Smoking Mirrors – May 15, 2010
Dog Poet Transmitting…….
Yes folks, it’s starting to look like the cosmic version of a Texas Line Dance with Gilley’s being represented by Planet Earth. It’s like a typical Saturday night but a little early on. There have been a few hard looks and a little pushing and shoving but no one is that drunk yet. Don’t worry, they will be. The head-busting hour will arrive as it always does. The really good looking women, who are the cause of the problems, are actually humanized representations of large oil deposits, strategically placed countries and immense bank accounts of questionable provenance along with all of the resources that allow for the club to function whenever furniture needs to be replaced or food and drink when it runs out.
The guys, who also look human, are themselves representations of ambitions that are composed of desires woven together by a calculating imagination which automated the ambitions. Certain ambitions cannot succeed unless others fail. This is a hard-wired reality. None of these ambitions can succeed on their own, so alliances have to be made. There’s no room for more than two groups because if there are three, then whichever two get to the musical chair room first will come out with knives and forks and devour the third group. That’s just how it’s been so far. All the ambitions know this, so for those of us in the audience who only see half of the picture, because we don’t get to go backstage, we have to fill in the blanks (grin) in our heads.
All week long, everybody is thinking about Saturday night (cue Loverboy “Working for the Weekend
”). It’s not a real week, any more than these are real people. It’s longer than that. However the time feature may be, speaking in a relative sense, we’re in the neighborhood of sometime Saturday at this very moment.
For a long time, a particular gang has run the show at Gilley’s. They call themselves, The NATO Cowboys. That’s an acronym for, Nasty Aggressive Terror Orcs. They’ve been in a long standing alliance with the Bankeraelis who are also not human and who exist on a diet of money and blood. The Bankeraelis, being vampires, have been slowly gaining a commanding control over the flow of blood which, together with their control of the money, has given them an authority that outweighs their numbers. Luckily, on a particular level, they are lightweights and so, though they can maneuver the NATO Cowboys most of the time, they can’t one on one confront them or they will get their asses kicked. That’s not a consideration of the moment however. Well, yeah it is, as we shall see.
So, for as many Saturday nights as we can remember, this cabal of head-stomping drunks has owned Gilley’s and they’ve had their way with the women and the men too and there hasn’t been much anyone can do about it. People get raped on the tables and beheaded in the bathrooms and it’s just been the way it is. You might ask why those victimized attend the club but, as I mentioned, it’s the world. Where are they going to go?
I guess this could just go on forever, except for the small penis thing. There’s a physiological transformation that occurs when you dine on blood and money, to the exclusion of other essential foods that are necessary to maintain overall good health. Over time, your penis shrinks while your chest expands. The chest expansion takes the place of the penis in terms of a performance statement of the being, in terms of reproduction (which doesn’t actually occur) and in terms of ancient social dances that are dressed up in romance and colorful outfits but are really just about ‘the old in and out’ once you strip away the trappings.
What happened is that as the expanded chest thing took over the Power Point presentation of the penis, due to its shrinking, the Bankeraelis got the idea that they could do whatever they wanted to anyone, including their allies, because their chest was doing the talking. Also, the more the penis was shrinking, the more the chest was compelled to make a statement without actually being able to penetrate anything enough to anchor it to any sense of union with whatever it was supposed to be in alliance with.
So, the Bankeraelis did some disgusting shit on the NATO Cowboys turf. This seems to have been okay because it served the NATO Cowboys interests, since they still had penises and they could then rape a lot more of the other customers who accepted it because the disgusting shit was made to look like somebody else did it. Flushed, not only with the blood of anyone they could nail and drain but with blood and money together, which is a little like Cocaine and Alcohol, the Bankeraelis went after one of the NATO Cowboys who had been their best friend in the neighborhood and they tried to kill him.
At the same time, the NATO Cowboys had been attempting to ass-rape a smaller gang that lived next door to them called the SATO Gauchos. That’s an acronym for Sick of Aggressive Terror Orcs. The reason the NATO Cowboys were doing this was because the SATO Gauchos had some fine looking women, which weren’t actually women but you get the idea.
The plot thickens cause, over in the back of the club there’s way more tables, by far, than what’s in the main lit up area where the NATO Cowboys and the Bankeraelis rape and stomp and kill. There’s a red and yellow and white collection of the majority of the population of the club at any time and it gets larger every minute because their penises still work over there but I’m just guessing.
They’ve been watching what’s been happening to all of their neighbors and keeping out of it more or less, because though the NATO Cowboys and Bankeraelis have been doing whatever the Hell they want to, they haven’t gone after this one particular chick in the club yet but… now it's obvious that’s just a matter of time. This chick lives next door to a lot of the people in the back of the club and if they go ahead and rape her on the table then they figure they are next. The red contingent has been pretty quiet because the NATO Cowboys were drone-bombing the shit out of their long time enemy but it’s finally occurred to them that they’re next too.
What’s happened is that all the people who aren’t NATO Cowboys and Bankeraelis have decided to go have a chat at the house of that chick I was just talking about and that one NATO Cowboy cat decided he would go along too because the Bankeraelis tried to kill him and his NATO Cowboy butt buddies didn’t pull his coat about it beforehand so he figures he’s expendable.
Well, this is bad news for the NATO Cowboys but much worse for the shrinking penis Bankeraelis who nobody likes, not even the NATO Cowboys, but they just don’t talk about it. Nearly everybody thinks the Bankeraelis are an active yeast form of reptile smegma from Hell but they haven’t been able to do much because the Bankeraelis control their money and they also control the sound system in the club, which means they control the guy who announces the music and makes the public service announcements and whatever gets said over the P.A., which means that whatever people hear gets explained to them however it suits the Bankeraelis.
What I’m trying to say is that this is shaping up to be a different kind of Saturday Night than we’ve been having. Everybody in the club is sick of the NATO Cowboys but are especially, projectile puking, gut wrenching- something crawled up there and died- sick of the Bankeraelis. So, they decided they would all get together and let these long time, dominant punks know that they are likely not to take it any more if it keeps on going the way it’s been going. A little head stomping and rape is okay because all of them do it but… you can’t head-stomp and rape everybody in the club because nobody is going to have any fun then.
Most of the time, the club owner is sleeping in the back and doesn’t do much about what goes on. He’s been a kind of ‘let them work it out’ club owner and that’s allowed for a lot of freedom of expression. Now, however, one of the NATO Cowboys pissed in the pool and turned the water black and the club owner likes to swim there in his dreams. This gave the club owner a nightmare and also killed a lot of his dream dolphin companions of whom he is EXCEEDINGLY fond and this woke him up and he is not happy; not happy at all. The club owner can personally head-stomp everyone in the club with one hand tied behind his back so, we’ll see what comes of that. I’ll be out in the parking lot, laying in the back of my pickup and looking at the stars, in case anyone wonders what I’m doing.
There will be a radio show Sunday Night
or download it
the day after.
Last updated 18/05/2010