mentholmountains

Color Photographs of World War I

2012-03-06T02:13:00.001-06:00

The Autochrome Lumiére was introduced in 1907 and was the primary process used to make color photographs until the introduction of color film in the 1930s. A glass plate was coated with a random mosaic of grains of potato starch died red, green, and violet. Lampblack filled the spaces between the grains. A panchromatic silver halide emulsion is added. After exposing in the camera the plate is developed then reversed as a positive. The starch grains act first as filters for the colors striking the plate and then as a viewing filters in the finished image. For example light from a green leaf will pass through the green particle and expose the emulsion under it but would not pass through the red or violet particles. On viewing by transmitted light the green color would show wherever green light hit the plate.

Abilene Paradox

2012-03-05T23:50:00.000-06:00

On a hot afternoon in Coleman, Texas, the family is comfortably playing dominoes on a porch, until the father-in-law suggests that they take a trip to Abilene (53 miles north) for dinner. The wife says, "Sounds like a great idea." The husband, despite having reservations because the drive is long and hot, thinks that his preferences must be out-of-step with the group and says, "Sounds good to me. I hope your mother wants to go." The mother-in-law then says, "Of course I want to go. I haven't been to Abilene in a long time."

The drive is hot and dusty and long. When they arrive at the cafeteria, the food is as bad as the drive. They arrive back home four hours later, exhausted.

One of them dishonestly says, "It was a great trip wasn't it?" The mother-in-law says that, actually, she would rather have stayed home, but went along since the other three were so enthusiastic. The husband says, "I wasn't delighted to be doing what we were doing. I only went to satisfy the rest of you." The wife says, "I just went along to keep you happy. I would have had to be crazy to want to go out in the heat like that." The father-in-law then admits that he only suggested it because he thought the other might be bored.

The group sits back, perplexed that they together decided to take a trip which none of them wanted. They each would have preferred to sit comfortably, but did not admit it when they still had time to enjoy the afternoon.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abilene_paradox

Cortelia Clark and "Cortelia Clark"

2012-03-01T02:18:00.002-06:00

Cortelia ........... Clark

" In Nashville where I've lived for about the last ten years, up until about four years ago there was an old man there I used to go in and listen to all the time. He sold paper bags down on Connor Street. He was a blind man and he played guitar and he was really a great old guy. He won a Grammy, believe it or not. A few years ago RCA Victor went out on the street with a tape recorder and taped him while he was out there, and submitted the recording to the section that deals with authentic folk songs, and he got the Grammy that year for it. Didn't mean that much to him as far as his pocket looked. As a matter of fact, it really didn't mean much to him at all, he didn't even know what it was. Cortelia couldn't see it anyway. I was in San Francisco playing at The Boarding House one week. I got back home, picked up all of newspapers and went inside, started reading through them. Found out he had burned to death in his trailer while I was gone. I don't know how much it will mean ever to him, but this is a song I wrote about him." - Mickey Newbury

"Teardrops the Size of Pineapple Chunks"

2012-02-28T02:45:00.001-06:00

Uncanny Collie with the Medical Gaze

2012-02-27T23:45:00.004-06:00

Institutional Perfidy as Evil

Kant's Concept of Radical Evil

Personifications of Evil in the Cinema

Evil, Toxic and Pathological Leadership

Poetry as Rational Response to Evil

Portraits of Evil in Wittgenstein

Evil and the Loss of Intellect

The Unheimlichkeit of Evil

Improvised Cosmologies

2012-02-17T14:04:00.001-06:00

2012-02-17T14:02:00.001-06:00

John Betjeman Poem

2012-02-17T13:53:00.001-06:00

A Sub-Altern's Love Song

Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn,
Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun,
What strenuous singles we played after tea,
We in the tournament - you against me!

Love-thirty, love-forty, oh! weakness of joy,
The speed of a swallow, the grace of a boy,
With carefullest carelessness, gaily you won,
I am weak from your loveliness, Joan Hunter Dunn.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
How mad I am, sad I am, glad that you won,
The warm-handled racket is back in its press,
But my shock-headed victor, she loves me no less.

Her father's euonymus shines as we walk,
And swing past the summer-house, buried in talk,
And cool the verandah that welcomes us in
To the six-o'clock news and a lime-juice and gin.

The scent of the conifers, sound of the bath,
The view from my bedroom of moss-dappled path,
As I struggle with double-end evening tie,
For we dance at the Golf Club, my victor and I.

On the floor of her bedroom lie blazer and shorts,
And the cream-coloured walls are be-trophied with sports,
And westering, questioning settles the sun,
On your low-leaded window, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

The Hillman is waiting, the light's in the hall,
The pictures of Egypt are bright on the wall,
My sweet, I am standing beside the oak stair
And there on the landing's the light on your hair.

By roads "not adopted", by woodlanded ways,
She drove to the club in the late summer haze,
Into nine-o'clock Camberley, heavy with bells
And mushroomy, pine-woody, evergreen smells.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
I can hear from the car park the dance has begun,
Oh! Surrey twilight! importunate band!
Oh! strongly adorable tennis-girl's hand!

Around us are Rovers and Austins afar,
Above us the intimate roof of the car,
And here on my right is the girl of my choice,
With the tilt of her nose and the chime of her voice.

And the scent of her wrap, and the words never said,
And the ominous, ominous dancing ahead.
We sat in the car park till twenty to one
And now I'm engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

Supernatural Capitalism

2012-02-13T00:15:00.002-06:00

The Lovin' Cohens

2012-02-09T19:46:00.000-06:00

Glyn Maxwell Poem

2012-02-09T18:56:00.000-06:00

The man who sold Manhattan for a halfway decent bangle,
He had talks with Adolf Hitler and could see it from his angle.
And he heard the Silver Beatles but he didn't think they'd make it
And he bought a cake on Pudding Lane and thought 'well, I'll bake it'
But his chances they were slim
And his brothers, they were Grimm
And he's sorry, very sorry
But I'm sorrier than him.

And the drunken plastic surgeon who said 'I know! Let's enlarge 'em!'
And the bloke who told the Light Brigade 'Oh what the hell, let's charge 'em!'
The magician with an early evening gig on the Titanic,
And the Mayor who told the people of Atlantis not to panic.
And the Dong about his nose,
And the Pobble re. his toes,
They're all sorry, very sorry,
But I'm sorrier than those.

And don't forget the bible with the Sodomites and Judas
And Onan who discovered something nothing was as rude as
And anyone who reckoned it was City's year for Wembley
And the kid who called Napoleon a shortarse in assembly.
And the man who always smiles,
'Cause he knows I have his files,
They'e all sorry, truly sorry.
But I'm sorrier by miles.

And Robert Falcon Scott who lost the race to a Norwegian
And anyone who's ever spilt the pint of a Glaswegian,
Or told a Finn a joke, or spent an hour with a Swiss-German,
Or got a mermaid in the sack and found it was a merman,
Or he who smelt a rat,
Got as curious as a cat,
They're all sorry, deeply sorry,
But I'm sorrier than that.

All the people who were rubbish when we needed them to do it,
Whose wires crossed, whose spirit failed, who ballsed it up, or simply blew it,
All the notchers of null points and all who have a problem, Houston,
At least they weren't in Kensington when they should have been in Euston,
For I didn't build the Wall,
And I didn't cause he Fall,
But I'm sorry, Lord I'm sorry,
I'm the sorriest of all.

2012-02-08T12:05:00.000-06:00

Transylvania Blues

2012-02-07T12:50:00.000-06:00

In the year leading up to her death, Betty Gail made regular entries into her diary —often in shorthand, which made them difficult for investigators to decipher.

The first entry Betty Gail wrote while a student at Transylvania University was by far the most in-depth and intimate of those included in the police file.

The Oct. 1, 1960 entry was found by investigators on the pages of an old notebook. The page-long entry details an encounter with a fellow Transylvania student, Richard Berman.

“My 1^st college entry,” Betty Gail wrote. “Rick Berman came over to me at the dance tonight. We talked and joked like always, but I knew something was wrong.”

Berman said he wanted to have a serious talk.

“He told me that he thought too much of me, and respected me too much to try to take advantage of me,” she wrote.

The diary entry does not explain what happened between the two students to warrant the talk, but Betty Gail’s words make it out to be something serious.

“He said that he laid awake last night thinking and he had to tell me, though he would not have told any other girl,” she wrote.

Betty Gail was speechless at Berman’s words, “and that is something,” she wrote.

“It will be hard now for me to date other boys,” she continued. “They probably won’t even ask me for a date because of Rick.”

Why she thought that was not explained in the diary entry.

Berman, now a high-powered, well-known figure in Washington D.C. and president of public affairs firm Berman and Company, declined to be interviewed for this story. His spokeswoman did relay in an email that, “he remembers Betty as a very nice girl, but that it was such a long time ago that he remembers very little more than that.”

Monday, January 30, 2012

Cold Case: Confession, Trial, No Resolution
in Murder of Transy Student Betty Gail Brown

by Mark Boxley

The Lexington Police Department’s Cold Case Unit works to investigate serious crimes that remain unsolved. Many of the cases are homicides, but all leave victims without justice — sometimes decades have passed since the crime was committed. These stories are part of an ongoing series on unsolved crimes in Lexington. Anyone with information about any of the cases is encouraged to contact the Lexington Police Department at 859-258-3700.

Nineteen-year-old Betty Gail Brown didn’t believe in the death penalty.

In an essay she wrote while a student at Transylvania University in Lexington, Brown stated: “When a man commits a crime, he no longer has the right to liberty, but his right of life should never be taken away from him.”

Her belief that criminals, even murderers, should be shown compassion and allowed to become productive members of society was simply stated in her essay. One may wonder, though, if Betty Gail’s stance would still apply to the person who murdered her in the early hours of Oct. 27, 1961.

A well-liked sophomore at Transylvania, Betty Gail’s murder is one of the most infamous in Lexington’s recent history — she was found in her car, strangled to death with her own brassiere.

Some would say her death was the wake-up call to residents that Lexington wasn’t just a little town anymore. People have said, “that case became the reason that my family started to lock our doors,” said Lexington Police Department Detective Rob Wilson.

Unsolved for more than 50 years, Betty Gail’s murder is still being investigated by the LPD, but as time passes leads become harder to find.

Betty Gail’s last day

It was nearly 3 a.m. when Betty Gail’s father, Hargus Brown, called police because his daughter hadn’t made it home from a biology study group that ended at midnight.

She had been at Forrer Hall since about 7:15 p.m. that night studying with three other Transylvania students. All three students and the Forrer Hall housemother saw Betty Gail walking to her car, a 1959 blue Simca, when she left the group.

The last person to admit seeing Betty Gail alive was Charles Risdon, another Transylvania student who had just dropped a date off at Forrer Hall.

His car was parked about 30 feet behind Betty Gail’s and he pulled up next to her and chatted for a moment, according to information from LPD.

“(Risdon) states he asked her how she was feeling, (he) did this because he states he has a dancing class with her and she didn’t seem to be feeling her best during the class,” a police report said.

The two rolled up their respective windows and Risdon drove away, with Betty Gail following close behind him until he pulled into the parking lot behind Hazelrigg Hall, midway between Fourth and Third streets. Betty Gail continued down Upper Street. It was 12:05 a.m.

By 1:30 a.m., Betty Gail was dead.

She was found in her car, which was parked in front of Morrison Chapel on the Transylvania Campus at 3:05 a.m. Officer Don Duckworth with LPD was checking campus locations after an “all unit” broadcast was made to officers on duty about the missing co-ed.

“Officer Duckworth noticed the victim seated under the driver’s seat, head back, (she) appeared to be dead,” a police report said. “(He) immediately took the necessary measures to protect the scene and radioed for assistance.”

Duckworth told investigators that no one touched the car until his backup arrived.

Betty Gail was wearing the clothes she left her parents’ house in — a white blouse, Bermuda shorts, a sweater and beige raincoat. But when she was found, her blouse was unbuttoned, but still tucked in, and her brassiere was around her neck.

“An autopsy determined Brown had died as a result of strangulation with her own bra,” a police report said.

It was determined that robbery was not a motive in the murder, and Betty Gail had not been sexually assaulted. While she was still in the driver’s seat, her car keys were found in the floorboard of the back seat. The doors to the car were locked, except the front passenger door, which had a malfunctioning lock. Police were unable to find any witnesses to the crime.

In a summary report complete in the case when it was re-examined in 1988, a section titled “Case Problems” detailed issues that complicated investigation of Betty Gail’s murder.

“Practically every detail of the crime scene, autopsy, evidence collected, and witnesses statements were released to the media fueling theories and speculations,” the report said.

The morning newspaper from Oct. 28, 1961, ran a gruesome photo of Betty Gail’s body still in her car on the front page, “inciting public interest,” the report continued.

Male students and faculty members from Transylvania University were fingerprinted and given polygraph tests en masse, but none were ultimately considered suspects in the case.

Things turned around in January of 1965, when a man named Alex Arnold admitted to killing Betty Gail.

“On Jan. 20, 1965, Klamath Falls Ore. Police Department had arrested Arnold for public intoxication,” an LPD report said. “Arnold told an official in that city that he had murdered Brown.”

Arnold provided police officers from Lexington a handwritten statement spelling out the macabre details from the night he allegedly killed Betty Gail.

Arnold was arrested for the murder.

....................................................................................

Part 2:

It was a cold morning in Klamath Falls, Ore. — a small town about 20 miles north of the California border — when Alex Arnold Jr. sat down with investigators from Lexington.

The officers from the Lexington Police Department traveled more than 2,300 miles because Arnold asked them to. It was Jan. 22, 1965, more than three years after the baffling murder of 19-year-old Betty Gail Brown. Investigators thought they had finally found Betty Gail’s killer in the 33-year-old Arnold.

The man said he was the one who strangled the Transylvania University co-ed in the early hours of Oct. 27, 1961. He was in the Klamath Falls Police Department, arrested on a charge of public intoxication.

The LPD investigators sat down with Arnold in the jail. They read him his rights and asked him one more time, “are you willing to make a statement and tell us all that you know about the (Betty Gail Brown) case?”

“Sure, that’s why I had you all come all the way out here,” Arnold replied.

Arnold’s story of Oct. 26, 1961, starts with a night of drinking in Lexington.

In his drunken stupor, the man was looking for a place to sleep. He first tried Gratz Park, but a couple sitting in the park made him change his mind. He crossed Third Street, walked onto the Transylvania University campus, found a place to lie down and went to sleep, according to Arnold’s statement to police.

After about an hour, he woke up from the cold and finished a bottle of wine he had with him before walking toward Short Street. That’s when he told investigators he saw Betty Gail’s car parked in front of Morrison Chapel.

Arnold told investigators he saw Betty Gail and another woman engaged sexually in the car — something the woman’s parents vehemently said was impossible.

“Upon passing a car in a driveway of the campus, I seen what looked like two women making love,” Arnold’s statement said. “They were hugging and kissing each other.”

He asked for a match from the pair as he walked by.

“They begin to cuss me,” Arnold wrote. “I said pardon me and started on for Short and Broadway.”

The pair continued to “cuss” Arnold as he walked away, and he decided to do something about it, the man’s statement said.

“Being drunk and on the spur of the moment, I got mad and turned back to the car,” he said in his statement. “Jerking the door open on the drivers’ side, I grabbed the girl on the driver’s side as she was leaning away from me.”

The other woman jumped out of the car and fled the scene, Arnold said, and he knocked Betty Gail’s head on the dashboard of the car, which “either knocked her out or she fainted.”

“Jerking her back against the seat by her hair and shoulder, I realized that she was out,” Arnold told police.

Arnold said he panicked.

He got into the back seat of the car and picked up Betty Gail’s brassiere, which he said was sitting in the front seat.

“I hung it around her neck and strangled her by putting my hands on each end of the brassiere and putting my knee against the back of the seat for leverage,” he told police. “I held it there for about a minute and a half.

“The only thing that she did was just quiver a little bit.”

Putting the brassiere on the front seat — a detail that didn’t match the initial police report that said Betty Gail was found with it still around her neck — Arnold said he noticed the woman’s blouse was tucked in but unbuttoned all the way. He said he climbed into the front seat to button it up.

“Because I thought if she was found that way (with her blouse unbuttoned) they would think I had tried to rape her, thinking for sure I would be caught,” Arnold told police.

He wiped his fingerprints off the dashboard, locked three of the car’s doors and left. Arnold told investigators that he went to the apartment of a woman named Mae Hedges.

“We had a drink of whiskey,” he said. “I told her I had just killed a woman.”

According to a statement from Hedges in court files from Arnold’s murder trial, she said the man did not come to her apartment that night.

The trial

Arnold’s murder trial started on Feb. 5, 1965, in Lexington.

Defended by attorney Amos Eblen, Arnold recanted his admission during the trial.

“His defense was that he was suffering from delirium at the time of the confession due to alcoholism and that he had thought about the murder so much he began to think he was responsible,” LPD files said.

Arnold also had an alibi from his aunt who said he was at her house at the time of the murder.

During the trial LPD Detective Capt. Gilbert Cravens testified that he issued the warrant for Arnold’s arrest on the murder charge. When asked what led to the issuance of the warrant, Cravens told the court that Arnold had confessed to the crime and “he mentioned certain things that no one would have known except someone that was there,” court files said.

It was a cold morning, so cold that frost had formed on Betty Gail’s car — a detail that would corroborate Arnold’s assertion that the cold had woken him up after falling asleep in shrubbery nearby.

Another witness, officer Don Duckworth — the officer who found Betty Gail dead in her vehicle the night of her death — testified that when he found the woman the first thing he did was call for backup. He also said he observed a wound on Betty Gail’s forehead and blood on the dashboard, which matched Arnold’s story in his confession about knocking the woman out.

In contrast to Arnold’s assertion that he put the brassiere on the front seat, Duckworth testified that Betty Gail’s brassiere was still wrapped around her neck and a piece of it had been torn off and was in her lap. He also testified that while Betty Gail’s blouse was partially buttoned, the top two buttons were still open.

Fayette County Coroner Chester Hager also testified in the case, saying he arrived at the scene of the murder at 3:40 a.m. Betty Gail was dead when he arrived.

Hager testified that the brassiere was still around Betty Gail’s neck when he initially examined her body. Along with the strangulation marks around the woman’s neck, Hager testified that it appeared Betty Gail’s head had been knocked against the dashboard so forcefully that a letter from a “Simca” decal on it was imprinted on her forehead.

Betty Gail’s scalp was torn from where someone jerked her head back by her hair, Hager said. There were no skin particles under Betty Gail’s fingernails and other than a broken fingernail on one hand, there were no defensive wounds on the woman, he said.

Lt. A.M. Carter with the LPD testified that he was one of the investigators who visited Arnold in the Klamath Falls jail. The first interview on Jan. 20 took about an hour-and-a-half, and Carter said Arnold was visibly upset.

“He was noticeably trembling,” Carter said. “He seemed to be easy to perspire; very nervous.”

Officers didn’t take a written statement from Arnold at that time. The next morning detectives met with Arnold again, this time for about two hours and at that time Arnold “was visibly calmer,” Carter testified.

“I asked him at that time if he felt any better after having disclosed his part in this thing and he said that he ‘felt like a 500-pound weight had been lifted off both shoulders,’” Carter said.

Officers did not take Arnold’s written confession until the next day, at which time the man was “calmer than the day before.” Carter told the court that Arnold was read his rights before each meeting in the Klamath Falls jail.

“He advised that this thing had been bearing on his mind all these years and that he wanted to get it out of inside of him,” Carter said.

When Capt. Bryan Henry — who was in charge of fingerprints in the Betty Gail Brown case — was brought to the stand, he told the court that only three sets of identifiable fingerprints were found in the car. Those belonged to Betty Gail’s mother, father and a mechanic who had recently worked on the car.

Other than Arnold’s written statement, investigators were unable to find any other evidence that tied him to Betty Gail’s murder.

The jury in the case deliberated for six hours and 45 minutes before announcing they were hung on a 7-5 vote. Arnold was released.

The indictment remained officially open until Feb. 2, 1973; during that time Arnold could have been re-tried on the case.

In a Feb. 3, 1966 letter from Commonwealth Attorney Donald P. Moloney to LPD Chief E.C. Hale, the former explained his trepidation about retrying the case.

“I am very reluctant to cause the additional expense of the taxpayers’ money and the consumption of the valuable time of the court, the jury, the witnesses, and your department for a second trial of this case in the absence of any more evidence than I had the last time, which the jury determined was insufficient to secure conviction,” Moloney wrote.

A response to Moloney’s letter from Hale was not included in court files.

In a Jan. 19, 1973 letter, Commonwealth Attorney Patrick H. Molloy also asked if any new evidence was available in the case. James L. Shaffer, then chief of the LPD, wrote back that there was nothing new.

“We considered the task of contacting the list of witnesses used in the 1965 trial and sincerely believe their recall to be impossible,” Shaffer wrote.

“Upon reviewing the case file, I am convinced that all pertinent leads and fragments of information have been carefully investigated without additional results,” he wrote.

Because so much time had passed since the original trial, it was Shaffer’s opinion “that it would be virtually impossible to reconstruct the case for presentation to a jury.” Molloy filed a motion to dismiss the indictment against Arnold on Feb. 5, 1973.

Arnold, who had lived in Lexington since the trial, died on June 18, 1980. He was 49.

....................................................................................
Part 3:

Betty Gail Brown made a habit of recording her life, almost on a daily basis. She would put pen to paper and scratch out the details of her days.

Sometimes it was something as simple as jotting down a quick note about a test she was studying for. Sometimes she would go into great detail about an encounter with friends; sometimes she would bare her soul.

They weren’t words she probably expected anyone else to see. Normally, a young woman’s diary would remain private.

But when Betty Gail was murdered in the early morning of Oct. 28, 1961, her diary was the only window into her daily life. Her words, like the whispers of a ghost, became part of the evidence investigators would study closely, looking for clues that might lead them to a resolution.

Oct. 25, 1961, three days before her murder, the 19-year-old Transylvania University student wrote about studying for a sociology test — and boy trouble, an ongoing theme in her diary entries.

“I think boys here are a mess,” she wrote that day.

There was no way she could have known the following pages of her diary would remain forever empty.

Three days later she was dead.

Betty Gail’s murderer has never been found, but the search for her killer continues, as detectives at the Lexington Police Department are still investigating the 50-year-old case.

In the year leading up to her death, Betty Gail made regular entries into her diary —often in shorthand, which made them difficult for investigators to decipher.

The first entry Betty Gail wrote while a student at Transylvania University was by far the most in-depth and intimate of those included in the police file.

The Oct. 1, 1960 entry was found by investigators on the pages of an old notebook. The page-long entry details an encounter with a fellow Transylvania student, Richard Berman.

“My 1^st college entry,” Betty Gail wrote. “Rick Berman came over to me at the dance tonight. We talked and joked like always, but I knew something was wrong.”

Berman said he wanted to have a serious talk.

“He told me that he thought too much of me, and respected me too much to try to take advantage of me,” she wrote.

The diary entry does not explain what happened between the two students to warrant the talk, but Betty Gail’s words make it out to be something serious.

“He said that he laid awake last night thinking and he had to tell me, though he would not have told any other girl,” she wrote.

Betty Gail was speechless at Berman’s words, “and that is something,” she wrote.

“It will be hard now for me to date other boys,” she continued. “They probably won’t even ask me for a date because of Rick.”

Why she thought that was not explained in the diary entry.

Whatever the issue between the two students was, it was apparently resolved, as Berman is affectionately mentioned numerous times in her diary.

Out of context, some of the diary entries are cryptic while others are specific.

She writes about other boys, dates and getting married.

“We used the Ouija board, and it came out I was going to marry Don, have four kids, be happy, only marriage for us both and (I will) die young during fourth childbirth … big farce,” Betty Gail wrote in a Jan. 31, 1961 entry.

The boy in the entry was identified as Don Peterson. Betty Gail had gone on several dates with him but apparently the relationship didn’t work out.

“Don and I talked a few minutes today, he went home this weekend,” she wrote in a Feb. 1 entry. “I felt mad all day because of Don, but I don’t really like him.”

Don was quickly replaced by another boy named Cal, who Betty Gail “accidentally had lunch with” on Feb. 7 (they kissed on Feb. 24).

But that relationship started to falter as well.

“Cal really got me terribly shook,” Betty Gail wrote on April 2. “He wants to marry me.”

April 23: “I think I hate (Cal).”

April 28: “Cal and I went to the Coronation Ball, he said he loved me and I didn’t say anything. So, I guess we won’t be dating anymore, ever.”

Betty Gail’s diary entries continue until Oct. 25, and for all the information investigators were able to glean from the writings, nothing suspicious was found.

“There is nothing in the diary that could possibly make one think any such thing could happen,” detectives wrote about Betty Gail’s death.

Modern-day investigation

It comes down to a print found in the 50-year-old case file, one that just fell out of a file folder one day, said Lexington Police Department Detective Rob Wilson.

“They think it is part of a palm print,” said Lt. James Curless of the FBI, which was sent the print in 2006.

There are suspects convicted of murders with similar details that investigators are now looking into.

“(There are) two serial killers that passed through — in and around Lexington in that time period,” said Lt. James Curless.

But the handprint is the only lead investigators have today, and it may very well be a dead end.

“It’s one thing that we can do,” Wilson said of sending the handprint to the FBI.

Some of the most useful evidence was destroyed, including the brassiere Betty Gail was strangled to death with. If that key piece of evidence was still around, it could provide important DNA evidence.

“We’ve looked for DNA; there is none,” Curless said.

Investigators from the time of Betty Gail’s death were convinced Alex Arnold Jr., was the killer, even though he his trial resulted in a hung jury.

Former Fayette Circuit Judge George Barker, who was then an assistant Commonwealth’s Attorney told investigators that “he believed Arnold was responsible for the death” even though some of the details he gave police didn’t match the crime scene.

“(Barker) recalled that the prosecution contended that Arnold had fabricated portions of his confession to justify and rationalize his actions,” case documents say.

The case, one of the most notorious in Lexington history, has not been idle over the years.

“It looked like, from the case file, at least a couple detectives from each decade picked it up,” Wilson said.

A four-volume case file, comprised of hundreds of documents, shows that investigators did everything they could to solve the case.

“Those guys worked hard,” Wilson said.

At one point, a psychic was brought in to examine the case.

Peter Hurkos, of Waukesha, Wis., told detectives on June 11, 1962 that “the reason the killing happened was because there was a discussion about making love, then a fight started. After the victim couldn’t breathe anymore, the murder was scared and ran off.”

After everything was said and done, though, the case never found a conclusion. That was something that caused Lexington residents considerable concern.

“This was what commanded the attention of the town, like the O.J. (Simpson) trial,” Wilson said. “Because it just consumed the town for so long.”

“It captured the attention of Lexington and it bothered a lot of people,” Curless said. “They wanted it solved.”

Investigators today are no different; they want to solve the case.

Results on the partial handprint are pending and police are asking anyone with information on Betty Gail Brown’s murder to contact them.

If there is new information, “we’re going to go check it out,” Wilson said.

The person who killed Betty Gail could have been anyone.

“You’ve got her strangled in her car,” Wilson said. “Could it have been done by a stranger? Yes it could.

“Could it have been done by someone known to her? Yes it could.”

Anyone with information on the case can contact Curless or Wilson at 859-258-3700.

http://www.kyforward.com/?p=8319

G.K. Chesterton Poem

2012-02-02T20:29:00.000-06:00

The gallows in my garden, people say,

Is new and neat and adequately tall.

I tie the noose on in a knowing way

As one that knots his necktie for a ball;

But just as all the neighbors--on the wall--

Are drawing a long breath to shout 'Hurray!'

The strangest whim has seized me...After all

I think I will not hang myself today.

Tomorrow is the time I get my pay--

My uncle's sword is hanging in the hall--

I see a little cloud all pink and grey--

Perhaps the rector's mother will not call--

I fancy that I heard from Mr Gall

that mushrooms could be cooked another way--

I've never read the works of Juvenal--

I think I will not hang myself today.

The world will have another washing day;

The decadents decay; the pedants pall;

And H.G. Wells has found that children play,

And Bernard Shaw discovered that they squall;

Rationalists are growing rational--

And through thick woods one finds a stream astray,

So secret that the very sky seems small--

I think I will not hang myself today.

Envoi

Prince, I can hear the trumpet of Germinal,

The tumbrils toiling up the terrible way;

Even today your royal head may fall--

I think I will not hang myself today.

Cowboy Overflow of the Heart

2012-01-31T03:06:00.001-06:00

Joy to the World, the Lord has Gum! *****************Let Each Receive a Piece!

2011-12-31T20:39:00.000-06:00

Libertarian Story Problems

2011-12-31T12:44:00.000-06:00

A certain man was was throwing stones from his ground onto public grounds, when a pious man said to him, "Fool why do you remove stones from ground which is not yours and throw it onto ground which is yours?" The man laughed at him. After a time, the man had to sell his field, and when he was walking on the public ground he stumbled over those stones. He then said, "How well that pious man put it. "Why do you throw stones from ground which is not yours to ground which is yours?"
-Babylonian Talmud , Bava Kamma 50b

Some people were sitting in a ship, when one of them took a drill and began to bore a hole under his seat.
The other passengers protested to him, "What are you doing?"
He said "what has this to do with you? Am I not boring a hole under my own seat?"
-Leviticus Rabbah 4:6

Mumblety-Peg.......Tournament-Grade....... Commemorative-Cutlery

2011-12-31T10:46:00.003-06:00

William Makepeace Thackery Thing

2011-12-28T18:08:00.001-06:00

“.....You, peraps, may igspect that I should narrait at lenth the suckmstanzas of my hawjince with the British Crown. But I am not one who would gratafy IMPUTTNINT CURAIOSATY. Rispect for our reckonized instatewtions is my fust quallaty. I, for one, will dye rallying round my Thrown.

“Suffise it to say, when I stood in the Horgust Presnts,— when I sor on the right & of my Himperial Sovring that Most Gracious Prins, to admire womb has been the chief Objick of my life, my busum was seased with an imotium which my Penn rifewses to dixcribe — my trembling knees halmost rifused their hoffis — I reckleck nothing mor until I was found phainting in the harms of the Lord Chamberling. Sir Robert Peal apnd to be standing by (I knew our wuthy Primmier by Punch’s picturs of him, igspecially his ligs), and he was conwussing with a man of womb I shall say nothink, but that he is a hero of 100 fites, AND HEVERY FITE HE FIT HE ONE. Nead I say that I elude to Harthur of Wellingting? I introjuiced myself to these Jents, and intend to improve the equaintance, and peraps ast Guvmint for a Barnetcy.

“But there was ANOTHER pusn womb on this droring-room I fust had the inagspressable dalite to beold. This was that Star of fashing, that Sinecure of neighboring i’s, as Milting observes, the ecomplisht Lady Hangelina Thistlewood, daughter of my exlent frend, John George Godfrey de Bullion Thistlewood, Earl of Bareacres, Baron Southdown, in the Peeridge of the United Kingdom, Baron Haggismore, in Scotland, K.T., Lord Leftnant of the County of Diddlesex, &c. &c. This young lady was with her Noble Ma, when I was kinducted tords her. And surely never lighted on this hearth a more delightfle vishn. In that gallixy of Bewty the Lady Hangelina was the fairest Star — in that reath of Loveliness the sweetest Rosebud! Pore Mary Hann, my Art’s young affeckshns had been senterd on thee; but like water through a sivv, her immidge disappeared in a momink, and left me intransd in the presnts of Hangelina.

“Lady Bareacres made me a myjestick bow — a grand and hawfle pusnage her Ladyship is, with a Roming Nose, and an enawmus ploom of Hostridge phethers; the fare Hangelina smiled with a sweetness perfickly bewhildring, and said, ‘O, Mr. De la Pluche, I’m so delighted to make your acquaintance. I have often heard of you.’

“‘Who,’ says I, ‘has mentioned my insiggnificknt igsistance to the fair Lady Hangelina? kel bonure igstrame poor mwaw!’ (For you see I’ve not studdied ‘Pelham’ for nothink, and have lunt a few French phraces, without which no Gent of fashn speaks now.)

“‘O,’ replies my lady, ‘it was Papa first; and then a very, VERY old friend of yours.’

“‘Whose name is,’ says I, pusht on by my stoopid curawsaty —

“‘Hoggins — Mary Ann Hoggins’— ansurred my lady (laffing phit to splitt her little sides). ‘She is my maid, Mr. De la Pluche, and I’m afraid you are a very sad, sad person.’

“‘A mere baggytell,’ says I. ‘In fommer days I WAS equainted with that young woman; but haltered suckmstancies have sepparated us for hever, and mong cure is irratreevably perdew elsewhere.’

“‘Do tell me all about it. Who is it? When was it? We are all dying to know.”

“‘Since about two minnits, and the Ladys name begins with a HA,’ says I, looking her tendarly in the face, and conjring up hall the fassanations of my smile.

“‘Mr. De la Pluche,’ here said a gentleman in whiskers and mistashes standing by, ‘hadn’t you better take your spurs out of the Countess of Bareacres’ train?’—‘Never mind Mamma’s train’ (said Lady Hangelina): ‘this is the great Mr. De la Pluche, who is to make all our fortunes — yours too. Mr. de la Pluche, let me present you to Captain George Silvertop,’— The Capting bent just one jint of his back very slitely; I retund his stare with equill hottiness. ‘Go and see for Lady Bareacres’ carridge, George,’ says his Lordship; and vispers to me, ‘a cousin of ours — a poor relation.’ So I took no notis of the feller when he came back, nor in my subsquint visits to Hill Street, where it seems a knife and fork was laid reglar for this shabby Capting.”

“Thusday Night.— O Hangelina, Hangelina, my pashn for you hogments daily! I’ve bean with her two the Hopra. I sent her a bewtifle Camellia Jyponiky from Covn Garding, with a request she would wear it in her raving Air. I woar another in my butnole. Evns, what was my sattusfackshn as I leant hover her chair, and igsammined the house with my glas!

“She was as sulky and silent as pawsble, however — would scarcely speek; although I kijoled her with a thowsnd little plesntries. I spose it was because that wulgar raskle Silvertop WOOD stay in the box. As if he didn’t know (Lady B.‘s as deaf as a poast and counts for nothink) that people SOMETIMES like a tatytaty.”

“Friday.— I was sleeples all night. I gave went to my feelings in the folloring lines — there’s a hair out of Balfe’s Hopera that she’s fond of. I edapted them to that mellady.

“She was in the droring-room alone with Lady B. She was wobbling at the pyanna as I hentered. I flung the convasation upon mewsick; said I sung myself (I’ve ad lesns lately of Signor Twankydillo); and, on her rekwesting me to faver her with somethink, I bust out with my pom:

“‘WHEN MOONLIKE OER THE HAZURE SEAS.

“‘When moonlike ore the hazure seas
In soft effulgence swells,
When silver jews and balmy breaze
Bend down the Lily’s bells;
When calm and deap, the rosy sleap
Has lapt your soal in dreems,
R Hangeline! R lady mine!
Dost thou remember Jeames?

“‘I mark thee in the Marble All,
Where Englands loveliest shine —
I say the fairest of them hall
Is Lady Hangeline.
My soul, in desolate eclipse,
With recollection teems —
And then I hask, with weeping lips
Dost thou remember Jeames?

“‘Away! I may not tell thee hall
This soughring heart endures —
There is a lonely sperrit-call
That Sorrow never cures;
There is a little, little Star,
That still above me beams;
It is the Star of Hope — but ar!
Dost thou remember Jeames?’

“When I came to the last words, ‘Dost thou remember Je-e-e-ams?’ I threw such an igspresshn of unuttrable tenderniss into the shake at the hend, that Hangelina could bare it no more. A bust of uncumtrollable emotium seized her. She put her ankercher to her face and left the room. I heard her laffing and sobbing histerickly in the bedwor.

“O Hangelina — My adord one, My Arts joy!” . . ."

-from The Diary of C. Jeames De La Pluche, Esq.

Someone To Look Up To

2011-12-24T11:03:00.004-06:00

2011-12-24T10:36:00.003-06:00

jyardsale Yjackpot v.

2011-12-24T10:29:00.033-06:00

Jyardsale Yjackpot iv.

2011-12-24T10:00:00.001-06:00

Jyardsale Yjackpot iii.

2011-12-19T16:20:00.001-06:00

Jyardsale Yjackpot ii.

2011-12-18T13:33:00.001-06:00

Yardsale Jackpot

2011-12-11T01:07:00.012-06:00

Once I was the early bird.

In the sodden basement of a shabby estate sale in West Nashville
around the turn of the century, I came upon the internal files of
Gulas/Welch Wrestling Enterprises Inc. for sale for pennies on the pound.

Nick Gulas, whose private records these were, ran the biggest wrestling promotion agency in the Mid-South in the nineteen sixties and seventies.

The story of how this strange-beaked skinflint lost control of his regional wrestling circuit is one of grease and betrayal in an age of rampant scoundrelism and lurid rascality.

It was a time when pro wrestlers could best be contacted via mother-in-law.
Agency rolodexes were bristling with Herbs and Jerrys.
And regicide was the legal in the state of Tennessee.

Over the next couple of weeks I'm going to scan some of these clerical treasures and post them here.

http://www.nashvillewrestlinghistory.com/programgallery/index.php/

Plastic Ono Band With Plastic Bone at Hand

2011-11-20T03:32:00.012-06:00

The Last Act of the Notorious Howard Spira

  Toulouse-Lautrec Shitting On a Beach

  Young Men Talk Like Old Women

Master Your Politically Deranged Silent Generation Relative

  plus

  and

  119 Auspicious Mental Events

Terrifying Gangs of England

The Anosognosics Dilemma

  Critiques of Libertarianism

The Brick Testament

Better Not Read This

The Failure Addict

Six-Pack Annie

Red Cross EP

A Story That Escaped "The Dream Assembly"

Don't Talk To Me About Johnny Depp

2011-11-12T22:23:00.001-06:00

Forced Antecedent-Focused Emotional Regulation: Together We Can Stop This!

2011-11-12T21:24:00.006-06:00

----- Forwarded Message -----
From: Scott Portis <smportis@gmail.com>
Cc: Moes 739 <MoesWestEnd@gmail.com>; Kris Gernentz <krisgernentz@gmail.com>
Sent: Sunday, Nov 8, 2011 12:18 PM
Subject: Fw: Fwd: Customer Feedback - Moe's - 739 @ 2511 West End Avenue, Nashville, TN 37203 CRM:0028989

David,

Don't feel sorry for us - it is part what makes Moe's what it is. Every Moe's in the country does it, and believe it or not, I get far more email from folks when they *don't* hear a hearty "Welcome to Moe's" when they arrive. New stores like Vanderbilt go through a break in period where the crew begins to feel like it is not fun, but then after a short while, they get comfortable with it, especially when they see the smiles it gives to our guests when they come in the door. After opening 6 stores in 7 years in Nashville, I value it and expect my crews to say it, and say it with meaning and enthusiasm. It is very much part of the Moe's experience.

I hope that, knowing it is part of our culture, and that we mean it when we say it, you will be able to understand why we do it, and not let it irritate you too much. That's not our goal!

Thank you very much for taking the time to give your feedback. I hope you will return, and if they give you a meaningful Welcome, you will say "Ah, I'm at Moe's, time for some good food!"

Respectfully,

Scott Portis

Scott Portis, Owner, 615.300.3696
Cannon Restaurant Management, LLC, dba

Moe's Southwest Grill with 6 Middle TN Locations

*NEW 2525 West End near Vanderbilt*, Belle Meade,

Brentwood, Franklin, Murfreesboro, Spring Hill, TN

New Worst Move In Journalism: The Phony Gulp

2011-11-12T13:32:00.004-06:00

I started to notice this phony-casual maneuver a couple years ago.
Now I see it everywhere:

"Germany wants other countries to be more, well, German."

"All of which makes the very notion of the Great American Novel sound,
well, un-American."

"The Indianapolis Colts have looked lost. The Jacksonville Jaguars have looked like, well, the Jaguars."

"I knew the White House wanted a compromise on the debt ceiling. I just didn't expect them to do quite so much, well, compromising."

"Robbe-Grillet's interest in sexual violence will be alien to someone averse to sadism, and Lin's interest in twee midnight adventures is going to seem ridiculous to someone without any interest in, well, twee midnight adventures."

I wonder if this affectation is related to trends discussed in this article:

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/21/magazine/another-thing-to-sort-of-pin-on-david-foster-wallace.html?pagewanted=all

Well?

Horror Vaccum I

2011-11-12T13:30:00.002-06:00

Lars Iyer Essay

2011-11-10T20:44:00.002-06:00

"...For the pragmatic among us, the end of Literature is merely the end of a melodramatic model, a false hope that has gone the way of psychoanalysis, Marxism, punk rock and philosophy. But for the less pragmatic among us, we realise— we experience—what has been lost. Without Literature we lose Tragedy and Revolution both, and these are the two last best modalities of Hope. And when Tragedy disappears, we sink down into a gloom, a life whose vast sadness is that it is less than tragic. We crave tragedy, but where can we get it when tragedy has given way to farce? Shame and scorn are the only response now at literary readings to literary manifestos. All effort are belated now, all attempts are impostures. We know what we want to say and to hear, but our new instruments cannot hold the tune. We cannot do it again nor make it new since both of those actions have telescoped to equivalence—we are like circus clowns who cannot squeeze into their car. The words of Pessoa ring in our ears: ‘Since we are unable to extract beauty from life, we attempt at least to extract it from our incapacity to extract beauty from life.’ This is the task given us, our last, best chance."

http://www.thewhitereview.org/features/nude-in-your-hot-tub-facing-the-abyss-a-literary-manifesto-after-the-end-of-literature-and-manifestos/

Stevie

2011-11-06T02:08:00.006-06:00

The Broken Betrothal by R' Nachman of Breslov

2011-11-06T02:03:00.002-06:00

There was once an emperor who had no child to rule after him; and in another land there was a king who also was childless. The emperor went on a journey in search of a sage who might tell him how to come by a child; and the king, too, went on such a journey. King and emperor stopped one night at the same inn, though they did not know each other; the emperor, however, marked the royal manner of the stranger, and asked him,

"Are you not a king?"

The king, too, had recognized the other as a man of high birth, and he said, "I am a king; and are you not an emperor?"

Then each told the other the reason for his travels, and they agreed that when they returned to their kingdoms, and if the queen of one gave birth to a son, and the other's queen gave birth to a daughter, the two children should be betrothed.

And afterward, a daughter was born to the emperor, and a son was born to the king, but the betrothal was forgotten.

As the children grew, each was sent to a foreign land to study, and it so happened that both were sent to the same teacher. The boy and girl met, and loved one another, and agreed to marry. Then the prince took a ring and put it on the finger of the princess, and so they were wed.

But soon their parents called them home, and the princess had to return to her father the emperor, while the prince returned to the court of the king.

p. 199

[paragraph continues]The emperor's palace was filled with suitors for the hand of the princess, but she remembered that young prince from a distant land, and she would not have any of the others.

In his far country the prince was unhappy, longing day and night for his beloved; the king commanded entertainment for the boy in the palace, or rode with him over their domain, but the young man would not be cheered, and at last he fell ill of melancholy. Then the king asked the prince's servant: "Perhaps you know what troubles him?" The servant remembered the wedding, and told the king that the prince was married and longed for his bride.

"Who is his bride?" the king asked.

"A princess, the daughter of an emperor."

At this, the king recalled the betrothal he had made for his son before his son was born, and he was astonished to learn that it was indeed his betrothed that the prince had found and married. So the king wrote at once to the emperor to remind him of their meeting and of their vow.

But the emperor no longer desired such a union, and yet he could not free himself from his promise; so he sent a letter asking that the prince come to his court to be examined in his knowledge of government.

When the prince arrived in the emperor's palace he was not allowed to see his bride, but was seated alone in a room, and papers were brought to him, with questions of government. He was ill nearly to death with longing for a glimpse of his beloved, and one day as he walked by a chamber he saw her image in a mirror. Then he fainted of weakness and joy, and she saw him and ran to him and wakened him, saying,

p. 200

"I will have no other husband but you!" And he said, "But what can we do while your father is against our marriage?"

They made a plan to escape together over the sea; then they hired a ship, and crept aboard at night, and sailed away. They were happy there, for they measured their love by the depth of the sea and the height of the firmament, and all the sea and sky was their kingdom of love. But one day the vessel came to a shore, and they said, "Let us go down on land for a while."

There was a forest near the shore, and the bride and groom went into the forest. They ran, and they walked, until they were weary, and the girl said, "Let me lie down by this tree, and sleep a while." She took his ring from her finger, and gave it to the prince saying, "Watch my ring while I sleep."

When he saw that she was about to waken, he placed the ring on the ground near her hand. She awoke, and they returned to the shore. But as they were going aboard their vessel she felt her hand bare and cried, "Where is my ring?" "I put it by you when you wakened," the prince said. "I'll go and find it for you."

She waited, while he returned to the forest. He wandered one way and another, and could not find the ring, and was lost.

The princess waited a long time, and then went into the woods to seek the prince, and she wandered one way and another, and could not find him, and was herself lost.

When the prince saw that he was lost he did not know what to do, but called her name, and she did

p. 201

not hear him; he wandered still farther until at last he came out of the forest to a city. He had no money, and he needed food, so he became a servant.

Meanwhile the princess found her way out of the forest and came to the shore again; there she sat upon the sand by the sea; she lived on the fruit of the trees; each day she wandered in search of her beloved, and at night she slept in the trees.

In another land there was a rich merchant whose ships sailed on every ocean, bringing him merchandise from all corners of the world. But he was aged, and he had an only son. One day his son said to him, "Father, you are growing old, while I know nothing of the ways of commerce; what will become of your enterprise when you are gone? Then give me a ship, that I may go and learn the buying and selling of merchandise, so that I may carry on your commerce for you." He was given a ship, and he sailed from one country to another, selling goods, and buying other goods. He was very successful, so that his cargo became richer every day. When his ship was filled with spices and silks and precious rarities he sailed toward home, but one day he passed close to a shore where high trees grew, and he thought the trees were a city, and desired to see that city. But as the ship came nearer he knew that they were only trees, and then he saw what seemed to be a human being perched high in one of the trees. He went out in a small boat and came to the shore, then seeing that it was a beautiful maiden who sat in the tree, he called to her to come down, and remain with him.

She said, "I will not come to you, unless you first

p. 202

promise never to touch me before we are man and wife." This he vowed, and she came down from the tree, and was taken aboard his ship.

As they sailed on, he learned that the maiden was skilled in playing beautiful music upon many instruments, and that she could speak several languages. "Tell me, who are you?" he begged. "For I know you are nobly born!"

"Do not ask me who I am," the princess said, "for I may not tell you that until after we have been wedded."

One day he called to her and pointed to a nearing shore. "See, there is my city!" he said.

"You must go first to your people," she told him, "and inform them that you are bringing a bride who is a high-born maiden, then you must gather all of your people and lead them to greet me, and I will tell you who I am."

When the vessel was anchored she said to the young merchant, "But see, would you not give wine to all the sailors, that they may be merry for their master's wedding?" At once he brought up rare wines that he had secured on his voyage, and he gave the sailors drink. They all became drunken.

Then, when the merchant had gone to gather his relatives and bring them to greet his bride, all the sailors went ashore to make merry. As soon as the maiden found herself alone on the ship she freed the anchor, unbound the sails, and sailed away.

When the young merchant returned with his people, no ship was to be seen. "But I brought a vessel laden with precious merchandise, and a maiden to be my wife!" he cried. His father was angry and said, "You brought home nothing at all!"

p. 203

"There are my sailors!" the young man cried, and he called to the sailors, "Where is my ship?"

They all lay drunk on the wharves, and when at last they were awakened they could not remember anything that had happened, except that there had been a ship, and they had been given wine, and now there was no ship.

The aged merchant was enraged, and shouted to his son, "Leave my sight, and never return!" Then the young man went out and became a wanderer over the earth.

There was a king who liked to be where the winds blew, and therefore he built his palace upon an ocean, and watched the ships sail by. This king had no queen, for no maiden in all his land pleased him. But one day he looked out from his palace and saw a strange vessel on the sea, and on the ship he saw no sailors, but only a single maiden.

As the princess beheld the palace she thought, "What do I want of palaces?" and she turned her ship to sail away. But the king had sent out after her, and her ship was brought to his city, and she was taken before the ruler. The king saw that she was beautiful, and desired her to remain with him.

"Then promise me," she said, "that you will not touch me until we are married according to law." He promised this, and she said, "Promise also that my ship will remain untouched, for it is filled with great treasure, and when our wedding comes I shall allow the treasures to be taken from the vessel, that all may see I bring you riches, and am not a maiden of the market-place."

This too the king promised. He sent messages to

p. 204

many nations, bidding the rulers to come as guests to his wedding; and meanwhile he built a palace for the princess. She asked that eleven handmaidens be given her, and that they be daughters of high noblemen; eleven maidens came, and for each of them a separate palace was built. Every day, they sat with the princess; they sang, and made music. One day she said, "Let us go aboard my boat, and amuse ourselves." They went up on the ship, and she brought them some of the excellent wine that was on the ship, and the maidens drank, and fell asleep.

At once the princess loosed the vessel, and quickly sailed away.

That day the king looked out and saw that her ship was gone, but he did not know she had sailed upon it. "The princess will be heart-broken when she learns that her ship is lost," he said. "She must not be told suddenly." And he sent a messenger to find one of her handmaidens who might tell the princess gently of the loss of her ship.

The messenger went to the palace of the first handmaiden, but did not find anyone there, and so he went through the palaces of the eleven noble maidens, and returned to the king and said, "I have found no one." Then the king commanded that an aged woman be sent to his bride at night, to tell her gently of the loss of her treasure ship. But when the aged woman came to the bed of the princess, she did not find the bride; and when the king heard that the bride, too, was gone from her palace, he was frightened and sad.

Meanwhile the noble fathers of the eleven maidens waited for the letters that they received each day from their daughters, and when the letters did not arrive

p. 205

the noblemen came to the king's palace to see if all were well with their daughters. They found that the eleven maidens had disappeared, and no man knew what had become of them. Then the noblemen were furious, and cried, "Who knows what the king has done with our daughters!" And since they were the most powerful lords in that land, they decided that the king should be put to death. But then they thought again and said, "Perhaps he is not to blame, for his bride is also gone." So, instead, they decided that they would drive him from the kingdom, and rule in his place. The king was taken from his throne, and sent into exile.

And the maidens' ship sailed over the sea. When the eleven girls awoke, they did not remember that they had slept, but looked out and saw that the ship was far from shore, and cried, "Let us return home!" But the bride said, "Let us sail yet awhile. It is pleasant here."

Then a stormy wind came up, and they cried again, "Let us go home!"

"But we are far from home!" she said to them.

"Why did you bring us here?" the maidens begged of her.

"I was afraid that the wind might break the ship," she answered.

So they sailed on, and the eleven maidens played upon their harps and violins and flutes, and sang.

One day they saw a palace, and her companions wanted to go near it, but the princess said, "I have had enough of palaces. Indeed, I am sorry that I went near the last one." So they sailed onward, and soon they saw a hiding place upon the sea. They approached

p. 206

it, and found twelve pirates there. The pirates wanted to seize and kill them at once, but the princess said, "Who is your chief?" They showed her their leader, and she said to him, "What sort of people are you?"

He answered, "We are pirates."

"We too are pirates," she said, "but what you do by force, we do by cleverness, for we can make music and speak many languages. What good will it do you to kill us? Rather, take us as your wives, and we will bring you riches."

The pirates thought well of this plan, and came upon the maidens’ ship, and the maidens showed them the treasures that were there. Then the princess said, "Let each man take his wife according to his station, and I will become the wife of the chieftain. But let us not all wed at once; let there be a wedding each day, and the chief shall be the last to wed."

To this they also agreed, and then she brought out her good wine and said, "This wine I had hidden until my true husband should come to take me, but now let us drink the wine!" She gave them twelve flagons of wine, and cried, "Let each man drink to all the others here!"

The pirates drank, and fell drunk asleep.

At once the princess said to her maidens, "Now go, and each of you kill her man." So they threw all the pirates into the sea; then they looked in the robbers' hiding place and found great stores of silver and gold and precious stones. The women said, "We will take no copper or silver, but only gold and jewels!" They took the silks and spices out of their ship, and filled it instead with gold and precious

p. 207

stones. And then they decided to dress themselves as men, so they made men's clothing for themselves, and wore it.

In another land there was a king who had an only son; he found a wife for his son, and gave him the kingdom to rule. One day the young ruler said to his wife, "Let us go out upon a ship so that you may be accustomed to the air of the sea, if by chance we should one day have to escape that way."

They took a great ship, and with many courtiers and companions, they went sailing on the sea. They were merry, and sang, and drank, and became hot with merriment, until the prince cried, "Let us take off our clothes!" So they took off their garments, and were all cool in the soft breeze. In jest they cried, "Who can climb to the top of the mast?" The prince said, "I will do it!" and at once he began to climb.

Just then the ship of the maidens came into the same waters, and the princess espied the other vessel; at first she feared to approach it, but when she saw that it was filled with clowns and jesters, and could not be a pirate ship, she drew closer.

Hair had fallen out of the prince's head, so that there was a small round spot that was bald. And when the princess saw the shining bald head of the naked man upon the mast, she cried to her maidens, "Look! I can throw that bald-headed man from the mast!"

They said, "How can you do it? You are so far away?"

"I'll wait until he has reached the tip of the mast, for then he will fall into the sea, while if he is lower, he will fall back on the ship," she said.

p. 208

They watched as he climbed, and when the man was at the tip of the mast, the princess took a burning-glass, and turned its rays upon the uncovered place on his head, and the rays pierced into his brain, his brain seethed, he let go his hold, and fell from the peak of the mast into the sea.

A great wail of terror arose on the prince's ship, for his people did not dare return home without their prince. Then some saw the other boat and cried, "Let us go near that ship, perhaps they have a physician who may help us."

They came to the maidens who were dressed as men, and asked if a doctor might be among them. "I am a physician," the princess said.

"Our prince has fallen into the sea, and he is dead!" they cried.

"Take him out of the sea, and let me look on him," she commanded.

They took the body of the prince from the sea; she looked at him, and felt his hand, and said, "His brain has been burned. He is dead."

When they found that the prince's brain had indeed been burned, they were amazed at the skill of the great physician and they begged, "Come back to our land, and be our king's physician."

The two vessels sailed together; meanwhile the courtiers of the first ship thought, "Let this physician marry the dead prince's bride, and be our king!" But they were ashamed to suggest to the queen that she marry a mere physician. Meanwhile the queen began to love the physician, for she did not know that he was in truth another woman; but she was afraid to marry him because the courtiers might not think it

p. 209

fitting for her to marry a man who was not a nobleman.

So neither the courtiers nor the queen spoke their thoughts, until the courtiers planned to make a festival, "and during the festival," they said to one another, "we can speak out."

So it was. They made the feast upon the physician's ship, and the physician, who was the true princess, gave them of her rare wine to drink, and they spoke their thoughts out loud. "How wonderful it would be if the queen married the physician!"

Then the physician said, "That would indeed be wonderful, but it should not be heard from a drunken mouth!"

The queen, too, spoke out and said, "It would be a beautiful marriage, if only the countrymen would consent to it!"

And the physician said, "Their consent might be asked, but soberly."

When they were no longer drunken they were at first ashamed to look at each other because of what they had said, but soon the word began to be whispered again, and at last it was said openly, "The queen will marry the physician."

So they came to the shore of their kingdom, and the people ran to meet them, for it was a long time since the prince had sailed away, and in that time his aged father had died and they were without any king. Now the people were told, "The prince died many days ago; but on the seas we took a new king to ourselves, for the queen has married again."

The people were happy that they had a king to rule them, and the king, who was really the true princess,

p. 210

ordered that a great wedding feast should be made in the palace, and commanded that to this feast should come all the exiles, and all the hunted men, and all the lost people who were in that land. This command was made known over all the kingdom.

Then the true princess disguised as physician and king declared that fountains of water should be made all over the city, so that whoever wanted to drink might find water; and she further commanded that a portrait of the new king should be placed over each well.

"Let watchmen be stationed near the portraits," she declared, "and if any man comes, and drinks, and looks on my portrait and recognizes it, and shows surprise or anger in his face, let him be taken and set in prison."

Everything was done as she had said.

And the first prince, who was her true husband, answered the command for lost people to come to the wedding; he came to the city and drank at a fountain, and when he saw her portrait over the fountain he recognized her, and cried out. Then the watchmen took him and put him in prison.

Then the merchant came, who had been her groom and had been driven from his home because of her, and he drank, and saw her portrait, and his face became clouded with anger. He was taken and put in prison.

Third, there came a king, who had been her groom, and had been driven from his kingdom because of her; and he drank, and saw her portrait, and spoke angrily; then he was taken, and put in prison.

The princess disguised as the king ordered the prisoners

p. 211

p. 212

to be brought before her; they came, and did not recognize her because of her manly garments, but she knew them, all three. To one she said, "You, king, were driven from your land because of the eleven noble maidens who were stolen: here are your maidens, now return to your land and to your throne." To the second she said, "You, merchant, were driven from your home because of your ship that was stolen: here is your ship, take it and go home, and because it was borrowed from you for so long a time, you will find it filled with gold and precious stones in place of lesser wares." And to the last, she said as she arose and revealed her true self, "You, my prince, come here to me, and we two will go home together."

And so they returned to their own kingdom.

Birdsong Sayonara

2011-11-03T00:31:00.004-05:00

communicative capitalism: circulation and the foreclosure of politics

the ones who walk away from omelas

Ger Toshav

2011-10-31T00:16:00.000-05:00

Shel Silverstein Poem

2011-10-30T17:09:00.000-05:00

Someone ate the baby.

It's rather sad to say.

Someone ate the baby

So she won't be out to play.

We'll never hear her whiney cry

or have to check if she is dry.

We'll never hear her asking "Why?"

Someone ate the baby.

It's absolutely clear

Someone ate the baby

Cause the baby isn't here.

We''ll give away her toys and clothes.

We'll never have to wipe her nose.

Dad says, "that's the way it goes."

Someone ate the baby.

What a frightful thing to eat!

Someone ate the baby

Though she wasn't very sweet.

It was a heartless thing to do.

The policemen haven't got a clue.

I simply can't imagine who

Would go and (burp) eat the baby.

2011-10-29T16:26:00.002-05:00

Glen Baxter

Music City Worm Chow

2011-10-25T22:30:00.004-05:00

Come By / Say Hi : Tomorrow in Gainesville, FLA

2011-10-20T00:35:00.005-05:00

http://www.aclib.us/books-movies-music/blog/david-berman-1020-6pm

Ian Frazier Thing

2011-10-19T02:14:00.001-05:00

Since May, I've been working for the crows, and so far it's the best job I ever had. I kind of fell into it by a combination of preparedness and luck. I'd been casting around a bit, looking for a new direction in my career, and one afternoon when I was out on my walk I happened to see some crows fly by. One of them landed on a telephone wire just above my head. I looked at him for a moment, and then on impulse I made a skchhh noise with my teeth and lips. He seemed to like that; I saw his tail make a quick upward bobbing motion at the sound. Encouraged, I made the noise again, and again his tail bobbed. He looked at me closely with one eye, then turned his beak and looked at me with the other, meanwhile readjusting his feet on the wire. After a few minutes, he cawed and flew off to join his companions. I had a good feeling I couldn't put into words. Basically, I thought the meeting had gone well, and as it turned out, I was right. When I got home there was a message from the crows saying I had the job.That first interview proved indicative of the crows' business style. They are very informal and relaxed, unlike their public persona, and mostly they leave me alone. I'm given a general direction of what they want done, but the specifics of how to do it are up to me. For example, the crows have long been unhappy about public misperceptions of them: that they raid other birds' nests, drive songbirds away, eat garbage and dead things, can't sing, etc., all of which are completely untrue once you know them. My first task was to take these misperceptions and turn them into a more positive image. I decided the crows needed a slogan that emphasized their strengths as a species. The slogan I came up with was "Crows: We Want To Be Your Only Bird^TM." I told this to the crows, they loved it, and we've been using it ever since.

Crows speak a dialect of English rather like that of the remote hill people of the Alleghenies. If you're not accustomed to it, it can be hard to understand. In their formal speech they are as measured and clear as a radio announcer from the Midwest—though, as I say, they are seldom formal with me. (For everyday needs, of course, they caw.) Their unit of money is the empty soda bottle, which trades at a rate of about twenty to the dollar. In the recent years of economic boom, the crows have quietly amassed great power. With investment capital based on their nationwide control of everything that gets run over on the roads, they have bought a number of major companies. Pepsi-Cola is now owned by the crows, as well as Knight Ridder Newspapers and the company that makes Tombstone Frozen Pizzas. The New York Metropolitan Opera is now wholly crow-owned.
In order to stay competitive, as most people know, the crows recently merged with the ravens. This was done not only for reasons of growth but also to better serve those millions who live and work near crows. In the future, both crows and ravens will be known by the group name of Crows, so if you see a bird and wonder which it is, you don't have to waste any time: officially and legally, it's a crow. The net result of this, of course, is that now there are a lot more crows—which is exactly what the crows want. Studies they've sponsored show that there could be anywhere from ten to a thousand times more crows than there already are, with no strain on carrying capacity. A healthy increase in crow numbers would make basic services like cawing loudly outside your bedroom window at six in the morning available to all. In this area, as in many others, the crows are thinking very long-term.
If more people in the future get a chance to know crows as I have done, they are in for a real treat. Because I must say, the crows have been absolutely wonderful to me. I like them not just as highly profitable business associates but as friends. Their aggressive side, admittedly quite strong in disputes with scarlet tanagers, etc., has been nowhere in evidence around me. I could not wish for any companions more charming. The other day I was having lunch with an important crow in the park, me sipping from a drinking fountain while he ate peanuts taken from a squirrel. In between sharp downward raps of his bill on the peanut shell to poke it open, he drew me out with seemingly artless questions. Sometimes the wind would push the shell to one side and he would steady it with one large foot while continuing the raps with his beak. And all the while, he kept up his attentive questioning, making me feel that, business considerations aside, he was truly interested in what I had to say.
• • •
"Crows: We Want To Be Your Only Bird^TM." I think this slogan is worth repeating, because there's a lot behind it. Of course, the crows don't literally want (or expect) to be the only species of bird left on the planet. They admire and enjoy other kinds of birds and even hope that there will still be some remaining in limited numbers out of doors as well as in zoos and museums. But in terms of daily usage, the crows hope that you will think of them first when you're looking for those quality-of-life intangibles usually associated with birds. Singing, for example: crows actually can sing, and beautifully, too; however, so far they have not been given any chance. In the future, with fewer other birds around, they feel that they will be.
Whether they're good-naturedly harassing an owl caught out in daylight, or carrying bits of sticks and used gauze bandage in their beaks to make their colorful, free-form nests, or simply landing on the sidewalk in front of you with their characteristic double hop, the crows have become a part of the fabric of our days. When you had your first kiss, the crows were there, flying around nearby. They were cawing overhead at your college graduation, and worrying a hamburger wrapper through the wire mesh of a trash container in front of the building when you went in for your first job interview, and flapping past the door of the hospital where you held your firstborn child. The crows have always been with us, and they promise that by growing the species at a predicted rate of 17 percent a year, in the future they'll be around even more.
The crows aren't the last Siberian tigers, and they don't pretend to be. They're not interested in being a part of anybody's dying tradition. But then how many of us deal with Siberian tigers on a regular basis? Usually, the nontech stuff we deal with, besides humans, is squirrels, pigeons, raccoons, rats, mice, and a few kinds of bugs. The crows are confident enough to claim that they will be able to compete effectively even with these familiar and well-entrenched providers. Indeed, they have already begun to displace pigeons in the category of walking around under park benches with chewing gum stuck to their feet. Scampering nervously in attics, sneaking through pet doors, and gnawing little holes in things are all in the crows' expansion plans.
I would not have taken this job if I did not believe, strongly and deeply, in the crows myself. And I do. I could go on and on about the crows' generosity, taste in music, sense of family values; the "buddy system" they invented to use against other birds, the work they do for the Shriners, and more. But they're paying me a lot of bottles to say this—I can't expect everybody to believe me. I do ask, if you're unconvinced, that you take this simple test: next time you're looking out a window or driving in a car, notice if there's a crow in sight. Then multiply that one crow by lots and lots of crows, and you'll get an idea of what the next years will bring. In the bird department, no matter what, the future is going to be almost all crows, almost all the time. That's just a fact.
So why not just accept it, and learn to appreciate it, as so many of us have already? The crows are going to influence our culture and our world in beneficial ways we can't even imagine today. Much of what they envision I am not yet at liberty to disclose, but I can tell you that it is magnificent. They are going to be birds like we've never seen. In their dark, jewel-like eyes burns an ambition to be more and better and to fly around all over the place constantly. They're smart, they're driven, and they're comin' at us. The crows: let's get ready to welcome tomorrow's only bird.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ian_Frazier

A.P. Herbert Poem

2011-10-18T19:18:00.000-05:00

Yes, yes, the dentist talks a lot.

For he's content and you are not.

He is the tiger in the house

And you are, as it were, the mouse.

No wonder, then, as you come in

He greets you with a happy grin

And drops hilarious remarks

About the flowers in the parks,

About the holidays he's had,

About the weather, good or bad,

Though at the moment, as he knows,

You don't care if it rains or snows.

For ever since the date was made

You've been dejected and afraid.

You dreamed of drills, in vain you chewed

Your favorite forbidden food,

Since every bite reminded you

Of this repugnant interview.

And now that you are in the chair,

You cannot think what brought you there,

In fact you hardly like to name

The tusk you fancied was to blame.

At least it is quiescent now

Why stir it up and cause a row?

And he who has the notion too

That there is nothing wrong with you

With cruel steel goes picking round

A tooth that's absolutely sound

Deliberately tries to bore

A hole where there was none before!

You sputter "That is not the one!"

He answers "Plenty to be done"

And makes a systematic mess

Of all the teeth that you possess.

Then still with gossip bright and gay

He moves the horrid wheel your way

And from a crowd delights to draw

The largest drill you ever saw.

The rest's too painful to be read.

I think that Aristotle said

That children of a certain age

Should not be eaten on a stage

And there are things too dark and solemn

To be recorded in this column,

Whose purpose after all is just

To show the bread beneath the crust

And how the darkest cloud is lined

With silver of the brightest kind.

Well then, I will not dwell on all

The horrors that may now befall

The things with which he stuffs your mouth,

The cotton wadding, north and south,

The pumps which suck with such a will

But seem to make you wetter still.

And when the fun begins to flag,

The grisly gutta-percha rag.

But I implore you all the time

To concentrate on the Sublime.

Remember in the woods of June

The nightingale salutes the moon,

The Thames keeps rolling up and down,

In Autumn all the leaves are brown,

The bluebells still will flood the copse

However many teeth he stops.

And if you still remain distressed

Hug this reflection to your breast

That some poor fellows, after all,

Have not got any teeth at all.

The Way We Were --- 1992

2011-10-16T15:13:00.000-05:00

Red Jacket v. Black Coat

2011-10-15T21:20:00.010-05:00

Sa-go-ye-wat-ha, or Red Jacket, Seneca chief, and great orator of the Six Nations, was born near the present site of Geneva, New York, in 1750. In 1805, a young missionary named Cram was sent into the country of the Iroquois by the Evangelical Missonary Society of Massachusetts to "spread the Word." A council was held at Buffalo, New York, and Red Jacket made the following reply telling Cram why he did not wish to have the missionary stay with them:
Brothers, our seats were once large, and yours were small. You have now become a great people, and we have scarcely a place left to spread our blankets. You have got our country, but are not satisfied; you want to force your religion upon us.

Brother, continue to listen. You say that you are sent to instruct us how to worship the Great Spirit agreeable to his mind; and if we do not take hold of the religion which you white people teach, we shall be unhappy hereafter. You say that you are right, and we are lost. How do we know this to be true? We understand that your religion is written in a book. If it was intended for us as well as you, why has not the Great Spirit given to us — and not only to us, but to our forefathers — the knowledge of that book, with the means of understanding it rightly? We only know what you tell us about it. How shall we know when to believe, being so often deceived by the white people?

Brother, you say there is but one way to worship and serve the Great Spirit. If there is but one religion, why do you white people differ so much about it? Why not all agree, as you can all read the book?

Brother, we do not understand these things. We are told that your religion was given to your forefathers, and has been handed down from father to son. We also, have a religion which was given to our forefathers, and has been handed down to us, their children. We worship in that way. It teaches us to be thankful for all favors we receive; to love each other, and be united. We never quarrel about religion, because it is a matter which concerns each man and the Great Spirit.

Brother, we do not wish to destroy your religion or take it from you; we only want to enjoy our own.

Brother, we have been told that you have been preaching to the white people in this place. These people are our neighbors: We are acquainted with them. We will wait a little while and see what effect your preaching has upon them. If we find it does them good, makes them honest and less disposed to cheat Indians, we will consider again of what you have said.

Red Jacket’s hostility toward Christianity erupted on every occasion. When asked by a gentleman in 1824, why he was so opposed to missionaries, he replied:

They do us no good. If they are not useful to the white people and do them no good, why do they send them among the Indians? If they are useful to the white people and do them good, why do they not keep them at home? They [the white men] are surely bad enough to need the labor of everyone who can make them better. These men [the missionaries] know we do not understand their religion. We cannot read their book — they tell us different stories about what it contains, and we believe they make the book talk to suit themselves. If we had no money, no land and no country to be cheated out of these black coats would not trouble themselves about our good hereafter. The Great Spirit will not punish us for what we do not know. He will do justice to his red children. These black coats talk to the Great Spirit, and ask for light that we may see as they do, when they are blind themselves and quarrel about the light that guides them. These things we do not understand, and the light which they give us makes the straight and plain path trod by our fathers, dark and dreary. The black coats tell us to work and raise corn; they do nothing themselves and would starve to death if someone did not feed them. All they do is to pray to the Great Spirit; but that will not make corn and potatoes grow; if it will why do they beg from us and from the white people. The red men knew nothing of trouble until it came from the white men; as soon as they crossed the great waters they wanted our country, and in return have always been ready to teach us to quarrel about their religion. Red Jacket can never be the friend of such men.

The Future of Crunch?

2011-10-15T21:13:00.001-05:00

Friends or Death

2011-10-07T16:23:00.000-05:00

One day a rabbi named Honi the Circle-maker saw a man planting a carob tree.
"How many years does it take for this tree to bear fruit?" he asked the man.
"Seventy years."
"Do you think you will live seventy more years?"
The man replied, "I found a world containing fully planted carob trees, and just as my ancestors planted those trees for me, so too will I plant them for my children."
Immediately thereafter, Honi sat down and ate some bread. Drowsiness soon overcame him and he fell asleep. Some rocks rose to cover him, and he became hidden from sight.
He slept for seventy years, and when he woke up he saw what looked to be the same man picking fruit from the carob tree he had planted.
Honi asked him, "Are you the man who planted this tree?"
"No, I am his grandson."
Honi said, "It seems that I have slept for seventy years..."
He went to his house and asked there, "Is the son of Honi still alive?"
The people there told him, "His son is no longer alive but his grandson is."
He said to them, "I am Honi."
They didn't believe him.
He left and went to the study house where he heard a rabbi saying, "These teachings are as clear to us as they were during the time of Honi the Circle-maker," for it was known that whenever Honi came to the study house, whatever problems the rabbis had encountered in their studies, Honi would resolve.
Honi said to them, "I am Honi."
They did not believe him, and did not treat him with the honor due him.
Honi became anguished, and prayed for heavenly mercy and died.

Rava said, "This is an example of the popular adage, "either friends or death.""

-Babylonian Talmud, Ta'anit 23a

Brad Neely

2011-10-06T11:11:00.000-05:00

http://www.creasedcomics.com/

Tennessean Remix

2011-09-30T18:15:00.000-05:00

Jessi Colter Song

2011-09-22T22:39:00.000-05:00

MTC Cronin Poem

2011-09-22T21:35:00.000-05:00

Inevitability

Everything fails.
So why bother calling it that.
It doesn't distinguish anything.
Why bother when everyone bothers.
Except for a few.
They succeed at failing before the rest.
(They know what to call it.
(And don't bother doing so.))
Success is inevitable.

Four Hundred Children and a Crop In The Field

2011-09-22T13:08:00.001-05:00

Dancing With My Self-Esteem

2011-09-15T22:13:00.001-05:00

“The advent of music videos as a significant factor in popular music, more than any other cause, created a new metal hairstyle. This second style is still long, but it is cut in a shag or layered manner . Moreover it is styled after each washing with mousse and blowdryers. The new style has not supplanted the old one, but has been adopted mainly by metal audiences and artists that favor lite metal and by those classic metal artists with wide appeal. Long hair has reference not only to a prior subculture but to distinctive body movements, which are a functional alternative to dancing. Youth music, in particular, accords danceability high importance, as evidenced by 1950’s rock and roll, the dance-craze songs of the 1960’s, such as “the locomotion” , “twist” and “monkey” and disco and punk music in the 1970s.

Dancing is alien to heavy metal for two basic reasons. One is the continuation of the tradition of the youth counterculture. The audience for psychedelic music and for folk-inspired political protest songs listened while seated, to better concentrate on the lyrics. Second, dance is understood in the modern West as an erotic activity. As a masculinist and overwhelmingly masculine grouping with an extreme heterosexualist ideology, the heavy metal subculture stresses male-bonding, not male-female pairing. Thus, it did not appropriate dance as it had been traditionally understood. It also could not refine dancing as the punks did by making it an individual rather than dyadic activity, because of its valorization of community. Yet heavy metal music is based on a strong, regular beat that calls for the movement from the body. One might sit still for folk or psychedelic music, but only the motor-impaired or those who are extremely repressed will not move to the sound of heavy metal songs.

The solution to the problem of body movement was to create a code of gestural response to the music that could be shared in common. One of the two primary gestures is the arm thrust, usually a sign of appreciation but also used to keep time with the rhythm. The other primary gesture, called headbanging, involves a downward thrust of the head with a gentler upthrust. The move is distinctive enough to metal to serve, by metonymy as a designation of the metal audience: “headbangers” ….Individualizing the purchased t-shirt is a frequent practice, particularly by ripping off the sleeves, which is often done in public after purchasing a new shirt….A distinctive demeanor and expression are also nurtured in the metal subculture. The familiar insult that metal fans are “slack-jawed”, evincing a look of dull stupidity, needs to be examined. In part it is an accurate characterization of the faces of those emerging from a heavy metal concert, but it could also describe anyone who has just spent several hours enjoying ecstatic physical activity. The look also reflects the impact of the drugs (downers) and beer consumed by metal fans…the slack-jawed look is neither indifferent or alert. It often accompanies the self-described state of being “wasted”. If you are wasted, you are not available to the everyday world, nor are you setting an example for it. You are simply out of it. The other key expression of the member of the metal subculture, the eager look of the ardent enthusiast, is only for insiders. This face is put on not only at concerts, but while listening to favorite songs or even talking about admired artists or their work. Parents, teachers and the world in general are not privy to this second expression."

-(Deena Weinstein, Heavy Metal, 1990)

Desecularization of Nothingness

2011-09-14T18:03:00.000-05:00

Mod Cons

2011-09-10T15:22:00.004-05:00

http://home.cc.umanitoba.ca/~altemey/

http://chronicle.com/article/Inherently-Violent-Why/125023/

http://www.badrepublicans.com/conservatives-always-wrong.html

hhttp://www.sourcewatch.org/index.php?title=Movement_Conservatism

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KjmjqlOPd6A&feature=player_embedded

Local Trio Pushes Taxonomic Drive to it's Constitutive Limit

2011-09-08T13:57:00.001-05:00

Kingsley Amis Poem

2011-09-08T13:29:00.025-05:00

Nothing to Fear

All fixed: early arrival at the flat
Lent by a friend, whose note says Lucky sod;
Drinks on the tray, the cover-story pat
And quite uncheckable; her husband off
Somewhere with all the kids till six o'clock
(Which ought to be quite long enough);
And all worth while: face really beautiful,
Good legs and hips, and as for breasts - my God.
What about guilt, compunction and such stuff?
I've had my fill of all that cock;
It'll wear off as usual.

Yes, all fixed. Then why this slight trembling;
Dry mouth, quick pulse rate, sweaty hands,
As though she were the first? No, not impatience,
Nor fear of failure, thank you, Jack.
Beauty, they tell me is a dangerous thing,
Whose touch will burn, but I'm asbestos, see?
All worth while - it's a dead coincidence
That sitting here, a bag of glands
Turned up to concert pitch, I seem to sense
A different style of caller at my back,
As cold as ice, but just as set on me.

http://www.drunkard.com/issues/08_05/0805_kingsley.htm

Keeping It Inconclusive

2011-09-03T19:05:00.012-05:00

Dave Hickey on Hank Williams' Phrasing:
http://maudnewton.com/blog/?p=9568

Big Black Tour Diary:
http://www.petdance.com/actionpark/bigblack/tourdiary/

We Live a Long Long Time to Get Old:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fVTNcZZ1z98&feature=related

That's Agritainment!

http://blogs.tennessean.com/tunein/2011/07/11/country-boys-are-wearing-out-calling-cards/

Rapublicans:
http://rotatestockforfreshness.com/rapublicans/

Rustic Hinge:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_n24GK7_vxg

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFMMj6wsvIY&feature=related

Country Fuzz Spectacular:

http://blog.wfmu.org/freeform/2007/11/country-fuzz-sp.htmll

3 Short BBC Docs: The Span/ Val Lambert/
Gene Vincent:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/adamcurtis/2011/07/between_the_gutter_and_the_sta.html

Capitalist Realism

2011-08-30T14:12:00.008-05:00

"Who is in charge of the clattering train?
The axles creak and the couplings strain,
and the pace is hot and the points are near,
and sleep hath deadened the driver's ear,
and the signals flash through the night in vain.
For death is in charge of the clattering train."

http://www.emule.com/2poetry/phorum/read.php?7,153503

Happy Birthday to my Dear Wife Cassie Marie Berman, b. August 20, 1975

2011-08-20T15:36:00.004-05:00

Ancient Technophobia

2011-08-20T13:32:00.000-05:00

The gods confound the man who first found out
How to distinguish hours! Confound him, too,
Who in this place set up a sundial,
To cut and hack my days so wretchedly
Into small portions! When I was a boy
My belly was my sundial - one surer,
Truer, and more exact than any of them.
This dial told me when was 'twas proper time
To go to dinner, when I had aught to eat;
But nowadays, why even when I have,
I can't fall to until the sun gives me leave.
The town's so full of these confounded dials
The greatest part of its inhabitants,
Shrunk up with hunger, crawl along the street.

-fragment by Titus Maccius Plautus (c. 254 BC - 184 BC)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plautus

Didion on Gingrich

2011-08-20T13:11:00.001-05:00

"...What has lent Mr. Gingrich’s written and spoken work, or, as he calls it, his “teaching,” the casual semblance of being based on some plain-spoken substance, some rough-hewn horse sense, is that most of what he says has reached us in outline form, with topic points capitalized and systematically, if inappositely, numbered. There were “Seven key aspects” and “Nine vision-level principles” of “Personal Strength” (Pillar Two of American Civilization), there were “Five core principles” of “Quality as Defined by Deming” (Pillar Five), there were “Three Big Concepts” of “Entrepreneurial Free Enterprise” (Pillar Three). There were also, still under Pillar Three, “Five Enemies of Entrepreneurial Free Enterprise” (“Bureaucracy,” “Credentialing,” “Taxation,” “Litigation,” and “Regulation”), which would have been identical to Pillar Four’s “Seven welfare state cripplers of progress” had the latter not folded in “Centralization,” “Anti-progress Cultural Attitude,” and “Ignorance.”

In Window of Opportunity, Mr. Gingrich advised us that “the great force changing our world is a synergism of essentially six parts,” and offered “five simple steps to a bold future.” On the health-care question, Mr. Gingrich posited “eight areas of necessary change.” On the issue of arms control, he saw “seven imperatives that will help the free world survive in the age of nuclear weapons.” Down a few paragraphs the seven imperatives gave way to “two initiatives,” then to “three broad strategic options for the next generation,” and finally, within the scan of the eye, to “six realistic goals which would increase our children’s chances of living in a world without nuclear war.”

“Outlining” or “listing” remains a favored analytical technique among the management and motivational professionals whose approach Mr. Gingrich has so messianically adopted (balancing the budget and “finding a way to truly replace the current welfare state with an opportunity society” could both be done by the year 2002, he advised the Congress on the occasion of his swearing-in as Speaker, “if we apply the principles of Edwards Deming and Peter Drucker”); yet few of his own “areas” and “imperatives” and “initiatives,” his “steps” and “options” and “goals,” actually advance, on examination, the discourse..."
http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archives/1995/aug/10/the-teachings-of-speaker-gingrich/

Newt on himself: "There's a large part of me that is four years old. I wake up in the morning and I know that somewhere there's a cookie. I don't know where it is but I know it's mine and I have to go find it. That's how I live my life. My life is amazingly filled with fun."
http://www.esquire.com/features/newt-gingrich-0910

CIA Sex Slaves in Music City

2011-08-18T13:25:00.001-05:00

"...CIA operative country music entertainer Boxcar Willie burst onto the country music scene after an ad campaign of high tech hypnotically persuasive produced television commercials that strategically made him an overnight, sensation and "star". The country music industry's Freedom Train needed a conductor to lead the industry and fans to Branson, Missouri, and Boxcar Willie was placed in the driver's seat.
I had much contact with Boxcar Willie personally since my government sponsored cocaine runs often coincided and intermeshed with his. But I never knew Boxcar Willie as well as my daughter, Kelly, knew him. Kelly has named Boxcar Willie as one of her primary sexual abusers in three different mental institutions, and has voiced frustration at the lack of justice. "Why am I the one locked up while my abusers remain free?" she constantly pleads. I assure her I am doing all I can to blow the whistle on Boxcar Willie for hex, and expose his role in transferring the country music industry to close proximity of the Lampe, Missouri CIA cocaine operation as outlined by Bill Clinton."

from: http://www.trance-formation.com/
by Cathy O'Brien

"During my first semester of college in 1976, I made plans to take a trip to Nashville with my Project Monarch friend from Catholic Central. (She remains an expendable victim to date, and therefore her identity must be protected from public release for her safety.) My father explained that I was to stay at the Fiddler's Inn in Nashville, see the World Famous Printer's Alley row of sleazy country music nightclubs, and attend the Grand Ole Opry on Friday night, as ticket arrangements had been made through a "friend," in spite of their scarcity during the Thanksgiving holiday.

I never thought to associate Fiddler's Inn with Senator Byrd's fiddle playing when my friend and I arrived in Music City, U.S.A. Nor did I find it odd when a country music "star" entertaining at the Black Poodle nightclub in Printer's Alley began directing my activities. My friend and I were provided with free passes to the Black Poodle to encourage us to return each night where entertainer and CIA operative Jack Greene and his Desperado band were playing. During breaks between sets, Greene and his band would sit with my friend and me to manipulate our suggestible minds. I was told it was "my destiny" to have met band member, Wayne Cox, who had been trained for paramilitary mercenary operations under Louisiana's U.S. Senator J, Bennett Johnston, I soon learned that everyone associated with Greene was involved in his CIA "Freedom Train" operations. When I told Greene that my friend and I would not be returning on Friday night due to attending the Grand Ole Opry, he told us that he would be working the Opry that night. He made arrangements for us to come back stage and see him immediately following his segment. He explained that the "security" guard at the Opry, Nashville Metro Police Lt. Bob Ezell, was a good friend of his and would let us in.

At the Opry, my friend and I sat in the audience watching as Jack Greene introduced his "special guest," U.S. Senator Robert C. Byrd. At the sight of Byrd, I went into a pre-conditioned deep trance and robotically went through the motions of following Greene's instructions. Once backstage, Greene pointed out his dressing room, which he was sharing with Senator Byrd, and ordered me in. The personality that had been sitting in the audience had perceived Byrd as an entertainer and could not, or would not, think further. But as I walked into the dressing room and saw Byrd perched on the edge of the mirrored vanity in his boxer shorts, I switched into the child personality that had known him as a U.S. Senator on Mackinac Island since age 13, and responded sexually.

Afterward, Byrd was claiming me as "his," excitedly telling me that he had "always wanted his own little witch". I soon learned the enormity of this statement.

Jack Greene's band member, Wayne Cox, later told me that playing music behind Senator Byrd at the Opry was not the only way he "backed him". He also backed him politically and in Freedom Train operations. Cox then made arrangements for my friend and me to stay the remainder of our trip at his trailer in Hendersonville, Tennessee. There was no choice but to comply. The following night, after Jack Greene completed his show at the Black Poodle, he drove my friend and me to a nearby participating after-hours club, the Demon's Den. There, Cox was to pick us up and take us to Hendersonville. Instead, we were slipped a drug and taken "on a tour" of Union Station, Nashville's then abandoned train station, where supposedly the only train still running through there was the Freedom Train.

Senator Byrd's attempted cultivation of superstition through my Catholic schooling should have maximized the impact of the occult ritual I was subjected to in the tower of the old stone and slate turn-of-the-century train depot. But the pain and horror was sufficiently effective in itself—even without my adhering to superstition-to produce the intended mind shattering results. Cox took my friend and me on a "flashlight tour" through the rubble of Union Station, until we came to a homeless man sleeping on the ground. Cox ordered me to "kiss the railroad bum good-bye," then shot him between the eyes while I was still only inches away. He then used a machete to chop off the man's hands, which he put in a zip-lock bag. He then led us up the rickety stairs into the lower of the old depot. There Jack Greene, his band members, and others dressed in black robes were gathered around a black leather alter in a room lit by candles and draped in red velvet. In total shock, I was laid on the alter and subjected to rape and torture while the participants indulged in sex, blood, and cannibalism ritual.

The next day I woke up on Cox's couch, vaguely aware that I had suffered a "bad nightmare". When I stood up, I passed out from blood loss. I was bleeding profusely from the vagina. It was all I could do to prepare to drive back to Michigan, and my friend was certainly not in a stable frame of mind to help. I did not know what happened to me, nor was I able to question it. I had a new "obsession" on my mind. I had been programmed at the ritual to move to Nashville and marry Cox, as ordered by Senator Byrd.

Back in Michigan, I made the announcement to my parents that I was moving to Nashville to marry Cox, as it was "predestination". What they would not tell me was that my father had just literally SOLD me to Senator Byrd in exchange for lucrative military contracts that made him a millionaire overnight—a millionaire on a sixth grade education—a perverse, child exploiting criminal, immune from prosecution, working as a CIA operative for the U.S, government! That mind shattering occult ritual I endured in Nashville marked a new life of wealth and prestige for my father white thrusting me into a new phase of my torturous existence-and I had no choice in any of it!

It was 1977. I was a 19-year-old mind-controlled programmed slave in the CIA/DIA Project Monarch Freedom Train operation, literally owned by U.S. Senate Majority Leader Robert C. Byrd, who was then a 20-year incumbent and on the Senate Appropriations Committee, As Byrd's "own little witch" (sex slave), I would also become involved in covert government operations. I now understand that this required more memory compartments/personalities than I had developed. Hence one more reason for the mind shattering occult ritual, and my "predestined" marriage to Cox.

I moved to Nashville, as ordered, to marry Cox, who took me to the backwoods of his hometown swamp in Chatham, Louisiana for months at a time for occult traumatization. Cox had been brought up in witchcraft by his mother, and admittedly longed for her sexually and ritually. Together they subjected me to their beliefs, which included what equates to a weakened version of mind control used by witches for centuries, anchored in superstition rather than scientific fact. These superstitious beliefs seemingly conflicted with Cox's mercenary training to the point that his killing raged out of control. For example, Cox would murder a human through repeated stabbing with a knife, believing that the "departing spirit" and splattered blood gave him power to control my mind. In truth, it was my aversion and subsequent traumatization by the event that caused me to dissociate and trance, leaving my subconscious open to his suggestions and those of others. During the three years I was with Cox, he ritually impregnated and aborted me six times, consuming several of his own offspring and preserving the others shaped in ceramic for sale in his interstate occult body parts business. Cox's M.O. for murdering always included removing the hands with a machete, as the "Hands of Glory" he kiln-dried in the ceramic shop of his and his mother's house were in demand and thus distributed throughout the occult underground supply network. Cox's protected cocaine and body parts distribution routes included Texas, Arkansas, Mississippi, Tennessee, and Florida.

When my daughter, Kelly, was born in February of 1980, Cox's former employer. Jack Greene, travelled to Louisiana to meet with me in keeping with his role as Nashville's CIA Freedom Train "conductor". He took me aside and explained that since Cox had fulfilled his (genetic) role in producing Kelly, Senator Byrd had ordered me back to Nashville. Greene talked at length, hypnotically reviving my original programmed "obsession" to move to Nashville. He told me that Cox had proven too insane to follow orders anymore as was evidenced by my extremely poor health (much of my hair had fallen out) and by the stench of decaying human flesh that permeated the area surrounding his remote Chatham, Louisiana swamp house.

Soon after moving to Tennessee, I learned that Senator Byrd had simply exchanged one living hell for another for me. My new mind-control handler, CIA operative and country music ventriloquist/ stage hypnotist Alex Houston, seemed only to pick up where Cox had left off. As "destined," Kelly and I moved into a run-down old trailer on Houston's property, which adjoined Jack Greene's farm in Goodletsville, Tennessee. I was subjected to further occult ritual on Greene's farm, and was ritually impregnated and aborted again, this time by Houston. A difference between Cox and Houston was the superstition factor; Houston knew exactly what he was doing and why he was doing it, in accordance with tried and proven scientific U.S. Government mind-control research and development. I gleaned this knowledge from conversations I overheard between him and "those in the know".

Alex Houston was 26 years older than I, and claimed to have gained his knowledge of stage hypnosis and government mind-control methods from the military while entertaining overseas in Bob Hope's USO tours. After the tour, Houston reportedly moved to Washington, D.C. where he and his alter-ego dummy, Elemer, were regulars on the Jimmy Dean television show in the '60s. According to Houston, he was regularly booked to entertain in officers clubs on military bases due to his involvement in covert government operations.

During the brief interim period that Cox resided on Houston's farm with us, he played music behind government mind-controlled slave Louise Mandrell and her husband/handler, R.C. Bannon. Cox had previously worked with Louise's sister, Barbara Mandrell, at the onset of her government sponsored career in the 1960s, travelling overseas with her in the same U.S.O. tours that launched Houston's career. Irby Mandrell, the Mandrells' father and manager, reportedly sexually abused all three of his daughters and eagerly thrust them into their mind-controlled existence much the same way my father had sold me.

His daughters, too, were owned by U.S. Senator Robert C. Byrd. Cox was soon fired from his position with Louise due to his insanity. Once when Houston was travelling with the Mandrells as he so often did throughout the years, Irby Mandrell relayed the events that prompted his firing of Cox. He told Houston and I that Cox had become an embarrassment to him while travelling.

"I knew he was weird," Irby Mandrell said. "That's OK. I can live with that. But when he pitched a tent behind the hotel so he could hear the trumpets sound, signalling him to march to Missouri, I said, 'Start marching, son. You're done. You're through in Nashville. Don't ever come back.' That's it, he was done."

Houston reminisced with Mandrell about the U.S.O. days, and inquired as to how he had tolerated Cox back when he played music behind Barbara.

"Oh, yeah. I remember he (Cox) had somewhat of a brain back then." Irby Mandrell continued, "Barbara was just a kid back then with the talent of a full blown star. I thought she had what it takes to make it in the industry. Then the Byrd came along and introduced us to the latest in technology."

Houston interrupted, "Are you talking about (music) equipment or the kind they've got in Huntsviile (Alabama's NASA mind-control training center)?"

"Both," Mandrell replied. "But it was Huntsville that launched her to the stars. The doors opened wide after that. Byrd took a lot of pride in Barbara, and the doors just kept opening. With my baby's talent and the Byrd's influence on her mind and career, there was no way we could lose."

When Houston became my appointed mind-control handler in 1980, Byrd's influence on my mind boosted Houston's "entertainment" career. His travels had expanded to accommodate covert drug and money laundering operations across the U.S., in Mexico, in Canada, and throughout the Caribbean.

Houston had, and has, a great deal of "no show" money, but I was never permitted access to it. Poverty was one more means of control I endured, as slaves like myself were not afforded the freedoms that having money allows.

When I met Byrd after the wedding ceremony at Nashville's Opryland Hotel as ordered, he presented me with a "wedding gift"—a rose patterned crystal crucifix deliberately designed to anchor "our wedding" in my Catholic/Vatican instilled beliefs. The Larry Flynt photos depicting me in my wedding dress with the crystal crucifix to "commemorate our wedding night," was standard lock-in procedure for all mind-controlled slaves I knew who were forced to "marry" their handlers/owners.

Houston's booking agent, Reggie Mac (MacLaughlin), of United Talent and later of MacFadden Agency in Nashville, Tennessee, had been booking CIA involved country music acts into key locations to aid the execution of covert government operations. For example, Houston's ventriloquist act "Alex and Elemer" would be scheduled to perform at a county or state fair near Washington, D.C., where I would be picked up by car or helicopter and escorted to the White House or the Pentagon. The ensuing activities would be compartmentalized in my memory in a manner that caused me to believe I had simply been travelling in the country music industry, and no one "back home" would be suspect of my absence. Another example would be that Houston "entertained" at Byrd's West Virginia State Fair every year, which gave a legitimate appearance to my presence there, when in fact I was being prostituted to the Senator I had "married."

During the course of my training/conditioning, I was routinely prostituted to Senator Byrd in Washington, D.C., at the West Virginia State Fair, NASA in Huntsville, Alabama, and at the Opryland Hotel in Nashville, Tennessee. One such night when I was to be prostituted to Byrd at Opryland Hotel, Lt. Colonel Aquino was scheduled to join him in perversely assaulting me. Much to my horror, Aquino arrived early, in full army dress uniform, backstage at the Grand Ol' Opry. When I saw Aquino talking with the Vatican based Project Monarch slave runner, Kris Kristopherson, whom I had known since 1979, my personality programmed for Opry events "short circuited". Under circumstances such as this, a multiple without programming would have switched personalities autogenically, whereas I could only switch upon command, I backed away, dazed, right into a soft drink machine. Kristopherson saw me as I backed further between the wall and the machine.

"What are you doing in there, little lady?" Kristopherson asked. The Colonel wants to see you."

Aquino had walked over and sarcastically asked, "What are you doing in those machine wires? That could very well be a shocking experience for you."

All experiences with Aquino or Kristopherson resulted in high voltage electric shock torture, and apparently neither had any regard for human life. Aquino used the opportunity to reinforce his belief that I "had no where to run, no where to hide" from his "power"- his stun gun.

While I untangled myself from the wires, Kristopherson and Aquino continued their banter at my expense, Kristopherson held up his key ring and jingled it, catching my undivided attention as conditioned, while he told Aquino, "You're gonna need the Keys to the Kingdom to work with this one right here."

"Keys to the Kingdom," of course, referred to my previously instilled (Enter/Inter)"Inner-dimensional" Catholic programmed personalities. Since Aquino was my primary mind-control programmer at the time, Kristopherson was informing Aquino of programs previously instilled in childhood via the "Rite to Remain Silent". By jingling the keys, he was demonstrating his control over me and his momentary edge on Aquino.

"I got 'em," Kristopherson was saying as he jingled the keys. "She's mine unless you wanna play ball. Besides, you have to. The Byrd sent me."

"I've been expecting you," Aquino said with a smile.

Kristopherson nearly strangled me to death with his penis, which had further sexually excited him, late in the summer of 1987 during another incident related to Byrd.

When Houston was booked into the Woodberry Music Festival with known CIA mind-control victim Loretta Lynn. Loretta's road manager, Neo-Nazi pedophile Ken Riley, who was also Alex Houston's best friend, often assisted Houston in handling me.

Houston was scheduled to perform with Loretta Lynn at the Playboy Club in Atlantic City, New Jersey in the spring of 1985, and he admittedly did not want me there for the performance. He explained that after his show, he intended to "dress up like a carrot as lunch for the Bunnies" and I would only be in his way. Riley often made arrangements for all of us to travel together—particularly when it involved government covert operations such as this Playboy Club gig did. Loretta's singing career and political ties into CIA covert operations have always been synonymous. Riley escorted her in and out of the White House on numerous occasions during the Reagan Administration, By natural attrition, this put Riley in a secondary role as a "backup" handler for me as he often returned from D.C. with orders for and/or concerning me. Houston and Riley shared much: CIA covert operations, country music interests, Neo-Nazi and U.S. Government mind control, Project Monarch methodologies, slave running, pornography, cocaine, and pedophile activities. Kelly and Riley's young daughter were often filmed pornographically together, and endured the sexual assaults of Houston and Riley together on numerous occasions.

This trip to Atlantic City provided me an opportunity to talk with Loretta while her husband, Mooney, Riley and Houston met for business. Loretta and I had so much in common that our time together had been restricted from the time we met in Minneapolis, Minnesota in 1981 and discussed our victimizations. While alone in Loretta's dressing room at the Playboy Club, we discussed a wide range of topics from motherhood to the White House. We talked about Reagan in terms of his role as The Wizard Of Oz, but mostly we recited the general praises we were trained to say. We talked about Reagan's "favorite" music by Air Supply, which he had supplied to us both via Riley. Air Supply's cryptic NASA/Project Monarch theme recordings became "life and breath" to us both according to Reagan's intention, which locked in our programmed devotion for him. We discussed the recent Inauguration party Loretta had attended at the White House. (I was aware she had entertained there as Houston relayed information to Riley pertaining to his recent trip to Panama to meet with Panamanian Dictator and CIA operative Manuel Noriega in order that Riley deliver the information to Reagan during the Inauguration party.)

Loretta and I switched personalities spontaneously as we inadvertently triggered each other with the shared cryptic language to which we were accustomed. We discussed forbidden subjects including Noriega and Byrd until J Riley and Houston caught us and separated us as though we were a couple of naughty kids. I learned more than I was supposed to about Loretta while in Atlantic City, but was never permitted another opportunity to speak with her so freely.

...Dick Cheney cautioned me, "Sultan will be in Nashville having dinner with friends at the Stockyard." (The Stockyard was a popular country music dinner club known for its CIA criminal covert activity involvement.) Cheney glanced at the list on his desk and continued, "Among others, those friends would be (Mayor) Fulton and (Sheriff) Thomas. They are considered a threat to the operation. They're not discrete. Thomas in particular is not to be trusted--he's an ass and too crooked. So, Sultan must leave the table before the message is delivered. Any questions? Good."

I certainly had no questions this time. I did not need him to caution me about Nashville's Mayor Richard Fulton whom Houston had prostituted me to, and Sheriff Fate Thomas. I had known the pair for years, had been cautioned about them before, and had no respect for them at all. Together Thomas and Fulton had indiscreetly perpetuated the total corruption that had permeated Nashville's $2.8 billion country music industry, which ran the city of Nashville.

They ran the city's business from a bar—the Stockyard-while they drank and openly used cocaine. If I had had the capacity to wonder, I would have wondered what a "Homing Pigeon" so critical to the conclusion of this international criminal covert operation was doing with such low level sleaze.

In 1983, Houston took me to Lampe for routine trauma and programming while he was scheduled to "entertain" at the amphitheatre. Also scheduled to perform were Bill Clinton's and George Bush's friends Lee Greenwood and CIA operative, slave runner, and country music singer Tommy Overstreet. Greenwood and Overstreet were active in both the Lampe, Missouri and Lake/Mount Shasta, California CIA compounds. Clinton was flown in from Berryville, Arkansas by helicopter for the shows as well as for a business meeting.

Before Clinton arrived. Greenwood and Houston were in the backstage dressing rooms snorting line after line of cocaine. Houston, always eager to make an extra penny to pinch, attempted to prostitute me to Greenwood, "She's the real performer," Houston said. "She performs all kinds of sex acts upon command. For a small price, she's yours."

Greenwood laughed, and referring to my Huntsville. Alabama NASA programming said, "I've spent more time in Huntsville than she has, and I know full well who and what she is-a 'space cadet' programmed for sex. She's a modified version of Marilyn Monroe."

Tommy Overstreet had waited in and heard what Greenwood said. "How much time have you spent in Shasta?"

"Shasta?" Greenwood looked arrogantly at Overstreet and smiled knowingly as he said, "You don't 'spend time' in Shasta, you maintain the concept if you can. I haven't lost any time there, either, if that's your next question. I go there quite a bit Enough really to override Houston's suggestion with ease and take what I want, when I want, and how I want it."

Greenwood began expertly accessing my sex programming and told the others in the room, "You all can come and go as you please, but I've been made an offer that I am going to use." He ordered me to undress and bend over the desk where he roughly sodomized me as he said, "You're going to think it's daddy all over again".

When Greenwood was through with me, I was ordered out into the amphitheatre concert area. During intermission, I met up with Swiss Villa manager Hal Meadows, Tommy Overstreet, and Governor Clinton in the hall.

Clinton was wearing a cap that read "Diesel Trainer" which I was told to equate literally as "these-will-train-her". Puzzled, I looked at his cap and asked, "Are you a conductor?"

Clinton smiled and said, "Of electricity". Overstreet laughed as he continued, "Actually it means I check cabooses. How's yours?" I squirmed.

Apparently Greenwood had bragged about sodomizing me. They laughed even harder as Clinton said, "Still running, I'm sure".

Houston stepped out of the dressing room to greet Clinton, "Hi, bud."

Houston extended his hand. "I hear you made Governor."

"I hear you deliver a hell of a one liner," Clinton replied, cryptically referring to cocaine and NOT Houston's so-called comedy routine. "I'm always aspiring to achieve new heights."

"Well, come on in," Houston invited. "I have enough (cocaine) to put us all into orbit." I walked into the dressing room with them as Houston was saying to Clinton, "I suppose there are no limits for you since you're across the (state) line."

"What line?" Clinton feigned surprise and ignorance. He looked at Hal Meadows as he continued, "You mean I've left that state of mine? In the state of mind I'm in, there are no boundaries anyway." He walked over to the table and snorted a line of cocaine. "I come here to get away from it all. This kind of business is pleasure."

"So where's that young wife of yours?" Houston asked, referring to Hillary.

"She's with friends." Clinton sniffed the coke further up his nose. "She's minding her own business. I'm just here to unwind, see the show. I've got a bird (helicopter) ready to fly me back when I'm through. Hey, speaking of 'Byrd' (he gestured my way) I hear she's moved up to the big house (White House)."

Referring to his friend and mentor Senator Byrd he asked, "So what's his position now?"

"The same." Houston answered. "Probably like this..." Houston pantomimed a lewd sodomy pose while everyone laughed. "He still runs the show."

Clinton kept his eyes fixed on Houston's "caboose" and said, "Why don't you show her (referring to me) the way out and show me that again?" If I could have thought at that moment, I would have realized Bill Clinton was/is bisexual. My personal sexual experience with Clinton was limited, but I had witnessed him engaged in homosexual activity during an orgy at Swiss Villa.

CIA operative and country music entertainer Boxcar Willie burst onto the country music scene after an ad campaign of high tech hypnotically persuasive produced television commercials that strategically made him an overnight, sensation and "star". The country music industry's Freedom Train needed a conductor to lead the industry and fans to Branson, Missouri, and Boxcar Willie was placed in the driver's seat. Like the Pied Piper of Hamlin, Boxcar Willie succeeded in his role of trance-ferring the industry in close proximity to the Lampe CIA cocaine operations.

Boxcar Willie was one of the primary ground level contacts that Bill Hall made after Clinton convinced him to cash in on the cocaine benefits of the country music industry transfer. Houston and Boxcar Willie discussed Hall's lucrative dealings throughout the years in my presence while traveling the country together, billed on the same shows, including performances at the Swiss Villa Amphitheatre, I had much contact with Boxcar Willie personally since my government sponsored cocaine runs often coincided and intermeshed with his.

But I never knew Boxcar Willie as well as my daughter, Kelly, knew him.Kelly has named Boxcar Willie as one of her primary sexual abusers in three different mental institutions, and has voiced frustration at the lack of justice.

"Why am I the one locked up while my abusers remain free?" she constantly pleads. I assure her I am doing all I can to blow the whistle on Boxcar Willie for hex, and expose his role in transferring the country music industry to close proximity of the Lampe, Missouri CIA cocaine operation as outlined by Bill Clinton.

My programmed role toward implementing Education 2000 according to the plans of those ushering in the New World Order brought me back in contact with former Governor of Tennessee, Lamar Alexander, and eventually Canadian Prime Minister Brian Mulroney, I had met Lamar Alexander in 1973, at a satanic ritual I was subjected to in an affluent neighborhood of Nashville, Tennessee. Lamar Alexander presided over this sex-oriented occult ritual with full understanding of my Project Monarch Mind-Control victimization and the impact his actions were having on my mind. It was my experience then, and intermittently throughout the years, that Lamar Alexander's sexual perversion was to bring his victim to the point of death through oral suffocation.

During the course of publicly exposing Tennessee's need for education reform as instructed, I was in contact with Commissioners, Superintendents, Mayors, and Lamar Alexander. Lamar Alexander, who followed Bennett as Bush's Secretary of Education, worked in close association with Bill Bennett to manipulate the minds of the masses to accept Education 2000 as the ONLY means of education reform. When Ned McWherter was moved into the office of Governor to rubber stamp federal projects, Lamar Alexander maintained influence over state politics. At the same time, he maintained influence over national politics through his role as chairman of the National Governor's Association in 1986.

As the 1984 Governor's Convention drew near, I met with Lamar Alexander at the Stockyard nightclub where he was drinking with his long time associate and partner-in-crime, Nashville's Mayor Richard Fulton. In the basement bar of this old, converted stockyard was a modified antique "Shoe Shine" booth, where the term took on new meaning. A key to a private shoeshine booth could be obtained by those in the know through Stockyard owner, Buddy Killen. This closet-sized booth was lined in mirrors and had a small bench where Lamar Alexander sat after our business was concluded. I knelt at his feet as ordered to perform oral sex. Programmed sex slaves such as myself were trained to go long periods of time without drawing a breath, and users such as Alexander stretched this time to the maximum.

On this occasion, Alexander apparently exceeded the maximum. I do not recall completion of my programmed task. It was afterhours when my mindcontrol handler, Alex Houston, dragged my limp body from the booth, roused me, and ordered me out of the building. Buddy Killen opened a back door that once was a cattle run, and Houston half-dragged me out the back exit unseen.

The night of the Convention, Alex Houston's youngest daughter, Bonnie, was to join me. Bonnie and E were close to the same age, and together we dressed for the occasion. As a prostitute, Bonnie was familiar with Lamar Alexander and his perversions but nevertheless was excited at the prospect of seeing "old friends" at the Convention via Louise Mandrell, who would be entertaining there. The comradery between Alex Houston and Mandrell that developed during Bob Hope's U.S.O. tours in the 1960s lasted for decades due to their shared involvement in running mind-controlled slaves for Byrd. Bonnie shared in this friendship with the Mandrells and was looking forward to seeing her "friends" in the band.

I, too, was looking forward to talking with Louise Mandrell, but for a very different reason. Barbara had just endured her near-fatal car crash, and I was deeply concerned for her welfare. Throughout the 1980s while traveling under the guise of the Country Music Industry, Alex Houston toured with Barbara and/or Louise Mandrell on a regular basis. Occasionally Barbara and I saw each other in "church," the Hendersonville Lord's Chapel. This church was an offshoot of Billy Roy Moore's Lord's Chapel, and was pastored by his mindcontrolled slave, Mike Nelson, who became close friends with Barbara. Alex Houston and I were present when Mike Nelson broke program, and attempted to flee for his Life with Barbara Mandrell. The pastor was subdued with a stun gun and immediately relieved of his position, while Barbara frantically sought answers to the questions the two of them had managed to raise.

Alex Houston was touring with Louise Mandrel in 1984 when Louise had a "premonition" of Barbara's imminent demise—much the same way Loretta Lynn "psychically predicted" her son's murder. Like the murders of Loretta's son and Country Music entertainer Keith Whitley, I was aware of Barbara's planned accident before it occurred due to Alex Houston's direct involvement. These traumas were also used as a means of locking in my mind-controlled belief that I had "no where to run and no where to hide". Worst of all, I could not think to speak of what I knew due to my own absolute mind control. While Barbara physically survived her ordeal, her voice was silenced as planned.

When Bonnie and I arrived at Opryland Hotel, we hurried to the ballroom where Louise Mandrell would be performing. My concern for Barbara detracted me from my appointment with Lamar Alexander until one of Louise's dancers who knew of my role put me "back on track".

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. "You're supposed to be at Rhett Butler's restaurant NOW."

I hurried to the restaurant where Lamar Alexander was having dinner with Senator Byrd and several governors. Byrd was participating in the function for reasons unknown to me, but I was aware that he had fiddled at the Opry. Byrd stopped eating just long enough to acknowledge my presence, "Where have you been?"

"I was checking on Barbara over at the show," I replied as Lamar Alexander excused himself and walked over.

Putting an arm around me and turning me away from the table, he whispered, "You could wind up just like her if you don't get with the program.

You've got programs to hand out. But right now, you're interrupting my dinner. Have you had anything to drink?".

"No, Sir," I replied, traumatized at the magnitude of his threat.

Lamar Alexander instructed me to leave immediately, order a grasshopper from the conservatory bar, and wait for further instructions.

It was a matter of routine for me to order a "grasshopper" from Opryland Hotel's conservatory. The ice cream "drink" was specially made—always with a hypnotic drug in it. As sometimes happened, the waitress was unfamiliar with the process, and conservatory harp player and CIA operative Lloyd Lindroth interceded. The drug had the same effect as that administered at the D.C.

NASA programming center by Bennett, and my mode was robotic compliance.

After the drug kicked in, Lloyd Lindroth instructed me to proceed to the main ballroom of the Hotel, where Lamar Alexander would be meeting me.

The outer lobby of the ballroom was decorated in wall-size murals that extended to the top of the gothic ceiling. A life-size steam engine depicted on the far wall appeared to be racing toward the grand staircase. I had seen the murals numerous times before, but never had they seemed so real as they did to me that night on the NASA drug. The heavy double doors leading to the ballroom caused me to feel very small as I pulled with all my strength to open it. Inside, the room was a sea of black suits and ties, and I was relieved when Lamar Alexander ushered me back out into the lobby.

Alexander positioned me near the train mural as a cryptic indicator to those in the know ihat I was a "trained" mind-controlled slave. I was provided a box of brown envelopes packed with the Education 2000 information I was to hand out to the governors. Alexander instructed me on exactly what I was to say in conjunction with the message Bennett had programmed me with in D.C. Then he returned to the ballroom, where he apparently acted in the capacity of a pimp.

"Are you waiting on the train?" a paunchy governor asked, "No, Sir," I answered. Then, as instructed, I said, "But I do have a packet of information with your name on it. Shall I take it to your room for you?"

"Oh? And what is my name?" he asked.

"Governor," I responded. There actually were no names on the envelopes.

"Astute," he responded. "And what is it you have for me?"

"This packet," I answered, handing it to him. "And anything else you want compliments of Lamar Alexander and (tapped) Secretary of Education, Bill Bennett."

According to some of the men, Alexander had cued them as to my position.

Others, such as then Governor of Pennsylvania, Dick Thornburgh and Ohio Governor Dick Celeste already knew me, "I've got a packet of information with your name on it.. " I was saying as I bent over to lift one from the box.

"I don't think so," Governor Blanchard of Michigan interrupted. "Bill (Bennett) wouldn't stoop so low as to insult me that way. I'm doing the same thing here you are, but from a very different approach. The figures I offer reflect the success of Education 2000 in the Michigan school system."

I recognized Governor Blanchard, and was well aware of Michigan's ranking first in the nation in education. "Speaking of which," he continued, "I believe I see your mother more often than you do these days since she is working in the schools. That little sister of yours (Kimmy) is a prime example of what proper instruction can produce. Your little sister is coming to Mackinac to further her skills. Your whole family is a prime example of how good Education 2000 works."

I finally met up with Bonnie again in Lamar Alexander's room as the night came to a close. "Bonnie, how's that snake of yours?" he asked. Bonnie, who had been filmed pornographically by CIA commercial photographer Jimmy Walker with Dick Flood's snakes, had a pet boa constrictor.

"Great!" Bonnie laughed. "How's yours?"

" Constricted," he replied,

Bonnie unzipped his pants as she admittedly had done numerous times in the past, playfully sayings "Let it loose!"

Lamar Alexander began removing his pants. Referring to me in Project Monarch terms he said, "When I first saw you, you were a worm with no hint of being a butterfly."

"Daddy (Alex Houston) said she was a diamond in the rough," Bonnie volunteered,

"She shines now". Turning to me he said, "I know you are a shoe shiner, and mine need a shine."

Bonnie, also familiar with the Stockyard booth and Lamar Alexander's meaning, laughed when he said, "Why don't you both take a foot."

Task complete, I went to Byrd's nearby room as instructed. He was in the bathroom preparing himself for bed, "Louise had her feathers fuffled over Barbara's collision with destiny and I had to smooth them down a bit," Drying his dough grey hands on a towel, he turned to me and said, "Looks like you've had your wings spread a bit tonight."

"I wore a path up and down the stairs," I stated.

Much to my relief he said, "I'm not going to fiddle with you farther. I just wanted to give you something to remember me by--Bye." He compartmentalized my memory with his stun gun.

Soon thereafter, Kelly and I were transported to Mackinac Island. Michigan to meet with Canadian Prime Minister Brian Mulroney at then-Governor James Blanchard's mansion.

Houston led Kelly and me to a horse drawn carriage as quickly as we stepped off the ferryboat onto the timeless, antiquated island, I noticed that the Canadian flags were again flying at the Grand Hotel, but was of no mind to question, Kelly sat quietly beside me, apparently drugged as our carriage took us through the woods to the Governor's mansion."

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