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Damn it...If the embedable player is going to fuck off and not work, here's a link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4N3N1MlvVc4
Like I said, sitting here, while waiting for the call of sleep. Listening to "Nativity in Black" a tribute to Black Sabbath, thinking of Mike. This is something I engage in often as there aren't to many areas of my life he hasn't impacted in some way or another. I find that thinking of him can be beneficial, or it can be a total bummer. 12 hours at work in a factory wondering why one of your best put a gun to his head and squeezed the trigger is a very long 12 hours indeed. Did he see what he was seeking? Was his destination clear as he received that chemical/mechanical orgasm as the hammer struck firing pin, struck primer, ignited powder, discharging that hot alloy payload, extinguishing the light that was the source of his torment? Fight fire with fire? Maybe, we'll never know. He was brilliant on his own ground and often the ground of others, bringing a perspective to a discussion no one had forseen. You often found yourself in deep shit if you started and argument lightly with him. Was it perhaps that brilliance which finally burned him down? He often tried to go in so many directions that he got no where fast. To much creativity not enough outlets, I feel fortunate now that I was able to help drain some of the energy along with Eddie in the form of music, or just a plain old fashion argument. The former taking place not often enough, while the latter ranged from the refreshing to the trying as points of view clashed.
I have meant for the last several months to call his father, sorry Steve! I have the deepest desire to speak with you as I said I would that day at the beach, one month after a wound was opened in each of us. If I'm still sore, I cannot imagine where you are. I will call, as soon as the tempest in my head calms down a bit. It's been something of a force 5 storm since Ed called that night, and has not relented. I don't think that it'll do either of us any good if I call and just cry in your ear, or maybe it would I just don't know if I have the balls to find out. I know some of the clan see's this page, or had done so upon a time. If you (Steve) hear about this or get to read it, I apologize for being a wretched weak ass. I should have called, and have been a selfish prick to have waited. I wonder if you need to talk as bad as I seem to. The tears making tracks down my face tell me that I might be onto something, at least so far as I am concerned. I feel as though a bit of the burden is lifted writing this. However it doesn't make up for the fact that I haven't yet done what I'd said I'd do....
Ed has finally wrested the Deleted Logic Domain name from the jaws that held it fast. Held it tight with nonsense and bullshit and static. Now we may carry on, remember and celebrate this arena that our Friend concieved.
2 months have passed, I just wanted to write something here so that the place doesn't get too rusty.
I'll come back when I have something a triffle more profound to say.
I don't quite know what to say Mike. I know that you are already sorely missed. And will continue to be. This is very hard, mainly thinking of your Daughters. Yet in close second place is the questions you left behind. Was it a spur of the moment thing? Or was there some forethought? If that is the case why didn't you call someone? I know that I am several hundred miles away, but you are my brother and I would have done anything in my power to help or get you out of a jam, as I always have tried to do. I don't know. This is a common sentiment now, it passes the lips with incalcuable ease. Jesus, saying "I don't know" is the easiest thing about this.
All that I can say for now is I loved you like a brother and will mourn you the same.
1976-December 2005: Rest in Peace Mike.
Say Hello to Thompson for us; you will be sorely missed.
Richard Franklin Lennox Thomas Pryor: December 1940-December 2005
A photo from the shoot for his first album, "Richard Pryor" 1968
When you're a kid, your parents like to share some of their most favorite things with you. For my Dad, it was his comedy albums and the Number One man in the stack was Richard Pryor. From his early days when the material was clean all the way to today, he's been a defining force in comedy
The funniest film moment for the longest time came in 1976 (The year I was born) during the film, "Silver Streak" when Richard tries to teach Gene Wilder how to be Black.
"How come all you white guys got such tight asses?"
Richard Pryor made the film a success, but was never featured or mentioned in the trailer.
Ain't that a motherfucker?
Speaking of "motherfucker"...
Yeah... That was a word he used on stage a lot. He also worked to reclaim the word "nigger" in most of his stand-up. For the longest time, he took the Lenny Bruce approach to words; That words only have the power you give them.
After he visited Africa in 1979, he came to a slightly different understanding... That "Nigger" was only an American term. He would see Black people in Africa doing everything in a fully-functioning society and he said he heard a voice ask him, "Do you see any 'niggers' here?"
He stopped using the word on stage during his routine.
A lot of people nearly die doing drugs. If you O.D. then it's just part of the life.
Richard Pryor was one of the first motherfuckers to blow himself up.
Holding up a lit match, "What's this? It's Richard Pryor running down the street!"
No blog...
No review...
No movie (Especially since it should have been Eddie Griffin playing him) is a good enough tribute to a man whose work will ripple through society for generations to come.
"Ever noticed how nice white people get when there's a bunch of niggers around?"
World Aids Day went by with barely a whisper.
Peaceful protesters dubbed "The Garden Grove Five" have been harassed and their homes unlawfully searched in retaliation.
International Patent Laws are now being enforced to prevent poorer nations from both manufacturing and importing cheaper medications.
But do we care?
Aren't we too busy trampling each other in line at the markets and malls to buy the next escape from "reality"?
Isn't there enough reality on TV?
As you read (or maybe chose to ignore) this, a bunch of biased and crusty, old elitists on Capitol Hill are attempting to reign in technology they don't understand and can't explain.
The war against Free Speech in America is well underway.
In what many were lead to believe would be a move toward campaign finance reform, your 'Representatives" have put in language that can be used to fine people they deem to be "campaigning" in a broadcast or published work.
(So when are they going to get around to fining Fox News as it has clearly become a Right-Wing propaganda-mill?)
Side Note: As I was looking up these articles, most of the ones concerning the "campaign finance reform" laws in question had been removed.
If you want unfiltered, real news... you'd better get it while you're still allowed to:
KPFK (Radio for SoCal)
NPR News Network
Free Speech TV
Reuters
These are a few of the sources for unwashed, uncolored, news left.
My blog?
Deleted Logic will always be safe; I despise both Liberals and Conservatives for their stupidity.
Liberals lack the will, discipline and backbone to get anything done.
Conservatives lack the reason, compassion and ethics to get anything done well.
It amazes me to see how forgetful partisanship makes some of the more critical political voices. It almost seems like the entire LGBT community forgot about how Clinton supported legislation against same-sex marriage in California after Bush promoted "The Federal Marriage Amendment".
And by the way, you ignorant boot-lickers... GORE DID NOT "INVENT" THE INTERNET!
I'm looking forward to one rumor I heard on Satellite radio a few days ago... That Ted Coppel is going to do an objective show on American News Organizations by the name of "F The Media!"
That would make my fucking Christmas!
An interesting weekend this has been.
I spent a lot of time with the girls... I took them up to Big Bear with me. There's no snow yet, but there are plenty of large pine-cones to pick and the lake is always beautiful. They enjoyed themselves and I was glad to have them with me.
We stopped by my Mom's house and picked up a few things that night as well. My oldest daughter began asking questions about the house I grew up in. She's five years old, but she's brilliant and inquisitive. After a while, I found myself explaining how bad a childhood I had (As lightly as I could do it and with as little graphic detail as possible). She looked at me funny and I could tell that she found it hard to take that I was beaten up and verbally abused a lot. "Haven't you ever noticed how grumpy I am?", I asked her. She shook her head in a negative fashion and I suppose it's because she's seen people even grumpier than me. I'm also a lot more fun when I'm with them anyway.
So I ended up continuing to explain things... "... and so I became really angry. I was mad all the time. I'm not so mad anymore but it wasn't easy to stop."
I don't exactly remember how, but the conversation easily turned into the childhood understanding of "Good-Guys" and "Bad-Guys".
"A lot of people think I'm a Bad-Guy."
Both children look at me skeptically. The four-year-old pats me on the hand and says, "You're not a 'Bad-Guy'... You're my Daddy!"
I did my best to keep my eyes from watering in front of them after that. Angelina still looked unconvinced, so I went on:
"I wear all black... Do you know why?" "Because it goes with anything?", replies the oldest. Chuckling, I explained further, "That and it keeps people from bothering me. It makes them think I'm dangerous... It makes them afraid to mess with me."
"I also don't follow the rules that much and I don't do what everyone else thinks I should... And some people think that's bad too."
The conversation about doing what other people want you to is one I'm sure she's had with her Mother.
She started to get it. After that, she was even trying to be extra nice to me. I don't want them to experience the kind of pain I went through, but I will explain myself properly to them. None of this, "You'll understand when you're older." crap. I've noticed that if I take time and ask questions about what she believes she already understands, it's easier to explain some of the more complicated aspects of life.
I really don't care what the rest of the world thinks of me.
They can call me "creepy" , "evil" and pretty much anything else they want. As long as my children (whether they understand me completely or not) know who and what I am, the rest of the world can continue on it's path to hell.
I seiously need to reconfigure my life... Maybe another new job.
I've had this one for a year... The last one was a fluke; That lasted almost four years.
I don't really feel much better yet.
FUCK you all!
WHORES!
TRAMPS!
CUNTS!
FAGS!
PRICKFUCKS WHO BARE FALSE WITNESS AGAINST A BROTHER!
SHAME BE UPON YOU YOU MIRTHLESS DEALERS OF LIES AND DECIET!
TO HELL WITH YOUR UNHOLY HOARDE OF INDECENT CONGREGANTS!
LIARS!
USURPERS!
BEUROCRATS AND CHARLETINS!
I HOPE YOU ARE ALL RAPED BY YOUR OWN BAD INTENTIONS!
I'm in a pretty sour fucking mood.
Let's just leave it at that for a while.
It's probably no surprise... But I'll explain why.
See... I love my family and I love being with them. I just hate this shitty holiday.
The most petty and the smallest reason is that it is too damned close to my
Birthday. Being born (poor as fuck) in January usually means that you get jack
shit and everyone promises to give you something on your birthday instead. So
that was one of my first problems with it, after a certain age.
The second reason is that the whole fucking thing is a sham: According to notable,
Biblical historians... Christ was most likely born in September. It's the
proximity to Yule (A perfectly wonderful Pagan Holliday) that has brought it
into the December months, making it easy for the Children of Nature and Magick
to hide among the torch-bearing Christians. What we should be celebrating in
December is his conception. And how should we do this?
By staying home in warm beds and FUCKING!
One of the biggest reasons I hate this holiday is that it's just fucking GAUDY
as all hell. The colors (Red and green and silver and gold for fuck's sake?)
make me want to puke. They were never meant to go together in a festive manner
and would serve as better decor for a mental institution that ENCOURAGES violent
behavior. And what about the music? Most Caucasians can't even sing a hymn
decently enough; but when you put Christmas music on, it just sounds unnerving
and nauseating. The barking "Jingle Bells", the "Alvin and the
Chipmunks Christmas Album" and "Grandma got run over by a fucking reindeer"...
Those are the jagged peaks of a mountain of shitty music made for that time of
year. There is only one exception I make and that's Bing Crosby with David
Bowie doing "Little Drummer Boy".
That's it... Period!
And then there's the shitty food. I'm not talking about the eclectic
confections found when the Sarvers gather... I'm talking about another
dastardly curse of Caucasian culture: The turkey.
Have you ever seen a live turkey? These are stupid, evil animals that are easily
descended from the last surviving dinosaurs. They have been known to drown in
the rain by looking skyward with their mouths open. They are filthy and they
are mean. They are ugly.
I'm not putting this rotten beast in my mouth with shitty stuffing and vegetables.
No fucking way. Bring on the cranberries and yams... I need something to wash
my enchiladas down with.
The two biggest reasons?
I'm always poor around this time. There is always some damned emergency or some
ridiculous cost that comes around and wipes me out before I can get anything
cool for the people I love. I hate it. There are a decent amount of people in
my life I'd love to spoil if I could. So many of them put up with so much shit
all year long and I'd love to make them happy... But I usually end up splitting
the money and getting shit. It's the worst feeling of the holiday.
One of the biggest reasons? The commercialism. I know... It's hard to be a good
Capitalist AND hate commercialism. But Christmas is way fucking overdone. I
don't know if I can stomach one more variation of "A Christmas Carol"
with corporate sponsorships glaring out at every convenience. Even the shit I
like most of the year has to have Holly or some shit on the wrapper. It's
annoying. None of that is what I hate about the commercialism so much as the
fact (and this is the big one folks... my most heated reason for hating
Christmas) that it ruins Halloween.
Yes... It fucking ruins Halloween.
You've all seen it in the stores: One shitty isle with cartoonish Halloween junk
and Christmas shit popping up all over before October 31st has even come and
gone. Yet another Pagan High Day totally fucked. All the Halloween stuff you do
see is just campy like John Waters was given Ecstasy, free license and a vague
idea of what Halloween is supposed to be like. There's no blood in it anymore
and one of the biggest reasons for that is the way Christmas has encroached
upon its domain.
So fuck Christmas.
FUCK CHRISTMAS FUCK CHRISTMAS FUCK CHRISTMAS!!!
And it's fucking cold too.
Any of you remember "Possum Kingdom"?
It was the hit from the Toadies album, "Rubberneck" that featured the
band playing on an underground stage and some footage of a guy burying
a girl's body in a swamp.
The song was about the Goth kids running around Texas (the band's home state) and it was a huge hit.
I bought the album featuring the song and fell in love with them... And
I haven't heard anything since. No airplay... No coverage... No other
hits acknowleged by ripples of the mainstream.
While file-sharing tonight (Yeah I do that and fuck off if it bothers
you!) I was searching for songs off my long-lost Toadies tape (it took
me a LONG time to convert to CDs) and found some titles I didn't
recognize.
Sure enough... They have a site and a few other albums.
http://www.toadiesmusic.com/
I'm going to pick up the other albums as soon as I can get them.
"Rubberneck" was one of my favorite listening experiences.
Some statements made by Christian Conservatives in America:
"These are the End Times."
"We are a Christian nation."
If we are a Christian nation with a fanatically Christian Administration and a largely Christian population, then how can these be the End Times? It's a Biblical fact that Satan is supposed to rule the world in the end before Christ comes. So how can it be that with America as the most powerful nation in the world (with it's soldiers marching along the Tigris River), that Satan is in control? How can his legions and minions be in power?
Somewhere... Someone is lying.
Winter usually means wandering through dream. Lately, these dreams have been the culmination of portents and desires. I have stepped through fears and fantasies.
I can either rot through these cold months or brave my chilled will and keep forging a soul...
Or I can waste away comfortably in sleep.
I've chosen the path of fire and stone and I will come out of these cold months remade in my own image.
Pretty fucking boring.
I like car-crashes, hustling, gunfights, hookers, drugs....
The lack of these things and any religion besidesChristianity delivered by these simpleton preachers that give the Gosphel lip-servive and pull out verses like one-liners kinda makes me want to run back to Cali.
You can say that diversity is the downfall of our society and you might even be right... But the ride down is a lot more fun than rotting here in placid, stale existance.
So my father calls me up tonight to let me know that a friend of the family passed away...
To tell me that my niece and her baby boy are doing well...
And to tell me that my sisters think I'm in need of either serious therapy or incarceration.
What makes them worry for my safety and sanity?
This web-site.
Aaawwww shit...
Just where the hell do I begin with this? I guess I have to do some explaining for my dear siblings, so the rest of this post will be directed specifically at them.
If you aren't family... Feel free to fuck off now; This is for the people I love and it just may be the most raw and honest stuff I've published here.
Let me start by saying that I'm truly sorry if you're losing sleep or worried about me. At this point, I don't know what I could do to convince you all... But I'm actually very happy with my life. I do get in a mood now and then, but that's what art is for... I'll explain more about this later on, but it's like a quote from one of my favorite bloggers: "I make art instead of kill people." Her art is some of the best I've ever seen.
But you're probably wondering about the whole venue and medium.
Lets' break it down as far back as we can go...
First of all... you guys all know who my Father is. You know he isn't wrapped all that tight himself. We're talking about a man that likes to tell stories about shitting his pants in public and who also puts damn near everyone's business out in the street during gatherings.
So be glad that most of my brutish examination is pointed either inward or at shitty modern icons.
Second... If you haven't met my Mom, you've heard stories... Mostly from Dad.
What you probably haven't heard is that she has a knack for inciting an argument... I mean REALLY pushing a person's buttons and getting them to dance.
I've written letters that are so damned scathing that the subjects (who usually distance themselves from public forums) can't stop themselves from responding. In a day and age where politicians and wheel-turners feel themselves above reproach, that is one hell of a talent.
Now... That little bag of tools and traits is just one of the reasons why I do this... And it's a good start.
That may just explain the core beginnings, but there is a lot more to it.
Growing up:
All I wanted to do was draw unicorns and goof off.
But it's not a world of faeries and elves alone... There are phantoms and vampires and warlords in this world, and they just can't leave a kid alone.
Maybe Dad can help me out with this... I'm not sure how old I was when my best friend died. It was kind of odd to have Dad tell me that I was never going to see him again. "The Incredible Hulk" was our favorite hero.
A little prophetic when you consider how angry I would later become and how that anger kept me from total despair... Which would have choked the life from me.
Some of you now know what I lived with growing up.
I'm sorry for seeming like a spoiled little brat and I've been told that most of you are sorry you didn't know what I was going through. It's really no big deal anymore... It's just shaped my view of things.
You can't be twelve years old, get beaten bloody all the way through a house and not have an opinion about it.
It's hard to carry an AK-47 at fourteen into a drug-deal and not question the events that put you there.
When you're alone with one of your older brother's friends somewhere and he's doing lines in the car while he makes you wander around in an empty lot...
You get the idea.
Brian and I were never close. I've forgiven him for most of the shit he pulled, but it's not like I'm aching to get to know him better.
I could take it or leave it, really.
Don't worry... I like the rest of you just fine. Ernie was always like an older-brother should be.
Now for the other reason I do this (besides dancing with demons and attempting to reclaim and redefine myself):
I get a kick out of it.
Pure and simple... Writing has always been one of my most favorite forms of expression. It's all the same words... But depending on how they are arranged, you can cause a whole volume of reactions.
one of the first reactions I want is the "weeding"... I want people who aren't going to get it, and also those who don't need it to leave.
I'm not sure if you guys know who Henry Rollins is or not, but his writing helped me out. He's this Frontman for Rollins Band and he used to sing in Black Flag. What you guys will know him from is "Bad Boys 2" (The DEA Agent directing the raid) and "HEAT" (He's the guy Al Pacino grabs by the face and puts through a window near the end of the movie so he can get information on Waingrow.)... Possibly even "The Chase" with Charley Sheen (He's the pissed-off cop with the buzz-cut who's' chasing them.).
Anyhow... Hank's writing was a pivotal point. I knew that I wasn't along in my views and anger... But I also knew that someone else might benefit from my writing.
I know you guys have seen the movie "Pulp Fiction".
I know you remember the part where Bruce Willis walks in with the swords and Ving Rhames is being gang-raped.
I'm pretty sure you saw people walk out of the movie theater.
That's the reaction I'm looking for.
This stuff isn't for everyone.
I told Dad that I always have worried about getting any family in the cross-fire.
Sometimes I get a little tired of it as well. Just sometimes.
Hunter s. Thompson put a bullet in his head because he created a monster that got more attention than he did. All anyone wanted to read was the Gonzo, Raul Duke stuff... But his heart was in Sports-Writing.
Me... I'm lucky.
Most people associate me with the monster and my heart lies in ripping myself open for others to poke around in.
Besides... Suicide is way too easy...
The only way to truly test your endurance is to keep going.
When my mind, body, amd emotions are screaming at me, "I can't fucking take it anymore! Why won't the pain end? Just stop it! STOP IT!"...
There is another voice that is just as calm as the others are chaotic, and that voice says, "Wait... Lets just see what happens next. The pain will go away... The pain will return... It doesn't matter. Let's just see what happens next."
And when I'm sobbing on the floor in horror and revulsion... Awash in the moment I'm stuck in... That other facet of my personality; The impersonal, calculating thing stands me up and walks me out of it with an otherworldly dignity.
Shit... I mighta lost some of you there.
The point is that I am aware of my actions.
That is what you need to understand: I am aware of what I do, no matter how immoral or reprehensible it may seem.
That and I like freaking people out.
So really... No worries.
You can tell Dr. Phil that I'm not a danger to myself or others... As long as those others are family, anyway.
I also just discovered that my fucking cell-phone is broken so I'm not getting any calls. This really sucks because I was going to call Sara. I'll try and get a hold of someone tomorrow morning then. Love you guys,
-Michael
Taking a break from blogging for a while...
Nipple-butter
Ash Trash-day (A lesser known Catholic Hiloday)
Bear-skin Thug
Nintellectual
Erectevus
Walking Hypochondria
Gumball Machine-gun
Wood Extract
Bandini The Great
Potty Armor
Monkey Cacciatore
Don Keyhole (just fucking say it out loud long enough)
Beer Gardener
Rythm Methodists
Lip-slack
Ginko-baloney
Shtick-up
Udder Abandon
Basket Case-worker
Chonch-shell
Licker-store
Short-Change Machine
Brown-Ring Circus
Palm Bleeder (I like my Christian psychics with a side of stigmata)
Old favorites:
Donkey Showdown
Penile Implantation
Aren't they adorable?
Hey... I like them better than the Olson Twins. (Thanks to Theism for the link)
And here's their fan-base...
During and after brainwashing pictures.... How CUTE!
It's not like there is anything wrong with having pride in your racial heritage...
no matter what that heritage is.
And it's not like there's anything wrong with teaching
The Gospel truth: The Old Testament clearly states that homosexuality is a sin.
Now... To me, freedom of speech even includes "Hate Speech" because when the talking is over, the fighting begins.
No race, culture or counter-culture deserves the right to be heard without being challenged. That is the right to disagree.
If you take that away from anyone, then you have become what you hate: Unchecked ignorance.
The First Amendment is the right to both wave and burn a flag (only if it's a flag you paid for).
It's the right to call Michael Moore a fat, whiny, deceitful prick and to call George Bush a fucking moronic zealot whose only attribute is being able to limp along with what he's been told to do by the people who paid his way and made him.
Where the line is to be drawn, folks... Is at using a blank slate as a billboard for your own personal beliefs.
I'm not saying you can't shape, mold or even twist your child into doing and believing as they are told to (It will be
your fault when that child comes across an exception to the rules you laid out or becomes so twisted that they break.).
What I am saying... Is that making the child a puppet and a vessel will hollow that child and give them no chance of being a whole and complete person. You will cripple them mentally and emotionally.
They may never have a soul.
Plus... It's just fucking sick and rude.
I've seen plenty of
cool shirts for my kids, but I'm not that big of an asshole.
www.deletedlogic.com has just been renewed for another five years.
Why the fuck not?
I fianlly have a new setup for my PC...
And I have the best fucking audio I've ever been able to run.
I'm Blasting
Cab Calloway into the headset and I'm gonna fuckin'
HI DE HO and ZAZ ZUH ZAZ until it's time to hear Satchmo blow it long into the wee hours...
Mack The Knife as done by
Louis Armstrong...
and done best. (Fuck Sinatra... And Elvis too)
"Dig, Man... There goes Mack the Knife!
Oh the shark has pretty teeth, Dear
An' he shows them a pearly white.
Just a jack knife has Mack he, dear
And he keeps it out of sight.
When the shark bites with his teeth, Dear
Scarlet billows start to spread.
Fancy gloves though wears Mack he, Dear
So there's not a trace hmm of red.
On the sidewalk, Sunday morning, Baby
Lies a body oozin' life.
Someone's sneakin' 'round the corner;
Is the someone Mack the knife?
Hm, from a tug boat by the river Buh boo...
A cement bag's dropping down
The cement's just for the weight, Dear.
Bet you Mack he's back in town.
Looky here Louie Miller disappeared, Dear
After drawing out his cash.
And Mack he spends like a sailor
Did our boy do something rash?
Sukey Tawdry, Jenny Diver
Lottie Lanyard, Sweet Lucy Brown...
Oh the line forms on the right, Dears
Now that Mack he's back in town!
Take it, Satch..."
...And has the money, I know what I want for Christmas:
A semi-auto .357 based on the Colt 1911 design!It's called the "Coonan .357" and I want it so.
Shit... If two of you decide to get me one, I'll have a pistol for each hand.
It'll be the best anti-masturbation technique I've tried.
Well...
It'll be the ONLY anti-masturbation technique I've tried.
So please buy me a couple and save me from myself.
PS.
I would also like a
Medusa revolver with a six-inch barrel and enough ammo
in each caliber it fires to hold off a battalion of Chinese Paratroopers for a week.
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