AfterPunk

…Who remembers everything that happened in the last sixty years.

  It really is all over. Biden gets re-elected. Because of all of you. You are afraid to confront your family and friends. Being nice is what you prize over the constitutional republic. That’s okay. I will die sometime soon. Hopefully after I restore Shuteye Town 1999 and Shuteye Nation. I made writing news about the subject of Time. Then I become a footnote.  Contentment. I wrote a book that could have saved us. It didn’t. See, I’m not even hyper-linking anything. My wife has been trying to tell me. I’m just an old guy, dying down. I made an outreach effort to two fractured vessels. They’re only in their 50s. They don’t understand anything. They think the world was always about weed and pretending to be smart. Wrong. But who can you tell? Consciousness is gone. Even in the ones who think they’re brilliantly conscious. Not. I am conscious. The last one. 

  Do you have any idea what it’s like being me? I’m a gunfighter. Could I kill? Guy asked the question, “Do you regard yourself as peaceful? He predisposed the answer. “If you can’t admit you are capable of violence, you are not peaceful. You are harmless.” I am peaceful. But I have deadly accuracy in the combat of real life. I do not lose arguments with lawyers. Interesting given that everyone in my youth insisted I should be a lawyer. Why didn’t I? Because prosecutors always want a conviction and a career based on conviction rate. Because defense attorneys have to scrape up excuses for guilty clients they know are guilty and dangerous. Because I have always believed in justice. Lawyers always betray the same brain damage. They take the offense to destroy the opposing argument. If they make holes in your counter-argument, they declare themselves the winner. But they never actually win the argument. Good minds. Destroyed by law school. By the destruction of the meaning of words. I ...

Sunset Boulevard. We die for them all the time. This time forever.  Men sing about dames, destiny, danger, dreams, and death. Women sing about men. That’s the black and white of it. The only time they stray out of B&W is when they’re blue. If men ever stopped singing about women, there’d be no color left in the world. If women stopped singing about men, loving, obsessing, envying, hating, submitting, there’d be no world. That’s the black and white of it. Sad to say, that’s where we’re headed. Not going to tell you who anybody is. You should know. And they’re the Superior Sex. They have a License to Kill. With no résumé .

The Bee is worried They think we can be extorted by Facebook . I’m not. I’m the only prophet who saw all this coming… way way back when. Even told you he wasn’t my President. He was your President. I still hold that against you all. Obama Diary: the Indictment

  Good morning. I’m still 70, still a bone in the throat of all the lefties.Why I’m still smiling in my opaque way. I’m taking credit for the whole shutdown. Pointed out that Rachel Maddow, despite the phony Oxford cred, is an extremely pedestrian mind. 121 IQ. Fit for political cant and knowledgeable about absolutely nothing. Facebook couldn’t stand me posting this…  I have never taken her seriously. Second rate mind posturing with arched eyebrow and superior tone. Honestly never believed anybody ever took her seriously. She’s the bore everybody runs from at every faculty cocktail party. Oxford. Why do people still take that place seriously? Read this and get back to me… The Oxford Connection Refugees from life and faith and courage. Maddow’s excuse? Sex. The worst excuse of all for not believing in God. But the one so many empty-headed lust-obsessives have flocked to. While looking down on all the ones who don’t want to witness and revel in their coitus.

  I started as a writer in a secretive family. It was called privacy then. Nobody outside the family was supposed to know what happened within its turmoils or triumphs. Not done. We lived inside a cloak in the country. Which is not odd in an historical context, only in a 20th century one. There were no big family sins to threaten any member of the family. No beatings, sexual hijinks, dirty dealings of any kind. Just a conviction that family doings were off limits to everyone else. Except that from the age of seven on, I was destined to be a writer. I tried to obey the privacy rule. My first novel was not about my eccentric childhood. I didn’t write the callow prep school novel. The material was not thrown away, merely cached for reuse in other ways later. The end result? I have revealed more of myself in a lifetime of writings than any writer I’ve ever read or otherwise encountered. With the sole exception of specific sexual descriptions from my life. Although I have been candid th...