A Distraction from Too Much Work to Work or be Worked

From the email sent to Sibling the Eldester, whereby the therein named distraction is being ongone as here typed:First, the run-on:
Among the massive amount of data bouncing around my brain, for which this email is the required distraction (albeit hardly qualifiable as such), comes the non-native E-speaking dough scent, i.e. Jermine l’eh d’preaux Fessor with whom I’m splitting a course and who I only this very morning, several weeks in, discovered had made available to the group a table intended to explain in engrossing detail the form & forming of that mode of expression dubbed Passive, and, which, along with other peculiarities, had featured throughout the repeated use of intransitive words of action, which, as you may know, are not used in that voice in any becoming sense. I swear to you the example “was/were went” was displayed in this collation, and be me trusted when you’re told it ain’t got nuttin’ to do with an amusingly instructive riff on the Cisco Kid or a more sophisticated or archaic connotation or phrasally coupled variety of the verb “to go”.

And now:
Let it be sufficed to be said that said document is being massively reworked as is currently being addressed, with the temptation barely being avoided to be it provided such nuggets as:

Let dog be eaten by you!



Der Parkbank Pinkler: rückdry Szen


Neulich in Karlshorst durchgedreht mit Schmopfkerzen. Eine eventuell ältliche Dame nach der Uhrzeit gefragt, und sie, als wie mit Stulle im Mund, »Fuff vor hap eens.« Entlang der Treskowallee gibts keine Normaluhr mehr. Woran liegts? Der Uhrindustrie. Janz jenau! Drecksverbindlicher Mangel an Sitzbänken gewiss zur Gunst der Gastronomie. Die Wörterbuchbranche? Frag bloß nicht.

Beine haben ihre Ruhe erst an der Ecke Am Carlsgarten, gerade als man denkt, von Treskow abgesehen, da ist der Carl schon lange weg. Gerade als ich denke, Kopp platzt gleich. Bloß nicht wieder einschlafen.

In diesen Zeiten ist die Freedom Industry zu beachten. Na, jut. Zu jeder Zeit. Ich lebe aber nur in dieser. Während dieser glauben alle an alles und nichts. Durchschnittlich bedeutet das, dass eine Masse einer von zwei am vorherrschendsten Gewalten vertrauen. Mehr oder weniger. Genügend. Daheim wird das eine Regierungsmehrheit genannt,  gedeutet auf da drüben eine Diktatur.

Was ist zu glauben, wenn Waffen zusammen mit Perspektiven für die weiter Entwicklung von frisch zerbombten rohstoffreichen Länder ins Spiel kommen? Auch wenn das Gelobte Mittel nicht stimmt, also die Förderung nicht so reibungslos wie im Vertrag läuft, liefern sich Waffen uneingeschränkt weiter. Bodenschatz bleibt Bodenschatz. Verträge tragen Verträge. Abkommen kommen von Abkommen ab.

Könnte es dadurch ein Ende geben? Jeder Zeit ist eine Endzeit. Damit meine ich, zu jeder Zeit glaubt der Durchschnittsmensch, dass er zur Endzeit lebt. Ich glaube, ich habe einen Satz dafür: Die eschatologische Paranoia wird von einer Perspektive geprägt, dass andere gerade jetzt eine persönliche Apokalypse erleiden und dass niemand, der mit ihrer Ursache vertraut ist, immun gegen ihre Auswirkungen bleiben sollte.

Vorhin wollte ich nur wissen, wieviel Uhr es ist.

Vom Kulturerbe ein R-Gespräch



A “Death to the Either/Or” Allusion

I’d really rather write about something else, but gotta go w/ th’flow & mind the_gap. All credit for the title to the scrivener whose namesake’s team I bet’ll finish 9-2 to continue their streak of fifty-win seasons. Irony abounds here (and not just theft of scripted thought, as our purveyor of sed abounding irony (if only by way of KitH (fine ham & all)) can not care for the game adverted & encrypted in this passage, sed game about which I’d preferred this morn to muse). I searched to barren effect for a tag to the title at his place, hence the link to a not inappropriate Appalachian fog’s foto-log.  Hey! Also, too: I do believe this opener qualifies as a bleggalgaze <which abound at th’ link)! Shifting the cryptics, let’s get started, shall we?


A successful propaganda regime will fr’ever have its targets looking exactly where they want them to, which’d be a need-to-know if regarding how & when theirselves are manipulated into thinking a certain way about certain others or, in the aggregate, apparently alternative propaganda regimes. Most unfortunately, I assume (or paradoxically, I reckon), we entities stem from an either/or process of growth into twits whose binary blinders thwart an appreciation of even overt overtones via basic rhetorical suppositions. So it certainly is no surprise that the not necessarily all that clever concealment of client regime activities does not give broad rise to questions that result in anything but jumping on the only other bandwagon that appears available. <Let’s call that an overdue Sundae wink;-)

Respective to the arbitrary boundaries that go a long way toward preventing people from seeing what they have in common while indoctrinating identifieds into thinking that at least one set of enemies of their perceived enemies is friendlier than the latter enemy, Amerigo’s playin’ Americants as much if not more now than it ever has, and the rib-thorn du jour is don’d facile-i-tater. If dude was seen as dangerous by the Home Houses as is presented in the press, they wouldn’t be extending the Authorities of His Office once conceived illegal and neo-continuing cartel blanche behavior that never results in less danger in anyone’s hands, whether in the schools at home or along enhanced firing ranges abroad. You’d think a relationship with an evil Prince was just inked out of thin oil — that roughly Twelve Governments heretofore had not been in lockstep ruinous roid-rage.

Much is accomplished with a length of lexemes & evocative imagery served with Bernays spread liberally between well-heeled slices of bread. The central success of the adverted misinformation industry was in convincing already established industries of its indispensability. Not that there be not overlapping interests to be lapped up; the latest of the latest displays no distinctions. In a sense it’s kind of comforting so many are immunized to the dutifully overdriven, distorted details.


May we accentuate our positive interaction with fellow beings of the world, successfully strive to be aware of and avoid negative interactions with the same, and mitigate any potential- or by default damaging behavior to the environs thereabout. May this Sundae service be sweet.

BLCKCTDRSTP – December 2017

Fifty Years of My Lie

I see it much the way I see the US. The Right, as they were, are an always existent element in society, and in spite of societal tendencies to recognize thick lines, they are in fact a spectrum of feelings, beliefs, general notions, and ideologies, like the rest of society, all prone to willful blindness and hypocrisy induced by learned identities. More often than not we are not cognizant of the masks we place upon our masks, let alone the masks themselves. So just like all those Trumpeteers, the AfD voters encompass a variation of xenophobic nationalism from latent to overt, unwitting to hardcore to just plain idiotic and/or evil.

The problem as I see it, as I think you know, is that the alternative presented is the same as it always is: a declaration of A or B. The multiparty system here does not avert that, largely because of coalition building (the CDU (read: Republicans) and the SPD (read Democrats) have just built yet another grand coalition that renders real opposition so far to the margins that we may as well just have the Queen). It would appear that this form of false-dichotomous democracy both here & there & everywhere has been enough to stave off a certain kind of extremity — (if we’re willing to discount the extremity as it is represented in our militarist policies, which are in spite of all rhetoric anything but partisan, and our rich-favoring policies, as represented by both parties jockeying for financial favor from one or another rent-seeking class of assholes, or as it is represented by the standard American oh-so reasonable respect for law & order in spite of the evidence of its fascist tendencies) — but only for so long.

That is: I believe most people who wouldn’t posit this as fact know full well this is where we’ve been headed. If you do not address the outright exploitation of people around the world and at home, and continue to pretend that the lesser-evil approach to electoral politics can continue unabated, eventually the most odious of the aforementioned spectrum will congeal & coalesce by obligatory scientific cause & effect. While it’s true that here the coalition building aspect can keep the storm troopers of a certain kind of uniform from taking over houses of government, it doesn’t mean they cannot curry favor. And, as I said, we have storm troopers of a different uniform already, increasingly militarized police forces who are not by my estimation Officer Friendlies, but people who think they are because of their uniform deserving of respect.

The A/B choice currently being forced upon all of us around the globe is nationalism vs. globalism. Neither one of these options as presented is remotely less than awful, but the reasonable anti-globalist factions (to the extent that such exist) are so marginalized by the exclusionary politics, media, and resultant culture that there may as well be no democracy. Indeed, the options, as they were, are not presented so much as dictated.

Here, as there, the only thing that people with their grubby fingers grabbing at the strings of anticipated power care about regarding Poo-tin — to take the Zeitgeist as example — is getting into another country to continue the disasterous policies of toppling the likes of Iraq and Libya. The disaster is by bipartisan design, of course, as indeed is even Don President’s new torturer-in-chief of what’s portrayed as American intelligence the doing of his predecessor’s “looking forward not back”. You might as well say that Bo Rama and all of his apologists were looking forward to her tenure. His choice to let these folks who tortured folks off the hook for the ostensible sake of healing and unity was a calculated move on every imaginable level of the eleven dimensional checkerboard. Just like incrementally privatizing schools and prisons and monetizing everything in between including healthcare, while somehow managing to look darling doing it, at least to his class of courtier who swooned at his family’s every move and continue to yearn for his yesterday.

None of these putative players give a fuck about you or me, or the danger of Russian influence, or the Syrian population – any more than did the dyed-in-the-wool brutal American murderers for their victims fifty years ago yesterday.

Were that too not the consequence of a bipartisan-based global policy meant to curtail, oddly enough, the same enemy’s influence, and dictated as a choice at the ballot box, it could not have led to the no-less heinous slaughter of over a million more Vietnamese victims — a number any neo-fascist newcomer political party would be proud to quibble with. 

Der Parkbank Pinkler: frucht-feife-ziehen auf de Jondel

„Ist die Ruhe um?“

—The Glam Squad, Gladiography (Veröffentlichungsdatum unbekannt)

Gestern ist der Zukunftsweg. Jeder einzelne Tunken Berliner, der neu in Donut-kreis der Hauptstadt auch-tauft, ist ein untrügliches Wahrzeichen dafür, dass diese Lokalkette ihre bettelarm Sklavenlohn-schufter auwacka-weise nicht nur mit Touris zu überhäufen hoffen. Nicht als hätten alle waschechte Berliner was gegen die Pfannkuchen-eintunkerei-erei, aber gerade in diesen Kaffee? Schrippen stippen? Wohl kaum, wa?

Doch, doch! Herrje, herrje! Man meinte, die sich nun nah dreißigjährig fortbestehende Kopp-kluft zwischen Ost und West innerhalb Berlin so gut wie nicht existierend einstufen läßt, von Akademikern, die nun ja mit sachbezogenen Stichprobe-berlinern geredet haben.

Stallgeruch: Mehr als jeder Dritte sowohl aus Friedrichshagen wie auch Friedenau findet die hierzu gratis Lorke aus dem Tunken Berlinern gut bis sehr gut — alle vier alt- wie neu-Friedrichshainer sogar hervorragend. Zumal Weddinger und Weißenseer treffen drauf gerne wieder. Na gut, deren Daten stützen auf Statistiken einer Marktstudie. Jedenfalls wurde willige Teilnehmer mit Anschrift diesseits Dahlem befragt. Ob dabei die ausstehende Mehrzahl ähnliches wie „Wat de Muckefuck”?! von sich gab?

Wer meinte, die Werbebranche schummelt nicht, verdient von der Zahlensalon seinen Lebensunterhalt. Wer glaubt, dass sich Akademiker Stories nicht aus den abzählenden Fingern saugen, sollte mal die Geschichtsbücher aus aller Herren Staaten via close reading allumfassend vergleichen. Die Leitfrage paraphrasiert, was und wer wird nimmer gefragt, wer gilt gar nie oder zählt überhaupt nicht?

Der Journalist möchte keinen Limerick aus ‘ner Tragödie machen, deswegen wird berichtet, im „Tümpel” werde es sein, woraus eine Leiche geborgen wurde. Im folgenden Absatz darf es wohl als Teich bezeichnet, allerdings nur in direkter Zusammensetzung mit einem Totem oder ähnlich irrendem Beschön-sinn.

Fruchtstr./Rüdersdorfer Str. 1960 / Str. der Pariser Kommune/Rüdersdorfer Str. 2018



Der Parkbank Pinkler: Rücksex säen

„Ahnte, schwante, tut die Tante,
schlechte Note, Schuldenquote.”

—’aus der Grotte

Keiner schaut bei ihm vorbei. Oder, wie es gerade geht, den Umstanden entsprechend, hinein zwischen der Raumdecke aus der Brückenunterseite, und der von den vier Wänden, die nicht zu dieser Decke hinaufreicht. Daraus kommt das Loch vom Schlupfloch. Da oben, neben den rockend un’ rollenden Zwei- bis Zwölfrädern, ist auch eine Bushaltestelle, wo es kräftig quietscht. Die leere Lastkraftwagen rütteln aber am dollsten durch. Besuch aber nicht.

Continue reading

Merely Prayers

That which teases the question of control — whether individual human agency from the bottom up is virtually existent or not in a whirlwind of agglomerated control structures — would be comparable to that which cannot qualify the existence or non-existence of free will. Maybe we peasant purchasers of information are discerning enough not to be duped, steered & controlled, or maybe that’s doubtful. Whatever, virtually all data is dubious until proven otherwise. As the messengers in this drama beggar believability — that is, not just the protagonist & antagonist casts, but the cast itself — it should be instructive that the default bylaws of binary self-governance are at once underpinned and impaired by, remarkably, an intelligent human capacity to believe one can measure and judge the relative trustworthiness of the least trustworthy class in this culture, and trust the spoils of one’s toil to the marginal winner of that competition when in actuality the bedrock of what’s customarily peddled by the Crullers & Crumpet Crumbs of Gluten, and the Clingy Badmintons in Bushes, and Dioramas of Gamey Diamond, and Cee D. Uses & S.P. Dees & “Äh, eff Ds!” and I. Saids & Net ‘n’ Yahoos of this whirlwind begs too much import to be but moot. So what if one of them happens to mouth a truth that works like a salve to soothe your sore sensibilities. Is it remotely relevant to their stage movements?On the other hand, if you’re still a follower at this point, it’s not entirely in vain. Whether appropriate to the original purpose or not, it is apparent that answers are rendered unto the faithful of all beliefs. That itself has meaning.