A Dick by any Other Name or Title a dumb dick ‘n d’ grass update

On the title, and as inspiration on the whole (which has just become a more expanded one): I was pleased to see someone else saw it this way.


The real contribution that Celeb scientists like Neil deGrasse Tyson and Richard Dawkins have made to their respective fields has been eclipsed by their personalities’ prominence in the field of pop-science, which is down to their having spoken to the pet-causes of those who idolize them, some of whom wouldn’t’ve even known the cause was theirs had it not resonated so radically hip. Correspondingly, they have been piggybacking off the inferred genius of Galileo and Darwin for an annoyingly long moment.

Of course, this is just my opinion. I am perfectly willing to listen to anyone who could demonstrate otherwise.

In simpler terms, particularly Dawkins would not be so beloved were it not for the bizarre human desire to mock and belittle people perceived as inferior by those who lack the capacity to demonstrate their would-be superiority beyond the occasional witty ad hominem. They need conceptual aids, theoretical support, someone to denigrate on their behalf. Therefore Dawkins!

But like William F. Buckley did for alleged conservatives, Dawkins regularly displays a mode of thinking that, when not outright dim, is merely genius in its playing to the simple-minded and those who prove all-too willing to settle for simple-mindedness as long as it frustrates their perceived adversaries.

Dawkins is a horrible model, not to mention spokesperson, for atheism, which does not need a capital fucking A.

As one who does not believe in a deity, I cringe at the evangelizing of atheism. The banning of religious doctrine from official public policy goes from being logical to tautological when somebody comes along to argue that it stems from the superiority of the scientific method.

The separation of church and state doesn’t need to be augmented with smart-ass dicta and their technical domination of varying opinion. Particularly when its hammer is the seemingly always dichotomous: good-by-comparison, largely theoretical on the one hand versus myth-based theology that’s shown no sign of retreat for the term of human civilization on the other, which would also seem rather convenient.


Tyson, to his credit, is no atheism thumper. He has attributed his passive rejection of religion to the irreconcilability of universally stated beneficences of whatever Higher Powers in question with the consistently murderous tendency of the universe.

Why would he, then, assume the benevolence of science and the people who use it as it relates to genetically modified organisms and industrial agriculture? To use the parlance of the press, he recently “slammed fear” and then “walked back” his slamming with the following:

“If your objection to GMOs is the morality of selling non-prerennial seed stocks, then focus on that. If your objection to GMOs is the monopolistic conduct of agribusiness, then focus on that. But to paint the entire concept of GMO with these particular issues is to blind yourself to the underlying truth of what humans have been doing — and will continue to do — to nature so that it best serves our survival. That’s what all organisms do when they can, or would do, if they could. Those that didn’t, have gone extinct extinct.”

Would do if they could, indeed. Humans have been doing a lot of things “to survive”. They gather together in groups and fight each other, for example. Some have even used this to their advantage and are so good at it that they have over the years managed to organize a labyrinthine flow of resources into gargantuan profit centers to bribe and blackmail others to coerce others to do their fighting for them and use religion as a ruse to acquire the spoils of their never-quite final victories – the spoils having been the real reason for the conquest all along.

Then, they use their spokespeople to continue to argue that their enemies are never fighting for survival, but an oppressive religious cause. In reality, no matter the side, the fighting can always be seen as one for survival, even if that survival is for an oppressive cause. I guess I am saying: It takes one to know one.

The corporation is an organism made up of people who work for their own survival versus the competition; they effectively lobby legislatures to achieve advantages for their particular organism; they know how to buy off scientists who will hardly get paid otherwise, who are not in-and-of-their-science benevolent – the universe being so murderous and all.

While science can be a tool to solve the problems of survival, when applied, it discriminates. Corporate organisms do not correct their mistakes even when they are detrimental to human survival at large. This has been demonstrated again and again.

GMO is just a label for the thing to be against. It’s the facts in between the letters that good scientists, if they are going to venture educated guesses about something outside their specialty, should know more about.

When the industry successfully lobbies to advance their own funded research over others, successfully lobbies against labeling that would indicate their presence in the package,  successfully sues farmers for patent infringement when their fields are cross contaminated with what’s patented, it shouldn’t be a surprise that people are contaminated by anti-GMO thinking. Why should anyone against GMOs focus on any one of the issues mentioned?

Oh, I know why? Because Neil deGrasse Tyson!

If you just accept his assertion at face value that “the underlying truth of what humans have been doing” is best for our survival, then you ignore that genetic modification funded by industrial agri-business was not about human survival to begin with. Their underlying truth is about their bottom-line. Belabor that point and the argument will eventually boil down to the idea that the bottom-line of agri-business benefits everyone. Gee, that sounds so reasonable, let’s focus on that!

There are indeed genetic scientists who are concerned about the well-being of humanity and the survival thereof, but that has precious little to do with the science when it is applied towards someone’s bottom-line. I will grant you, however, that the application of that science does become about survival when a GMO turns out to have adverse effects on its surroundings.

This leads the lab-coats’ back to the drawing board, modifying those surroundings when all else fails; but more importantly to the bottom-line, it gets the lawyers scurrying back to the boardroom, always struggling for the survival of the company’s double-plus good messaging.

What you won’t get from a scientist working for the bottom-line is an admission that the applied science didn’t accomplish what they said it would. If one were to apply the scientific method, one might conclude that industry scientists had been lying about the result they’d hoped to achieve and/or were lying about the result they had achieved, or that they just lie as a matter of course because that’s what they get paid to do.

This doesn’t mean one must be a direct beneficiary of the industry’s largess. The application of the science Neil Tyson speaks of discriminates to the power of his paycheck. His response to the virtual uproar at his original stupidity was for the purpose of maintaining his palatability to as wide an audience as possible. Still, being skeptical of gen-tech science as it has been presented by big biotech is not a brand he can afford to endorse, so he paints them as having the health of humanity at heart, in spite of all the obvious signs that this is not the case.

That’s the underlying truth of what these particular humans are doing – and to use Tyson’s words again – will continue to do. These issues are not separable. His insistence that critics focus any one of them is not only illogical, but makes him suspect, in my opinion.

The bottom-line for a multi-million dollar corporation, expanding as we speak with trade agreements negotiated and drawn up in private, is that, like Tyson’s universe, they would kill before they’d give up the anabolic gravy train funded by the same style public-private partnership that over the last year has been sending more & more murderous technology & weaponry into places like Syria, the Ukraine, Libya, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, the latter two with help from Germany, with whom the Americans just happen to be co-beneficiaries (as far as one can tell) regarding that trade deal, as well as providing the Yanks assistance with remotely targeting groups and individuals who oppose the regimes who have been modified to be friendly to the bottom line.

Is it also knee-jerk to resist being smacked upon the other cheek by the likes that brought you NAFTA?  Being neither Christian nor Democrat, I am curious. Speaking of which, the Americans have just recently – again, to use the parlance of the press – doubled down on their funding of the war against the people of Gaza. The American president and his minions in Congress can afford to express tepid misgivings about Israeli overkill, but neither organism proves willing or able to cut off its funding.

How can you trust the science if you cannot stop its most murderous applications?

So Tyson claims that when he was originally approached he didn’t have the time to get into the nuances of the issue and, one Facebook post later, he has done so. Yet, he recognizes no nuance insofar as it might relate to the widespread application of genetic modification and the repeated consequential re-modification thereof. You know, like the practice of the science as it exists. His ignorance would seem to be on par with that of his depiction of the knee-jerk anti-GMO crowd. Otherwise, there’s stuff he just chooses not to deal with.

You shouldn’t take your cues on genetic engineering or economics from Neil deGrasse Tyson, even (or especially) if his knowledge of those disciplines exceeds yours. He might be able to regale with his tales of the awesome cosmos, but his insistence that a rational mind would ignore all but one ingredient out of the toxic mixture that is biotech & finance would be a clear indication he is, at best, a Renaissance man of the disingenuous kind.

And you shouldn’t take the word of scientists working for the industry. No smart scientists’ scientist would.


And you sure as fuck shouldn’t look to Richard Dawkins as an authority on the scientific method. For like Neil Tyson, Dawkins has a brand to protect. Well, his brand is more of a shtick.

In his now (in)famous tweet triad, he layeth out for the enlightenment of you woefully ignorant, or for the amusement of his “you just don’t get it” Twitter followers:

Keep in mind that he is not necessarily saying X is bad. He is just saying. Oh…

Seriously? Why?

I know what the words themselves mean, but I’m still left wondering why.

Not the oft-invoked essay Why X is Wrong when the author means How X is Wrong, but why does he want to point out the less-badness of “mild pedophilia” – a sophisticated term he apparently came up with all by himself?

And are pedophilia (exclusively of mind) and pedophilia (wherein the victim does not resist in a manner requiring the use of force) both mild?

Surely Richard Dawkins has been date-raped, hence his expertise on its level of badness.  “No!” his fans protest, he is just postulating a formula whereupon neither statement implies endorsement.

O what parsing within parsing. Using a faux-science pattern to render narrowly empirical any random person’s subjective belief about the level of badness of any other random person’s actual experiences – irrespective of the postulater’s or badness-rater’s having owned the experience themselves – drawn in the desire to defend this judgment as an objective position. Why?

I’ll tell you why. Because it takes pretty dubious logic to quantify the experience of being raped. Therefore Dawkins!

It might be tempting to use the law, ie. the Scales of Justice, to support dividing rape into a range of severity. But even then, the difference in the finding of- and/or sentencing for date-rape and rape at knifepoint has to do with the multiple crimes committed in the case of the latter, and the court’s view on the reliability of witness testimony in the case of the former. And legal justice has proven to be many things, but it’s certainly not a logical science that is capable of fair sentencing guidelines.

By the way, what about date-rape at knifepoint? No, I suspect Dawkins is more of the Classic Date-Rape School, wherein when the knife comes out, the date is over; but if she wakes up in obvious pain with no memory of having been violated, she got lucky. Relatively speaking, of course. I mean, that goes without saying, right?


At any rate, dude sure has a flair for belittling others personal experience when it is couched in his pet crusade:

For context, read the whole article at the link above. In short, because the woman mentioned in the article bothered to tell atheist men that she doesn’t like to be hit on all the time, let alone does she feel comfortable being hit on alone in a hotel elevator at 4am with the would-be romantic, she deserves to be mocked for not ignoring her concerns completely. Why? Because Islamism!

It’s oddly reminiscent of the “If you don’t like it, move to Iran” argument.

He then goes on to reduce her level of discomfort in that elevator to his level of offense being with a guy chewing gum in the same situation (you see, science!) wherein he can “simply grin and bear it until either I or he gets out of the elevator.”

(If you think, with that last bit, he was provocatively employing, by way of allusion, tasteless rape humor, go away until you learn to think that he wasn’t.)

He continues later by reducing her experience further, writing that it “was not even slightly bad, it was zero bad”.

Okay, I think I am catching on.

His negation of this woman’s concern (the mocking not only of her desire to communicate it, but the concern itself) makes me wonder what he really thinks of mild pedophilia and date-rape or, excuse me, what his science is really telling us. I mean, his non-endorsement of X is open to a pretty broad interpretation, especially when you view the entire record.

Prima facie, we can safely say that with his latest no-holds-barred non-endorsement of mild pedophilia and date-rape (and, by extension, date-pedophilia), he nevertheless thinks it’s not all-that bad. And his relativism paints a more colorful spectrum than just “I don’t endorse date-rape”. That he has spent such a goodly amount of time over the course of his “career” downplaying feminist concerns vis-à-vis the actual horrors perpetuated by the evilist of evils that actual evil-doers actually do that he has now forged a formula to defend it simply follows the same pattern: Being dapper with the dick-move.

Suffice it to say that Dawkins is no Renaissance man. He seems to have only the one note, and it’s a dull one. At least he doesn’t have a knife on him, I guess.

In conclusion: Tyson is bad. Dawkins is worse. In this case the axiom works for my purposes, but that doesn’t mean you can just plug anything into it without revealing what a willfully ignorant dick you are.


Der Parkbank Pinkler Kapitel VI: die stillschweigende Unruhe

„Am Grab der meisten Menschen trauert, tief verschleiert, ihr ungelebtes Leben.“

Georg Jellinek

Etwas stimmt hier nicht.

Verzweifelt stand die Einkäuferin am Rand dieses Etwas, hat sich nicht wirklich wieder gefunden, nachdem sie sich ewig lang nicht wirklich verloren fand – oder aber ist sich nicht wieder aufgetaucht, nachdem sie vorhin gestohlen worden war, suchend aber, indem sie nur dank des Denksteins ihres Kinderwagens überhaupt noch aus dem nicht wirklichen Chaos, aus dieser Kaufhalle wieder, über einem Kaufhauschaos hinaus, aber nicht wirklich ein Chaos -, nicht wirklich zugrunde ging. Nicht wirklich verzweifelt. Aber Unverzweifelt auch nicht.

Sekunden wie Minuten.

Was war das da drin? fragt sie sich, nachdem sie die Kaufhalle auf weit hinaus hinaus wollten. Zuerst einmal wegen dem Geruch. So tief ein Mief war das, ging er nicht nur in die Nase, hat aber auch Wirkung auf dem Haut, und zwar nicht so eine synästhetische Wirkung, hat doch eine eigene Temperatur. Ein Gestank nicht neben der Wärme, sondern eine Wärme neben dem Gestank. Und da war sie noch nicht durchs Drehkreuz gelangen, also bevor sie selbst für die Drehkreuzigung entschied, wobei sich nicht sicher nicht jede Fläche vom Mief bedeckt.

Was wollte ich hier überhaupt? fragt sie sich, nachdem sie mit dem Durchdrehkreuzigung ihre sicher nicht nicht sinnlosen Kaufchaos Bummel anfing. Brauche ich sowas? als sie wieder vorn in der Frischluft stand.

Dazwischen war der Einkauf.

In drehkreuznähe bewegt sich eine andere Frau mit Kinderwagen ganz vorne in der Schlange und aus Frust antwortete, “Wohin willste, det ik denn damit?” Es war keine Antwort auf etwas Ausgesprochenes, sondern einen Gegenschlag auf etwas Projiziertes, etwas überempfindlich wahrgenommen also. Und so kam die Erwiderung dieser ungefragten Antwort von Einer, die in der Schlange direkt hinter der Frustrierter stand, “Ik hap jar nüscht jesagt!”

Die Frustrierte vergegenwärtigt jene Straßenverrückte, deren siebensilbige Schrei vom oben aus in der Wohnung der Einkäuferin Gehör findet. Diese sieben Silben sind deutlich im Ton und der Wellenform, also immer die gleiche, beinhalten leider keine erkennbare Sprache. Soweit man feststellen kann, beinhaltet die sieben Silbe eine interpretierbare Muster von fünf oder sechs Worte. Dann, wo die Einkäuferin näher darüber nachdachte, gibt es doch noch eine Silbe, kurz und leise am Ende hinzugefügt, wie die Tauben die erste Silbe ihrer Dreizeiler am Ende der dritten Zeile ausklingt, was aus ihre fünfzehn Silben sechzehn werden. Die Verrückte dagegen übt keine Wiederholung, zumindest nicht ohne minutenlange Pause zwischen den Zeilen, dafür auch noch weniger melodisch.

Jedoch der entscheidende Unterschied zwischen den stimmhaften Ausbruch der Verrückte und den dieser Frustrierte ist nur die Verständlichkeit der Worte, und diese vermutlich auch wohl kaum. Trotzdem müssen die Ausbrüche von Bedeutung sein.

Man hört, dass eine Obdachlose, im Gegensatz zu dem männlichen, neigt öfter dazu, um sich laut zu schreien und verrückt vorzutäuschen, um beliebige Leute fern zu halten, vor allem böse Männer.

Auf der andere Seite schien diese Frustrierte sagen zu wollen, ‚Ich brauche Hilfe’ oder genauer gesagt, ‚Biste bekloppt oder was? Sehen kannste, det ik Hilfe brooch!’

Oder aber ist es umgekehrt. Diese will alle schließlich mal loswerden und jene irgendjemand herholen, will Nähe.

Oder, nein. Die sind gleich. Beide bringen eine unangenehme Wahrheit zum Ausdruck, nicht erkennbar wegen der Schichten der Geschichte, lebendig begraben unter den Regalen mit angesammelten Brot und Marmelade, eingepackte Konserven in Gläser und Dosen und zig Arten von Zellophantüten noch mal geschachtelt, damit sie effektiver etikettiert werden können, in dem sie sagen was da drin steht aber nicht wie es da draußen geht, wo sie herkommen aber nicht womit. Begraben ja. Unterm Ladentisch. Unter uns.

Das Um-Sich ist einfach zu laut geworden. Oder gegenüber dem Gesprochenen, zu quasi-selbstverständlich. Unbewusst ist auch, dass es auf gar keinen Fall selbstverständlich sein kann. Die Faden sind so verloren wie vorbei.

Was die Frustrierte tat, war aber irgendwie genauso einfach wie ungewollt: sie hat eine unausgesprochene Unruhe ausgesprochen, sogar mehr hat sie hervorgerufen, was das anwesende Einkaufskollektiv nicht wahrhaben wollte und nie wahrnehmen möchte.

Was tun wir hier einander an? Ist es Hilfe oder Hinderung?

Es hat sich nicht mit der Frustrierte angefangen, dieser Vorfall auch nicht. Dieser Vorfall besteht nun aus der Perspektive, wiederum aus dem Kurzzeitgedächtnis der Einkäuferin, die gerade zuletzt mit den eigenen Kinderwagen, wenn nicht gerade angenehm, in angenehmer Luft vor der Kaufhölle stand.

Dieser Vorfall ist ein Einkauf.

Labyrinthisch gelegt zwischen der miefgeschminkten Drehkreuz und der heraufbeschworenen Trostlosigkeit an der Kasse war der Einkauf. Es war keine lebhafte Fantasie nötig, dass die Einkäuferin sich alle Ware genauso Stinkgeschmiert vorstellte, und bei so einem milden Tag solch eine Temperatur zu erspüren war ihr auch gerade keine Überraschung.


Es wurde nicht gesprochen in der Halle, wenn doch unter einzelnen Paaren flüchtig geflüstert, als wollten sie unerkannt bleiben. Die Einkäuferinnen und Einkäufer war doch wie ein Einkaufskollektiv, ziemlich roboterhaft und kalt zielorientiert im Gegensatz zu der verwirrend muffigen Lufthülle und dementsprechenden Stimmungslage. Hierfür muss das Wort Atmosphäre geprägt worden sein..

Mithin stand dieser beherrschender Gedanke ebenfalls in der Luft, als sie an der Billigwarenregalen vorbeihuschte, und als sie sich urplötzlich wieder angeekelt mitten im der, was da für eine Obst und Gemüse Abteilung gilt, befand, und als sie sich, samt Kinder- und Einkaufswagen, in der Endschlange hineinzwängte.

Und dann wieder vor der Kaufhalle. Nicht, dass sie sich zwischendurch nicht angeekelt gefühlt hat, nur, dass die Schwelle immer wieder erreicht worden war, dass sie immer wieder hat denken müssen… 

Etwas stimmt hier nicht.


Kapitel V << >> Kapitel ??

Alexanderstraße, Berlin-Mitte – 2014


Under the Influence of Melee Treble Seven

Interpretations vary.  And why wouldn’t they?

Who did what they did, what
they say they said they did and
with what and with whose what
and where they did
with what they did
with whose what, they did.
They did.
O, yea, they did!

Concurrent with the roll out of Golgotha, carrying the rhythm & rhyme of the Beast Saga, it counts not that it’s just another group of boys and the occasional girl crying, “Wolf!” just prior to demands of “Blitzer!”

What significance? And why? Hell to pay? Who say?

If they mean that the Archduke’s demise was really the reason and not just the pretense, then okay. Either way, it’s just a pretense. Isn’t a pretense a false pretense? Seriously, what’s the diff?

I beg your pardon, but at least I know what question begging is. Does that make you more prone to trust me than if I ended potato with an e? I allude here to a notional preference: following the smart lemming brand… to whatever mixed metaphor is appropriate.

((And anyway, CNN could not employ the comparison if we weren’t still buying the original. So sayeth the eye in I.))


Would you believe me if I told you that everything that you thought you’d experienced between the disappearance of that Malaysian plane and the discovery of what happened to this one (to the extent that you think you know what happened to this one) was the passengers’ nightmare trying to rationalize what was happening to them? – an ostensible four months’ was lost, really just a collective holding of the breath as we go about the business of getting on with our lives, when in fact we’ve been under water the whole time?

What if I told you the responsible party was (a political party)? Then would you believe me? I saw it on their Facebook page, but they quickly deleted it.

Commemorating the 18th anniversary of TWA 800 by flying into an area where any and every actor imaginable has you within their reach is worse than ignoring a bad weather advisory. But we all take short cuts. The TWA flight was another story. Maybe navigators should be more superstitious.

You might recall that flight 800 was the one whereby multiple witnesses on the ground in News Jersey and York saw a light streaking upward just prior to its flaming into the Atlantic.

What is this talk of pooing in tins?

One thing for sure, neither Yank nor Russkie has ever shot down a tin full of civilians before. And, of course, neither nation has ever given weapons to anyone else who subsequently used them. And if they did, it was on the other leader’s watch, or he was being thwarted by the opposition.

Or we didn’t mean it. Maybe they didn’t mean it either. Does it matter whether or not we mean(t) it? It’s kind of like the difference between egg on our faces and blood on our hands.

Let’s call it blood on our faces.

More likely it will be called a mistake from which we’ll have to move on because not moving on would mean expanding the melee to include the unthinkable.

“Oh, no!” you say, there must be hell to pay, or “No, no, it’s not I, who’s saying there must be hell to pay, it’s they who’re saying that. No, not ‘them‘! The other ones!”

Surely intelligence will show us the way.

At the end of the day, only upon the destruction of the manufacturer – before the goods are bought and/or paid for – will we be beset with actual situational irony. As it is, the irony is all ours, that is, the other we.

As always, respective to who “we” is, returns may vary.


As an addendum to yesterday’s cryptic-ism (now updated), I bid you a brief farewell with this, my abridgment/mix/summary of Kate’s Leave it Open and dedicate it to the very real suffering with a meditation toward more than just a promise or prospect or probability-based planned proposal for peace.

This Distress You See and Feel

-… -.– .– .- -.– — ..-. -.- .- – . -… ..- … ….

Kondensstreifen über Berlin – 2014

Across the Crossbow

.- -. -.. – …. . -.– … .- .. -.. – …. . -.– .– .- -. -. .- -… ..- .-. -.– …. .. —

And they said they wanna bury him,
And they said they were buried here.

We let the weirdness in.
- . -..- – –..– — ..- … .. -.-. –..– .- -. -.. …- — .. -.-. . -… -.– -.- .- – . -… ..- … ….

Predating down the Road

Niederbarnimstraße/Boxhangener Chaussee, Berlin-Friedrichshain – 1912


The cinema on the northeast corner to the right is still there, is still here. Smallish and provincial now as it was then. The cigar shop on the northwest to the left is an American diner, literally, as in, on the sign, it’s the brand, someplace I wouldn’t avoid like the pest if it weren’t there, if it weren’t here.


Neither here nor there, the unmanned vehicles in the sky – as bright in these summerish months as in the, appearances apparently, less-blooming seasonal photograph of 102 years ago – are coming to a theater near, not that they weren’t already being launched from tarmacs in Deutschland überalles & steered übers All. The signs, the signs were there. They are here.

Why would the Bundeswehr not buy into the remotely-peopled orbital obit program? Are we not international partners in trade? We don’t take backward steps technologically, chronologically speaking. Working & shopping & fucking from home is the wave to be sure, not to be wiped away by wishes, weathering vaguely disapproving or angry on the avenue.

No more should one see analog’s return in spite of it’s not being wholly engorged by a more highly resolved depictionary. One can see another virtual replacement, a digital version of the digital age. This newer tech will surely set things right…

…underneath its predecessor. The past cannot stop being the present’s predator.


Niederbarnimstraße/Boxhangener Straße, Berlin-Friedrichshain – July 2014

This ain’t No Dicking around.

Told ya you’d be hearin’ from me…

…and again well past my due date.

People don’t really listen. Not even to what they’re thinking.

Libs are all agog thinking some FOX broad put me in my place. And they think I got a lot of gall countering her with the bipartisan-ally established fact that nobody doubted the veracity of the case my folks made against the dictator we subsequently and successfully took out.

You can, quite naturally, quibble with the last bit. And I will in a second. But here’s the thing:

There’s a reason I can spew so matter-of-fecal, and it’s not just that I got a lot of gall. Do have plenty of gall. Helps with digestion after I swallow small creatures whole. But I am able to make the claims I do simply because Lib-voter types are so caught up in spiking the ball at my having been “so terribly wrong” (do ya like the way I use my hands?) they ignore who all is still lying regarding the original intelligence, like to think it makes their team look better if they are innocent sheep led to slaughtering.

It’s quite funny, really. Libs will point to the congressmen and women who didn’t give us the green light on Dear Don’s Shock & Awe as evidence that not everyone was buying in, but then they’re raring to nominate for no less than President of these great United States the most prominent one who got on board – essentially making her the strongest voice of their party. Not that she wouldn’t have been. But this takes it to slam dunk level.

Sure, Hills is the best they got from my perspective. She’s got the capital, the strongest connection to the private sector. I’d vote for her if it weren’t for whoever the Republicans will have running against her. LOL. Just kidding. I’d vote for her if I voted, but only because I know what she knew that we knew and that she went ahead with our plan anyway. Not like we didn’t know she would, or believed for a second she wouldn’t. Just like Senator- um, Secretary Kerry. And Joe.

There was a special place in my heart for those guys. Gotta new heart now. Guess there’s a special place in there, too. Hafta ask the guy who didn’t make it as long as I did. There are a lot of those.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. Reminiscing my glory days in the democracy sector. Libs complain about the money, but they keep coming back for more. My guys in Langley did a study on that kind of behavior. Turns out humans have more free-will than we had thought, just less self-control. As my pal Bibi would say: ‘Poor schmucks.’ Then he’d grill one of ‘em for lunch. You gotta love that guy.

Long story short: The Hills has eyes. She and her colleagues knew what they were doing, even if they were at the time of more immediate assistance to the team she wasn’t playing for directly. United we stand. Imagine how torn I was in 2004 when John ran. He’d have been my personal preference if it’d not’ve meant I’d lose my job. In the great game, we are all Americans. Something like that anyway.

You cannot really think those guys were tricked on the one hand, and that my folks exclusively got it wrong on the other. Sure, we were lying. More or less. I’ll neither confirm, nor deny that we manufactured evidence. Suffice it to say, if we did, it was transparent to the crucial decision makers, not just those bitter few who were calling ‘bullshit’. With that in mind, if we deceived the American people, it was together and, either way, we all got it wrong. Libs desperately cling to ghostly dichotomies, especially when the DNC spooks them with yours truly. Being more than happy to remain relevant to the conversation, this Dick abides.

Look. I’m evil. Don’t mind telling you that. Wouldn’t even call it an admission; it’s simply what I am. I believe in using brute force to get what I want and I don’t believe for a second that that is wrong. And lest you think I am just some run-of-the-mill chicken-hawk, I remind you that I shot a buddy in the face.

Funny stuff. Good times.

I get that Libs don’t like me because I’m evil. But it is deliciously amusing how they can be so certain that their darlings in the Democrat Party are any less so. I will grant you that Madame Clinton can eat fewer rats than I can in, say, a nominally adjudicated amount of time. But I assure you, her blood is just as cold as mine, her deeds just as vicious, and what she earns from those deeds, just as ill-gotten.

Of course, another reason my words and deeds go further forth with impunity is that the President chose to “look forward, not back.” I mean, he could have gone after a few fish and still been able to put together a cabinet that wouldn’t have gotten caught in the net. Commissions clear tranches of folks of wrongdoing all the time, any consequent taint always fades. But he chose clean continuity. Gotta respect that.

To be clear, we do not see retina to retina on a number of issues, so it’s especially gratifying to watch Libs’ faces twitch while they are trying to reconcile their president’s having attempted to extend our brave fighting men & women’s stay in Iraq beyond my president’s deadline for withdrawal. For the Libs who have remained blissfully ignorant of that fact, there’s even more stomach-tickling glee in seeing them blush and stammer before the twitching begins. Makes me wanna pin ‘em down & eat ‘em. But, alas, that’s the privilege of the president. It’s an unwritten rule in the democracy game that we’re only allowed to eat our own mascots. Don’t think for a moment he doesn’t find his just as delicious.

Call a Liberal on Saturday night and he’s yucking about “knuckle draggers”  and their war-mongering “strategery” and shredding of the Constitution. That sort of thing. He’ll mock the term “rule of law” and prattle on about protecting whistleblowers. Stop back around on Sunday and he’s all about superior diplomatic procedures, viable military strategies, and being happy to have the conversation about the delicate balance between freedom and security. I’ll be damned if you won’t hear the words “rule of law” pass his lips without the slightest hint of irony.

When I said, “Rarely has a US president been so wrong about so much at the expense of so many,” with regard to the current hostilities in Iraq and our people’s reagents in ISIS, I meant that, while he may not at the time have had his seat in the Senate so as to have given my folks his stamp of approval for Operation Iraqi Liberation, his actions since acquiring the pulpit of authority indicate anything but disavowal of Iraqi Freedom, let alone can one reasonably make the case that he hasn’t signed on enthusiastically to our global war o’ terror. But ya think I’m gonna give him an attaboy? What’d be the point in that?

In simpler terms that the Libs would understand, I’m trolling the president’s fanbase. Guy’s so smooth that his Facebook followers would “like” his eating a baby (“omg i just cuted the president!!”) and then stay up all night ranting about how everyone “forgot what it was like when Shrub” was eating babies. Their duplicity doesn’t bother me in the least. On the contrary. I like it. Literally and virtually.

In the purest terms, we enable one another. I exist at the pleasure of the President. That will be true in 2017, as well, when, God willing, you will have the first woman occupy that office without having to be on her knees.

You’ll be hearin’ from me.


a barely unrelated Sundy Paper link: Artificial Borders Theory

rundum Friedrichshain Vergleiche

For historical, historical historical perspective, it was over six years ago that Stine aka KAK entreated me to take this photo to make this comparison. She lived just off Besarinplatz, the kind of “just off” that would place her not so far off so as to place her too far off not to be colloquially called “on” Besarinplatz, though not directly on.

When I told her I had this photo in my Friedrichshain calendar, her proprietary sense of community KAK’d in. So this exercise might never have started had it not been for her/that/this.

Besarinplatz was Baltenplatz in 1941
Stine still lived “there” in 2008

She had me come around to her place, not too far off from where she and Aunt Wally (from the older photo) are pointing in their respective shots (Aunt Wally’s being more accurate on the Y axis, Stine’s slightly closer on the X). We used her camera.

The most difficult part was finding a still corresponding orientation point. A number of the buildings on the right were no longer there, the Litfaßsäule (advertising column) was likewise gone, a bike path was present that hadn’t been, indeed, the entire layout including the roundabout itself appears to have shifted a bit, and the building over Stine’s right shoulder was entirely new, if closer to its predecessor’s spot. We took a lot of shots before settling on the building range along Frankfurter Allee in the far background as a central comparison.

So the first shot in this series (though it’s not much of a series given that I’ve only done it a dozen or so times out of the dozens of photos available) was the most difficult, but probably the most fun.

Since then, a default downgrade to point-seven & one pixels has been in effect. I’m no photographer. Nevertheless I carry on. The historical historical images are my own scans of the printed hard-copy, which is likewise a downgrade from the print.

I’ve cloned many other images of Friedrichshain and displayed them in this diary, some with extra *htmelly featurying, some notsomuch, but the only ones so far that have made it into the category of the titular allusion are those inspired by those from the calendar.

Besarinplatz, Berlin-Friedrichshain – March 2008

*I began to create the cursor/arrow hover/rollover thing a bit later, but retroactively changed the earlier entries correspondingly whenever such minute comparisons seemed deemed appropriate.

And still later than that, and less so retroactively, I began the habit of doing it twice (once in each direction) for those who might not be able to enjoy the hover effect.