the topic of the bows, –also spelled BOSE, in case you’re an aficionado with the homonym’s, bro’, or you have an interest in hi-fi, or, right now! you’re listening to the DOOBIE BROTHERS or Country Joe MacDonald (&the Fish) through a pile of vintage electronic’s, with tubes, and monster-speakers and everything, sitting cross-legged in your ti-pi; and, in lieu of a doobie, doing a bowl in the old peace-pipe, or whatever (if your a little hipper, Sly&the Family Stone, or even FUNK-A-DELIC, may-be), wishing, perhaps, you could have some, –some peace! even a little. But we don’t get to have that, thanks to our Government, “Let’s go, Brandon!” so a word, now, on the bows, and of course a goodly supply of arrows to go along with, ooh! makes me quiver all over thinking about it because if you’re an Indian then you know you’re pretty handy with one of those things; and living in your tipi, or teepee or any other number of ways you can legally spell that (according to no less an authority than Wikipedia), you know you are patently upwardly mobile..and outwardly and downwardly..sidewards-ly and any other –ly (Bruce-Lee, –okay, make it a Lodge! or wigwam, if you prefer). But all that aside, being ready – at the drop of a moccasin – to move on to better pastures with your ‘tepee’, —that being quick to disassemble (for the migratory reason’s) and throw in your U-haul, you have the option to up and take off, when the taking-off’s good; like in the hypothetical case of one of any number of the so-called WUHAN viruses..coming to get you. For reference, they’re a little like, –Palmer’s Disease. (You have to go research that if it sounds strange to your ears..Paleface! Palmer’s Disease, or P.D., for short (as opposed to ED), happened aboard the last, biggest, and most giant English luxury ocean liner made named GOLIATH in the made-for-TV picture GOLIATH AWAITS, an undeservedly, ignoringly overlooked movie with Christopher Lee – another -ly! – as the ship’s captain; and huge all-star international cast including Frank Gorshin as his maudlin-ly worshipful ne’er-do-well henchman, or hench-person..mind the pronouns, please! and doer of foul deeds, um..whatever may be needful in a pinch to keep things running smoothly within that odd, ultra-pressurized microcosmic society, shipwrecked on its sandy bed – placidly – a mile below oceanic crests of white (privilege) and wet, bitter cold, —victim of an unprovoked act of war in peacetime, –arguably! the year, 1940; and her underwater population, all the while, being craftily mesmerized by a cult of personality forty years hence, manipulated! by pandering to fears in tight spaces, sitting smack at the bottom of the Atlantic, with a nazi torpedo-hole in ‘er hull, –Ahem! those damn huns again! Note the appropriate use of a pejorative tagging the Germans for their trans-generational and bellicose warrior ardour, not so un-atypical of their race..they’re anglo’s anyhow so who cares much about their genetic flaws, deeply embedded in the DNA..inbred with the even naughtier Norsemen).
NOTE: (to myself) make a case for the signing of petitions to have blackjack dealers in Indian casino’s wear facsimiles of their native war-dress, for dress-codes, while they’re flipping the cards; since, as they’re successfully waging war on our wallets – and bloody wars, at that – they could at least offer a little culturally appropriated entertainment value for us while we’re losing all our disposable cash, and liquidatable assets..also the damn hippies, and the damn fbi and irs and doj,,]],G-men..GEE, deal with it! here’s your PSA,for-the-day:kjhelgveglsilucahaliygascjb_,akjs;.aklJL, etc., etc., –‘sdriving Cadillac’s! around on the reservation (also install old photo’s to document stuff)
The hippies, the hippy’s; whatever..
“Well they used to be the hippies way-back, once-upon-a-time..liv’d de life’s like gypsies, and it sho’ was fine! yuppies think they kill d ’em but de’ livin’ unnerground, –at places they can’t bill’em, if ya seek ’em, you’ll be found! that’sa psychedelic rap, uh-huh, right..psychedelic rap, mm-hm, yeah..psy-e-del-ic rap!” (0ld rap tune from 1986 written-and-never-recorded by a unknown poet..because how can this sh** survive? it’ll be out-of-fashion inside a year!)
So the hippies, back in their hay-day, worshipped the Indians for their perceived lifestyles, in freedom! un-vexed by external forces trying to take away their Indian ways..for profit (of course). Ride horses, save the planet..Right?? But what about the buffalo’s? First, why not give them, bunch of peyote-buttons, wait several hours, –then eviscerate them!! they won’t know the difference! how humane must we be?? Besides, gotta get their meat off them to survive on the native diet..or the natives will be restless; plus have to skin them for the hides so we can live out of our..wigwam’s! or tee-pee’s, if you prefer, A-hem! why not just skin the BUFFALO SPRINGFIELD’s. So the same thing happened to the hippies at Kent State, though on a much,MUCH smaller scale than like what they did to the Indians..all over da place* (for the historical interest for you-all! But don’t worry, though, we’ll get back underwater for a more detailed investigation on the connection of ‘Palmer’s’ Disease’ to the latest strains of asian flu’s blowing around, ’round here..shortly, Shorty! and btw, anybody experience the heart disease, so-called..and the subsequent landing on the table for a quadruple by-pass, because of it? and the hernia’s, the mesh law-suit’s and bladder cancers..pull a single shot-gun pellet ricochet from the left eye-ball, save a great toe from a motor-cycle wreck?? (wreck’d a Z-1 into a gas-tanker, encounter that happen’d heading up to Crestline, with drugs&alcohol, night of the full moon); and the list of medical procedures goes on, and on, –beginning – in the beginning – with the forcep’s, them having just been invented, –for little ol’ me?? so by now, maybe you can understand, to a minor degree, how come I’m how I am..or at least, note the apparent absence of a learning-curve).
So where were we? What were we? Oh yeah, the Injun’s..and their hippie, hippie-dippie counterparts (am I supposed to capitalize HIPPIES??) OK, bows&arrows. And assault-bows; cause they got multi-shot capability’s. See, if you’re a good shot, you can drop a commie x 2 before breakfast..sans re-load’s; and with these modern weapons of war, dating to around the 1300’s, often found in Swiss villages, bourn by violent persons..like William Tell (spoiler-alert! someone messed with his kid so after it was all over, ending happily for them, he’d said something that could be construed as a death threat; or merely innuendo..well). So these latest cross-bows now can shoot two arrows before the necessity of re-loading. That’s a definite improvement; or whatever. So if you’re a cross-dresser with a cross-bow, you just crossed over some kind of line, in terms of the hot-button topic of assault weapons that shoot multiple shots (more than 1 x) in this case a fully automatic cross-bow! All you cross-dressers with your cross-bows, take note! of the fag’t. But aside from all that; and the spurious educational content, (this essay is going for the Guinness Book’s record of most unforced PC errors in a single batch of run-on sentences in the world’s history..how’m I doing?) in terms of terms, let’s examine some long forgotten base-lines from our public education in the remote and foggy past.
In times going back at least a century+, the basic requirements to graduate high school level course work leaves current standards for 8 years of college..in the dust! in terms of knowledge of common subjects a hundred or more years ago, common sense stuff with Math, History, Art&Kulture, etc., Et cetera (Geography). Here’s a sample from a common textbook in use throughout the United States (of America) for students of all backgrounds..a plethora of diversities for learning, in education, if you will:
INSERT FAC’S FROM ANTIQUE TEXTBOOK (Work in progress)
And on top of all of that, the most primary purpose in public education, above all worldly knowledge that supplants – potentially – prescience and cleverness, for humility before God, was to impart a saving knowledge of the Holy Scriptures, as well as a complete familiarity with the Good Book in its entirety, in both the Old Testament, and The New..in other words, establish an ongoing and intimate lifetime relationship with our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. That aught to piss off a peck of communists running our kids through a marxist mill, grossly misrepresenting key truths, so as to lure them down a path: better a millstone..than! ~Luke 17:2
So! sinking down under the waves, –down and down aND DOWN,inexorably with that stone, Third Stone From the Sun, maybe, –Well it’s too bad! that our frie-ends..cain’t be with us to-day-ay! (it’s too bad) the Machine! that we built..would never save us (that’s what they say), et cetera, ~1983: A Merman I Should Turn To Be, –so we join with our friends, previously mentioned..including John Carradine as the incurable thespian, reenacting sword-fights from his swashbuckling silent movie days before his admiring but admittedly limited swatch of admirers, from among a slew of other denizens down,DOWN..way down deep, who somehow miraculously having survived being sunk by a torpedo attack in the dark days leading up to the United States’s entry into the Second World War, are presently alive and well “..at the bottom of the sea!” (Palmer’s Disease notwithstanding! but first..R U..exper-EE-enced..) So I said I would explain about the Palmer’s..Palmer’s is a mystery disease and no one knows anything about it, what it is, where it came from, etc., just that it’s 100% fatal and zero recovery factor. So if..no, not IF, when! when anybody’s diagnosed with Palmer’s that’s it..he’s through (or she’s through, whatever). And that’s where Gorshin’s character enters the picture; and always in dark shadows! to look in on the patient who just got diagnosed with the Palmer’s..never to be seen again, at least alive. (I am so sorry this turned into a Siskell&Ebert eternity.. movie review, slipping from a fairly titillating foray into the kulture wars, but..oh! and by the way, the character who represents the full, unbridled power of The State, is played by Eddie Albert, as a most benign and banal bogey man, working discreetly in the interests of certain globalists, concerned about the existence of a particular diplomatic pouch, known to be in the care of a U.S. senator on board, containing damning information still, after 40+yrs! potent to cause ruin in high places; in the role of overseer/consultant, ‘Eddie’ weighs developments, sifting the latest information for clues, gleaned by the deep sea rescuers, including the team’s ‘black sheep’ (he’s a little ‘off’..but steady) played by NCSI’s guy; and the former MARLBORO man? FACT-CHECK:False! everybody thinks that, Mark Harmon did not..repeat, NOT! cover the image of the Marlboro Man..who thinks he saw a mermaid; and everyone else suspects nitrogen narcosis, oh, and I might add, Albert created another unforgettably insipid bourgeoise character, the CEO in HEAD OFFICE, and guiding intelligence behind the global corpoaration, INC. a conglomerate colossus that manufactures – among other essential necessities – nuclear warheads; and, “..a smoother, creamier peanut-butter”; as well, PERMA-LAX! an efficacious pacemaker-like invention, installed surgically, –Albert, “I had the PERMA-LAX implant; and now I’m regular..for life, ha-ha!” but where were we?)
Any-way. I hinted that I might, at some point, get to the point with this writing project; and so since I am a man of my word, man-o-words, man of few words, here (here in the picture) we find Frank Gorshin’s Dan Wesker character, the power behind the throne of Christopher Lee’s captaincy, who, on the mere whim of his master and commander, –or thee perceived whim, goes running amok throughout the ship, with his hypodermic syringe in pocket, injecting a deadly serum in the weary arm of anyone from the passenger-list..and especially the bow people (a sub-population of rebel terrorists in control of the bow end of GOLIATH and who reside there); or anyone else luckless enough to become obsolete, dead weight! in an underwater food-chain stretched to its slimmest margins for error..if you don’t contribute, you don’t eat. It’s the law of the jungle, underwater, as I said..about a mile down; where something like a garden variety on-the-job injury such as a broken ankle, inexplicably, and always instantly! morphs into the latest case of Palmer’s Disease..a death sentence – literally! As the plot thickens, one girl, a young, pretty thing, has such a mishap; and before you can say, Slipped my disco! she finds herself alone in her bed, after the termination of a warm and reassuring visit/pep-talk by our Captain, –none other than the immutable Chris Lee!! and, terrifyingly, next! is visited, as you might expect, by our steward of good will and ill omens, the ubiquitous Wesker, who forty years previous, murdered a wife, then fled! the old dependable/deplorable Irish system of swift justice; but the Head of State, here, herr Kapitan Dra-ku-la, benevolent suzerain and ultimate decider of all political outcomes aboard the ship, gave him a job; and a fortuitous and timely means of egress. And he never forgot the favor! Ergo, anyone who needs to be dispensed with gets to meet their Wesker.
So there’s treachury’s; and there’s cowboys. And speaking of bows, people, there’s Indians (and Wesker’s!); and in one of the last of the prime 007 movies – the oddest, perhaps, jabbed with a surfeit of svelte models – Indians are on the attack in the final, apocalyptic, –everything-and-the-kitchen-sink scene inside the CASINO ROYALE! featuring the unsinkable Woody Allen as one of the James Bond’s in the line-up, one of many, there’s no end of them in this picture..Peter sellers, Davide Niven, et al, plus a casting-call bevy of all-Bond look-alike wannabees, extra’s, all legally BOND..James Bond! quite the character twist, in terms of an array of relative virilities, suavenesses, and male sex-appeal’s..slick danger! (master-of-arms). But I didn’t embark on this literary odyssey/debauchery to go getting stuck on Connery, the ultimate in Bond men, a lovely man, no! NO! we are on the mission..le mission! like monkeys on strings, dancing around a tall, mysterious-and-slim black object; alright, it’s a monolith. There! it’s done. And so would we all be if I could only figure out the ending (SIGH)..this’s getting a little creepy! almost as creepy as the Government from time to time, creeping in shadows (like Peter Lorre, mystery man of Fritz Lang’s ‘M’ stalking all the little girls..like where Wesker comes in with that one). Oh, so I remembered I will include pictures and i hope it will help. In the maenwhile, I jotted all this down, all the histories, and anecdotes, and, –and poetry!! and all of the rest of it, because I had hoped it might be of some relevance with what’s going around here, lately..in the world, what with all the patchy global lockdowns, and semi-official explanations, or renderings, so-called, of what’s what..Huh! what’s-what? If I’d a-know’d that I coulda went to city college! these minor deprivations and deceptions happening to us-all, regarding the notion of liberty; of which we are endowed with that inalienable right by our Creator..that, we hold, among other truths, to be self-evident!
Anyway, I just thought it all a bit curious..all the fear-mongering, and all. Cheers! all.
ps: PSYCHEDELIC RAP, SLIGHT RETURN..(verse 1) Listen to me people cause I just want ya to know..yuppies built a steeple to da late,LATE show. They think they kill the spirit, an’ they might be onna roll, but listen an’ you’ll hear it! now jus’ fall into the flow..of the PSYCHEDELIC RAP,PSYCHEDELIC RAP! PSYCHEDELIC RAP,PSYCHEDELIC RAP!
Indians..CASINO ROYALE w/FULL-AUTO BOWS/ASSAULT BOWS, BELT-FED, BABY!
*Custer,CUSTER, couldn’t cut the muster’d! so them Indians they made of him a Custer pie..Now smokum peace-pipe! make treaty; good medicine..for virus! (squib’s, Squibb..MIB)