Morality is the New Depravity

..And from there shifteth the paradigm (As Paradigm is the New Enigma). From such intersolligistic syllogism, the truth that all have known becometh incarnate: Tangent is the New CoSine. And corollary to such analysis, Sine is the New Square Root; Morality, the New Depravity. That for which we had hoped is the new Fucking shit that we got and You sunk my battleship is the new drowning in the seas of your actions. Fret not, for Fretting is the New Confidence, and in face of Passivity as the New Aggression, the odds say you're better off just Faking it.

"A query, sir," spaketh the Adept. "Is Now not the New Then?"
Nary a head shake; nary a fleshy quiver.

"You deign not to Answer? Then I am free to Speculate. For like Earthen Paradise is the New Gomorrah, so is Masochism the New Massage, and weaker the Greater Man. Punctuation is the New Happenstance Occurrence; Maidenhead the New Dowry. Thruppence, yay, t'is true, SixPence! Singest I not the Songs of Yesteryear, in the hopeful voice of Tomorrow, Vainly Striving for Goals of a Time Yet Unseen?"

"As Silence is the New Parlance," he affected, "And Contradiction the New Accord, 'Twould I speak in Riddles? Tossin' is the New Turning; Fit, the New Rich. White Chocolate Macademia Nut is the New Chocolate Chip. 'Tuesday Afternoon' is the New 'Easy' Like Sunday Morning. FIFA is the New Madden. "

"Crosseth not my doorstep with such exultations of Indecency! For, Learned Are You Not that Prophecy is the New Heresy? Meat the New Vegetable? Here, Meet the New Vegetable!"
He passes him a cucumber.

" Missionary is the New AutoErotic Asphyxiation Involving a John Deere Tractor. That being said is the new This never spoken; words, the new Thoughts; Abortions, the New ReInsertions."
"But Plaintative Effort? Perhaps, the New..."

"The New Sloth. Away from my Doorstep, Adept." Smiling, he grasped the man's hand in a bond of fraternal farewell. "Remember, my son, Arse is the New Vag; Entrance the New Exit, and Cheap Puns abound. Seek not the Dionysian fantasy of Old, for on that path lies Folly. If Folly you see, a nickel times Three, Yields Ten and Five Brisquets-a-Molly."

"My teacher, mine Eyes shalnt alight such a blight in this night for four score and six cocks-a-crowing. The duration of their salutation be my Salvation. "
"Sur la pont, d'Avignon."
"L'on Y Danse."
" Yes," he replied, closing the door. "L'on Y Danse."

Burning the Bridges to Total Freedom

Seemingly, the bloodied hands of religion hath yet again besmirched the besotted airwaves of television, under the guise of "Sitcom Comedy." And it's getting rave reviews!

Yes, dear reader, the exalted new series, "My Name is Earl," starring Jason Lee, Ethan Suplee, and at least in "next week's episode," Giovanni Ribisi. All three male leads subscribe to a particular form of dogma that will remain unnamed, for litigious purposes, but can be seen here.

Suspect a Tom Cruise/Jenna Elfman cameo at some point; if offered odds, wager heavily in favor.

And, you know, to tell you God's awful truth, I have given their organization my time and money. Many moons ago I read their Bible, and although it was wacky, I gave it the time of day, and liked the writing style of it's author. And it proposed ideas which seemed logical, interesting, and refreshingly different, and if true, presented a completely different viewpoint of how the mind stores memories, how these memories are tied to our emotions, and the possibilities for helping others.

So a couple years back I went to one of their churches and signed up for an "Auditing" session. Yes, it's true. Perhaps I have a bit o' the seeker in me; anyway, there were some things I had to know. I believe it was 20 hours worth, and I completed ten two hour sessions in the time span of a couple months. Interesting stuff, remembering specific incidents, and while I can see how it could help someone to repeat OVER and OVER and OVER again one specific, troubling incident to confront their demons, I believe flogging and other forms of self-immolation equally effective for long term therapy. Not to mention the strange organizational structure.. the "progression" up the "bridge" to becoming a higher being ... And the ridiculous costs of it all.. meeting with your "case specialist" who tried to sell you things.. Just fucking whack.

But in the end I gave them 20 hours and about a hundred dollars. Lisa, I have let you down.

Which brings me to the most important point of it all, The union of Tomas y Katie.







In the novel, "The Day after Tomorrow," the author depicts a Nazi movement in modern Germany, developing a program of human cloning. The final scene shows where they were headed (of course, Nazi + Cloning = ....) , as after a mountain top chase the protagonist finds a bag containing "the true purpose behind Ubermorgen; the frozen, severed head of Adolph Hitler."

I sense strange energies moving throughout the world; from ash filled-pyres fly dirty winds of change, dusting the new with the dark sin of old. Science fiction is not dead, it has merely become reality.

So when you see the happy couple strolling about, and Tom leans over and pats Katie on the stomach, and a smile flashes between the two of them, think about the following:

Think about the shelf atop the walk-in closet in Tom's Malibu mansion. Think about the jar hidden behind some old sweaters and Stetson hats. Think about why Nicole left Tom, what she may have found, or perhaps what she may have been unwilling to do. Think about the last wishes of a self-perceived deity and martyr, who knew both science and science fiction, and that immortality could be made his through patience, planning, technology, and, of course, millions upon millions of dollars.

Think about the true purpose behind Katie and Tom.


Think about the frozen, severed head of L. Ron Hubbard.

"The Sparrows are flying again, George!"

That's right... Motherfucking Avian Bird Flu in the house!

Every time your cat crawls on your chest to purr, licks/bites a part of your body, you are at risk of getting the ole' A.B.F. from the chewed-sparrows-of-yesteryear.

And I thought it was bad that when my cat scratched me with his claws or whacked me in face while trying to sleep, the worst part was that he was waving that-which-he-uses-to-bury-his-shit near my region of oral consumption.

And all this time I was only worried about something as mild as, say, the hantavirus?

At least I know what to do when I get a burning case of..




















... Ingest handfuls of narcotics and operate heavy machinery.

But you don't really care for music, do you?

Let's wander slowly through the fields..















Slowly, slowly through the fields..















(and no love for fuckin' W.C. to the Fields)









Just you and I...


.....through seas of Chum.

Baja Bash, Part Deux.

Arising early, I survey the surrounding campsites.
















The stage on which the bands performed can be seen at the lower left. and our campsite was up on an old horse trail, overlooking the scene.
















A sweet view.. from which vantage point I definitely did not throw anything, especially anything dangerous, at anyone below. Certainly not a baseball sized rock, and vehemently not so in a drunken, angry stupor. Moving on.. Our tents, on the horse trail, on the right side of the photo, above the masses.
















Deciding that immediate alcohol consumption would not be conducive to remaining conscious for 14 bands in the hot sun and into the night, Pat and I decide to go for a hike.


















High above the hills.















Gratuitious nature shot.

































The campsite was located on an old ranch which stretched for miles along the coastline. Here, Pat inspects the local flora.. and perhaps some fauna.
















Not your average fucking cactus.
















Note to self: Rotate certain pictures before uploading them.

















Rackin' Pinion!

















.. Meanwhile, Corey and Lisa had decided to..















.. take the inflatable mattress and sail in the Pacific. That's them, the tiny dot looking thing, out to sea. Unfortunately, they returned, just in time to see this..















.. turn into this.















And with the dissipation of light came the dissolution of the bonds of morality and decency, and it was time to drink. And drink heavily.

Perhaps, a new name?

Ok.

I renamed the blog.

Blogstrocity of the Lower California, while truthful and quasi-enigmatic, hath borne too long the burden of my revisionist sensibilities.

I may rename again. And again. T'is my right; nay, my ONUS.