Bitches and Ho’s and Glow Mop Floes with Smiley Face, Polar Bears

Smoking Mirrors — April 29, 2018

Dog Poet Transmitting…….
It’s Sunday! Sunday afternoon. Here at Aquasco Speedway. Big Daddy Dan Gurlitz is rolling out of the hills of South Carolina, just north of the Lee Correctional Facility at Bishopville, SC. With his 4-barrel, hemi-topped, microcephalic, chrome plated, pinhead 457. It’s all good.
Something happened in the night last night; don’t know what it was. It was good and charged with energy. Yesterday I woke up in the early evening after a short nap, disoriented and hearing that I was in countdown mode and might not be here all that much longer. Time passed and I understood that not much longer did not mean sometime the next day or next year but time to think about winding up those details that have been hanging around, waiting for me to get a clue about them; not time for me to start making plans, cause it never is or will be.
What a load of Schise-poopie!!! Here comes the Stepford Wife, Marching Band, with the hydrocephalic majorette. If you really want stupid, we’ve got it for you. What a great statement! What a motivation. Kids… you going to try that at home? Some passing jogger saw a grass fire going on in Central Park. Later the departed lawyer was hit with an environmental offense for starting a fire in the park. He was the marriage project director over at LAMDA; marriage project director? WTF? He’s protesting the use of fossil fuel; no word on any Polar Bears floating on melting ice floes. We’ve got it when you need it, however. We don’t have to worry, because they’ve got no quit in them whatsoever. They’re finding peace, though they aren’t giving us any. They’re the Energizer Bunnies of dysfunction. Their avatar is the Grizzly Man. “I’ll never be your beast of burden.” Looks like the grizzlies won’t be either.
How do we make sense of it all? We don’t. That’s not our job. We’ve here to have sense made out of it for us. It’s clear to me now what my biggest mistake has been all along; trying to make sense out of it. Dearly beloved, we are gathered here between God and the Devil, to make sure it’s all on the level- mountains and valleys, mountains and valleys.
You’re all out there with the clock counting down, same as me. There’s less time than we thought there was and more time than we think there is. If you want to see somebody, then you have to getter done, sooner, rather than later. In a world where the powers that thought they were want Kanye Sleaze for president, anything can happen, even if nothing really does. Whatever was/is that could have happened, already happened.
Many things that could have happened and did/or did not happen, go through my mind now, as I reflect on what I think I remember about the past. I’m not sitting in a rocking chair. I’m not wearing an oxygen mask. I’m not dreaming about the past, or wishing and hoping about the future. What will be will be. What was was what was.
If it has been a mind-numbing dumb as it has been, how much dumber can we expect it to get? There appear to be no limits and we are dealing with appearances. Things of this nature come to mind on a regular basis, when I am watching play off games and I get to see the commercials, in those few moments before I can find the remote and there’s some guy with no hand looking to play in the NFL, where there are no playoff games going on at the moment and the guys not gay, so I’m pondering the relevance as well. It will come to me but… not cause I went looking for it. You can be sure of what you are going to find with 58 channels and nothing on, here in the land of tits and asses… bitches and ho’s and whatever else they answer to by any other definition. Billie Jean just came on the box in another room. Here the mute button is on in that place where they never actually have a half time report, they just keep cutting to the commercial with more tits and asses and bitches and ho’s.
If you don’t know what ‘amniotic band syndrome’, its something that takes place in the gestation location.
The bitches and ho’s are ubiquitous, be they sports figures, politicians, people with pony tails; be they drug dealers or record producers, religious figures, or meth heads.
Day follows day. Tomorrow awaits tomorrow, as it never comes, while- ‘all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty deaths’ out out, the none too brief. No matter what, day follows day, until the last day and that just starts over again too. It is no surprise that one gets tired at some point along the way. I keep waiting. You keep waiting, the buzzer goes off and one of us comes in for the other and then it happens in reverse but it happens as if it were going forward and I can’t make head or tails of it, though they say it comes up even over the long run.
I look at my guitars that hang on the wall, I can’t see the one in the other room. I look at my keyboard and I can see the notes from unwritten songs wafting in the air above the instruments. I look at all the cables hanging from the hooks and the stacks of poems that are in a box somewhere, the autobiography that will never get written, thank god for that. I look at the teal reupholstered chair to my right that no one is sitting in. That might change, probably will change for a moment here or there. No here or there about the chair. It doesn’t move all that much. I look the monitors on the desk. I look at the desk. They’re tell me, “Dancing with The Stars” is coming up. I’ve never seen it. Billions is coming up this evening. The last Game of Thrones series is around the corner. My pasta machine is in a cabinet somewhere and I wonder if I will ever get that squid ink I need to make the fresh black pasta that I have been thinking about for a long time now. There are all these things on the bucket list (which I don’t have) waiting for action or to be moved to the fuck-it list (which I do have).
The problem I think is figuring out which of them have priority. The black pasta is not more important than the poetry, or is it. The poetry has been written but the black pasta has yet to be made. People think (some people) that if I use the word, Nazi as an implied negative, regardless of whether I say it is or not, that I am offending Hitler. I don’t actually have an opinion on Hitler. He was just a player too but I automatically become a player hater. Some are going to say, “good on you, visible”. Some are going to get pissed but I don’t think Hitler is concerned one way or the other. I definitely think the Bolsheviks were worse. That you can take to the central banks. Now the TV tells me, before I could get to the remote that, “sometimes you have to un-follow your old dreams”. I have no idea what that is supposed to mean, nor do I care.
We’ve got the radio broadcast coming up shortly. Those are on some kind of a countdown to get unfollowed. Whether it was ever intended for them they are getting mailed in, regardless of the intention. You can only say the same thing over and over so many times before they are obviously getting mailed in; all’s well that ends sooner or later.
We wish all of you the very best this weekend, as we prepare to cut this posting short before we continue to say things over and over. Hold fast my friends, to the ineffable and the ineffable will hold fast to you with something stronger and more lasting than Gorilla Grip.
End Transmission…….


Smoking Mirrors looks at much of what the mainstream media ignores. While in Profiles in Evil, he seeks to expose those shrouded in darkness to nature’s most powerful disinfectant, light.