize his over-sized computer song list (15,000 songs), Pilates class, prescriptions to fill, lunch and dinner to prepare (neighbors hinted that they might “drop by” so there are groceries to acquire just-in-case), and of course her one self-centered fulfillment; she promised herself a long hot bath using the new bath beads she had received as a gift from one of her many female friends. She had read about these particular bath beads and was anxious to give them a try… yet this was her first opportunity since she had received them back in July.

After all, she surmised…it was her 60th birthday today!

So goes the life of one who constantly, incessantly, unfailingly gives. She gives today like she gave yesterday and all of the other 219,300 days before. Yet her giving is natural and heartfelt, never begrudgingly. My sister Sylvia (much like our sister Kathy) is a GIVER, and very rarely if ever a taker. Perhaps her giving began as a counterweight to her only brother’s taking. Maybe my sisters gave and gave to simply balance my take and take when we were very small?

Whatever her reason, I sense that it is honest, sincere. She has never changed in that sense. Anyone who has ever had chance to encounter her I’m certain has benefited from this woman’s desire to give to those she loves and is positively acquainted with.

Sylvia has also benefited from a favorable genetic arrangement of her physical features. Since I can first remember, men (or boys) have practically swooned at her physical presence. My other older sister and I were not so fortunate. While we struggled through our lives to remain attractive, Sylvia non-chalantly  “sauntered” through her existence with drop-dead looks. She was always “the Cat’s meow”.

And today, at 60 without too much trying… the woman still turns heads with her looks. But to me, its what’s inside her that really carries the mail.

Rightfully she is happy, and she is loved by many, admired by many more I’m sure. And, to this lucky brother she is practically worshipped… though she would deny it and hasn’t the slightest clue.

So, to my Wonderful Sister Sylvia, one whom I LOVE and admire more than she can ever know…

Happy 60th Birthday!

Your brother T


Thoughts on the individual.

A poem.
When you get what you want in your struggle for self
And the world makes you king for a day
Just go to the mirror and look at yourself
And see what that man has to say.

For it isn’t your father, or mother, or wife
Whose judgment upon you must pass
The fellow whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the one staring back from the glass.

He’s the fellow to please – never mind all the rest
For he’s with you, clear to the end
And you’ve passed your most difficult, dangerous test
If the man in the glass is your friend.

You may fool the whole world down the pathway of years
And get pats on the back as you pass
But your final reward will be heartache and tears
If you’ve cheated the man in the glass.

Peter Dale Wimbrow Sr.

More Food for Thought…

  • it’s never a good idea to serve shrimp at a midget convention.
  • nor should you ever take fruitcake to a psychiatric ward.
  • never serve narcissism at a hot dog eating contest.
  • let self-pity stew.
  • try to keep tension from boiling over.
  • never fan the flames when grilling with prejudice.
  • pepper insight with wisdom, and spice up racy compliments with good taste.
  • too much fat n’ happy can cause your guests indigestion and could smell up an otherwise perfectly sweet affair.
  • always serve hemlock as an after dinner cocktail (or you will kill the fun before it starts), and ONLY at private functions using great discrimination, usually as a reward for any deed that as of yet a “THANK YOU” will never suffice…
  • toast banal on both sides to give it some “crunchiness”/ uncommon wit adds flavor, and can be considered gravy.
  • buffoonish clumsiness makes a great jerky.

My Culinary Advice for fine dining…

Of course, we’ve all heard the saying, “always serve revenge cold.” Well, I decided to add a few tasty culinary sayings to that time-tested advice… Chow!

• Serve platonic love at moderate temperatures and in large helpings.
• Serve undying love steaming Hot, and always as the main course.
• In either case, admiration is a nice apertivo before having raw sex for dessert.
• Most men won’t eat quiche, but they all hate the taste of touche’.
• Success is too pungent when served with arrogance, but you can always use grace as a palette cleanser.
• Better, you can serve grace between each course; it will squelch the nasty aftertaste of envy.
• Never serve God at civic ceremonies, unless it is served as “mammon”.
• Diversity makes for a lively salad, but cold stereotypes will kill the rich flavors that delight without discriminating.
• Thoughtful advice should always be tenderized.
• Deep fry pomposity before lambasting.
• Hautiness always goes in the Crock-Pot.
• Excellence makes for the perfect gravy, but be sure not to lay it on too thick.
• You must grill suspicion, but hold the barbequing until you’re certain it’s edible.
• Marinate meathead until its soft and mushy; to be sure to lighten any bitter taste of testosterone.
• Serve chocolate Beefcake at gay birthday parties, or ladies night out coffee shop gatherings.
• Women like tubesteak served between two fresh buns.
• Never eat at the Y during a full moon cycle.

• Boiling and searing meanness only makes it harder to swallow.
• A good roast should always be dashed with wit, sarcasm, and biting humor.
• Deep freeze bigotry and never let it thaw.

and, cooking the books may look good, but it can be poisonous when left uncovered too long, and should never be served to loyal investors who only wanted a small taste of the proverbial pie.

I love me some Demarcus Cousins!

I recently wrote a piece when DC was drafted, about how “lucky” The Kings were to land such a gifted, yet unrealized potential in one Demarcus Cousins. I posited that they were treating him like an indentured slave on their team, in their press, in their whiny-ass homes. I mean, I can read.

My post was met with derision, ridicule, hatred, and venom since I was apparently not one of the in-the-knows about all things Sactown. Even later, as the dice had spun and landed squarely on the Yo, few (none) of Sactown’s readers were apt to acknowledge that it was not me; it was they who had been wrong about the Big ole Boogie Man.

The Titanic took on water, but the man played on… Demarcus Cousins: Raw yes, unrefined for sure… but with a body and a basketball awareness that eventually only Dwight Howard will match. Yet, DC is arguably better than Dwight because he can run and pass, dribble and shoot, and forget it…rebound like a man possessed. Oh, and Dwight, yes he can and will DUNK at the slightest notion. Face.

He has used his supposed immaturity in such a mature manner. He proved to his detractors that it is they who are wrong and will continue to be wrong about his CHARACTER. The young man is NO THUG. He is as home-spun as the Alabama roots from which he came.

He is an All-Star anywhere but in the politicized public relations arena known as the NBA chatter-box. He doesn’t fit their Shane Battier mold. I’ve met Shane, and yeah he’s nice kid too. But, I like me some Demarcus Cousins. Think it… say it. Don’t pause, post. Sacramento? A smog-fest side show wih a Napolean complex.

Yet, they make the same money for playing the game of NBA basketball. Battier, a nice compliment to most any team is from Duke, that almighty drunk-fest in North Carolina. But Demarcus Cousins he is not! Some whiny poster lambasted me for posting “Demarcus…GTF out of Sactown” He reasoned DC is on a Rookie salary cap.

WTF? Are you serious little boy? You think I don’t understand that, you obvious retard? Sacramento is over the salary cap, BTW. The rules change bimbo! DC needs to ask, NO… DEMAND a trade to a town that not only understands the game, but understands what card they are holding with the ACE OF SPADES in Demarcus Cousins. Where the N word has been abolished.

After three well thought out, intelligently written posts on Sacramento’s little puny web-blog site, and being villified in much the same manner as they treat their real star player, I fired back with some witty observations about their fanbase that was less than kind. I was banned from the site. OH MY! Their Editor, showing his lack of understanding in all things Journalism, refused to explain the ban to me (as if I gave a rat fu*k). He just said we don’t need any assholes in our little “community”.

My response?

“Well….I didn’t call anybody an asshole, YOU ASSHOLE!”

Demarcus is his own man, and being that is not bound by the straightjacket imposed by the marketing genius/idiots currently employed by the league. I wonder, are there any free-thinkers left in Sacramento?
DC makes 9 times less than Kobe Bryant, 6 times less than Zack Randolph, 3 times less than Emika Okafor, just to name a scant few. My GOD, he makes almost 7 times less than a player in Orlando that does not start! So, if that’s gonna be the case, why not play where bigotry is not the order of the day?

If the Kings are smart, and only god knows why that should that change anytime soon… they will begin to show some love for the man who can bring them home a ring in the not-so-distant future, and show him the appreciation he only wants and loves, and needs from the rest of humanity’s ill-advised, headline only reading public.

Cousins isn’t the problem, he’s the solution. Give him some LOVE soon or Sactown basketball will be like Sacramento after the California Gold Rush. Empty and without future prospects.



I know, I know, rhyming poetry is lame, Couldn’t help it…

I’ve felt the fire and walked long in the rain

Heard the loudest thunder, and I’ve seen insane.

Been to the mountain and back down again

Run up the steepest hills that seemed to have no end

But then coasted down ‘em my back to the the wind.

I know the deepest love, and I know the highest pain

I’ve been the best and I’ve been the bane.

Shared my honey while on the gravy train

Been beat by many and I’ve beat the same

Lost with odds in my favor an’ sometimes won the game.

I’ve said here I stand and I’ve said I will change

Almost around the world and home again.

I’ve thought I was wise and I’ve known I was lame

Looked out my window across a wild free range

Then caught in traps, like so much trappers game.

My lessons learned are my lessons plain

Black is white, white shines through his name

What it is I couldn’t say

But you can stand on the sidelines or you can play

Just kiss each new moment, and hug tight to each new day.


Sometimes I even imagine it can be me:


Most who know me well know that I have a penchant for some unique, self-styled “poison pen letters”. It’s just that sometimes I feel that some ugly things NEED to be said in order for me to maintain my own Howard Roark image (see Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead) of myself… a true individual who will not trample on anyone, unless they trample on me. A man who knows who he is and who he is not and not afraid to stand up and be heard.

But, the real me, I also want to think is like the man in a poem that every SAE fraternity brother learns to recite during initiation.  Of course, its only my thinking but not always my being this perfect man.

It’s not a secret, so I’d like to share it here. I cannot count the times these words have inspired me into some actionable cause for righteous good. Each sentence, every word is beautiful, precise, and altogether on-point.

Sometimes I even imagine it can be me:

The True Gentleman


“The True Gentleman is a man whose conduct proceeds from good will and an acute sense of propriety, whose self control is equal to all emergencies; who

does not make the poor man conscious of his poverty, the obscure man of his obscurity, or any man of his inferiority or deformity; who is himself humbled if

necessity compels him to humble another; who does not flatter wealth, cringe before power, or boast of his own possessions or achievements; who speaks with

frankness but always with sincerity and sympathy; whose deed follows his word; who thinks of the rights and feelings of others rather than his own; and who appears

well in any company, a man with whom honor is sacred and virtue safe.”

– John Walter Wayland. Virginia, 1899

First self-actuate: Then Think before You pause before You Post

I’ve recently become aware of certain Corporations or Corporation that Advise folks to “Pause before you Post”. Sober advice it would seem on the face of it, since some recent Facebook and other Social networking sites have come under fire due to posts of harassment, vindictiveness, and violent undertones being made by posters to others on their sites.

But I’m led to wonder if there isn’t a more clandestine message being communicated here, and not necessarily to kids on Social networking sites. Is it, could it be a veiled threat to their own employees and contractors? I say this not a far-fetched idea from some critical over-thinking; and I’m not some disgruntled ex-employee simply trying to find an angle to embarrass some Corporate machine.

I say it from my own observation of real life situations, my own gut feeling, and real life experiences.

It seems that despite the over modulated mantra of “embracing change”, many highly profitable companies, while out-of-date with times and technology, are embracing subtle but effective strategies in attempts to stay relevant without going through the necessary pain of re-tooling, re-inventing, and re-making themselves. The gravy train has gone on for so long they resist the inevitable by using cute slogans as band aids, lying not only to themselves, but to their employees and loyal but disillusioned customers.

When those on the front lines (particularly their Salesforce and customers) communicate upward what’s going on in the “real” world, Ivory towers are feeling added pressure to come up with ideas that (don’t) answer or provide solutions to the “real” issues. They tire of hearing the “real” truth, which improving on is either too expensive or too radical for a quick fix. They already know the real truth… that the Titanic has struck an iceberg and is taking on water fast.


 Their job has become to keep the band playing as long as they can.

“Pause before Posting” might just be another way to say, “Don’t bitch to us anymore. We don’t want to hear it. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

And those unlucky but honest souls who do not heed this warning are reminded to STFU, else they and their familes may be on unemployment sooner, than if hoping to get on a lifeboat in those dark icy waters of an uncertain future.

This strategy is not new. It keeps many lost souls in line much longer, much like the Roman Catholic Church once did after the disintegration of the Roman Empire. Remember those days? Some call them the Dark Ages.

So, what should one do? It’s been my experience as a self-actualized individual (but not necessarily good fortune) to “Think before I Pause before I Post”.

This means being honest and forthright, straightforward, with an acute sense of propriety which needs no pause, which flows forth in a post that sometimes offends those who most need offending.

Unfortunately, those same people are sometimes the fat slobs who have back stabbed and back patted their way to the top, and get riled when their lazy unconcern for the rest of the people who work hard at their business question their decisions. Fat slobs can be powerful foes.

It’s a double edged sword, no doubt. But, for me… I’d rather like who I see in the mirror despite the negative notch that will inevitably be scratched before my name; when I post before I pause. I feel good being blatantly honest when I’m sure about my convictions, and when they proceed from honest analysis.

Perhaps I’m self-actualized enough not to care about the possibilities financial devastation of getting fired can bring. Maybe Im just being irresponsible to my family, whom I know will suffer my consequences.

But, I know who I am and always will be. I’ve always had a sneaky feeling that some people know that I know who they are too, and it scares them. Some of them are fat slobs.

I’m not afraid.

I say to you: Post what you actually believe is true and will benefit the Corporation or others by recognizing that truth is sacred. Remember, everyone has their own agenda and try to recognize such. If they don’t like what you have to say, allow them post you back saying as much and perhaps providing additional insight. Don’t pause… post.

Timing may be of the essence. Never be intimidated by a simple slogan that subtley hints that your complaints aren’t acceptable. You are likely to be more right than wrong when you Post with conviction, not pause.

“Pause before you Post”? A Trojan horse or wise admonition wearing a pretty dress? Make your own call… but my money is on the former, and I don’t just think it, I feel it in my bones. I’m pretty sure I know how it works.


Woke up one morning after an ill-conceived fatty
Now instead of being his Father, they called me his baby-daddy.
And If life is like golf, they might as well called me her caddie.

She had the queen, I just held the jack
I played the joker and she played her rack.
AND, thats how the light gets in; it finds a SMALL crack.

As I was stiffin her, she was stiffin me
But when I first saw his face, it turned to… an Epiphany.
A whole life I’D spent…searching for my role, then I suddenly looked down… I was standing on the goal.

She got dealt some bad cards, QUICKLY folded her hand and left the table
But I kept the prize, and she’s now JUST a fable
Now I’m a seven year-old’s Daddy, and there’s no LOVE more willing or ABLE.

So here’s to being a Father,
All it took was a screw
I like it so much… NOW I’m a Daddy for two.


Tru Dat

If you define truth as reality, then Mr. Einstein showed us that Truth is always a matter of perspective at a specific point in time.

In other words what is true is not the same thing from every perspective or at every moment. I think that we many times confuse truth with being the opposite of false but the opposite of truth is ‘not true’ (there are subtle but meaningful differences).

To say that something is red is simplifying the fact that most of us see colors in very similar ways, so for convenience sake it makes sense to agree on things like this. But truth is sacred. As such it cannot be trivialized. Yet we must all understand that truth is fleeting at best.

One cannot change truth, because it’s happening at the now and later its, well, too late. We can visualize it, but we should always remember that it is only a recollection (a cheap knock off) of the truth, not the exact  truth. And that is simply our recollection of the truth at a specific point in time from a specific perch.

It cannot be re-enacted truthfully due to time moving on. If we effort to understand how truth can be (is) different for everyone and all things, we are on our way to finding peace… enlightenment and wisdom.

Tru dat.             -Mostdiggitty

“What Will Come and What May”

-Written for a Special friend and mother (Stefanie) of a beautiful two year old (Jayden) on Mothers Day 2008.

They had spent the last week or two living with us due to an ex-boyfriend gone mad, and the changing dynamics had left an indelible mark on all our psyches. Our parenting styles were vastly different and we were both frustrated and confused…not to mention how the arrangement affected our TWO beautiful reasons to live, OUR SONS Jayden and Dylan.

While they went to Cocoa to enjoy the beach, and Dylan (my son) went to his grandma’s house for Mother’s Day, i had a few moments, (finally) alone to relax, reflect  and write this sing-songy poem…

You say i know nothing and nothing i might.

But to jump on conclusions would be a dark ride at night,

With scars healed by daylight and bones who’ve felt  bite

I must take you and your screaming to the woodshed of light

There once lived a young maiden, in a land far away

Spent 20 years of bailing yet making no hay

Her mind was confused keeping demons at bay.

THOUGH she was sharp, strong and able, somehow that didn’t pay,

She was searching for answers, but figured “what will come and what may”

Meanwhile, back at the office of crisis and crowd

The vortex had summoned my life SO clear and SO loud.

I was forced to eat porrage of love and deceit,

Then i woke up in heaven, and whom did i greet?

A line of old men who all looked like my dad

Their clothes matched each other’s, not yellow or red,

They were the color of ‘old wisdom’, they were gray flannel dead.

I was happy to see them, i think they were me, (i thought they were me?)

But then i was certain when they all stood to pee

My limelight soon over, their focus turned off of me,

Just behind my left shoulder sat (my son) in our Tree.

The branches were spindly, they all shook when he smiled,

My love was enormous but our chances looked vile.

I figured…  no need to worry, ”what will come and what may”

Then I watched  you with (Jayden), at Cocoa Beach… yesterday?

I grabbed my son Dylan, ran and waved while  I held back my tears

My dads all said goodbye, but  that I might not see them  see them for years

Between the dead and the living, it’s only us with the fears

But  I felt  this profound implication in loving our peers.

When I saw you again, I was no longer mad nor was I sad

I knew that our friendship was too important to let it go like some fad.

Your lovely smile lit my soul and I was thrilled you came my way

It was the day our lives intersected at the corner of  ”what will come and what may”


Introducing the babyDaddy Safety Seat


No way a child can climb out or fall out of the seat which is securely fastened to your bike.

What is it?

Simply put, its a motorcycle passenger seat designed for riders aged 12 months – 48 months with their safety and comfort in mind, without taking any of the driver’s attention away from normal road conditions and traffic.

 Why ride children on motorcycles at all? Isn’t it dangerous?

Of course, motorcycle riding can be dangerous with or without using proper safety measures; and sometimes by events that are beyond the driver’s control. Yet, despite the obvious safety hazards, motorcycling is a hobby safely enjoyed by millions of people worldwide today.  Small children are typically not able to remain safely seated as passengers on most motorcycles, therefore they should not ride under those conditions. The choice of whether to allow a child to ride falls to the child’s parent or responsible guardian, who should take responsible precautions to insure the child’s safety. The babyDaddy safety seat is designed with small children in mind, so that they cannot fall from the motorcycle, or hinder the driver during normal motorcycle operation.

There’s nothing like it anywhere and yet the demand is overwhelming.babydaddy

 Is it legal?

Each US State has its own safety regulations with regards to the operation and safe riding of motorcycles. After a thorough investigationof each State’s unique laws and regulations, it is apparent that our seat is legal in all 50 US States and Territories.

Which bikes are best suited for use of this apparatus?

The babyDaddy safety seat has been designed to adjust and fit to most manufacturer’s regular motorcycle’s passenger seat, where it can be safely mounted and fastened to disallow any movement in the seat during normal motorcycle operation. Also, the seat is designed to adjust to each child’s leg length and seat capacity, further insuring a comfortable and safe ride with a responsible driver. Reinforced steel underpinnings make the seat stronger than the motorcycle it is attached to, while steel cross guards insure that a child cannot climb out of the seat without assistance.

My original seat was tested almost daily  with a child who grew from six months to almost five years of age, always utilizing the same seat. During that time there were zero accidents, as most car drivers took extra precaution when they noticed a child aboard my 1995 Heritage Softail, and I am an especially safe driver myself.

 What do others think of the device?

 Over that four year period, hundreds if not thousands of people saw and approved of the seat by their positve comments everywhere we traveled (I did not want to travel long distances with my son… the longest trip was about 50 miles each way.). People young and old realized how safe and happy we were as traveling partners, and enthusiastically endorsed my decision to create a way for my young son to bond even closer to his single parent; In this case his dad. In four years I never heard one negative comment about riding with my child.

 At least 20-30 people stopped me to ask where they might be able to buy one, or if I might make one for them personally (which I always declined). I was stopped at traffic lights, in restuarants, and at ball games by individuals who wanted to acquire a seat for riding their own child. The demand is high for providing  a safe way to ride small children on their parent’s motorcycle.

 A personal message from the Inventor/Designer:

At 49 and childless, I had long since decided against parenthood. To me at the time, children were loud, unruly, and would be disruptive of the peaceful life I had lived, and planned to continue to live in that vein. One careless afternoon with an ex-girlfriend changed that plan and my life inexoribly and forever, when I found out that she was pregnant with my child and had every intention of making me a first time Father.

Some things in life we cannot change, so I decided to take full and total responsibility, and buy into this new chapter about to begin in my life. I figured that if I was going to be a dad, I was going to be a great dad and have my son 50% of the time legally allowed to parents in Florida who are not living together.

 In my past life I had been a motorcycle enthusiast to that same fervant degree.

Every summer for 20 straight years I had taken at least a one month motorcycle trip to somewhere. I had traveled in 15 countries and across this country more than once,  throughout some States 10-20 times, always enjoying the freedom and pleasure of motorcycling. I rode almost every day after moving to Florida in 2003, and nothing was going to stop me from continuing my love for riding.

 Yet, on January 30, 2005 I found that there is a greater LOVE than motorcycling, when my new baby son, Dylan was born. Call it a Peak Experience, an epiphany, or a paradigm shift in my thinking and being… or call it unconditional LOVE. All the sudden life was no longer meaningful or enjoyable without my best friend Dylan at my side.

 Unfortunately, a tragic accident in October 2006 took the life of Dylan’s mother, and I was left to raise him alone. I had already designed a number of useful things from from scraps of junk metal and other materials in my spare time. Now I NEEDED to design something special; for me it would be for the most precious cargo on the planet.


The babyDaddy safety seat

 My point in this is that contrary to any naysayer or negative thinker, this seat was built from LOVE, with LOVE. People can second guess what they might or might not have done in my situation, but the truth is my reality can only be observed from my unique perspective. No one else has a valid perspective.  As a long time follower of AYN RAND and the philosophy of objectivity, I’ve made it my business not to interfere in other people’s lives, while I demand they show me the same respect.

The truth is that a baby seat for your child is only appropriate or NOT coming from your own viewpoint. If your son or daughter is anything like my seven year old Dylan, they will thank you for allowing them so many special times spent with you. Dylan and I have the greatest bond between any child and father possible. I know this for sure: The one thing that made that possible was having The babyDaddy safety seat.

 Safe Riding!

-thom adams


2337 worthington rd

maitland, florida 32751


check me out on


Why Kentucky is better than UNC again in 2011-12

While it’s typically bad form to pronounce one’s favorite team as being better than a team in which the consensus crowd has already crowned “the odds-on favorite to win it all” (a team that one irrationally exhuberent blogspert suggested could be UNC’S “best” ever), I also understand that so-called experts, most conventional wisdom, and especially the gasified pundits of each are almost always wrong.

That fact is based on a number of recent studies and books detailing such startling results.

And so, I have always thought to call it like I see it after taking in all the information available to me, despite a chorus of boos, nay-sayers, bombastic homer-screamers, and even the kind gentle  under-the-table nudge from friends, that say, “I understand how you might see it that way, but it’s better to take a wait and see.”

So, all homer-ism aside, and with honest almost-certainty, I believe Kentucky will be better than North Carolina again this year, and most particular by season’s end (in College Basketball of course).

TAKE SPECIAL NOTE that I am not so arrogant to say “Kentucky will beat UNC this year”. God only knows, but we all agree that the best TEAM does not always win it all (as my mind drifts to counting out Benjamins after the 1995 NCAA Cats vs.UNC loss).When these titans lock horns, both team’s fans KNOW that they are CAPABLE of winning, or losing it all (as my mind drifts to a bar in Hilton-Head, SC in 1984 counting out Benjamins after an unusual “lid over our basket” in the NCAA UK-Georgetown tilt).

But, here I am talking about which team is/will be better this year.

Just for fun, pretend you’re the Captain in a pickup game vs. Roy Williams, with all of the 2011-12 Carolina and Kentucky rosters standing, waiting to be chosen for some 5-on-5.

Roy picks first: Harrison Barnes, and you counter with Anthony Davis. Roy grabs Tyler Zeller so you give a nod to Terence Jones. OK, Ole’ Roy quickly says he’ll take John Henson…

Hmmm… but with some hesitation you decide on Michael-Gilcrest next, leaving Darius Miller and Doron Lamb on the table with Teague and Wiltjer, along with Marshal and, uh…Strickland, Mcadoo, Bullock and P.J.Hairston.

Who does Roy take next? In my mind he has to take either Miller or Lamb, as they appear to be the two best players left on the table. He tabs Lamb and you gladly grab Darius, leaving Marshal for Roy and you “stuck” with Marquis Teague. Stuck with Marquis Teague? Wow, what a game huh?

Well, the point is that when it comes down to it, Kentucky is holding the edge in talent, at least through the first five or six players, wouldn’t you agree?

CAVEAT: Blindly patriotic as many fans are, these choices would likely go differently with everyone in Chapel Hill. It’s ALSO at the crux of my argument.

In part ONE,

I mistakenly used statistics to prove that Kentucky was the better team last year as well. I mistakenly assumed “possession basketball” was WELL understood as simply: as long as you have the ball the other team cannot score, and you can. If you turn it over, you no longer have it. If you fail to get a rebound, you no longer have it. It’s ALL about offensive efficiency..

But then, AS we all know… liars figure, and figures lie.

What surprised me most was that even many Kentucky fans were unwilling to buy MY facts, laid out clearly before them, which argued/showed/proved with calm rationale that The Cats were better than the Heels during the last season, AND especially when it counted most: On the court in their final head-to-head game.

My reason was questioned, my arguments mangled, my integrity laid open to serious doubt.Astoundingly, I was also vehemently accused of over-gratuitous self-promotion by one writer whom I know to be an excellent writer himself, and whose mantle is surely safe and secure without an embarrassing lam-basting and undressing of my honest post.

Lemme’ jus’ say that I don’t write about Kentucky basketball to win any awards, or get free tickets, to keep an erection, or even for money or it’s ensuing imaginary PRESTIGE.

For me, the occasional atta-boy when warranted will suffice, yet my “feel good” piece garnered  a barrage of simple-minded questioning and unreasonable ridicule… the likes I haven’t heard since third grade. Ouch! And from BIG BLUE fans to boot! Oh my?

I simply love the Cats and I like to write. I don’t apologize, because I’m not too dumb for either of them. But, I love honest criticism, so it was right that I should not have touted my previous posts. But it wasn’t shameful. It was merely an effort to get some real feedback.

Okay… happily my ego is still WAY more than intact.

This is Part 2, who many readers begged for with seemingly veiled delight.

Perhaps here’s where you can gut me for my outlandish ideas. Why? For a large part my PART TWO reasons are not entirely based on undeniable empirical evidence, but something more insipid. Growing up as I did a gambler, I think I have acquired some knowledge/wisdom through observation-experience-feeling and gut.

Much of it was wrong.

But the numbers, the statistics, also point to Kentucky’s dominance again, in so far as they can be measured this early in the season. And always needless to say, the game is not played on paper.

Some reasons, while rooted in fact are harder to pin-down. I mean, why is it that sometimes late in the game we are happy/unhappy when a certain player is fouled? Especially when evidence would suggest that another would not be a better choice? Gut.


Where has anyone read or heard that UNC has finally figured out how to shoot the three? Couple that with an opponent that will guard the three better than you have yet seen at Kentucky, there will likely be some clanking on Franklin this year. Roy does not have a reliable 3 pt shooter in his arsenal, unless one of their vaunted Freshman steps up and takes over quickly. OH yeah, Roy Williams loathes to play Freshmen… The Heels do not shoot free throws very well either, as great FT shooting teams go. They better get lots of layups. Uncontested.


Simply put, our TWO best 3 pt. bombers are back in Lexington. Miller and Lamb (Move over Travis, Lamb may end up as best EVER at Kentucky) are on the all-time list. One year older, wiser, sharper, and more confident. Some other guys can step out and knock it down (Anthony Davis for one), and one did so last year for shits and giggles (Terrence Jones). They say the BIG FRESHMAN can really shoot the three, perhaps better than Lamb… and that it’s also hard to teach six foot ten… as in KYLE WILTJER. UNC has not shown it can stop a good 3 pt. shooting team.

Yet Kentucky is primarily a DEFENSIVE TEAM, mind you. One of the best last year, but quicker a foot this year. Calipari is known for his coaching tenacious defensive intensity. Free Throws are a question, though the guys we kept (Miller, Lamb) were two of our better free throw shooters last year and we shoot it way better than do the Heels. All said, we should shoot Free Throws tad higher percentage-wise this year. Big UK advantage.


Carolina is talented big and deep. Kentucky is talented big and deep. How deep must a team go? Ten guys can play at any given moment. True, UNC could field three strong starting lineups. Who cares? It might come in handy sometimes, but not when these two juggernauts meet. Both teams have long talented pine and enough firepower to interchange their parts. Toss-up with UNC a slight edge if Armageddon breaks out.


Last year Carolina held the advantage in the paint. This year, not so much, if any. Carolina loved to rebound and run. Kentucky will love to rebound and run too this year.We’re a tad quicker than Carolina’a front line as long as Zeller holds down the middle and Gilchrist is playing. No more advantage UNC. Advantage Even.


As in guard. Carolina has had some minor turnover issues but Avery Marshal ought to change that with a year under his belt. He can run, handle the ball, make the correct pass, and… blow the shot. With Marquis Teague, Kentucky will see it’s bigs more involved than ever, as he doesn’t love to shoot unless he’s finishing. But, he CAN shoot.He sees the court well much like Marshal, makes the right pass and finishes well on the break (better than Marshal). His test will be in the half-court D-D… can he run the offense without making unforced errors, over committed dribble-drives, or drill the shot when the defense steps back and begs him to fire? Watch his brother Jeff play and you’ll see how Marquis might progress…. he steadily progressed as a shooter and now he can knock down the shot, play fierce D and will stand toe-to-toe with any NBA Point Guard. By seasons end as a better shooter who sees the court as well and makes great decisions, Marquis will follow Jeff to the league. Even.


Harrison Barnes, no doubt SUPER, but can be erratic. Anthony Davis, for sure is not for sure but is definitely most likely. Mike-Gilchrist, is absolutely positively a player any coach would cherish. Doron Lamb will not be silenced. John Henson, a rebounding muppet show who has gained upper body strength and will be tough to control. Tyler Zeller, the Scarecrow or the Tin Man, but not the Wizard. Terrence Jones, early maturity, high yield, compound interest…bankable. UK holds a slight Super Star advantage.


Coaches. They deny but they lie. Roy Williams was for a long time the guy who couldn’t win the BIG ONE, but he didn’t care. He handled it well, but you know it hurt him to know he had to leave Kansas to finally get it done. Carolina was the FIT for Roy and he knew it. In his element, he got it done, though he claimed it didn’t enter his mind. Now, it’s as if those years didn’t exist. They pencil him in, they ink him in, they expect him to win it all again and again. Is he hungry like he was in 2003? I don’t think so. Listen to him speak. He knows his place is secure, he’s a Hall-of-Famer. He wants to win for his team, not the Carolina faithful. He is sad, but not destroyed when he loses, and he always loses with class. But hungry, he is not.

John Calipari didn’t shine Adoph Rupp’s shoes for 20 years waiting for his day to happen. He’s been making it happen every day for years, and with much longer odds than Roy ever knew existed. He doesn’t care about Championships he says, only his players success. I believe him, but only to a degree. The degree that he wants to win one so bad he can taste it.

Vindication is one step away, though he expects no matter what he does, the questions will follow him and sour it’s sweet taste. Calipari had a great mentor, safe to say, in Rick Pitino. He followed his every move, he perfected his moves. Most mentors eventually become resented by those who imitate them, and this is no exception. He wants to step out of that man’s shadow once and for all, and he understands how close he is to that bright sunshine.

Calipari has softened through the years, and for the better I think, while Williams has hardened. He’s harder to reach and feels the power of being adored, and the bitter pain of fan betrayal. Being at the top of the heap can make a man feel an invincible power at times. He watches who gets too close and then slams it shut, where he once was an open book with an open door.

Calipari wants to feel that power too, but I think he’ll act the opposite… become kinder and gentler, and more approachable after he finally wins it all.

Who is hungrier, I ask? Who needs it, wants it the most? Who has to have it for his own vindication? Who wants more than anyone on the planet to look his nay-sayers in the eye… with just a wink and a smile? Every cut, every bruise, every unkind and untrue word, every slap will be his to own to relish and remember.

It’s telling how he has played the coaching game with such class, devotion, dedication, and will to succeed. Who else could have weathered John Calipari’s storms? Here’s a man to emulate. He’s made mistakes, and he’s paid heavily their unending price. But he stayed his course with dignity, waiting for the last laugh.

He has slayed the dragon, saved the Princess from ruin, and now he will not trade his white horse for anything that resembles a CHANCE TO FAIL. Rest assured Nation of Blue… your time and his have fatefully met at that crucial moment: when we both needed each other the most. No matter what (and like his mentor Pitino), he has saved Kentucky Basketball and will forever be deified in the hearts of those who understand the thing that is Kentucky Basketball.

Coaching edge to Calipari.


Though Carolina has had a year to jell as a team, the sting of their last loss has had time heal. Yes, they do play together well, and get along well. Roy Williams personally likes this team, always a plus. They are committed, not arrogant… just his style. But don’t forget, this UNC bunch is the same team that suffered Carolina’s worst EVER ACC road thumping last year at Georgia Tech, who at the time was a rambling wreck. Many of these guys played in the NIT one year before, leading to real questions of will and talent. Comparing this team to UNC 2009 is an insult to that great team. There is zero, once they suit up and step on the Dome’s golden floor.  Actually, I see Duke as ACC champs in March. Advantage to UK in Chemistry by season’s end with UNC advantage in November..


Unlike any team before, t

his Kentucky TEAM was built with the word chemistry in mind considering the individual talents involved. These freshmen chose one another (along with Cal) based on each one’s unique ability to provide a major contribution to a Championship team without talent duplicity. This has been in the making for 2-3 years. Each player, selected by hand based on their ability to mesh and provide a single cog in this well-oiled, precision instrument.

Even Doron Lamb, as his special talents became more clear, helped recruit them to play around him. Darius Miller is the anchor., the heart, the foundation (think Chuck Hayes, Pat Patterson).. The recruiting choices, their high school all-star playing decisions, their signing and timing all speak to a grand plan. A plan in a Championship plan book. NOW is it.

Fittingly, in the end it may have been Pitino who demonstrated this lesson to John Calipari back in the 90‘s. Leave NO STONES un-turned. The rest? It will take care of itself.


Nostradamus Lives!

this was posted on BEFORE the NCAA Elite Eight Cats/Carolina slugfest in March 2011 which saw Kentucky outman, outgun, outdefend, (like all get out) a formidable, but very beatable Tar Heel squad…


though i usually can’t pick my nose in the ncaa, this time i predicted that only one-1 seed and no two seeds would see the final four this year. the Cats can make that happen today with a win. let’s take a look at some numbers and facts borrowed from

generally carolina plays faster paced than kentucky, thus scoring more points per game. carolina wants to push the ball looking for open 2pt shots, and i doubt that calipari will mind.

carolina plays its offense primarily through their bigs. they are monster offensive rebounders, while kentucky is slightly better at defensive rebounding. keeping the heels off their offensive glass is crucial.

the teams are fairly equal at offensive shooting % inside the arc. but, carolina scores most of its points inside the arc, as they shoot a few threes, and those are not shot that well (33.2%). kentucky shoots the three very well (39.2%), and relatively more often, though they are not simply a three point shooting team that lives (and dies) by the three. kentucky shoots free throws better (71.7% vs 67%), but carolina does not foul nearly as much as kentucky and relatively little period.

kentucky takes care of the ball much better (makes fewer turnovers), ranked #9 div 1 vs #166 in offensive TO%.

kentucky defends the three about the same as carolina (opponents shoot 33.2% vs 32.5%) but defends inside the arc better (opp shoot 41.7 vs 44.4%). kentuckys opponents shoot fewer three than carolinas. kentucky typically blocks a slightly higher percentage of shots than carolina.

kentucky’s effective field goal % is higher than carolina (52.5 vs 49.2). this factor is calculated combining 2pt and 3pt shooting %. and its adjusted offensive efficiency (all factors combined – shooting %, TO%, OR%, FT%), is better (ranked #7 in division 1 vs #39), although carolina has a better adjusted defensive ratio (same factors only defensively – ranked #5 div 1 vs #20). yet, kentuckys effective defensive field goal % is bit higher than is carolinas (ie guarding 2pt and 3pt shots combined).

this adds up to a game being decided on how well kentucky can shoot the three against a carolina defense that does not guard the three well, and then defend their own basket in the paint against carolina’s bigger frontline, and how well carolina’s somewhat shaky guards take care of the basketball against a formidable defender in kentucky.


AS in, Season's ends in...
AS in, Season’s ends in…

also carolina’s free throw shooting may become a factor, since they are likely to be at the line more often.

Based on the games importance, it is likely to be a dogfight through the end with the numbers suggesting (to me) kentucky winning by 2-3 pts, say 76-74.

of course, we all know how the game is not played on paper, but in the hearts and minds of the players, and at the coaching box. for my money, i like kentucky here too, with the 4 seeding being a large factor in the chip they seem to be wearing on their shoulders. to me, the Heels seem satisfied to just have the monkey off their backs from last year’s debacle season, and seem a bit soft. Getting pounded by Duke and Georgia Tech this year shows they are vulnerable to a blowout.

Look for Liggins to possibly step out on Marshal early to test his fortitude, then settle in with defending Barnes.

If kentucky goes cold from the three point line, look for a long afternoon watching carolina rebound and head off to the races, ending in many contested layups, dunks, and foul trouble for the Cats. this will not end pretty for our boys, and we go home to watch on TV.

The play of Terrence Jones and Darius Miller seems important here in how well we can contain the big Carolina frontline. we already know Harrelson, Liggins, Lamb, and Knight will show up ready to play.

(sorry, i just hate to capitalize while huntin and peckin)