Bandit Notions

[stilltrucking]

pink snow
I still miss that old grand cherokee I used to have it was one of the old ones when they were building them like tanks it must have weighed a deuce and a half or more.

1400 bucks for a transmission over haul, I had to let it go.

Letting go and holding on
like the surface tension of a soap bubble
in my gut feeling

write on el mingo
trying to let go of an old friend
but do I have to just because he died
I hope not,
I was never good at letting go of women
I was a clinger
dang me they ought to take a rope and hang me

every time I read something in the New Bible that strikes me I have to go back to the Old Bible, the Hebrew and The Greek to see how the church fathers transliterated it. Too much Nietzsche too muck LSD maybe, that's my problem, Mongolians to the left of me and Egyptians to the right
someone had blundered
into the jaws of death

civilizations and its lies



http://greekwordstudies.blogspot.com/20 ... table.html

[short timer]

jerk off.PNG (310.24 KiB) Viewed 1321 times

[the mingo]

Thx for the Kraut, Jack. 23.5 degrees here and snowing like the backside of the South Pole.

[jackofnightmares]

Pneumonia weather here, the old man's friend

what Kraut

I used to hate krauts but then I got slapped on the other cheek too.

Into the mystery
into van morrison this morning I think that is the tune I was looking for

[the mingo]

Dietrich - the Kraut - Holy Jesus Chrysler - now I can't find her - wow - i thought I listened to Marlene but now I can't find her in the thread - dementia? Holy Jesus Chrysler !

don't pay no attention to me, Jack, wow - can't even trust my impressions of reality, can't spell and out-of-work - this country ain't no place for the self pity of old men ... i was told I'd be some kind of super-sage by now but what I find is I need other people to help me remember where the hell i put the keys for the Cherokee - I can't lay anything down 'cause if I do it's immediately forgotten - and things I was sure happened didn't -

- this is gonna be fun, i can tell ...

[SadLuckDame]

"Where did he go? I laid him right down here on the corner chair.
Now where did he swing off to."

[the mingo]

here you come tra-la-la-ing and no ducks - well, ok but don't be thinking to raise up my nowhere's this night because i probably don't have any and if I do i don't know where they are...see if you catch me typing slick & swift beneath the bonobo tree - i'll do you up on your own silver bullet howling the whole way like alice in pie mode - my hat ain't mad but has undone maps waiting for traffic to clear - might even make it across the river & into the trees - if the dog can do it ... my domicile a clutterfest of stringed throb hearts - peas & carrots & feathers at my feet, talk about hunts - ain't no way to treat a long worked spearpoint - leaving it behind like that - and don't tell me the guy did it just to fuck the heads of people finding it 30 thousand years on ... ( a little cave magic right here)
what would really trip my wildwood flowers would be to find in all this mess one of those carved stone fertility so-called goddesses with the words on it to say, "it wasn't me, Sheriff, i wasn't even in the county that night." ... so if that don't spaghetti your wheelhorse then i don't think we have to worry about air-conditioning in the promised land - only one thing sure anymore, there was a time when i could imagine the entire Mongol horde on methamphetamine but time was ain't now ...

so, when do we eat?

( christmas gifts notwithstanding, this is how i do it ) come to think of it i'd like a long talk with Jeremiah - he cried about everything - his people, his city, his God - on second thought maybe i'll just lay down and read the psalms until i fall asleep ... a little tra-la-la would be nice right here ...

( did you catch that spaghetti/wheelhorse combo i tucked in there?
downright clever of me ) - well, i'll make coffee in the morning & check the conditions in the trenches - i can see you walking across the blasted earth - come lookin' for the story -

[stilltrucking]

and things I was sure happened didn't

So many things I was sure would happen, never happened, so many things happened that I thought would never happen, happened. Remember when we used to say, "What's happening?"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aoAZ-MhZl-c

[the mingo]

i do remember that - but did it really happen ?

[stilltrucking]

That is the best thing about scars and broken noses, all I got to do is look in the mirror to verify what happened.


"But it's the truth even if it didn't happen." KK

[the mingo]

damn cold here - the meltwater may be running beneath the snow but winter is not broken yet -
I often collect things too - you never know what might come in handy when - or to bring a bit of out to the in - sometimes what attracted me to something in the out changes when you bring it in - usually the thing that most attracted you to it in the first place so I say shit on collections even though I still do it - nothing here makes any sense except in the saying - like the sound of the meltwater beneath the snow - that sound, you can not hold it you know or pick it up or take it any way to someplace else - that's what my uncle used to call the sacred - in the sense that you could not capture it even if it were the desire of your heart - that's what the Jews changed ya know - once and for all out of all the tribes on earth - they took the sacred thing - the Voice - and they gave it a book and the book became the Voice in the doing - then they could not ever after be shed of either the Book or the Voice ... and thank God because of it because without that book I never would have heard the Voice ...

[stilltrucking]

If I had a son ( Or a daughter,) by a Jewess, I would rather he read Nietzsche's book than the Book, at least read it along side the New Testament. And they would be "winged creatures and honey gatherers of the spirit.***

Strange trip being childless, it tortures me sometimes and other times I am grateful I leave no hostages behind me. So I concentrate on the children at hand. Today I am going to blow one quarter of the money I have on a rug and a mat. He tries so hard my little rock an roller, two year old daughter drags a chair around just because it freaks him out the noise it makes pisses of her grandmother.

I would see the world end tomorrow and not give a fuck except for the children.

I been slacking off my religious education, still have not finished John. I get side tracked by my collectioneering.

I heard the voice reading The Birth of Tragedy. Like an old testament prophet, like an old Jewish uncle on the maternal side of the family
And through Nietzsche I heard the voice of that Christ within me, I heard the still quiet voice unmediated by the lies of the church fathers. I know what is at stake,

G d is not mocked except by believers.

Anne Sexton

***

."Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also" [Matthew 6:21]; our treasure is where the beehives of our knowledge are. We are constantly making for them, being by nature winged creatures and honey-gatherers of the spirit; there is one thing alone we really care about from the heart-"bringing something home."

Nitschke

Having never been in the military I have a under developed sense of honor, like my draft dodging Uncle Dick.
“Are you going to trade the lives of a number of people because you want to preserve your honor?” he asked, his voice dripping with contempt.

[stilltrucking]

mingo wrote

-" that's what my uncle used to call the sacred - in the sense that you could not capture it even if it were the desire of your heart -"

"We are unknown to ourselves, we men of knowledge-and with good reason..."

Thank G d for uncles.

In the Kingdom of Women, fathers have little to do with their children, the maternal uncles take over the role of father.

[the mingo]

A natural gov't would neither have nor need a bureaucracy. All gov'ts of men, therefore, & by necessity, are unnatural.

Your uncle had a point. Contempt or no. Some things deserve all the contempt they can get.

Your uncle must be dead by now - all mine are too.

G_d bless America.

[stilltrucking]

Sorry mingo, my sarcasm not my uncle dick, Dick Cheney. From a Maureen Dowd column called Repent Dick Cheney
I think your uncle said exactly what Nietzsche said to me.

I guess dick Cheney he had a point, I know little of honor, I have not been an honorable man for most of my life.
Here is the column. Sorry for my careless writing.

REPENT DICK CHENEY
Dick Cheney certainly gives certainty a black eye.

In a documentary soon to appear on Showtime, “The World According to Dick Cheney,” America’s most powerful and destructive vice president woos history by growling yet again that he was right and everyone else was wrong.

R. J. Cutler, who has done documentaries on the Clinton campaign war room and Anna Wintour’s Vogue war paint room, now chronicles Cheney’s war boom.

“If I had to do it over again,” the 72-year-old says chillingly of his reign of error, “I’d do it over in a minute.”

Cheney, who came from a family of Wyoming Democrats, says his conservative bent was strengthened watching the anti-Vietnam war protests at the University of Wisconsin, where he was pursuing a doctorate and dodging the draft.

“I can remember the mime troupe meeting there and the guys that ran around in white sheets with the entrails of pigs, dripping blood,” he said. Maybe if he’d paid more attention to the actual war, conducted with a phony casus belli in a country where we did not understand the culture, he wouldn’t have propelled America into two more Vietnams.

The documentary doesn’t get to the dark heart of the matter about the man with the new heart.

Did he change, after the shock to his body of so many heart procedures and the shock to his mind of 9/11? Or was he the same person, patiently playing the courtier, once code-named “Backseat” by the Secret Service, until he found the perfect oblivious frontman who would allow him to unleash his harebrained, dictatorial impulses?

Talking to Cutler in his deep headmaster’s monotone, Cheney dispenses with the fig leaf of “we.” He no longer feigns deference to W., whom he now disdains for favoring Condi over him in the second term, and for not pardoning “Cheney’s Cheney,” Scooter Libby.

“I had a job to do,” he said.

Continuing: “I got on the telephone with the president, who was in Florida, and told him not to be at one location where we could both be taken out.” Cheney kept W. flying aimlessly in the air on 9/11 while he and Lynne left on a helicopter for a secure undisclosed location, leaving Washington in a bleak, scared silence, with no one reassuring the nation in those first terrifying hours.

“I gave the instructions that we’d authorize our pilots to take it out,” he says, referring to the jet headed to Washington that crashed in a Pennsylvania field. He adds: “After I’d given the order, it was pretty quiet. Everybody had heard it, and it was obviously a significant moment.”

This guy makes Al Haig look like a shrinking violet.

When they testified together before the 9/11 Commission, W. and Cheney kept up a pretense that in a previous call, the president had authorized the vice president to give a shoot-down order if needed. But the commission found “no documentary evidence for this call.”

In his memoir, W. described feeling “blindsided” again and again. In this film, the blindsider is the éminence grise who was supposed to shore up the untested president. The documentary reveals the Iago lengths that Cheney went to in order to manipulate the unprepared junior Bush. Vice had learned turf fighting from a maniacal master of the art, his mentor Donald Rumsfeld.

When he was supposed to be vetting vice presidential candidates, Cheney was actually demanding so much material from them that there was always something to pick on. He filled W.’s head with stories about conflicts between presidents and vice presidents sparked by the vice president’s ambition, while protesting that he himself did not want the job.

In an unorthodox move, he ran the transition, hiring all his people, including Bush senior’s nemesis, Rummy, and sloughing off the Friends of George; then he gave himself an all-access pass.

He was always goosing up W.’s insecurities so he could take advantage of them. To make his crazy and appallingly costly detour from Osama to Saddam, and cherry-pick his fake case for invading Iraq, he played on W.’s fear of being lampooned as a wimp, as his father had been.

But after Vice kept W. out of the loop on the Justice Department’s rebellion against Cheney’s illegal warrantless domestic spying program, the relationship was ruptured. It was too late to rein in the feverish vice president, except to tell him he couldn’t bomb a nuclear plant in the Syrian desert.

“Condi was on the wrong side of all those issues,” Cheney rumbled to Cutler.

Cheney still hearts waterboarding. “Are you going to trade the lives of a number of people because you want to preserve your honor?” he asked, his voice dripping with contempt.

“I don’t lie awake at night thinking, gee, what are they going to say about me?” he sums up.

They’re going to say you were a misguided powermonger who, in a paranoid spasm, led this nation into an unthinkable calamity. Sleep on that.