I could blow it all up

 

The real me. Why I keep fighting to tell you.

I could tell you all a lot about life, Trumpsters and Haters. Why don’t I? Why haven’t I? Because I invented a new kind of writing meant to survive me physically, which turns out to have been a bad bet.

For example, I know far more about the gender (i.e., sex) thing than anyone imprisoned in niche paranoia understands. Except for youth mutilation, it’s all understandable and addressable.

I know more about the Christian variosity than anyone else has had the wit to understand. From Catholics to Evangelicals I have a unifying theory.

Worse for you, I can connect all my current insights to massive works I’ve already written. Been on to you all along.

My unofficial subtitle for this post is “Songs About Me.”

Why I begin with one of my favorites over the years…

Bowie or me just drunk…

Yeah, I’m both and been mistaken by both. Come back and explain this later. 

So. Songs. About me. Which is just ducking the question. I get to a place you can’t go quite quick.

 

Partial to this version. The women used to mistake me 

for him. But I always knew what it really meant.

I’ve always lived in Thunderdome.

I have always loved iconic women. No need to explain. Except ‘Aunty Entity’ was wrong…

Best/worst western ever made.

Foreshadowed by this one. I had a thing for Mrs. Miller, the beautiful woman…

 Took me years to find the song, truth to tell.

I was a relentless hunter of music I’d heard uncredited in movies before there were VCR tapes. How I discovered Rachmaninov. Heard it on a sad movie called Story of Three Loves and then hunted, hunted, hunted…

I learned how to pick out the tune on a piano when I was a kid.

Didn’t have to hunt for this one. Knew it was magical even when I first heard it as a kid. I always knew there was one like him in me.

Showed up to the studio drunk at 3 am. One take. 

Died soon after. Eternity followed.

Bunny because I grew up with the big bands from the 1930s through the 1950s. My Dad’s music and therefore mine too.

I have the album. It’s called “The Voice.” 

Before he was the Chairman of the Board.

This is going to be a looooong post. I’ve been around forever and I know everything. I can prove it. I’ve written about everything along the way. And I still have a sense of humor. Included will be the songs that are, as everything should be, about me. Like this one. I grew up loving her.

My Dad thought it would make a difference when he 

told me she was a fat black woman. He was wrong.

But I did roam. On beyond the big bands, from classical to rock to heavy metal to Tom Waits. 

Kind of an 11th Commandment for us sinners.

And now I’m back with all the answers. I know everything about life, women, men, young’uns, history, music, literature, architecture, religion, and American culture. Wait for it.

And no, I’m not gay. I just know both sides of the coin. Unlike ALL of you.

**********

Everything above shows you where I started as a young man. I believed in being a man in a tough but meaningful world. I also believed in love, romance, fealty, and beauty. I was wrong. About nearly everything. What I learned over 50-some years of good times and bad…

Men are no good.

Women are no good.

People are no good.

Why there always had to be God.

Permit me to explain…

From my generation on, we’ve grown up without God. Meaning we get to see who we are without him. And, yes, he’s a male divinity. The stars are his explosion of life-giving/predatory semen. Black holes are the cunts of the universe. Life swallowing.

Men are no good

Without God, men are all 9-13 years old. They just want to stick their things in holes where they find them. They keep score by adding up sums of money or trophies of various kinds. Left to their own devices, they like professional wrestling, pussy, practical jokes on one another, porn (actually better than pussy), football and basketball, pussy and ATM, fast cars from Italy, and movies made from comic books. Oh. Yes. They also like bullying all the smaller folks.

Women are no good

Without God, women are all 13-whenever years old, which makes them older and wiser than men. They just want to get sexually penetrated with no consequences. Why men like porn. You can see, plain as day, how much they want to get penetrated. The Big Secret all men carry around with them every day. They all want it. Except men don’t get it that all women want to be In Charge. We think they want babies. They don’t really. Not without God. Without God they just want sex (hunh, hunh, hunh hunh!!!) and being In Charge. Why they like Bad Boys so much. Which is the proof of their frailty. They’re just not that smart. As dumb as men are, women are dumber. They think, because they can manipulate men they can also manipulate life, with makeup and hairdos and clothes and pussy. Even anal, because only they know they can go that far… Lesbian are the saddest gays. There’s no one to talk to.

People are no good

Yeah, women got the longer paragraph. Doesn’t mean they’re more interesting. Women are almost unbelievably uninteresting. They trudge along behind their Bad Boys, getting impregnated with great regularity because those Bad Boys can fuck, y’know, and then they believe the narrative to old dead white boys spin, which is always about how you really can be In Charge, with the right makeup, underwear, and fake educational credentials.

Okay. The people question is and always has been about men. And without God people are no good. 

Let’s face it. Men are horndogs. Women are sluts. All of human culture is based on this reality. Women are bought into marriage by a diamond ring prostitution dowry, men think penalty-free promiscuity begins with marriage. Which is the ultimate financial prostitution transaction. And then we start fighting for power. And custody of the unfortunate offsprings.

Aren’t we cool now. 

Nobody wants to talk about this part. The No God life of the elect. 

Amazingly, I have watched all the shows about life since weed. Weed. Which so many of my juniors tell me is not a gateway, not a problem, they do it discreetly and who’s to know, while I say it’s a stake in the heart of Western Civilization, not just a gateway to hard drugs but an ineluctable gateway to gunfire and murder and fatally impaired consciousness. David Solin take note.

We kind of need God.

I told you I could blow everything up. I can. Time for a new piece of music. I’m neither purely male nor female nor earthbound. I’m a person you never knew, born in Punk City and living there ever since…

 

The video is a truncated fragment. The rest of the lyrics are here.

[That’s all I’ll explain for now. This is enough to get you started on your own thinking process… I’ll definitely be back later with more, but here’s a simple question you can start with…

Told you. Simple question, simply stated. See you anon.]

NOTE 11/8/25: I never linked this where it would get seen till recently. For all of you who are inclined to get pissed off about this post a little secret I’ll share. This is a dark corner every writer visits at times. Every serious writer. Many end up here, like Mark Twain in Hadleyburg and a lot of the ones who die young. The hard part is shrugging your way out if it and making every effort to believe there’s enough good out there to make the painful epiphanies worthwhile.