Rosenbush Cafe

Hypnagogique Enters the Realm of Movies

Retrospective by Henry B. Rosenbush

SPOILER ALERT: Throughout this text I offer pertinent information about not only the feature presentation, but a mini-retrospective of other Buñuel films that may ruin the cinematic experience for anyone who has not seen the films. If you’d prefer to watch the film first and formulate your own opinions watch it first and then read the text.

I offered a personal retrospective of Un Chien Andalou on March 6, 2008 and have re-posted it here, while removing it from the earlier date so as to not have duplication. For avant-garde purists it is my observations and opinions and was originally just text without the actual film presented. Luis Buñuel Portolés was born February 22, 1900 in Calanda, Teruel, Aragón, Spain and died July 29, 1983 in Mexico City, Mexico and in honor of his recent birth date I have chosen to inaugurate the Rosenbush Cafe Midnight Movies series with his film, which is presented at the end of the retrospective, with a trailer for his 1972 Best Foreign Film ‘Le charme discret de la bourgeoisie” (The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie) and a few other surprises.

Luis Buñuel’s collaboration with painter Salvador Dali on Un Chien Andalou or The Andalusian Dog (B/W-Silent-1929; 16:08) is still a potent piece of cinematic surrealism eighty one years later.

An exchange of dreams between Dali and Buñuel, this landmark film is considered the first motion picture produced entirely within the Surrealist Movement. Although it begins with the innocent “Il etait une fois…” (“Once Upon a Time”) it is far from a fairy tale. With a perfect score, including Richard Wagner’s Prelude and Isolde’s Death, and original music track Buñuel prepared in 1960 based on the soundtrack from the original premiere, the seemingly random imagery is disturbing, amusing, wicked and thought-provoking simultaneously, even if the creator’s own predilections differ from that of its intended audience.

As a writer who embraces the drowsy entrance into the dream state, known as hypnagogique (désigne l’état de conscience en début du sommeil et au moment du réveil) which precede REM (Rapid Eye Movement) Sleep, I understand the significance it provides not only authors and poets but painters, photographers and film makers because if one does not immediately make detailed notations of the imagery before falling into the actual dreams they are lost. By the time we reach S-Sleep (slow–wave sleep or NREM or Non-REM), which is the deepest, and although not always, a dreamless state, the earlier hypnagogic period is lost forever. This period is characterized by delta waves and a low level of autonomic physiological activity.

The hypnagogique state produces startling imagery, and in my case and of those of other people who have shared the experience, often graphic sexual and violence scenes, unconnected, with resplendent colors, auditory hallucinations and non sequitur verbal communications. Anyone who has almost fallen asleep and abruptly awakened to they are drooling on their pillows because they “heard” a voice they are convinced emanated from nearby, even if they are alone, has unexpectedly interrupted hypnagogique. In interviews, Canadian director David Cronenberg has admitted to awakening and making notes of this state of mind that later became scenarios in his films.

Our visualizations are distorted and if we can remember what we have seen while it may be disconcerting it is immeasurably useful for artistry. For a brilliant example of how these images can manifest themselves into art I recommend Kalliope Amorphous Hypnagogia

With this explanation of dreams and its illogicality one can almost over hear the conversations between Buñuel and Dali as they collaborate on the story.

Anyone who has seen it will immediately have a different response to the woman’s eye being slit open, by a cigarette-smoking, straight razor-wielding Dali, while editing with juxtaposition of the moon while clouds drift over the sphere, clearly representing a clean, although still graphic, slicing of the eyeball. Hands fondling a woman’s breasts through her blouse as the material slowly fades to show her partially nude, ants crawling from a hole in a man’s hand, a man dragging a piano, two Bishops and two rotting asses, and the sight of a woman’s armpit hair disappearing to reappear as a man’s beard are a few scenes that once seen are never forgotten!

The showing in Paris, in a private theater, drew artists like Cocteau and Pablo Picasso to its premiere. Buñuel stood behind the screen manually playing records on an old phonograph to accompany the film. His son tells that his father had pockets full of stones that, had the film reaction been less than his anticipation, he would have “stoned the audience.” Luckily, the success left the stones unused.

Transflux Films released the DVD version in December, 2004 and it as is definitive as one is likely to find. The original full screen Aspect Ration of 1.33:1 is intact and certainly makes earlier releases primitive by comparison. To be sure, there are still issues with the visual and sound qualities (audio is in Dolby Digital); however, this may be the best available print in existence, although that is a debatable topic, but having viewed it several times, in various formats, it is better than the edited PBS version I saw with annoying black bars censoring some of what must have been determined too salacious or violent for the audience.

The DVD has extras including an audio commentary by surrealism expert Stephen Barber, an epilogue with the director and co writer, a 16 minute essential interview and documentary from son, Juan-Luis Buñuel wherein we learn that Buñuel (who was studying agricultural engineering in Madrid), Dali and poet Frederico Garcia Lorca met and became lifelong friends. It is interesting to note that these three men were surrealists in Spain before hearing about the Paris Surreal Movement. The stories he shares are a wonderful insight into how these inseparable friends each influenced the other.

At the University of Southern Mississippi, around 1973, it was shown in a crudely duped 16mm format that was truly primitive. There were numerous walkouts from students who either were repulsed or did not “get it.” When it ended there were only a handful of us left, jaws a gaped at what we had seen, but I was thrilled.

My mother purchased a Curtis Mathis top-loading video recorder, in 1983, while I was working in New Smyrna Beach, Florida as a newspaper city reporter. Without a girl friend or any male friends, I was instantly infatuated with the possibilities of both recording and purchasing videos. My date nights were spent alone watching videos. As the years past and the DVD replaced the VHS format, much as CDs led to the end of vinyl (although in recent years there has been a resurgence in albums) I began collecting them as well and my collection grew to an insanely high number in the thousands (DVD and VHS) with emphasis on foreign, silent, documentaries, avant-garde and naturally, domestic films.

I was scanning my collection recently to decide what to sell or keep and I was forced to admit the inescapable fact that my collected works were as esoteric as my vast album library. While not boasting to being the only collector of the arcane, I realized how much I truly enjoyed searching for, and finding, unexpected pleasures especially since these were in the pre-internet days and locating catalogues or companies specializing in the offbeat was as challenging as seeing the films themselves.

Today, through the power of the ether, the Internet offers virtually anything you can imagine and there are finally enough movie rental-purchase sites to find documentaries on surrealism, Dadaism, Max Ernst, Dali, M. C. Escher, et al.

Early in the videocassette age I purchased an Avant-garde collection, in 1985, with other masterpieces including, Buñuel’s L’Âge d’Or (1930) that served as an introduction to this genre. This was at a time when the video libraries were supremely limited especially in the areas of art and documentaries.

Although many were OOP (Out of Print) as the audience grew so did the market; documentaries on Max Ernst, Dali, M.C. Escher and Germany-Dada became available and immediately added to my ever-growing collection. The Germany-Dada documentary is an outstanding piece of historical and hysterical exploration into the movements and with the constant onomatopoeia of “Dadadadadadadadadadadada…’ fuels a desire to learn more about all the participants.

Un Chien Andalou defied logic because there was none and Dali and Buñuel worked well together as they combined ideas that would soon become the genus of the film. One scene with a woman and man has many interpretations and they are all false; the film is a dream “totally irrational.” Imagine today’s film critics’ elucidations about this segment; the woman’s fear of man who wants to love or dominate her but he cannot reach her as he is held back by a piano - he is being stopped by his art, but what of the two dead donkeys, which may represent death? The two priests can be interpreted as religion stopping him from reaching her.

André Breton, the French poet, essayist and one of the founders, with Paul Eluard, of the Surrealist movement, explains: “…the simplest surrealist act consists of dashing down into the street, pistol in hand, and firing blindly…” Breton’s manifestoes of

Surrealism are the most important theoretical statements of this movement:

Ma Femme à la chevelure de feu de bois
Aux pensées d’eclairs de chaleur
A la taille de sablier
Ma femme à la taille de loutre entre les dents du tigre
Ma femme à la bouche de cocarde et de bouquet d’étoiles de dernière grandeur
Aux dents d’empreintes de souris blanche sur la terre blanche
A la langue d’ambre et de verre frottés
Ma femme à la langue d’hostie poignardée
A la langue de poupée qui ouvre et ferme les yeux
A la langue de pierre incroyable (…)

‘Ma Femme à la Chevelure de Feu de Bois’

After various quarrels with the Dadaist group he joined in 1916, Breton moved towards Surrealism.

“Leave everything. Leave Dada. Leave your wife. Leave your mistress. Leave your hopes and fears. Leave your children in the woods. Leave the substance for the shadow. Leave your easy life, leave what you are given for the future. Set off on the road.” With Louis Aragon and Philippe Soupault, Breton founded the Littérature and in MANIFESTE DU SURRÉALISME (1924), Breton defined Surrealism as:

“pure psychic automatism, by which an attempt is made to express, either verbally, in writing or in any other manner, the true functioning of thought. The dictation of thought, in the absence of all control by reason, excluding any aesthetic or moral preoccupation.’

In the Second Manifesto he further stated that surrealists strive to attain a “mental vantage-point (point de l’esprit) from which life and death, the real and the imaginary, past and future, communicable and incommunicable, high and low, will no longer be perceived as contradictions.”

Buñuel understood that the surrealism in Un Chien Andalou was made to shock as it revealed images that no one in the world had ever seen. My experience at USM with the walkouts should not be surprising; the eye slit shot is in the very beginning and those disturbed by it obviously were not interested in seeing anything else. This was the era of recreational drugs and naturally many in the audience were stoned and perhaps this was the wrong venue for it, but the few of us who remained were touched by the wonderful audacity Buñuel and Dali projected.

Buñuel’s career would finally net him an Oscar for Best Foreign Film in 1972 with The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie but all of his films contained the surreal, black humor and elegant decadence. His first feature film, L’Âge d’Or was banned by high ranking members of the Catholic Church due to its perceived sacrilegious content. His films often presented uncompromising looks at poverty, squalor, ignorance and anti-Catholicism.

If Un Chien Andalou seems an uncomfortable place to start viewing his films, I suggest the following films:

The Phantom of Liberty (1974)

One of his most episodic films, Phantom’s stories are linked together in such a way that one is never certain what happens next. Favorite scenes: a “missing girl” helps police find her; a possible child molester shows young girls pictures that are described as horrible and when we see them they are of landscapes and criticized not for the sexual perversity we were led to believe but through the compositions; and at a formerly dressed affair everyone sits around the table on individual toilets, rather than chairs and occasionally excuse themselves to private bathroom-style cubicles where they eat their meals alone! Only in this surreal world could defecating and eating be reversed and although it sounds grotesque is actually both humorous and profound.

That Obscure Object of Desire (1977)

Two actresses (Carole Bouquet and Angela Molina) portray the same character, Conchita; the Spanish actor Fernando Rey was dubbed by French star, Michel Piccoli while the two women are dubbed by a third - how’s that for surreal? Conchita is a hot and cold 19 year old former chambermaid with whom Mathieu (Rey) is obsessed. The manipulative femme, although played by the two actresses is accepted on screen as a single character. When I first saw it I was unable to identify with anyone and actually appreciated the subversive ending that while may seem today as nilhistic and downbeat was refreshing in 1977. Terrorist bombings figure prominently throughout the scenario and especially in the climax.

The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972)

The Oscar winner skewers the conventions of society and is as wicked as anything imaginable as a group of high society couples attempt continuously and unsuccessfully to enjoy a dinner party. There are dreams within the group, dealing with interrupted meals and even a realization the friends are all part of a stage play! There are plenty of perfect examples in the script, written by J written by Jean-Claude Carrière in collaboration with Buñuel and the surrealism is, as expected, contradictory but what makes the film work is that all the characters accept every scenario which includes intertwining of individual dreams, terrorists from the Republic of Miranda (fictitious) and a reoccurring scene of the six major characters walking silently down a country road towards a mysterious destination echoes the Ingmar Bergman esthetics of “The Seventh Seal.”

Belle de Jour (1967)

Re-issued in 1994, where I saw it in an empty theater in Birmingham, Catherine Deneuve stars as a bored newlywed who turns to sexual depravity, without her husband aware. It starts with her character kidnapped, tied to a tree and gang-raped, but it was a daydream. The film offers two possible endings, and much like Roman Polanski’s Repulsion (1965) where she played a virgin attracted and repulsed by sex, leading to a pair of murders while she is left alone in her sister’s London flat, afforded the talented and beautiful French actress two particular films that make a great, albeit disturbing, Double Feature.

Diary of a Chambermaid (1964)

As a child, I had a huge crush on Jeanne Moreau (Mademoiselle, 1966; The Bride Wore Black, 1968), who stars here as the aforementioned Chambermaid, who comes to work at a Normandy estate in 1930. The family is quintessential Buñuel; the husband has a boot fetish, his daughter is frigid and her husband spends most of his time trying to bed the servants and naturally, there is a Fascist character who keeps the owner involved of the goings on. The radiant Moreau commands the screen as her observations of the decadence surrounding her poignant and profound.

The Exterminating Angel (1962)

Another candidate for Double Feature viewing with Discreet, this film involves a group and a dinner party; however, after the banquet, they find the servants gone and for a never explained reason cannot leave although they are not locked in but are convinced they are stranded. They degenerate into savagery; hiding bodies of dead guests, axing a water pipe for water, even slaughtering and eating a sheep that was part of post-party entertainment. It is a savage satire with plenty of the film maker’s quixotic dry wit.

Felix The Cat - Monkeys with Magic. - More bloopers are a click away

Cast of Un Chien Andalou
Simone Mareuil: Young girl (as Simonne Mareuil)
Pierre Batcheff: Man (as Pierre Batchef)
Luis Buñuel: Man in Prolog (uncredited)
Salvador Dalí: Seminarist (uncredited)
Robert Hommet: Young Man (uncredited)
Marval: Seminarist (uncredited)
Fano Messan: Hermaphrodite (uncredited)
Jaume Miravitlles: Fat Seminarist (uncredited)

Directed, Produced, Edited and Scored by Luis Buñuel; Cinematography by Albert Duvergerand Jimmy Berliet (uncredited); Art Direction by Pierre Schild (uncredited)

Luis Buñuel Filmography

Un chien andalou An Andalusian Dog 1929 France French 16 min Written by Buñuel and Salvador Dalí
L’Âge d’or The Golden Age 1930 France French 60 min Written by Buñuel and Salvador Dalí
Las Hurdes: Tierra Sin Pan Land Without Bread 1933 Spain French 30 min Documentary/mockumentary.
Gran Casino Magnificent Casino 1947 Mexico Spanish 92 min
El Gran Calavera The Great Madcap 1949 Mexico Spanish 92 min
Los olvidados The Forgotten 1950 Mexico Spanish 85 min
Susana The Devil and the Flesh 1951 Mexico Spanish 86 min
La hija del engaño The Daughter of Deceit 1951 Mexico Spanish 78 min
Subida al cielo Ascent to Heaven (Mexican Bus Ride) 1952 Mexico Spanish 85 min
Una mujer sin amor A Woman Without Love 1952 Mexico Spanish 85 min
El bruto The Brute 1953 Mexico Spanish 81 min
Él This Strange Passion aka Torments 1953 Mexico Spanish 92 min
La ilusión viaja en tranvía Illusion Travels by Streetcar 1954 Mexico Spanish 82 min
Abismos de pasión aka Cumbres Borrascosas Wuthering Heights 1954 Mexico Spanish 91 min
Robinson Crusoe 1954 Mexico English 90 min
Ensayo de un crimen Rehearsal for a Crime aka The Criminal Life of Archibaldo de la Cruz 1955 Mexico Spanish 89 min
El río y la muerte The River and the Death 1955 Mexico Spanish 91 min
Cela s’appelle l’aurore That is the Dawn 1956 Italy/France French 102 min
La mort en ce jardin Death in the Garden 1956 France/Mexico French 104 min
Nazarín 1959 Mexico Spanish 94 min
La fièvre monte à El Pao Fever Rises in El Pao aka Republic of Sin 1959 France/Mexico French 109 min
The Young One 1960 Mexico/USA English 96 min
Viridiana 1961 Mexico/Spain Spanish 90 min
El ángel exterminador The Exterminating Angel 1962 Mexico Spanish 95 min
Le journal d’une femme de chambre The Diary of a Chambermaid 1964 France/Italy French 98 min
Simón del desierto Simon of the Desert 1965 Mexico Spanish 45 min
Belle de jour 1967 France/Italy French 101 min
La Voie Lactée The Milky Way 1969 France/Italy French 105 min
Tristana 1970 France/Italy/Spain Spanish 105 min
Le charme discret de la bourgeoisie The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie 1972 France/Italy/Spain French 102 min
Le fantôme de la liberté The Phantom of Liberty 1974 Italy/France French 104 min
Cet obscur objet du désir That Obscure Object of Desire 1977 France/Spain French 105 min

Next Saturday Night: Georges Méliès 1902 Le Voyage Dans La Lune (A Trip To The Moon). French black and white silent science fiction film; loosely based on From the Earth to the Moon by Jules Verne and The First Men in the Moon by H. G. Wells.

Frank Adams (1914)

It wasn’t too long ago cats traveled the back roads of the south well armed. Looking for hand outs was replaced with “Hands up!” One can imagine felines and their mothers cautiously approaching farm houses and cottages and risking attacks from ill-humored dogs and ill-bred people. Ah, but with the addition of a sword or rifle and motivation for food these pussycats purloined and procured whatever was needed. This Frank Adams print from 1914 was well received at the Milo Institute of Feline Well-Being. It is one of many feline-related works of art that MIFW-B display in “their” cafe.

Purchased at Wales & Hamblen: Antiques, Vintage and Eclectic Treasures, Bridgton, Maine, October, 2004.

One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people.

“My son, the battle is between two wolves inside us all. One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf wins?”

“The one you feed.”

Let’s try and feed the Good Wolf for a change we have fed enough Bad ones already.

Originally posted on April 5, 2007 as Laughing Ricochet

For my Muse, Kalliope

eXisTenTiaLNihLisT

One of the immensely pleasure aspects of being an ExNil is that during these periods I can channel earlier moments of philosophical diatribes, add new ideas and like a true nilhist, delete the older version and repost the newer one. This originally ran on January 30, 2009 at 307p CST but don’t look for it under that time-frame; it’s gone.

Since no one ever commented I’ll wager no one ever read it except a few people in the Russian Federation, Australia and China, which at the time of its original posting were the only hits I got on the piece. So, original readers, I have spiced it up a few more profane words and left the basic concept as it was intended: the make you think, laugh and then head for your local black hole.

In case you didn’t already know, and most people don’t, there is one at the center of out galaxy, waiting patiently for the precise proper moment to have it’s way with our Milky Way. Makes me all warm and comfortable; how about you?

For new readers of the ExNil, there are questions to be answered because after the disclaimers you are on your own. The spongy matter in your skull is there for a reason so the only answers will yours…then again, maybe not.

Profanity?

Naturally.

Abstract constructions?

Absolutely.

Mind-Fucking Simplicity?

For fuck’s sake yes!

The original piece with a dose of syntaktikos so you’ll have to learn Greek, or if you’re into Latin, and who isn’t, syntacticus:

“Daddy, when will the world end?”

“Well, son it depends on your definition of ending. Are you asking when the physical planet earth itself is destroyed by, let’s say a black hole or are you referring to the people on the earth?”

“Wha…?”

This is why I have no children.

I could never explain the intricacies of such a serious and convoluted question, coupled with changing diapers, garden clubs and listening to other parents and their horror stories about projectile vomiting and the mumps.

I also knew as far back as the early eighties that without children the Rosenbush Family, T-A Branch, would end since I’m the last male. All good things have to end, but fear not, there are a fuckload of Rosenbushes out there, just not related to me, and they never come round for tea anyway.

There is no more fear or regret in the end of this long proud line of Rosenbushes: Bernard 1 and 2, Moses, Edwin, et al. I do thank them in absentia for each contributed to an existence that led to my unlikely birth.

I have pondered recently whether or not the lack of an heir is significant, or indeed, relevant to any global or spatial importance.

The answer is “nope.”

So, back we go to peer into the not too distant end of everything that exists that scares most earthlings shitless but makes me thankful and toasting with a dirty martini the death of the human race. We are after all in a race to destroy everything that exists on this planet so before we harness warp drive and try to fuck up other parts of the universe let’s look at felines and insects to gauge our own puny destinies.

The Arcadian cats consider the backyard and house as their world which makes the neighborhood their universe and they could care less about the end. They are a microcosm of us. I watched two neighborhood cats in a staring contest Thursday (this was in January, ‘09 but could be any Thursday) while four of my cats watched from a safe distance, like an audience at a prize fight.

“C’mon, guys,” I urged through the kitchen window. “Can’t we all get along? Please, no fighting in the yard.”

Instead of the usual ignore-the-human-and-let’s-get-our-claws-wet-with one-another’s-blood-and-piss they looked at me as incredulously as cats can and rather than fight they slowly and methodically uncrossed paths and quietly traveled to the next universe, Windsor Galatica.

Humans wouldn’t have listened.

As the analogy goes: we are all just black ants battling over real estate with red ants. This seemed more obvious during the Cold War, I surmise, but what the fuck, we are all insects anyway masquerading as sentient beings and because we inhale oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide, discovered the wheel and fire (I’ll be you on other planets life forms are preparing planetary copyright infringement suits against Earth), created fire arms, explosives, religious intolerance and calendars (there’s another useless invention, like Daylight Savings Time, but I’ll get into later) we think we’re intelligent.

We crush insects daily and microorganisms unlucky enough to cross our path don’t fare any better. Ants can lift at least 50 times their weight. I have yet to meet a human being who can lift a railroad freight car. Spiders can start their day without coffee and before we have gotten to lunchtime they have spun a web that is as intricate and beautiful and useful as anything in the world and what are we doing? Arguing over who’s going to pay for lunch at Waffle House.

I saw a segment of the PBS program NOVA years ago where some asshole scientists injected LSD into a common variety spinner to prove it would affect their abilities and time-lapsed photographed the construction of a very fucked-up web.

What a surprise.

What a waste of perfectly good lysergic acid diethylamide.

I’ll bet after the cameras stopped rolling the scientists decided to take a trip.

Tis true, we are all ants in the blinking eyes of innumerable stars, the event horizon at the edge of a Black Hole. If you think the Super Bowl may be one-sided, in a sports analogy:

Black Hole 1, Earth 0.

In the cosmic expanse we are significantly smaller than ants. Rich or poor, happy or sad, good or evil, in the eyes of a black hole we are merely energy to be converted into matter, anti-matter until we no longer matter.

I get a perverse pleasure fantasizing the fateful day when existence ends. Billionaire swindlers like Madoff or terrorists like OBL could throw money or explosives at the black hole which would gladly suck them in, followed by everything else. Black holes give not a fuck about money or extremists, plants, shopping malls, the Eiffel Tower or Starbucks.

Imagine their surprise as individual component atoms disintegrate before they can rationalize what the photon is happening. The rich criminal CEOs, rapists, child molesters, fundamentalist lunatics of all the world’s religions, corrupt politicians, misogynists, arrogant media pundits and racists will be converted into the same anti-matter because they, too, no longer matter. You can almost hear the scream ripped from their throats before they can pontificate: “It’s not my fault, I was abused, misunderstood or just an evil greedy misanthrope.”

Naturally, the artists, scholars, educators, animals and handful of decent humans will suffer the same fate but with a different perspective. I’d be writing, artist would be hurried trying to finish one last masterpiece that would suddenly be separated into constituent elements along with the pallet, brush and painter, and Hollywood - heh, heh - film makers would never finish their films about how earth averted disaster thanks to imagination and screen writing.

After watching end-of-the-world programming on the History Channel this month (again, it was THAT month), I have come to the conclusion: there is little preoccupation with the end of the world in the academia, media or politics while it is of bigger concern in the soothsaying milieu. Scientists continue to consider comets, asteroids, black holes and the anti-Christ as the culprits.

I removed the earlier post since the program is no longer air, however, it is a worthwhile series that can be accessed on The History Channel’s website* Armageddon

As the reportage of the new presidential administration gets serious and difficult questions about the economy, health care, terrorism and war take center stage there isn’t time to vote on Anti-Armageddon Legislation. There would probably be a rider attached somewhere to fund a golf course in Pennsylvania.

At the risk of being coy, aside from a black hole sucking us into infinity or the sun going super nova and emptying this section of the solar system, earth isn’t going anywhere. Comets and asteroids, global warming, uncontrollable viruses may remove the human populace from the surface of this tiny blue green orb and replenish itself but that is not the end of the world.

Like children misbehaving at school, we’ll all be sent home but sans a note.

No rapture.

No anti-Christ.

No Heaven, Hell or Purgatory but plenty of Limbo.

Documentaries detailing comets, asteroids, gamma radiation, and theoretical black holes beneath the oceans in Bermuda and off the coast of Japan, predictions by the Mayans, Nostradamus and the Bible are all worthwhile as entertainment but the average John and Jane Doe could care less; unless the black hole wants to move next door in the affluent neighborhood.

Talk about resale prices taking a hit.

For average citizens, the end is nearer than December 2012. The economy is worse than the Great Depression of 1929 because of the sheer numbers of humans involved this time and we keep hearing it will get better when inside we all know it will not. Like a fixed horse race, the market is not designed to protect ordinary investors. We have no Golden Parachutes like CEOs for the countless investment companies: they only place these greedy bastards deserve to parachute is into the mouth of an active volcano.

The Black Hole has no compunction to fragment Golden Parachutes.

I am easily amused these days when I’m urged to convert religions as some kind of retroactive pardon from the warden;.

Think you will be pardoned? Uh huh, but not paroled.

I’d rather live my generally unselfish and creative life, as who I am, and not support the notion that sinners are damned. By my definition of sinning - without religious rhetoric - most everyone is guilty of infractions. I saw it first hand in court recently when a former tenant raised his right hand and swore an oath to God to be truthful and then lied like he did from the moment I met him.

Madison Avenue lies everyday and few people care:
Use only as directed.

May cause an unsafe drop in blood pressure.

Consult your doctor is you have thoughts of suicide.

Consult your physician if you have an erection lasting longer than four hours.

Who has time for a four-hour erection? Certainly, if you aren’t finished in four hours the erection is the least of your problems. “Hey, doc, it won’t go down. What do I do?” I feel worse for the woman who has to endure a four-hour erection. In shorter intervals, lovemaking is a beautiful experience but after thirty minutes, it’s time to take a break, feed the cats, and put the kettle on boil for a tea.

Hard cocks are overrated anyway. Men will never understand there is more to life than their member. Women already know this but will their opposite gender listen? No, he’s too busy wondering why she isn’t having an orgasm. It’s because of YOU, asshole.

Regrettably, men and women do have something in common; many will believe most anything they read in the press or see on television. I learned in journalism school, back in the seventies, that the prevailing wisdom was two sad comments on the mental process: 1. People generally believe the first thing they read or hear and 2. Once learned, it is indefatigably impossible to ever disregard.

Between the lies and the manufactured truths, most people will believe anything if a stern voice advises them:

Call now.

Supplies are limited.

One per customer.

New and Improved…Trans-fats….No Fats…No Salt or Salty, Very, Very Salty.

Personally, I want salt. I want a little fat and not just because I am thin but because before all the hysteria arrived from the medical community (now there are a clueless lot of motherfuckers) a little fat, salt, milk, cholesterol and sugar in the diet was helpful.
I could, and one day shall, write an entire piece about why the medical profession is big a scam as attorneys: ask one if they ever put iodine of a sugar cube and they start fidgeting and twirling their stethoscopes like Snidely Whiplash’s mustache. (He was the villain in the Dudley Do-Right cartoons).

Before I conclude, as the Black Hole draws closer, I was wondering who the fuck thought DST was such a grand idea. For hundreds of thousands of years – I know, millions, but I wanted to piss off both the scientists and creationists simultaneously – the sun rose and set, seasons changed and during the fall and winter, days were shorter than in the other two seasons everyone was happy. The idea that an act of political control could alter the sun’s and earth’s orbits and trajectories is another of carbon-based life forms trying to exert control over the universe.

Let me be gentle: adding or subtracting an hour changes nothing. The day and night is still basically 24 hours on earth. Try that shit on Neptune or Pluto, which I still consider a planet and cute animated dog, and see what difference it makes. Calendars are no better. Every culture has one. I once owned a sundial, which never needs batteries or winding, and even on a cloudy day I have enough intelligence to figure what time it is just by my own biological clock, which works well until a heart attack or death.

When the end does come, I’d like to see a moon-sized advertisement, somewhere out past Saturn, proclaiming:

EARTH: Going Out of Business

Everything Must Go.

And so we shall, but not today or tomorrow but sooner than later.

No worries.

We urge all patrons to treat their family and friends with respect and work towards making the planet beautiful again. Women, quite being bitches because you think it’s th eonly way to succeed in a man’s world and men, quite thinking about your cock size, golfing scores and plasma screen teevees.

When the end finally arrives we will all be be ants in the backyard on the galaxy.

And don’t forget to wipe your feet at the entrance to the black hole.

If you enjoyed this, here is another snack:

President Obama: Able to Leap Over Problems and Land on Solutions
From 1.25.09

* from the original post:

Continuing through January 11 (remember, it was 2009) History Channel presents programming devoted to the end of the world with tonight’s The Bible Code: Predicting Armageddon continuing the series which began Sunday night. With 2012 slated as the year the world ends expect plenty more documentaries, feature length films (2012 from the director of The Day After Tomorrow this summer) and continuous debates as to how and what will happen to the planet, its inhabitants and the aftermath. Check local listings for the episodes. Tonight’s episode starts at 7 p.m. CST followed by Seven Signs of the Apocalypse and Bible Code II: Apocalypse and Beyond.

Henny Ben Tassus, resident photogenic feline, loves to futz around with Photoshop, which I generally abhor to use except to size and crop pictures, rather than manipulate all those artistically nightmarish filters only good for covering up bad photography. Since implementation of this new cafe theme many older photographs are now planetary size and, as if I didn’t have enough to do, require re-sizing, re-shooting, re-moval or anything else with the prefix re.

I let the Molasses Boy get experimental because he is the largest cat in the Milo Institute of Feline Well-Being and is trying to lose three of his 18 pounds before mid-March. He recounted a dream where he was a wild cat, stalking timid prey in the jungles outside West Ala. I was busy cleaning litter boxes and allowed him to re-create his dream.

This is going to help him lose weight?

Re-volting!