Rosenbush Cafe

eXisTenTiaLNihLisT contains surreal adult themes, a wee bit of profane language and drug references under the guise of leafy green spinach, ultimately.

ATT restored the ether connection earlier today, thanks to one caring and well-paid technician, after being deactivated early Saturday morning.

The Café will not join the u-verse; the Universe is still a much better deal.

Suffice, later this week, the ExNil post referred yesterday, will be an epic story of how telecommunication cannot communicate with itself. The center piece of a two-part essay exposing the rapid extinction of reasoning and how massive and treacherous corporations are leading many sentient beings towards a disturbing complacency; satiating their blind ignorance with whirring melodies and toys to keep the hands busy and the head oblivious. My shared conduit into serious, lively and profound mind filler.

Coming sometime in the future from beyond moments ago.

This weekend, in lieu of an Alabama-Penn State match-up, begins my October series of translucent nightmare imagery made flesh. My teaser is designed to feed hunger for dark humor and off-the-planet irrationality made sensible. Hmmm, like our fine three-foot breadsticks and home-churned butter.

While 100,000 people will be sardine-packaged into Bryant-Denny Stadium, standing in line for over-priced food and beverages, standing, knees together, in nice restroom lines, and having to hide alcoholic juices to mix drinks in the stands, I will sitting shoeless, in my office, working on far more pleasurable scripted-sensibilities that don’t require equipment, uniforms or concussions.

I actually once liked sardines.

My metaphor reminds me how innocence ends abruptly for some and lasts too long for others. We accept too much without advanced thinking. I am not phobic about being around crowds; however, in 1994, I watched Pink Floyd in Legion Field, in the Magic City, far-upper deck and was surrounded by illiterate jawing redneck pot-smoking torn-blue jean-wearing cretins that wouldn’t know “The Dark Side of the Moon” if they were posited into one, was not entertaining. I paid to see David Gilmour and company make me “Comfortably Numb” while not having to be careful …with that axe, Eugene, and enjoy myself. Although the experience did not prevent me from concert crowds it did make me more selective and aside from Leonard Cohen, in a comfortably reversal of 2,500 dignified fans, I shy from canned and mono-reprocessed for stereo via the digitally-enhanced hustle.

Ha, ha. All are in a hurry to drive, in reverse, towards a dead-end street…and willingly. Everyone is angry and worried about their milieu while rushing blamelessly into tunnel vision and never understanding why they are destined to crash.

Here is a taste:

What must have been an crucial error in cautionary cartoon lunacy occurred when Popeye, the Sailor erroneously accepted a can of Ultimate Spinach and now his head is reeling as he trips his ass off into the high seas. Dissolved mine fields of thoughts hybridized with wise and unconsidered ponderings of lost youth and found consciousness. It only took two lines of cocaine, off Olive Oil’s stringy left leg, to re-open Popeye’s closed peeper. Bluto was outside the bedroom window doing unspeakable acts, while crying and self flagellating himself with his Navy belt, and Wimpy stood nearby, eating a hamburger, for once with mushrooms, and channeling Sigmund Freud. Papa Popeye was trying to get a date with Betty Boop, who was involved in an affair with Anaïs Nin, and was making Stag Films for Walt Disney’s private movie viewing pleasure, with co-stars Mickey, Minnie the Moocher Mouse and Pluto.

Popeye’s pipe spun three sixties in his mouth and suddenly whisked upwards to become impaled into the ceiling light fixture, shattering the bulb followed by arcing electrical eccentricities, and ending with his utterance of signature exaltation that finally became appropriate:

“Well, blow me down.”

The decision to no longer cover Alabama Crimson Tide Football in 2010 was easy, thanks generously to ATT’s FUBAR business Saturday. I blogged about all games from 2007-2009; I begin removing them this week and they will be archived for personal files but no longer available. Old news and it’s the past…I am interested in the future.

With a flooding issue facing me and no assistance - sigh, again - from the city or uni the days of my businessman-cum-humble-nice fellow have ended.

The computer goes into the shop for extensive repairs and a borrowed laptop, with Mozilla-Firefox and other unfamiliar programs, has become more time-consuming but not insurmountable.

The ether connection getting deactivated prevented blogging activity from the RC kitchen and properly re-inverted my perspective about defeating any addiction to this technology. Hours have become reclaimed days and nights without the need to teleport into the ether. I am less enslaved to this infernal machine each day and it is not a frightening or lonely sensation; more like the uh sound after shrugging one’s shoulders in disbelief at best, disdain at worse.

I have 7 Face Book friends, all of whom are the core of genuine wonderful people and my ether camaraderie base, so there is no need to expand; I believe in quality always, quantity never.

If you wonder how I can write via this machine and have less concern about those many hours lost in the ether miasma: I am still reading books and enjoying the sensation of turning pages of paper, writing creatively for myself, washing clothes, paying bills, feeding and loving felines, conversing with tenants and their needs and generally being an individual happier oxygen breather - when you can find a fresh inhale of it - and only using the Internet for business, research and the blogging.

Imagine you reading this and flipping off the net to go hug someone or maybe even go outside and look at the sky. It’s up there waiting for your vision to refocus. Sit in the grass, take a walk, smile at a stranger and be courteous, mostly to those less so than yourself, and realize how good you feel.

Fortunately, or not, I intend to keep the blog fires burning and whether or not I am always entertaining I will always be honest and a tenacious homo-sap.

eXisTenTiaLNihLisT (Grahpic profanity)

This update comes from a secret location somewhere out there and on a different computer since AT&T deactivated my ether account yesterday and in the process affected my small business drastically for an undetermined time frame. My tenants, mostly graduate students, are all with access to the ether and the first football home game tailgaters saw the darkest side of me ever in the 22 years they have known me. For the present, there will be no Alabama Crimson Tide football stories this year, and after my upcoming post it may be my final ether presence.

There are no secret places; at least, above ground. My secret place is inside my brain.

As a caveat, if my ether incarnation is truly about to end I am indifferent; ominous prophesies of my dreams and reality have hybridized succinctly, and internally, and I accept my fate undiminished because I will continue creative pursuits privately, returning to my days as a young writer, on manual typewriters of which I have many from before 1950, and reinvigorate self.

Does ATT Corporate care about Henry Bernard Rosenbush; the customer, individual, human being?

Not a fucking dollop. I learned, via verbal communication, that I am not their preferred class of customer!

I’ll save that disclosure for my blog post.

Will ATT forget me once my delineation of their intricately disconcerting imaginary organism is viewed from a microscope slide?

Are they even operated by humans? Perhaps disgruntled protoplasmic ethereal primordial slime?

Whatever the fuck they portray to the world individuals know the truth. Unfortunately, most individuals accept the punishment and are obediently led to the pillory. I am not one of those individuals.

My ExNil post, coming soon from a bucolic safe house, will concentrate on my waking hypnagogic nightmarish 10 hour ordeal, which started with a simple upgrade, by phantom technical support, and ended with an inexpertly disturbing revelation about who the real terrorists threatening America are; a group that even Homeland Security isn’t investigating, but should:

ATT: Assimilated Telecommunication Terrorism.

What I will share is all authentic bullshit from a communication company whose billions of dollars in advertising asserts they have 97 percent of the world covered; they have 97 percent of the world enslaved and they are not alone. Anger and resentment will be apparent but my dignified irate persona would not go unchallenged, albeit wholly ignored and unrepentantly decimated.

It may be my last ever blogging post but I promise all intelligent life forms it will touch the enslaved souls of millions of you even if only hundreds read it…

There is one certainty; I am an discontented sentient being and the penultimate straw broke my back and I intend to return the favor to ATT and pen my final eXisTenTiaLNihLisT, since I expect repercussions that could terminate Rosenbush Café, I will concentrate on four topics that need to be undressed from their silk suits and exposed, naked to the lash:

Trash Society, Telecommunication: The Original Terrorists, Governmental segregation of the Masses and Pharmaceutical Human Defoliation.

Character Howard Beale best expounded, in Paddy Chayefsky’s brilliant and prescient film, “Network,” a future that has arrived, been superceded, and is now being reinvented:

I am mad as hell and I am not going to take this anymore.

I am comfortable articulating outrage at local government, the university, attorneys, doctors and the finality and futility and living in a society that is intentionally allowing itself to destroy and be destroyed.

As with any technology all things bright and shiny, and expensive, finally breakdown and that is the case with my computer. I am using a borrowed laptop to script my final August post and will find out later today if the other can be repaired or become an expensive paper weight. If it cannot be repaired, or is too expensive, this will be my last Café update until…

Since I have been weening myself off my ether addictions maybe the Goddesses of the Creative Muse are assuring that I keep that personal promise. Can there be peace of mind without a computer to write, update, keep in touch with ether friends, read and write emails? Imagine emailing on a tiny cell phone, especially one that rarely works? Fortunately, I still have manual typewriters and plenty of notebooks so I could be writing for myself alone until the technical issue is resolved.

Later, the same day…Gotterdam; I have to keep this computer until at least the weekend when I upgrade my ether strength here at my business. The back up-borrowed computer was without Microsoft Office and Word but fortunately I have a disc; all my business, creative writing and notes are on Word.

© By Kalliope Amorphous and Black Baccara Perfume Co.

Today, in the midst of our heat wave, which started in early June, I was leaving the house for a day of work at the office and in the city. I decided to check my mailbox before I left, even though it was a few minutes past noon, and my mail carrier never arrives in the ayem.

Today, he did.

My only mail was a package from Black Baccara Perfume Co.

I knew it would be a unique experience when I ordered my Goddess Theme Sampler.

With a few more selections to experiment with, I took the tiny vial of Marquis de Sade and strategically placed it in three places on my face; beneath my nose in the space where my moustache separates, on my Adam’s apple and near my Third Eye. Afterwards, a tiny drop on my heart chakra and I was off to face my busy day.

And now, over seven hours later and there is still a faint reminder of the delicious bouquet. No overpowering but earthy and sans wipes an leather. Somewhere in the cosmos the Marquis is

I haven’t worn cologne in years; I am allergic to most and when I ordered the sampler, and added some others: Nosferatu, Absinthe and Poisoned Pudding, I knew I was altering my recent dark perspective with ‘uncommon scents.”

My day went better than any this month and I owe it all to Black Baccara Perfume Company.

If you haven’t visited Kalliope Amorphous’ many sites by now; shame on you. Besides being a world renowned artistic hurricane force of exquisite talent she is now a perfumer extraordinaire. Visit her site and order one of her many fragrances. You will not be disappointed…

….unless you ignore me and don’t use your common scents!

Rosenbush Café now has music thanks to Playlist

Mixing a wide range of personal favorite musical selections including: Vangelis, Hot Tuna, Pink Martini, Enigma, Chavela Vargas, Harry Nilsson, Tangerine Dream, The Mills Brothers, Maria Callas, The Ink Spots, 10cc, Hot Tuna, Blue Oyster Cult, Shel Silverstein and The Alan Parsons Project readers can now choose a musical background to enhance their Café experience. Tunes will be changed monthly to keep the playlist fresh and daring. Check the bottom right side bar for the player and enjoy.

Note: I set it on shuffle so you’ll never know what comes next…Grand Funk or Maria Callas? Heh.