Howdy Hierophants, welcome to the thirtieth rendition of HACK. If you’ve made it this far, quit your whining. I’ll do more than enough for the both of us.
This week it’s the night before this week’s piece is due and I decided to just give it to you all in one short 4 hour burst. I’m leaving nothing out because, guess what? I turn 34 in a few days and I can assure you that I am now too old to give a shit. About what, exactly? Exactly! I don’t give a shit! But in case you’re in a hurry here’s a handy table of contents:
Part 1: Self-Referential Whiny Stuff Written in Second Person Narrative
Part 2: A Brief Pause
Part 3: A Dirty Joke and A Stolen Line
Part 4: Gov. Chris Christie, The United States Flag, Whitney Houston
Part 5: Telepathic Communication With Towel Boy
Part 6: Black History Month
Part 7: Stars Are Cool
Part 8: Closing Remarks
Part 9: Week Links (Bill Hicks, Dyce the P, Chris Christie, Star Size Comparison
Here we go!
Today is your birthday. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday dear- Oh, I forgot, you hate people singing you Happy Birthday. Riddle me this? How come you don’t want all that attention when all you do is want all that attention? Not like that, you say. Nothing forced, eh? Well, isn’t that what you’re doing? Feigning emotion? Do you even still have a heart? Oh, I see, that green shriveled Grinch-like thing right there. No wonder you’ve got no rhythm, son…you’re skipping beats at random. I’d go and get that checked out. If I were you. Which I’m not.
You’re a fucking disgrace you know that? Do you know what everyone else is doing right now? Living. You, my friend, are dying. I’ve noticed you’ve chosen the slow way. Or perhaps you’ll do the stupid mistake route…a car accident perhaps? An overdose of shrimp mei fun, eh? You’re pathetic. You know it, I know it, they know it. No one’s going to actually say it to your face, you know, but you know you can read it.
Remember when you used to be happy? Neither do I. Let’s put it this way. You’re were always mostly miserable, but you had a hell of a lot more happy times. Now they are few and faaaaar between. You’re not only in the middle, you’ve wandered off the path into territories better left unmapped. You’re gonna be like Krapp’s Last Tape. Pacing around an apartment muttering conversations with pictures and videos and audio clips and even VHS cassette tapes. Alone.
Seriously, what happened to you? You used to be so…giving. Now you’re a selfish schizo. A narcissistic dipstick. What you should be doing is dipping your stick! Oh, right, tried that. Well, I never said it should be the same flavor. Of course, she took what you gave her. You didn’t really think you could save her, did you? And you still crave her, don’t you? One last insatiable sip to savor? Don’t do her the favor. Trust me, this point is well beyond belabored.
Wait. They’re watching you. Switch gears. Pretend it never happened. You deleted it. Yes, you deleted it.
…But it never goes away.
If you’ve made it this far, time to switch gears. But I really don’t know how to drive a stick. (That’s what she said.)
So I was driving home from work, listening to NJ 101.5 w. Dominski and Doyle. Their discussion today centered around an “issue” over NJ Gov. Chris Christie ordering the flag to be put at half mast for Whitney Houston’s funeral.
OK, so, first of all, that sentence is so full of utter ridiculousness that I just don’t know where to start…how about…
Why are we still arguing about the flag?
Dominski and Doyle were like two semantic sides of a meaningless coin. One guy argued that Christie was honoring someone who was from New Jersey and meant something to a lot of people. It’s a sign of respect, or something. The other guy argued that half mast is traditionally reserved for people who have done something heroic, or um, something that really mattered, made a difference, whatever…and that you shouldn’t open that door to entertainers, or something.
Now, I’ve called in at least five times on the show to share thoughts on various topics. This time I couldn’t. But what I would have said is, “Folks, the real question is…why are we still arguing over the symbolism of the flag? There are so many other things that actually mean something that are going on right now…who really gives a shit what Christie wants to do with his little flag.
Speaking of Christie, my good friend Kevin reminded me of a REAL issue that could’ve been discussed on the radio: How about the fact that Gov. Christie vows to veto the gay marriage bill that just passed in the state legislature? Because he believes that marriage is traditionally between a man and woman, he will veto the bill. But I don’t buy it. See, don’t get me wrong. I kind of like Christie. I appreciate that he wants to fix education though I’m almost certain he’s going about it the wrong way. But my deep inherent mistrust of any politician tends to override the fact that he may just be a decent guy who sincerely believes that he’s doing it all the right way. I just view him as a really good businessman and his primary goal is getting the NJ numbers to black. So, whatever.
The point is that it’s not about Christie, it’s about Whitney Houston. See what I did there? Pay attention people. So if I was to drop myself down a notch from meta-cognition to just regular old cognition, then I’d be able to take this flag argument seriously. And if I did take this flag argument seriously, I’d probably go with: Putting the flag at half mast for Whitney Houston is ridiculous. Well, that’s pretty much the same conclusion I reached in meta-cognition. Funny how it all connects that way. It’s ridiculous because: Whitney Houston was an amazing singer who touched many lives in a way that I don’t really understand. I can only assume it’s like how I feel about Peter Gabriel. But look, I don’t want to get into the details because I am too lazy to do the actual research. But, what has this woman done to earn the same symbolic privilege as PEOPLE WHO DIED IN BATTLE or DEAD PRESIDENTS? If anything, the way she faded out is a lesson in what NOT to do. A cautionary tale, if you will.
Oh, speaking of dead presidents, let’s go back to gay marriage. See what I’m doing here? Keep up people.
So call me a conspiracy nut, but I think the real reason we haven’t legalized gay marriage is that assimilating that cultural shift into the financial realm requires compromises, new laws…in short, HARD WORK. So Christie’s decision makes sense politically. He’s trying to get the state budget balanced. He’s not going to stick his neck out and be the one to legalize gay marriage and then have to integrate it into the financial bureaucracy. Not until some other state does it first or the federal government finally wakes up. It’s the same reason he won’t make it easier for cities to allow medical marijuana clinics in this state.
Hey, look, I don’t know. I dunno nuttin, OK? I hate talking politics unless it’s in a general this is all just temporal bullshit sense, and besides…
I guess the reason why I’m even talking about the damn flag is because it’s the anniversary of Bill Hicks’ death this week (Feb. 26, 1994) and I felt like sending him a prayer that said:
It’s 2012 and they’re still arguing about the fucking flag.
As for Peter Gabriel, I guarantee you that when he dies, this man who is right now doing yoga with his 100 yr old dad, bringing musicians around the world together, raising awareness about human atrocities across the globe, frequent attender of T.E.D. conferences, when he dies the American reaction will be: showing excerpts from the ‘Sledgehammer’ video and the scene from Say Anything where John Cusak holds the boombox blasting ‘In Your Eyes.’ That’s all they’ll remember of Peter Gabriel. The bastards.
You are listening to a bodiless voice talk about Peter Gabriel. You quickly file through your brain’s recognition system. It quickly narrows to only person who would be talking about Peter Gabriel. Towel Boy.
Focus Towel Boy, Focus! You shout telepathically and the waves disperse through the universe to Towel Boy, in a bathtub, reciting verse…
No Towel Boy, No! Focus Towel Boy, Focus!
Towel Boyinterrupts his new rendition of ‘Good Old Art’ to say aloud, “Hark! Is that a consciousness I hear?”
Yes, Towel Boy, Yes. You need to stop, now. You radiate empathy into Towel Boy, directly, discreetly, delicately.
Oh, I see, you mean…the world is not ready?
No, Towel Boy, No. The world is not ready.
* Sighs *
* Frowns *
Oh, by the way, it’s Black History Month. Don’t just remember famous black people who made history, discover new legendary black people who are still making history. Someone that deserves to be recognized not only this month, but year ’round for their contribution to hip-hop, rap, masonic lore, sacred geometry, magick and women: My man Ryan Kates, a.k.a. Dyce the P. He’s dropping albums faster than he drops bitches. He’s more than just a token black friend, he’s a token human being! If we were in Middle Earth, he’d be a Tolkien human being!
So you know what I’m teaching in reading this week? STARS. Specifically, the life and death of a star. Stars are so cool–relatively speaking, of course! When you think of the life of an average star like our sun, measured in billions of years, it kind of makes things like politics and religion and blog posts and self-referential jibba jabba and insecurities and loneliness and suffering and forgiveness and redemption and healing and gay marriage and alien marriage and marriage of Earth and Heaven…when you think of all that, you realize, there’s room enough for it ALL, for everything. Countless stars, countless worlds, countless possibilities. Things like time and distance and scale become meaningless. It’s all connected and it’s all happening NOW on all states, levels, lines, types and quadrants. It all turned out OK, it’s all going to be OK, and it IS…
It is time to wrap up this week’s whack…no, wait, I’m not Douglas Palermo. It’s time to wrap up this week’s I HATE YOU ALL…no, wait, I’m not Noel Rogers. Dammit! I’m only the Towel Boy. What a bum rap! What a flim flam! A shimmy shake! A lockdown! A letdown! A dirty, lowdown, consternating conswabble!
* Sighs *
* Grins *
Oh well, even the Great Chain of Being must have some weak links!
(cue lame pun)