Monday, May 31, 2010

An Essay on Assay

An Essay on Assay -1995
From Chapter 10- The Talking Box- by J.D. Brayton

The World Bank, or more correctly, the new World Bank is a massive steel and tempered glass structure which occupies an entire city block on Pennsylvania Avenue, between 18th and 19th streets ,a couple three blocks from the Old Executive Office Building and The White House ; deep in the no nonsense hardcore destiny changing federal confines of The District .

Suits , suits , suits . Power ties. Limousines. Destiny and latte’. Served hot with cold calculation. Spare change for a barrista’s smile of indifference.

Cell phones talking , brown shoes walking , agenda hawking sea of humanity pouring forth each morning and each evening from the Metro stations like mannequin ants rushing out of a hole , filling the busy streets with an attitude of get it done now , no matter whose ass you have to crawl up to do it . Washington is fascinating, if only to acknowledge the huge propensity for the nation and the world to so utterly misunderstand what actually goes on here . Washington , D.C. is quite possibly , the most absurdly misunderstood city on the planet .

To your tourist, it’s a city of monuments and museums - bought and paid for by the sweat tax off the balls and backs of everybody’s American ancestor - To your political hopeful , it’s the proximity to real power , a chance to interact and rub elbows with the Christ-likes of political juice in the flesh . The Media loves this city . They all take communion together on the steps of The Capitol every news day in all the languages of the world , rolling tape , skittering and scattering viewpoints that bounce horrendously
off a zillion communication satellites and back into the thirsty ear of the rest of the world; the rest of the world being most decidedly anyplace that is not here . Washington is, without debate ; the absolute center of the universe . People who live here long enough actually believe this and commit to this impossible fraud as an immutable fact . New York City is a seedy artist colony with delusions of grandeur compared to the sheer
power and pomposity exhibited, exemplified and amplified by the Nation’s Capital .

The Great Grand and Holy See of Incomprehensible Delusion.

Maybe it’s all the microwaves . Washington is the undisputed king of the incredibly important phone call , fax , radar , e-mail or gamma ray necessary to ride herd and yank the reins of policy . Damn impressive. People who live work and interact with one another in this city are certainly impressed by themselves. It’s all in the walk. It could be a matter of debate as to whether the power lunch was invented here, but there can be no dispute that it was perfected here .
Alpha eats Arugula with Senator Caligula.
I want it signed in triplicate, modified, codified and notarized on my desk yesterday or we’ll have your wonk head in our salad with a dash of vinaigrette.

No one would stop to blink an eye in your passing. Any one can be replaced here by vote or money. There is always the reality lurking in the back of a Washingtonian’s mind that all it really takes is a micro-series of small fuck-ups here at ground zero to become a huge fuck-up which could possibly reduce the entire planet into radioactive space-dust . For all that, there is a level of arrogant officious calm that is part of the demeanor of a Washingtonian on most every level . Washington is the city of the Ultimate Poker Face.

A city which is forever being written about but never truly described as any more than a city of gray functionaries or pundits who hold a despotic rule over the modern world . You want 9 to 5?

You’ve come to the right place. If ever there was a 9 to 5 town it’s the District of Columbia in it’s exoteric persona.. There is, not surprisingly, a rather huge blue - collar worker- bee community needed to serve the democratic machine . Things break. Much is broken, much is made obsolete and requisitioned in the heart center of democracy , there is ever so much malfunction. To uncover. To legislate. To perpetrate and condone.

Washington was in a construction boom in 1995. Huge cranes filled the skyline. Pork barrels full of glass, steel beams and concrete.

The Ronald Reagan International Trade Center , or ‘the Money Pit ‘ , as it is known by natives in a mixture of derision and awe , stands nearly finished four blocks away from the World Bank construction project . Both projects started roughly the same time. Both are absurdly , preposterously over budget .

There is one difference, and only one .

The tax-payer has paid for The Reagan Center ; three or four times over - The World Bank paid the bill for their own arrogance . To the casual cynic , both structures are completely useless in the universal perusal of Main Street America., but a barrel full of cynics couldn’t begin to actually absorb the mega-billions being spent. Mega-trillions ? At a certain level it really ceases to have any meaning to the poor schlump ass deep in broken stone or drywall dust and a mortgage that was due yesterday.

Working Joe Stiff with a hardhat and a barrel to lift . Mega- union tradesman with parched wrinkled rednecks oozing sweat and barking like dogs through walkie-talkies to the ocean of labor-crusted grumbling bastard workforce spitting cursing eating dust , iron , steel and mystery-meat sandwiches. Building the sanctums of the political money machine.

Call it a day.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Haiku Inspired by meeting 5/24/2010

Fuck the man
For he is wise
In giving his cash to
sleeping artists


Haiku Inspired by meeting 5/24/2010

Fuck the man
For he is wise
In giving his cash to
sleeping artists

Sunday, May 16, 2010

The Downloaders Generation Gimmee

RE: The Spoiled Under 30 Crowd. A Response from an Acerbic Dinosaur.
Um...I agree...
But I was born in 1954.
Our cable was that steel wound stuff we used to hold the chariot together.
We used other cable to hang a transistor radio from our belts, or on the handle bar of our bikes.
I actually remember 8-track tape being a wonder of scientific ingenuity.
I bought 45 records. Lots...and rode my bike with Angel wing handle bars and Bananna seats to the record store to buy them. L.P. (that stands for Long Player phonograph record) were an extravagance few could afford on 35 cents allowance per week. We could afford,however to go to the Saturday Matinee and get a BIG ASS Milky Way and fountain drink.
They shot and beat the shit out of people for having long hair- tattoos were found in the circus or the jailhouse. Earrings were usually of the clunky clip-on variety. They were worn by women or movie Pirates.
Gay meant happy at Christmas or the church dance (Preferably Protestant.)after Lent.
Listening to Rock N' Roll was a subversive act. It took actual guts to be different. It took guts to have Black Friends. It took guts to refuse to say the pledge of allegiance in school because you had questions for an AUTHORITY who forced you to do so in what was supposed to be a free country.
They tried to tell us to "Duck and Cover" under our desks at school because that would protect us from Nuclear Attack.
We saw riots in the streets daily. They assassinated anyone who tried to tell the truth.
They expelled you from school for being a non-conformist.
They beat you with belts,and paddles for not wearing socks, talking back,not tucking your shirt tail in,or falling asleep in class. God help you if you questioned the Vietnam War.
They told us "Potted Meat Food Product" was healthy for lunch.
If we wanted to know what was happening, we turned on Ed Sullivan for new music.
Gidget was the epitome of beach babe.
Pat Boone was used as a cultural shill to clean up "race music". We kids knew better.
He sucked then and he sucks now.
We knew that if we wanted change we got our asses into the street and protested to stop Racism,War, the Draft, and the use of wax paper to wrap potted meat food product in our lunchboxes. Which, by the way, were truly cool because we had cool bands on them and of course- Mr. Ed the Horse, My Favorite Martian,Gidget and The Beatles. These things are worth a CRAPLOAD of money today.
We had 3 channels. Maybe. AM Radio was the shit! We lived for the next new song to make us dance and be happy.
None of you under 45 year olds would have survived the 60's OR 70's, because we would have beat your ass and took your lunch money and bought Rolling Stones records with it.

What MTF is reading..this month-week-moment

Saturday May 15th 2010- MTF reading this :
What MTF is reading this month: I do tend toward History and Biographies rather than Novels these days.

The Unexpected George Washington by Harlow Giles Unger Father of Our Country was not as boring and staid as we have been led to believe. He was shrewd,lucky and not that great of a military strategist. He owned slaves, felt bad about it- but not enough to free them til he was dead.He never had wooden teeth. He was much more enterprising than that- he bought teeth from grotty unlanded peasants willing to part with a couple spare molars for a buck and some of George's home brewed colonial kick-ass brandy- His son in-law was a wanker and his nephews and grandson were peckerhed spoiled effeminate turds on whom he wasted lots perfectly good money by sending them to college..and his mother drove him batshit.I FEEL ya bro.

Manhunt-The 12 Day Chase For Lincoln's Killer by James L Swanson

This was suggested to me by LyndaLu- the author of the Blog DC ROCKS and a proud native of the District. One of the best historical accounts of a traumatic event that nearly -had it been entirely successful-destroyed the Federal Government just days after Lee surrendered at Appomattox. This book blew me away. There are details about the assassination that we NEVER learned in school. Fact: Many Southern generals wrote a blistering condemnation of this act-even as they were laying down their arms in defeat. Also girls-John Wilkes Booth was quite the theatre sexhunk who-in an odd twist of fate-suffered from REVERSE booty call once he got EXTRA famous. The bonfires around the country from ex-lovers burning his love letters kept the Port of Baltimore and Capitol city illuminated for years.

For All The Tea In China- by Sarah Rose-

A short interesting read about Messr. Fortune- The Scot who perpetrated the first and most daring act of industrial espionaige by going to a closed China- sneaking into the interior disguised as a round eyed caucasian Chinaman( Take that Boy George) and stealing seedlings and cultivation secrets of Tea for the East India Company- The Halliburton of it's day. AH! The same bunch who brought Opium=Morphine=Heroin to the modern world. Charming.Fact- There is NO difference between Green and Black Tea- it's all in the processing folks.

One Man Tango- by Anthony Quinn can be no denying that Anthony Quinn was one of the coolest actors on the planet. And he was freakin too nuts to slow down and consider the concept of I CAN'T...and he fuct every star under the sun. Those Hollywood types..everything you heard about them was true. The scene in Mexico where Quinn, and Gary Cooper looked into the stars and discussed philosophy while Coop gave Barbara Stanwyk a handjob is worth the price of the book. Dirt? Trust's ALL here...and the bio of a truly amazing artist and man. VERY COOL. The guy was a fave before- Now he's my hero. I do- however- intend to stay married so there are a few things I won't emulate. Jeez...the guy had 14 kids by six(or eight-I lost count) women...without Viagra. Must be the spice in the fettucinni...