TO “AMERICA” (A LATE NIGHT DEDICATION….ON SATURDAY MORNING AT THE END OF ELVIS WEEK)

Elvis week is closing down. So far as I know there haven’t yet been any efforts to remove or deface any of these….


Since the Confederate Statue removal “movement” has now extended, in short order, to campaigns of removal/defacement against Vladimir Lenin (in Seattle–hilariously, the statue may be preserved because it’s on private property and it’s only the State that wants it removed), Walt Disney (at Disneyland, where else?), Joan of Arc (in New Orleans) and, courtesy of the ever-crafty Al Sharpton, Thomas Jefferson (in Washington D.C.–Reverend Al says we should “defund it,” which is code for having law enforcement stand down when the mob shows up to topple it), I think it’s safe to assume Elvis’ monuments are now living on borrowed time.

I will, however, be interested in the reaction of all the Good Liberals who almost universally celebrated the Rising of the Masses in Durham this week when it turns to someone they aren’t entirely sure they’re supposed to hate. (Warning–if you watch this all the way through, you’re going to witness some Liberated People having the best sex of their lives. They’re as awkward as you’d expect, so it’s not a pretty sight, and, if you are tempted to sorrow on their behalf, remember the only way they’ll ever top it is to substitute people for statues).

Don’t worry, though, when the Glorious Future arrives, I’m sure they’ll only stomp the heads of the Bad People….and in Self Defense….Isn’t that the way it always happens?

I mean, you can tell they’re rational.

Look, monuments to Elvis, like those to Washington, Jefferson and their ilk will not survive the coming deluge. The only question now is the order of disappearance.

So here’s to you America…Need to get to it before irony dies along with everything else, so take it Gene:

 

TO LIBERAL DEMOCRACY, R.I.P. (Late Night Dedication)

I’ve given periodic nods to the present air here. Doomy, I know. Probably not pleasant reading. But it’s pervasive enough it can’t be entirely ignored.

We’re fast approaching a day when it won’t be possible to ignore it at all. When everyone who refuses to choose between the remaining viable evils, or at least clap for each temporarily presiding result in turn, will be strung up anyway. The fate of the Empire is at stake! The last burning question is whether we’ll proceed directly to Tyranny….or pass through an Age of Chaos first?

The only thing that has kept the American nation from real, frightening levels of fragmentation and public violence the past few years has been the slight uncertainty as to whether the Feudalist-minded Confederate Right (which calls itself anything but) would organize and take to the street in numbers and intensity similar to the Marxist-minded Communist Left (which calls itself anything but).

Tonight in Charlottesville, Virginia we can observe a large step in the direction of an answer. Complete with Hitler salutes.

Sorry, but anyone who believes we ever walked away from 1968…or 1861….that the years of relative peace lying in between have been anything but periods of gestation (which we’ve given the Nervous Nelly name of Progress) for the coming collapse, is delusional. I don’t know if the first big outbreak in the new war taking shape will come in a month, a year or a generation. I don’ t know if it’s still 1850 or the new John Brown will strike a match that burns and burns this very weekend. I’m selfish enough to hope it’s the former–that I won’t live to see what’s coming. That, in the words of the Prophet Ronnie Van Zant, it’ll be “Lord take me and mine before that comes.”

Because it’s coming soon enough. An epitaph a stone’s throw from this weekend’s “rally” reads:

Here was buried
Thomas Jefferson
Author of the Declaration of American Independence
of the Statute of Virginia for religious freedom
& Father of the University of Virginia

The first two achievements have been under siege for decades, if not since the beginning. Last night, his university joined them. Literally.

Those of us who supported his Dreams of Possibility have been left with only the most pitiful tools to fight back. Hopes of a meaningful appeal to the government vanished long ago. Put whatever date on that you want. (Don’t like or 1963, or 1968? Prefer 1980? Whatever.) The result is the same.

What are you gonna do? What am I gonna do?

Tweet about it?

Light a torch and rumble?

Call out the riot police?

You know, the same ones who are now paid by the very people who fund the thugs in the street on both sides?

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Tweet away.

So take it Dobie. Better yet, take me.

Sing that greatest record ever made by a black man in Nashville one more time. Make everybody cry.

(Well, at least I got to put Ronnie Van Zant, Dobie Gray and Thomas Jefferson in the same tag list. After the revolution, maybe that, at least, won’t be  nothing…even if every one of them is turning in his grave tonight.)

TO BAD TIMES….(Late Night Dedication #8)

….and the Betrayed: Suffer them for they are with you always.

As of this morning, the strongest voices–virtually the only voices–pushing back against the war drums beating in the Near and Far East, are Tulsi Gabbard and the Paleo-Right (Jones, Savage, Rockwell, Coulter).

The crazies, in other words. Business as usual.

The Responsible Democracts (now led by HIllary Clinton, with Obama, having served faithfully and well, conveniently in absentia, she spent the morning of Trump’s strike against a single airbase calling for the destruction of all Syrian airbases…of course she did) joined by Responsible Republicans (led always by Ms. Clinton’s erstwhile ally, John McCain, who, behind his death-mask grin, assures us that order has been restored) are working hard to get Donald Trump (who ran against all of them and, for the first time, seems politically, as opposed to morally or intellectually, confused) on their side.

In other words, they’re warming up to him.

If Trump keeps going along, expect confusion on Twitter, Facebook and CNN, as Lefties try to adjust….We’ll hear a lot of “Well he’s a horrible human being of course, but….”

What comes after “but” won’t matter.

I’m not saying it will go this way. Just that if the first step–Trump’s public capitulation to business-as-usual Security Statism–isn’t reversed by concrete action, and soon, the rest will follow as naturally as water running downhill. Even having gone no further than this, Howard Dean and other reliable bellwethers of Elite Opinion are already calling for Gabbard’s removal. It’s unclear whether they think the “people of Hawaii” should wait for one of those silly old elections.

Get your bets down now on how long it is before they’re calling her a Russian Agent.

I’m laying six-fifty-and-even on a week from Tuesday.

Meanwhile, Trump’s actions are only surprising in that they constitute his first serious misreading of his base. Bringing back jobs and Build That Wall won’t matter much if he goes all Slim Pickens and brings us “toe to toe with the Russkies.”

And he won’t dodge the matrix of fates he turned into serious possibilities by opposing the Security State in the first place.

Playing nice won’t help him avoid the Standard Options: assassination (the Kennedy Option), impeachment/removal (the Nixon Option) or political humiliation, up to and including possible sabotage of military operations (the Carter Option).

The Intelligence Community won’t stop hating him if he becomes their puppet.

And they won’t start trusting him, no matter how hemmed in or subservient he becomes.

They’ll just stop fearing him.

Until last week, he seemed smart enough to understand this–that losing the fight he picked will mean death or disgrace. Now, it’s anyone’s guess. Since I place no faith in him (nor, per Isaiah, any Prince), I won’t be surprised if he turns out to be less cunning than he has so far seemed.

Unless, of course, this was what he intended all along, which would make him very cunning indeed.

And how different will this sound, closing those rallies, if it turns out he had a deal in place all along….If it was always pointed at his supporters, rather than his enemies.

TO THE KOCH BROTHERS (Late Night Dedication #7)

…On the occasion of them, to the surprise of no one who observes political reality (as opposed to accepting pat-on-the-head “narratives”), ordering their wing of the Republican house to step in and save Obamacare.

Granted, in order to observe this particular reality, you had to be watching the business channels or following alternative media.

The “news” channels spent the day focused on the irony of it all.

But, if you read your Chomsky way back when (as you should have…he wasn’t always an incoherent babbler), you already knew that. I mean, you didn’t really think they were gonna throw O-Care out the back window just when it’s about to become really lucrative, did you?

So here’s a double-shot from Hot Chocolate….One dedicated to Friday morning…

And one to Friday night…

BTW: Hot tip on the conservative side of the blogosphere tonight is that single payer is now a done deal. Expect it some time before Trump runs for re-election.

If Sundance is right (and he often is), then my 49-state Trumpslide-in-2020 prediction just came creeping a little closer.

Hope that comforts everyone equally.

TO CONGRESS….ON THE OCCASION OF TANGLING WITH THE HEALTH CARE SYSTEM YET AGAIN (Late Night Dedication #6)

Knowing that they’ll screw it up again, no matter what they do…or don’t do…And yes, this is really dedicated to the moment they file into their House of Vipers…one after a dread ‘nother:

What, you thought I was gonna go for “Won’t Get Fooled Again”?

Heck, I’m wore out, but I ain’t yet simple-minded! Besides, that ship done sailed.

TO THE DWINDLING PRECIOUS FEW, AKA “THE SURVIVORS OF THAT ENTITY TO BE NAMED HEREIN” (Late Night Dedication #5)

NOTE: I’ve spent the last year working on a detective novel which (unlike my previous fiction projects) actually fits the commercial norms of the modern publishing industry, such as it is. I’m pushing myself to finish it by the end of March which is the principal reason posts have been short and sweet of late. There’s only so much “writing time” in a day. That said, these dedications are fun for me and I hope they are for you as well. I’ll be back to longer pieces and deeper thoughts (hah!) in the near future, but, for now, the hits just keep on comin’. 

My erstwhile fellow blogger, Neal Umphred, also one of the world’s great authorities on record collecting, has a couple of very interesting Elvis-related posts up (Links below**). We’ve had some back and forth in his comments section which led down the circuitous trail that, via a reference to his experience wearing a Kinks’ button in the late sixties, inspired tonight’s dedication….which is not a record by Elvis or the Kinks.

Of course it’s not. That wouldn’t be circuitous at all!

Neal’s experience (in the late sixties) wearing a Kinks’ button as a kind of secret language understood by few reminded me of my experience with another band and another kind of secret language in junior college a decade or so later (circa the spring of 1980).

I was, by then, the editor of my ju-co newspaper on my way to a career in journalism. That was before my journalism professor, a Florida State grad, inadvertently talked me into becoming an English major (FSU does not have a journalism school) by convincing me I should attend her alma mater. This was happening at the same time my yearbook professor, a University of Florida grad (the only reason I wasn’t editor of the yearbook was because I had already accepted the position as editor of the newspaper), talked me out of going to UF, where I had previously been headed, by suggesting I’d be happier as an English major.

Got it?

Good.

Anyway, with all that roiling around me–I’d been spotted as a talent! Pressure, pressure!–one of the ways I insulated myself from the madness was by walking up to the chalkboard in the journalism room every week or two, taking a furtive look around to make sure no one else was present and writing the following:

Sebastian, Yanovsky, Butler, Boone.

There was a reason I thought somebody–somebody!–might get this.

John Sebastian had been a ubiquitous presence in our high school lives, via his #1 hit with the theme song to Welcome Back Kotter, which also played every week when that show aired. (It was, God help us, very popular with high school audiences of my day. Not everything that was wrong with us could be blamed on the hippies!)

I thought somebody–somebody!–might see the name Sebastian, and think “I wonder if that means the guy who sang ‘Welcome Back Kotter?'” And that after that somebody might have some vague memory that John Sebastian had been the lead singer of a certain rock and roll band from the long lost sixties of our elementary school years.

I waited a whole semester for this to happen. I waited through all the speculation about who might be writing this mysterious message on the journalism school’s chalkboard every week or two. I waited through the occasional dark murmurings that it might be somehow linked to the school’s occasional bomb threats (ubiquitous even on rural southern college campuses back then, lest we forget), which forced evacuations in one building or other (usually around test time) throughout my two years there (though never of the journalism school…which only made some people more suspicious that it might be one of us, utilizing the classic diversionary tactics of guerrilla movements everywhere!)

I waited through the occasional fellow saying that he didn’t know why, but those words continually appearing on, and disappearing from, the board, were driving him crazy!

I waited, hoping somebody–anybody!–would get it.

If it was a guy, I was going to shake his hand and buy him a Nehi Grape sody pop and a Heath ice cream bar (my college drugs of choice).

If it was a girl, I was going to marry her.

I had my priorities straight!

Only….

Nobody got it.

Ever.

I finally had to fess up it was me.

But I never did tell anybody what it meant.

Let the Philistines figure that out for themselves.

I was off to Florida State. To major in English and stay broke the rest of my life!

I’ve stuck to my guns. I got my English degree. I’ve stayed broke.

Many years later, permanently literate, permanently broke, wandering about in the new millenia, I chanced upon Little Steven’s Underground Garage one late night (probably coming home from watching an FSU football game at my friend MG’s house). Little Steven was expounding on the virtues of some sixties’ moment or other (The Big TNT Show?…the memory hazes), and, at the end of a long monologue on how there had been one shining moment when we were truly together he set up the next song by saying:

“before the Empire divided us.”

And he played this, which I now dedicate to whoever’s left in the Empire’s wake, still trying to muddle along, just outside of its Leviathan reach.

Courtesy of Sebastian, Yanovsky, Butler and Boone:

**Link to Neal’s very worthwhile pieces here and here!

TO THE WHOLE FREAKIN’ WORLD…SHOULD IT FIND ITSELF IN NEED (Late Night Dedication #4)

Inspired by the collection of zombies, goons, cadavers and creepy-crawly escapees from Mansonoid dreams I spotted in the capitol this week when the dread crew that runs what’s left of the government assembled in one ghastly space for Donald Trump’s first address to congress….But, really, for those of us who get C-Span, this could be needed at a moment’s notice practically any day…Keep it handy!