Like Black Holes In The Sky

Pink Floyd, Shine On You Crazy Diamond, 1975.

The Irrational Purview

Seriously, now.

;>)

You're Gonna Fake It After All

The overly observant among my dwindling fellowship (and for that fact, I have only myself to blame) might have noted that a certain person is rarely if ever 'profiled' anymore - seemingly gone from headlining Carnegie Hall to demonstrating time-saving devices at a local supermarket, as it were.

This removal from a minor-league photoshop gadfly's A-list of pixilated playthings is due in part to the subject's own diminished capacity for purveying political self-aggrandizement into electoral success, as their ideological perversions became subsumed into a grabastic pattern of personal grift... possibly because of a glint of interior knowledge that the Big Prize for showing a bit of leg and saying something outrageous has skittered away across the tiles forever, and baby still needs new Ferragamos.

Yet journalists gnaw at the bleached bones of such petty infamy, looking to find relevance and gravitas upon an entity which cannot sustain either.

Here is a rather pointed question: Why should anyone believe a so-called journalist in this day and age, especially ones who contradict themselves a few years after the fact?
There is no credibility to be found by me in bought-and-paid-for opinions jotted by corporate minions, and no point in accepting such opinions as a form of honest reporting unless one wishes to fool themselves into a coma.
I was raised to respect the craft of investigative journalism used as a spur to public awareness, and perhaps even justice or hoped-for change...but sadly, that era has passed and nothing has risen to take its mantle in this neo-conformist, go-along-to-get-along-or-else age.

Frankly, whether or not one one has questions regarding the murky circumstances - and any thinking person regardless of their ideology should - if we are to accept someone's own account of a frenzied hejira from state to state, supposedly performed so that an at-risk baby could be born in a desired homeland - the simplest, starkest explanation on offer is that someone wanted that baby to die, and didn't give a damn how it happened...in a plane, on the road, in the maternity ward or wherever...if we take their statements as a form of unqualified truth.

Therefore, my personal binary is this: either it's all a set of lies to cover up some deep-seated familial dysfunction...or it's all another set of lies to cover up a failed prenatal murder plot.

And that's who could have been within a shaky heartbeat of the presidency three years ago, should tits and ass wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross have won the day over reason.

Enjoy the sunset, America.

;>)

Blog Against Theocracy 2011

Blog Against Theocracy 2011 - because do you really want to kiss the ring of someone else's moral doctrine fantasy construct...?

Really?

;>)

Shake 'Em On Down For Miles Around

Graham Central Station, Earthquake, 1977.

It's All The Same, She Said

Ratt, Round and Round, 1984.

Stepping In The Future

Peter Tosh, Mystic Man, 1979.

Does Your Koch Taste Different Lately?

...Thanks for the laffs galore there, Arbuckle.

As for 'Hell', paid it a visit last decade, pal - it was called the Bush Administration.

;>)

You Can Have Your Funky World

The Bob Seger System, Ramblin' Gamblin' Man, 1969.

A Velvet Garden Of Rhinestone Stars

Heart, Magazine, 1978.

Sunday Overnight

Charles Mingus, Eric Dolphy, Clifford Jordan, Jaki Byard & Dannie Richmond, Meditations On Integration, 1964.



Slide Hampton, Joachim Kühn, Niels-Henning Orsted Pedersen, & Philly Joe Jones, Last Minute Blues, 1969.



The Tito Puente Latin Jazz Orchestra with Israel 'Cachao' Lopez, Solo / Oye Como Va, 1990.



Archie Shepp, Bakai, 1974.



Jeff Beck, Sophie, 1976.

Sun Come Shinin' On The Rain Soaked Street

ZZ Top, Whiskey'n Mama, 1972.

I Don't Like The Progs But The Progs Like Me

Wouldn't Take A Maybe From Me

The Sweet, Yesterday's Rain, 1976.

Feckless, Mugged

...but he has balls.

;>)

Sunday Overnight

Elvin Jones, Bireli Lagrene, and Joey DeFrancesco, Night In Tunisia, 1999.



Stuff (Richard Tee, Cornell Dupree, Steve Gadd, Eric Gale, and Gordon Edwards), Groovin', 1976.



Richard Davis, Epistrophy / Now's The Time, 1972.



Herbie Hancock, Hang Up Your Hang Ups, 1975.



Freddie Hubbard, Keep Your Soul Together, 1973.

Be Anything But Don't Be Gone

Motörhead, I Got Mine, 1983.

Wondering Who Is Really In The Driver's Seat

Eagles, On The Border, 1974.

Wafer Thin Ratings

So long, hired mouth.

;>)

Semi-private Ryan

In The Slot

Tower Of Power, Ebony Jam, 1975.

Blogging Macht Frei

'I'm wearing your panties'

A lot of hoopla lately over l'affaires HuffPo of late...various newsy items, casual disinformation and outright knee-slappers being proffered to a guileless public.

For example, take the 'no longer left' brou-hardy-har-har...please.

Technically, if HuffPo had even a scrap of socialistic pretense it would be a non-profit with a begging bowl button.

(Pause while I adjust my tie)

Let's quickly dispense with that alluring mirage, call it a New Media capitalist thought dispensary and move on.

A quick thought on subjective context, take it as one wills.

I think that a lot of people drawn to islets of community during the recent express ride to the Dark F*cking Ages wanted their own 'quasi-socialist news outlet with gossip 'n recipes' very badly - bold adventurers seeking compatriots, conspirators, or maybe even hot steamy approval for their own subjective biases - who willed such a thing to be so...and made it so.

Since not everybody getting onto the Internet in those wacky, zany 2000's was a raging me-me-mehadist (hard to believe, I know)....what we have is a triumph of implicative branding over reality.

'Kudos'

However, and typical of all other media games 'it's all the news that fits'...the agenda of the principals.

Visualize the background of one such principal...Investor class, not playing a game for little people and no real reason to care about anything save portfolio depletion, and therefore my internal binary contrasting oscillates between 'sounds like bullshit, Maurice' and 'whatta darling deep pockets do-gooder'.

Gah, set my hair on fire now, a sugar mommy with a heart - and of course we all know the worst kind of 'liberal' (my sincere apologies for using a devalued, deprecated word) is one who just wants to help the unwashed.

DoublePlus Phooey.

Regarding 'working for free' - When my viewers come to visit for a time during their day, they get some things unique to this location.
This is the only blog that has all my public art works, located somewhere back in time and to the right...and most of the Youtubes still work - at least until the next round of corporate lawsuit wars.

It doesn't cost anything to look, and coming up on 5 years in this racket the returns have dwindled somewhat...but so what?
Although what I perform within these confines is a very secondary consideration to the rest of my life, I'll continue to provide it here at my leisure to those with an interest...and I'm not at liberty to enrich the wealthy for 'exposure', or some other ephemeral conceit. Pay the writer!

So how 'bout that sale?

And all the fuss being raised by an outraged community, amplified by the bored editors of old media conzerns? Breathtaking...but so's a yawn. Business as usual, a big fish late to the party looks to splash out into that big steaming pool of page stats and ad views. Who needs relevance when one has commercial viability?

Tell you one thing - being a comment editor sucked ass. But I was only a pawn in the game of life.

And if I modded you, you deserved it. You betcha.

;>)

Sunday Overnight

Gary Burton, Larry Coryell, Steve Swallow and Bob Moses, General Mojo's Well-Laid Plan, 1967.



Donald Byrd and Booker Little, Quiet Temple, 1960.



Stan Getz, Steve Kuhn, Scott LaFaro and Roy Haynes, Airegin, 1961.



Jimmy McGriff and Richard 'Groove' Holmes, The Preacher's Tune, 1973.



Thelonious Monk, Charlie Rouse, Larry Gales and Ben Riley, Ugly Beauty, 1967.