Archive for July, 2009

Punctilious Perfidy to Influence People

Do you think that people who are consistently being fools know that they are being fools and just can’t get their egos to shut down long enough to stop? Like, if they keep doing it as if they believe it is wicked smart and that they obviously know something that you don’t, you will suddenly lose faith with your own judgement and finally believe that they must have been right all along?

I worked, for most of my professional career, in the marketing arena, spending much time focused on teaching sales people how to move to the inside position with their main contacts and get them to help you “swim upstream” to decision makers. In process I paid close attention to body language (who hasn’t) and how to subtly manage it, them and myself. I discovered way early in life that focus such as this is a two-way street and so every time this kind of thinking arises I immediately turn it around to how the other might be “reading” me and my subtle “tells”.  This kind of “meta-thinking”, if done carefully, can lead to breakthrough science! I fought hard to develop (for example stuff like) “liar’s eyes” so that on occasion of noticing that a contact was “reading” I would tell a “colorful” truth and show “liar’s eyes” or “incomplete conclusion”. Then as the veracity of my “colorful” truth(s) became obvious he/she would “realize”  that their readings were incorrect and that those “tells” were, in fact, truth signals when I thought things were important or significant.

I read once an old Moroccan proverb that said:
” You say you are going to Fez.
  When you say your are going to Fez you are not going to Fez.
  I know, however, that your ARE going to Fez!
 Why do you lie to me who is your friend?”

Culture is a complicated thing at best and sharing, as best we can, is a true tonic and food for the spirit. 

Billy & Me!

When Shakespeare puts these words on Macbeth:

 I have lived long enough. My way of life
Is fall’n into the sear, the yellow leaf,
And that which should accompany old age,
As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have; but, in their stead,
Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honor, breath,
Which the poor heart would fain deny and dare not.

He was studying  in the same venue as was I when I wrote:

You know how it is, chum now

                      numbing, senseless

Just plodding along, hoping

      stunned, empty

It tears at your insides

Makes you sick with fear

And not knowing what to fear

         haunts and hurts


But you, you’re younger

And those few years make the edge

You don’t feel it so much

         I still bruise and bleed

I’m going the hard way

With skin instead of shell

             no place to hide


An interesting philosophical position to work out poetically:

Age on the one hand weakens; on the other imbues deeper cognitive

awareness of the multifoliate emotional positions attained in the process.


“Now I may be, here standing at life’s doors,

As happy in my grief as you in yours”

Dumbest Marketing Approach!

Years ago George Carlin (one of my favorite comedians) did a bit about the worst Doctor in the world. He noticed that by a simple natural ordering of doctors one would naturally show up at the very bottom of the list. More importantly, someone right this minute is making an appointment with that very doctor! Yikes!!

Well Kung Fu, you ask, what’s the point. Do I scratch my wallet pocket or wind my watch?

Here’s the gig. Everyone who ever decided that they should get into business for themselves has imagined that their idea(s) was the wicked coolest thing since feathers in your jock strap pouch. Further, all they needed to do to get their wonderkind to take off into the wild blue of richer-than-Bill stratosphere was to get it out there in front of people and they would lap it up like kittens with fresh milk. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha, chortle, snigger, drool….

These days its gotta-have-a-web-site man. Gotta have it! It’s gotta have wicked cool dodads and jiggly thingamabobs and cute noises and music and my favorite colors and everything. And VIDEOS, did I mention VIDEOS. Wow oh Wow VIDEOS will bring em in like lemmings to the cliffside! And we’ll think up a socksoff name. (I’m liking “Mainely Too Ducky” for my collection of Lime Green Baseball hats with little drizzles of Duck poop on em and a nifty slogan like “I Didn’t Duck for the Ducky”). Gosh man, we live in Maine! How cool would it be to have our business name include Mainely in it??? Wicked wicked way over-the-top KOOL! You know: Mainely Picasso Decorated Tampons, Mainely Designer Colestomy Bags, Mainely Jalepeno Jock-Itch Cream, Mainely Bovine Butt Juice!

So we rush out to our local web maven (cum site designer) and explain our coolness and ask how much it will cost to make us business deities (econometric paradigm-wise)? She explains her philosophy of life vis-a-vis web marketing and deity lofting and that it will probably cost a lot less than we imagined. Did we want lots of jiggly stuff, weird colors, strange honkings and beepings and music played by flattulence over a waxed paper/comb kazoo? Scrolling absurdities and bouncing/gyrating text and arrows? Videos? WOW oh WOW man you gotta have VIDEOS! VIDEOS of really dumb people doing really really dumb things with other dumb people and things! Videos will get customers flocking to you like it was a “FREE-FOR-ALL SEX MARATHON” announcement at the end of a 72 day submarine dive.

Cynical? Who’s cynical. SHADDUP…cynical my ass! I’ve got your cynical over here…



I sat with you and spoke of dreams

of fields and trees and smoke and seas

The lonely rocks stood by us there

Beneath that bare sky’s stoic gleam


I reached for more before it left

And gave you all I had to give

You smiled but looked as if bereft

That  heart would not be held captive


As moons have risen overhead

To cast their fascination’s pall

Hopeless landscape filled with dread

Stands there artless in their thrall



Seas and trees and fields and smoke

Make this  place for loves extremes

And  lift the senses cursed yoke

To binds two hearts in different dreams


William Shakespeare – Love

Tell me where is Fancy bred, 
Or in the heart or in the head! 
How begot, how nourished? 
Reply, reply. 
It is engender'd in the eyes, 
With gazing fed; and Fancy dies 
In the cradle where it lies. 
Let us all ring Fancy's knell; 
I'll begin it, - Ding, dong, bell. 
All.  Ding, dong, bell.

and they all fall down!

And here I am…lost in a sea of words, aboard a linguistic vessel, decks awash, navigating the shoals of time-worn banality and vapid triteness, heading her up, “full and by”, into the piping winds of work-a-day dissonance and duck poop!

Come share and discover the ways that your language can let you “see” a different world than you enjoyed yesterday. Find the rhythm, color, texture and scope of simple and complex words and their positioning.

Thus when Shakespeare, in Macbeth, rants; “I have lived long enough. My way of life Is fall’n into the sere, the yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have, but, in their stead, curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honor, breath Which the poor heart would fain deny and dare not.” Or Flaubert, in Madam Bovary, asserts: “Human speech is like a cracked kettle on which we tap crude rhythms for bears to dance to, while we long to make music that will melt the stars.”

We, “the Hollow men, the stuffed men” ignore and scoff or prickle and puff with the electricity of those bold realisms. The abstract images imbued and infused within the depths of our cognition seem to jolt us into ever deepening perceptions of the dichotomy engendered by our human self- awareness. At once “tapping crude rhythms while wishing to melt stars” or “expecting troops of friends, love and honor and getting curses, lip-service and being afraid to wish to die” ; as sublunary as those conditions are, all the while distinguishing our intellectual capacities with those very writings that eloquently recognize and assess the complexity of these human conditions.

I stand here quaking, knees abuckle, on the brink of everything that remains unsaid; yearning for the simple sufferage of a quiet end to the jaybird pecksnifferances and insufferable sardoodledom of Blog-ites and Press-maven. As one by one the panjandrums of the punditocracy “shuffle off this mortal coil” each vacuum left then sucks some other pretenders into the morass and they, like jackals to the fresh dead meat, tear into the still warm flesh, blood and bone, savaging that which remains of dignity, civility and contentment. The keening, ululation of fear, uncertainty, doubt, hatred of the different and peevish jealousy over anything not provided for us alone, jangles that primordial nerve that keeps us from who we might be.

And Even Angrier

Ad Astra Per Cunnus

Thursday, July 02, 2009


Sensuality’s passionless idiocy

Sick-sweet perspiration of intertwined bodies

Locked in the fetid writhings of decaying usefullness

Bio-medicine’s panaceal portent of longevity

The electronic conquest of time over the primeval workload

Throbbing pulsations of oozing, bitter numbness

A brief interlude to the poly-production of over producing  productivity

Nuisancing itself upon the creativity of the creative, the idleness of the idle,

And the clamor of the clamant.

Ab initio the seminal virus oozed from the primordial soup to deliver itself a birth in the continuum

A coign of vantage and shouting place from which, perhaps, that Matriarch could hear it’s

Lugubrious whimpering  plaint:

   “Throw open your sweaty thighs Mother Universe and I will crawl back to my conception!”

From the Angry Young Man Era

Bend a rule, break a vow
Kick the ancient sacred cow
Burn a school, rob a store
Buy some loving from a whore
Smoke some pot, buy a gun
Dodge the work and work at fun
Hate a friend, start a fight
Teach a child that might makes right
Keep your pride, sell your soul
Watch morality grow old
Sing of lust, scoff at love
Taunt the raven, kill the dove.

There will be several catch-up interludes here while dignity
Is afforded the opportunity to vanish in stages.

In Salon #1 Vanishing is accomplished to the tune of: "Gimmee, Gimmee,
                   Death'l  Do Ya Sweet"

In Salon #2 The blessed passing steeps in deepest silence and total darkness 
                     (neck if you like) 

In Salon #3 it will vanish completely during the first interlude. Those 
                     remaining interludes may be used for smoking and buying beer at 
                    the Kiosks to the rear of the poem.

Late arrivals may be seated during any interlude that does not annoy the poet!
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