Who says I hate Television? I never said that. OK, so I don't watch it. I listen to it. Guitarist Tom Verlaine and company were the great white hope for Elektra in 1977. That was the same year as the Talking Heads first album. Do you have any idea how difficult it was to find any of this music in record stores in suburban Long Island? They guy behind the counter would just say, "No, but we do have Frampton Comes Alive!"

So, the whole point here is the guitar solo. New York music wasn't generally known for soaring guitar leads. Tom Verlaine created a space-age popping sound with his instrument and so he became known, and broke the mold.



Television never reached the Billboard charts while other NY bands, like Blondie, did. Eventually, even the Talking Heads did. But you can't go to a New York club show without eventually hearing somebody play a Tom Verlaine song.

Anyhoo, you've probably never heard this before, but if you're a fan of guitar music stick around and listen to Tom Verlaine do what he does on "Marquee Moon."

Gripe gripe gripe...

I'm still digging Kurt Weill. Here's a very loose interpretation of September Song by - ah - you know. Lou Reed has one of the most recognizable voices in the world. Can't sing to save his life, but he talks his way through this one beautifully.

Well, been doing what I can to save the world from itself. That's why we're all still here,

                           in case you were wondering.

I think it would be newsworthy to read out from a list the names of all the people who died on each day. I wonder how long that would take. We could, of course, read the names of all the people who were born. That seems warm and fuzzy. But I figure it's really the same list, given a little time. I think it's a good way to pay our respect to people. They don't have to be American people, or English speaking people. I mean everybody in the world. Such a thing would go from dawn till after dusk, but it would be far more meaningful than the bilge we are usually given.

Each dead person would be given his moment: Joe Shmoe. He was 84. Joe Shmoe.

What happens to Joe next? You know, one day leads into the next day without marking the fact that Joe is no longer with us. Well, Joe goes to sleep on the day as always, and the night follows. As always.

Doctors and scientists have poked holes into every part of the human body looking for the inner Joe. They ask Where is he? Where is Joe? Is Joe in the brain? Is Joe in the stomach, the heart, the spleen? What they have discovered is that Joe is in none of those places - never was. But, when he dies it is safe to say that Joe has left the building.

Well that means Joe has left a place where he never was. Isn't that interesting? I think that's interesting. I'm weird, but - there you are.

If we were inside our bodies I think the doctors and scientists would have found us by now. Lord knows they have poked enough holes in us.

So who is this Joe geezer, and what does it mean when we say that he was born, lived, and died? More to the point, where is this Joe geezer?

When we go to sleep at night it is like a little death. In a sense it is a practice death, a trial run. At a certain point - most of us hope after many trials have been run - we don't wake up; we don't return to the body we have left. For whatever reason we can't make it work anymore. The body is like a car. Eventually it stops working, even if we take really good care of it and manage to stay away from airplane crashes and bullets.

Well, I say for whatever reason, but there is only one reason: Things Fall Apart. We know that. Do you know what science really is? Science is a way of figuring out how things fall apart - that's all.

It's a way of looking at the world, a way which uses a method called The Scientific Method. Science isn't a religion, though it was founded by one, and it isn't a philosophy, though it leads to the formation of philosophies.

Anyway, we know a lot about the world. We know a lot about how the outer appearances of things seem to work. Big whoopity-doo, right? Well, you bet your bippy it's a big whoopity-doo. I am writing this on an instrument which is an application of all we have learned with our science. It's a good thing. I like it.

Imagine what it would be like to wake up dead. It's a fruitful exercise because it will happen. Just as the sun will set you will die. There is no question about that, no doubt, no lingering hope that it may not happen.

It's really not all that difficult to imagine what it is like to be dead. In fact - (ooh, I hate it when people write in fact, don't you?) - we already know what it's like to be dead. We all dream, every last one of us.

It will be like this: We're driving along, having a good time listening to the scenery and watching the music, and - sometimes suddenly, sometimes slowly - our car breaks down. What do we do? Well, we get out and walk, of course. Can't drive a broken car.

They didn't have cars when The Book of Revelations was written, so they used another analogy: Horses. And, they generalized these horses into four groups or types - John, Paul, George, and Ringo.

No, really the Horses are Black, Red, Pale, and White.

You might say that when our car breaks down we will find a horse of a certain type to ride. The Black Horse is the Intellect. The Red Horse is our Passion. The Pale Horse is our body. The White Horse is - well - us; who we really are as God created us.

We all know about that Pale Horse, and how the one who sat upon him was Death. It sounds creepy. It is creepy. What it means is basically that if a person has devoted his entire life to his appetites, his wealth, his comfort - things of the body he was never truly in - there won't be a whole lot of him to see once he is deprived of it. I think that's a pretty good definition of Hell - being deprived of the only thing that meant anything to you, gave you life or a reason for living. How can one ever hope to satisfy an appetite without a mouth? That appetite would just grow and grow without ever being satisfied. Talk about hungry...

Don't let anybody tell you we have no idea what happens when we die. That's rubbish. That's just somebody saying Well, I wish it were some other way so I'll just pretend I don't know.

But we know. We're just silly. We're just wing-dingy, looney-tooney, and oofty-bidoofty.

What do you think about my idea? Is that a good idea? I mean, reading out the names. Because

the telephone is ringing

inside the empty house

for the workers of our wonders.

Leave a message, we are out

Because our names were called.

Hello.

I was at some sort of party for most of the night. Someone died. That's the impression I got anyway. Televisions were being moved around quite a lot. There were several priests present, one of them an Eastern orthodox fellow, and also a Chaldean. That's funny. I remember God really had it in for them in Jeremiah. The interesting thing about the oldest continuous ethnic group in Western Civilization is obviously their history, but it's important to remember Genesis is their story. OK, so they screwed up. I can certainly relate to that.

I was either smoking or thinking about smoking. At one point I was naked. Of course. Some china was appraised by a child no older than 13. I know a lot of sober alcoholics who go all to pieces whenever they drink in their dreams. That's silly. I always drink in my dreams. Dreams are just as real as the rest of life, but having no body one can scarcely worry about triggering the allergy, and being recovered means the mental obsession is gone. Meanwhile, one can hardly do a thing every single day for twenty-odd years and not dream about it thereafter.

Well, last year or the year before, or three thousand years ago, I sat down with my younger son to watch one of the popular Harry Potter movies. His older brother hates them. Their mother rather likes the stories, though. She was a Susan Cooper reader so I guess that figures. But at one point in the movie I watched the idea of conquering fear was addressed. Typical of the magical view where Man controls God, the witches and wizards in-training were confronted by the thing they fear the most and taught to aim their magic wands at it and deliver the magic word Ridiculous in its direction, thus transforming it into an idea held in the mind of something extremely not scary.

Of course, the way to conquer fear is not to feel unafraid, or magically eliminate the object of the fear, but rather to be afraid and do anyway that which the fear seems to be preventing you from doing. There's a metaphysical practice some find useful of putting God "in place of" the fearful thing, and this works because the thing itself is not the source of fear. The mind is the source of fear; ultimately the devil. I've written about this before in posts about Noah's Ark and St. Paul in the storm.

But what sticks in my mind is the way those children in the movie pronounced the word Ridiculous. It was said as Reedikoolous. Why does that stick in the mind? Probably because it was ridiculous. I find myself saying reedikoolous quite a lot ever since seeing that movie.

Baseball fans are camping out in the hope of getting autographs down the street from where I am. This weekend I will be at an event with several reedikoolous people of note. The Secret Service has been here, along with lots of State police - the whole nine.

Well, I met George Bush the Elder back when he was vice president at a fundraiser. I was prepared not to like him because that was the fashion of the day and I had no character or mind of my own yet, but his personality was so remarkably warm, and he radiated an energy not unlike my father's humility, that I couldn't not be impressed.

The context is the Baseball Hall of Fame annual induction. In a previous post I declared that grown men chasing balls around in their pajamas isn't News. I meant that. It's reedikoolous. Well, in a sense it's not really trying to be relevant - it's Sport, it's entertainment. Diversion. But what I'd like to persuade you of, if I do nothing else here, is the fact that all reporting of so-called current events is presented as entertainment. In a free society it has to be. Privately-owned concerns must be the purveyors of information, and they must compete with one another for your attention. Their chief goal must be to make a profit. Now, you are going to choose the source of information that best entertains you. It may be the content that attracts you, or it may be the appearance, the manner of delivery, a combination of both. Many people practice a form of consumer loyalty (habit), rather like smokers who will smoke a particular brand.

It's reedikoolous. Many people believe that because they see a thing on TV it must be true, or depicted in an accurate, factual manner. Many continue to believe this even after they are presented with evidence to contrary. That's a faith-based belief, I suppose. More likely, it's denial.

Last night I wrote this: 

You've heard the gongs and clanging bells that precede every News program? - The generic speed racer music? - That same gravelly voice announcing the moment of infinite import, the moment of the commencement of the meaningless News show full of falsehoods delivered in MTV-style flashes of dispiration to the pathetic anticlimactic silent-but-deadly fart of its termination? You've heard that? If that's what you hear, welcome to my world. That's unintentionally funny: idiots talking down to morons.

It's actually quite offensive and insulting to watch TV News. Especially anything presented by National Public Broadcasting. What I am seeing is untrue, and to a great extent, unintentionally funny. The fact that there are people who believe Man controls the weather is depressing, or enormously amusing - depending on my mood at the time. Hearing the speeches of political candidates is a rather suicide-inspiring exercise. I think: They cannot be that stupid. But they really are. That's scary. That's terrifying. That's funny. That's reedikoolous.

So I listen to Fibber and Molly for entertainment. You know, things were not all that different back then. Human nature never changes. I don't believe I would not have had these sorts of criticisms if I had been alive and adult in that day. I'm a reader. I can't pretend an ignorance I haven't got. There were people back then saying about their culture the exact same sorts of things I'm saying about mine today.

But as entertainment goes I find these old programs are honest in the same way an automobile dealership commercial is honest. And I would rather listen to a fat man jovially selling cars than a politician's speech or a newsreader's vapid recounting of the impending apocalypse. At least the former is offering something useful, while the latter offers nothing.

So I'm pointing my magic wand at whatever I fear the most, apparently. But drinking in my dreams isn't among those things. I couldn't give a Baseball player's sweaty armpit about drinking in my dreams. It seems perfectly natural. To believe otherwise is reedikoolous.

Here's a message from The Squabbler:

 

Setting The Mind Free

Every thought that comes into the mind comes from a particular source. A few weeks ago I posted a song by Led Zepplin. I like the song. I appreciate the music of Led Zepplin. But, for many years I did not appreciate the music of Led Zepplin. Why? Because in school the children who tormented me liked Led Zepplin. So, apart from any consideration about whether or not the music is worthy of my appreciation, I decided not to appreciate it.

This seems a silly example, but it is no less silly than the reasons most of us believe almost everything we believe. We are to a large extent programmed by our experiences to carry with us prejudices, or 'old ideas' which are based on events and circumstances long past, and in many cases even long forgotten. I speak the truth.

Not all of the things I once believed but no longer believe were founded in resentments. Many were. But, many others were founded in fear. I had deep beliefs about myself and others which were the exact opposite of the truth. Many other beliefs of mine were founded in my sense of self esteem and my instinct to get along well with others. In other words, I believed many things simply because others did, or simply because I thought it would be a good way to pick up girls if I said that I believed certain things.

That's pathetic. But, guess what? Most everybody in the world is guided and controlled - programmed - in exactly the same way.

In order to free your mind it is necessary to challenge each and every belief contained in it. Take a belief - take my for instance: "I do not like Led Zepplin." Now, ask yourself why? Each and every belief held in the mind has an origin. Each and every opinion has a source. In order to set the mind free one must follow each and every one of these 'down the rabbit hole' to its origin. Often we may find that what we believe has a firm foundation in our 'hearts.' That is to say, we all have deeply-held beliefs based upon something we call 'truth.' We could be wrong in these, but they are what we truly have, and they are what we truly are. Many times, however, we will find that when we follow a particular prejudice, or 'old idea,' down its rabbit hole we come to a place where there is nothing supporting it; it has no foundation in what we know in our hearts to be true. Its source, it turns out, is fear, anger, a desire to be thought well-of by others - things like that.

It could be trauma, a traumatic experience which is quite genuine and was quite damaging. But in order to free the mind it is necessary to let go of some things we may have grown to love. We do have a tendency to love and enjoy our anger. This is because we are possessed. Perhaps it is a genuine traumatic event which gave the demon the opportunity to possess us. This is the cause of much mental illness. Isolating and expelling those "demons" is exactly what psychotherapy tries to do. Many religious people do the same, but merely take the quotation marks off the word. In cases like these the process is likely to be more difficult. So what? The presence of difficulty is never a valid reason not to do a worthwhile thing.

Perhaps the most important thing to do - to make a beginning - is to UNPLUG. In order to free your mind it is necessary to unplug yourself from the herd mentality, the mass mind, the hysteria of the world. Turn off your television set. You will find that you will know everything you need to know, without it. Unplug the computer, the radio. For God's sake, throw away that useless cell phone blathering obscenities into your ear. You may pick it up again - you may pick all these useful tools up again - once your mind is free and you are capable of controlling them.

Perhaps you will find that you would rather remain unplugged. The experience is sublime. The experience is enriching. I would say that the experience is fulfilling but I would be telling a lie. The experience is, in fact, an experience of emptying rather than filling, of simplifying rather than complicating. In other words, almost everything that comes into the mind from the mass mind is utter rubbish, shit that smells very bad, nonsense, and goofy grape. It doesn't know whether it's peanut butter or jelly; it's both. It's fecal matter and blood. It is to be despised and discarded. It has no purpose.

Think for yourselves. It is impossible to think for yourself when your mind is full of goofy grape. UNPLUG. Then, begin following your rabbit holes to their source. You will emerge knowing what is written on your heart. Only then will the mind be free.       

Well, I'm listening to this show as I'm writing. It's late - for me. I'm an early riser, 4 AM or so.

I hear it's the second checkers game episode. This is where Hal Peary's contribution really starts to kick in. He becomes a major character. That line - "You're a harrrrrd man, McGee!" - that's what did it. From here on you'll hear it in every FM&M episode, until at last Peary leaves to star in his own program in 1941.

Why do I like this stuff so much? I think this is funnier than - well, anything.

A lot goes on that's unintentionally funny in every day life, of course. The fact that the cell phone commercial is followed by the viagra commercial is very funny - if you accept the proposition that using the former contributes to the need for the latter. What's funnier still is the utter non-necessity of either.

Weather forecasting is unintentionally funny. I listen to a radio station now and then which features a "Storm Team" forecast - and that's delivered in a gravelly voice you would expect was selling action figures for 6 year-olds like "Stooooormmmmmm Team!"

I picture a group of swat team suited radio interns armed with Starbucks. Well, all radio is theater of the mind.

Oh - we get to meet Harlow's wife in this one. We never meet Guildersleeves's wife. She disappears - mysteriously. She gets the Stalin treatment. She's erased from memory. Suddenly, Guildersleeve appears in Summerville sans spouse. And for most of 1941 she had ceased to exist, apparently, on FM&M.

It was the perfect murder.

You've heard the gongs and clanging bells that precede every News program? - The generic speed racer music? - That same gravelly voice announcing the moment of infinite import, the moment of the commencement of the meaningless News show full of falsehoods delivered in MTV-style flashes of dispiration to the pathetic anticlimactic silent-but-deadly fart of its termination? You've heard that? If that's what you hear, welcome to my world. That's unintentionally funny: idiots talking down to morons.

This is a darned funny program. Here's Guildersleeve back. McGee just got fired from his job in the hardware store. Whoops - I'm giving away the ending. It takes you thirty seconds to read what it takes me thirty minutes to write in my hunt and peck manner.

Well, I'm sure tomorrow will give us plenty to laugh about. I hope so.