Up The Hill Downward - A brief history of NIN in the late 80's to early 90's "goth" scene.

 Up the Hill Downward.

Up the Hill Downward. In the scene where I was sort of eavesdropping into -- my friend was straight up goth, I hung out with him all the time, so I was "in" the goth/industrial scene without actually being "in it." So, to MANY of the people in the "scene" at that time (we're talking people who had been immersed since about 1984-1985) were basically considered "second generation" goths, as the first gen was around '78 to '84 riding through the streets of East Berlin in a trumped up Pathfinder we opened up with lots of assault gear along with with the sudden machine gun stutter of Joy Division, Throbbing Gristle, Cabaret Voltaire, Bauhaus, Coil, The Cure, Ministry and Siouxsie and the Banshees, just to name the top groups (in the U.S. scene.) The U.K. had The Cult, Fields of the Nephilim, P.I.L (sort of). But, at least for me, no one out did the out doers, Skinny Puppy. The had all the pomp and circumstance, with the performance art, industrial, but more specifically, actual inarguable "techno goth" music. Plus all the goth Uniforms and face paint. For me, no one out pupped the Puppies. I think I stumbled into the scene, friend in hand, around 1986 or so. So in 1989, when Nine Inch Nails came out, we were three years before that, on the true cusp of dirt and grit gothic punk. NIN were in an instant love/hate relationship with the "scene"; as a person in the "social" part of the scene, NIN was pure commercialized crap. They sounded like what a band would sound like if some pop song producer got ahold of a pseudo industrial band and then filtered them through the "pop machine." So, there was a lot of instant hate for NIN at that time in 89. They were Ronald Regan's pet Industrial Band, not one of the antichrists spewing hate and social recriminations on the other end. However, if you went to some of these peoples homes and hung out in their bedrooms, listening to them play their favorited songs, and if they got up to go do something out of the room AND you snuck into their music crate to flip through their LP's, almost without exception you found at least an EP of NIN, even though they'd swear eternal hatred upon them to the group amassed, all the while reaching dizzying heights with "Terrible Lies" when those synth strings took you over. But then; I was in a strange in-between state where my "goth" street-cred was not put into question because I didn't wear the uniform: all black, Jeanie pants, doc martins, teased up black dyed hair, and, craziest of all to the straights, black eyeliner. To me it was just another social strata identical to the jocks or preppies where; you had to wear this and couldn't wear that, and you had to have these albums but could have those. This was why I had been an outcast at school, I didn't buy into all the manufactured b.s. rules that existed solely in the minds of the zombies who followed them. So in the "goth scene" I was into the "music", not the "scene". If you played me a Bauhaus song I could name the song, name the album, and name which side it was on. Exact same with Skinny Puppy. Never was much of a fan of the Cure. Sorry, to me they sounded more like goth soap commercial jingle music than anything as heavy and artistic as Bauhaus, themselves named after the infamous and still relevant school of architecture from Weimar Germany in 1919, called, duh, The Bauhaus. The Cure had this undeniable happy go lucky pop sensibility in their major hits that all of the others viciously attacked. Their lesser known efforts, like my favorite of theirs, "Faith" were true goth. Goth deserving of a place at the table next to Bauhaus and Coil (with songs like "Dancing at the Funeral Party" just wiping the floor with the silly dilly "Love Cats") I mean, how can you elevate a band that does "Caterpillar" and "Love Cats" to anything more than a pop group grasping desperately to the U.K.'s "Deathrock" scene (later called Gothic Rock or Gothic Punk and finally just plain ole "Goth.") Meanwhile when I mentioned Skinny Puppy's "Mind: The Perpetual Intercourse" to those people even "deep" in the scene they would give me that glazed over look like they had no idea that I was talking about. Especially when I'd pull out the "M:TPI" on them. However, back to the main subject at hand... I was still pretty hot/cold on NIN until I was flipping through cd singles a year or so later and found a NIN single produced by Dave "Rave" Ogilvie! who had been so deep into Skinny Puppy's production they even listed him as a band member on "VIVIsectVI"! That was the "Reptile" remix for the upcoming "Downward Spiral" album which just about killed all the goths because it became this huge hit and you could go to your College campus and hear sorority girls blasting it out of their Volkswagen Rabbits. (Oh, and when they started wearing Doc's... oh shoot... hehe! It all hit the fan then.) So, I liked about a third of the songs on "Downward Spiral," about another third bored me, and a final third I just thought sounded like self absorbed b.s. (Like the brutal "Hurt" which the legendary "man in black" himself, Johnny Cash, along with the Oscar worthy video (for short film?), made that song the theme to Cash's entire career, and entire life for that matter, instead of an "end credits" bit that Reznor whined his way through ("Whine Bitch Wails" was a common term of dis-endearment for him.) at then end of his concerts on the "Downward" tour. But I didn't outright dismiss NIN like other's did. And, when "Se7en" came out with a remix of "Closer" by the kings of actual real "pagans" in goth music, "Coil," then the shit hit the fan. (Apparently it was much more insane for Coil because "Sleazy" [ex-Throbbing Gristle, ex-Psychic TV) had done the remix for a Nine Inch Nails "EP," not for a "movie," and as far as he knew no one he knew gave the greenlight to it being the "opening theme" to a twisted serial killer film. He must have spent the next two hours fuming (shoot, wouldn't you?) Then the overdone, woe is me, dark poetry b.s. Reznor tried to corner the market on began to wear thin and songs and singles and videos like "March Of The Pigs" began to sound more like someone making fun of Industrial as opposed to someone presenting it to the masses. I mean, come on! the piano break in that song, it was pure Charlie Brown Schrodinger. You could see all the kids in the mosh pits doing that Charlie Brown head bop dance. It came to a point where some of the tracks on Janet Jackson's liberating "Rhythm Nation" were more akin to Skinny Puppy and Manufacture than any self indulgent narcissistic song from The Downward Spiral. But we come back out of the "wayback" machine and find Reznor has won not one, but two Oscars for music scores, one from a friggen Disney picture! and one from a movie about geeks ripping off other geeks to become millionaire geeks (never saw it, sounds like crap, never will see it, so there, hehe.) By his third album his music became a revolving door of over produced bleeding heart b.s. with very little salvageable as something approaching a real "good" song. "The Perfect Drug" was astoundingly brilliant, while the rest of the excessive two disc release was just a mish mash of self absorbed synth garbage. A kind of mirror of the L.A. Glam Rock nightmare of Guns n' Roses "Use Your Illusions 1 and 2" (which had an overt nod to Reznor, who "briefly" and disastrously toured with them) with the G 'n' R song, "My World.") Aside: in OKc I saw them and they were, and still are all these years later, the worst firkin band I've ever seen! At that time, the somewhat "self indulgent" Smashing Pumpkins were the opening act, and all the numbskulls in Okc booed them off the stage before they could even play a single song! They said something about "it must get lonely out here with all the cows, and the sheep," funny, hehe, yeah, if you weren't so self absorbed and took a look around your arena to see a large downtown with skyscrapers, a genuine "canyon" as they call it, and in the top of the top cities when it comes to population of the metropolitan area. Either way, they played a song where they chanted "f-you" over and over as if that was going to have some effect on the crowd. It must be duly noted that the next year when the Pumpkins were headliners their tickets sold out, in the same town, in about 2 hours! Poetically, they should have played the "f-you" song for three minutes and then left! That would have been sublime. As for the last mention of G 'n' R (and Toys 'R' Us) their show consisted of Axel singing a verse, running off stage confusing the hell out of the band and the audience, then appearing for another verse, only to disappear again. WTFF? Worst S**t ever!

Best ever? The Moody Blues (whom my ex's bridesmaid's father actually bought be a ticket "after" he had bought theirs because I went overboard on what a fan I was of theirs. Her father is eternally cool just for that.) The Moody Blues were just the coolest most professional brilliant, not a dead moment music I've ever seen! However, back to Nine Inch Nails (lets face it, basically Trent Reznor) on a solid and unfaltering positive note: the album "With Teeth" solidly blew me away, especially as a soundtrack for my life at the time, living next door to some hyped up PTSD vets who were buying and selling drugs in the apartment next to mine (one time, two of them beat the shtuff out of each other in the parking lot, and called an ambulance so they could get hospital quality pain killers!!!) that album absolutely, and I say this in spite of my problems with Reznor's narcissisms, that album helped keep my brain together during all that. And for that, Reznor gets the keys to my internal city of OZ and a lifetime's supply of "yeah, all right, you're one of the good ones!" for all time! And the concert tour with the ultra unique "TV on the Radio" then "Bauhaus" supporting their then Newest and also Last-est album, and then... f- me sideways, that NIN show with the red light strings hanging around the stage. It was like you liquified my brains and then sucked them out of my ears with an industrial strength vacuum. Sure Front 242 is a live show I'll always treasure, Peter Murphy is an incomparably intimate genius of a musical artist, and no one can beat down my Puppy. But I gotta lay down a wreath of dead roses for the long running NIN, no matter how much one of my synth heroes, Bill Leeb, will always despise him (and be looking out for him to pounce on, hehe.) "Pass a cup to the dead already, hurrah for the next to die." Dracula

The Smiths, Poser Goths, and me.

Inspired by; First Time Hearing The Smiths, And It's Not A Boy Band?! "How Soon Is Now" Graces My Ears!

I'm not a huge "Smiths" fan. That doesn't mean I don't think they're good, in fact I think they're legendary, it's just that at that time I was double obsessed with Bauhaus and Skinny Puppy (never was much of a Cure fan. I always thought their "hit" songs sounded like commercial jingles for soap or cleaning agents.) And Siouxsie Sioux was a bit too overly dramatic and lacking in music "quality" for me. And it didn't help when they were featured in an Anthony Michael Hall flm!) Anyway, I had two prep school friends who were really into The Smiths, and at that time I just didn't get it. Looking back it's because I just didn't give them a chance. I had always dismissed them as a silly flavour of the weak band ("Vicar in a Tutu" and all that).

It wasn't until I heard this song one night on a drive with my best friend and two goth girls who had no interest in either one of us (possibly gay? I was considered "hot" in the goth boi world [two sets of words, "deathly thin" and, more important, "cheek bones"] and my friend was, dare I sound gay (in the fashion of "Interview With The Vampire"), very beautiful. So, I think these girls must have been gay to have absolute "zero" interest in us driving alone at night to their empty house where I fell asleep, very uncomfortably, on their floor. [Funnily enough, one of them was in my History Class when she was a Senior and I was a Junior and I was about a hairs breadth from being her prom date, hehe.])

So, anyway, they had The Smiths dubbed on cassette and were singing to it furiously and dramatically in the car, once again me "not getting it" and then I heard this song ("How Soon Is Now"). And that was the first time I took The Smiths seriously because of this one simple but tragic verse:

"There's a club if you'd like to go You could meet somebody who really loves you"

"So you go and you stand on your own

And you leave on your own And you go home and you cry And you want to die"

First off, it sounds kind of silly. But the way he sings it, the way he sells it, my god, he sounds so real, so convinced that you know that he went thought that. The same damn thing that you've gone through. It was a point of contact. Forever emblazoned on my mine. Easily some of the greatest lyrics in any song I've ever heard of theirs. And, to take it further, one of the greatest set of lyrics I've ever heard. It just summed up my teenage life in those few lines. I mean, everyone has felt lonely and unwanted. But all the kids I knew in the "goth" scene were at least in a "social group" and had girl friends, boy friends or both, while I had nothing.

But I was kind of the unknown poster boy for the actual social situation often lamented by Gothic Crooners. However much the goth kids played up their "sublime despair." Aside from the parental problems [quite common in these kids] I was the one who was closer to the very definition of the social AND mental situations in these songs by these bands. I used to cut myself. I'd meditate, call storms, and perform strange rituals (one with "the" goth friend I had on Lamas eve (eve of May 1st) which left him in awe of me, partially for cutting my left palm over and over with a dull manchette to get a good amount of blood flowing. And partially for the actual real deal sensation of a dark and cold being passing through the drainage ditch and through us.) My gods how I miss those pagan days. I wonder if I can call them back again?

At that time I was continually suicidal to the point of so much of an obsession with suicide that I studied it and wrote papers on it and came to realize how absolutely fucking stupid it is, and there's nothing "Gothically Romantic" about abruptly ending your existence for so much silliness.

I always loved the quote [sorry, don't know who said it]:

"Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem."

So, when I heard these girls sing this verse with such joy and happiness I thought, "what the fucking actual fuck." Did they not hear what he was saying? Did they not program it? Was I the only one who could be confused as the actual person in the lyrics? Ah, I learned later on, fuck 'em. Bunch a kids who couldn't make it in the pop crowd so they made their own pop crowd but called it the "goth" crowd. But it still had all the top kids, middle kids, lower kids.

You have to dress this way,

have your hair this way, and above all,

every boy had to wear eyeliner!

"How come's since you, duh, knows so much about Goth music, duh, and you hang out with people in the, duh, Goth scene that you don't dress Goth?, huh?"

One time I got in a real burn on someonewho asked me that, which was quickly ignored as all truly good burns are (who want's to dwell?), I gave him a simple answer to that one;

"because my parents love me. And it would cause them great distress to see me in eyeliner."

I actually said that to one kid, he kind of deflated like a balloon, but then tried to think about it, perhaps philosophically, and just gave up and started talking about drilling a 13 year old girl [sicko] although it should be noted he was barely 16 and couldn't drive, so they were actually only around 2 years apart. Either way, "contributing to the delinquency of a minor" was a Federal Penn type offence where I lived.

Anywho, just to piss all the Smiths fan's off, I always much preferred the 1990's cover by the guy from the Psychedelic Furs with his 90's band "Love Spit Love" to the original. It just sounded so much more tragic. Morrisey's vocals were too on spot and on que and sounded exactly like they "should" sound, which was like vanilla, or fluffy chocolate icing. "Love Spit Love" was kind of loose and wild like a Rolling Stones song (following the bass player as opposed to the drummer.)

"When you say "it's gonna happen now" Well, when exactly do you mean? See I've already waited too long And all my hope is gone."

Fuck all you 80's goth kids, you couldn't tell "Kick in the Eye" from the Cure. Couldn't tell "Dancing at the Funeral Party" from Bauhaus. Had absolutely no clue what the name of a popular Skinny Puppy song that was playing was, much less the album. You had your black Jeanie pants, and your liquid eyeliner, and your teased up hair, and I;

I had my solemn dignity and personal fashion that was more Gothic than any of you posers. Yes, sometimes those at the top of the top, the crème de la crème were the biggest posers of them all.

I actually read the Gothic vampire stories and books. I actually went places, alone, quite often, haunting, and reveled in my solitary existence. While you all just hung together just like any preppie, soc's, or jock crowd. Had your own kinds of "jocks" and "geeks." And I was beneath you because I didn't wear... oh ye god's and little fishes, because I didn't. fucking. wear. Eyeliner...

Piss of to the lot of you!

A Snow Patrol accident. Existence. Destination.

A Snow Patrol accident. Existence. Destination.  

@AcardusTallasi

31 minutes ago (edited)

If there is a mind, it is independent of the brain. It is beyond the physical makeup of the physical brain. The mind is beyond it. Therefore, when the physical brain dies, the mind independent of the brain, having no physical ties, continues. Our minds continue. We are our minds. Our minds are our souls. Minds never die, souls never die. She still exists. . . Unlike the atheistic ideals of a purely physical world where everything surrounding you all happened by a billion accidents, and where a human brain is simply physical and the "self" is an illusion brought on by all these physical complexities, and then dies when the brain dies, can not account for the mind's existence independent of the brain. And having no physical accounting, the argument fails. If it can be proven that the human brain is a physical construct consisting of electric synapses and chemical building blocks and swirling DNA making it all unfold, that would leave us with an existence the same as any other physical creature on the planet. A biological machine operating purely on positive and negative stimuli. But we're so much more than that. We can imagine spaceships and aliens, far away planets. Talking rabbits and haunting ghosts. We can dream about strange journeys, write stories and compose music that moves our souls. That is not a ridiculous string of accidents that just happened at the right time in the right way leaving the function of a physical bio-mechanical brain which switches off like a lightbulb when this brain dies. How many spiders or lizards or sharks or sheep dream of electric people? And how many of them are able to have thoughts which go beyond such a structure. And higher animals with "sentience" have a far less complex version of a "mind," but as to how much this approaches the mind of a human is hard to measure. I think there for I am. If I am then I am above my physical brain. I think therefore I am and, therefore, I will be. Religion beyond science. This does not discount evolution. Nor does it lift up any single religion. On the contrary, evolution is one of the greatest proofs of a Cosmological Being who created the universe, the earth, human beings "through" evolution. Creation was the act, evolution was the action. The prime mover, the un-moved mover. I don't go for the Heaven Hell type of metaphysics, I think its too complicated for our minds in their current state. But I do believe in a higher place and an advancement of the powers of the continual mind independent of this life. We survive death. Otherwise if our minds didn't exist before this life, and don't exist after this life, then there is no proof that it, or the brain, existed at all. If "nothing" surrounds "something" like an ocean round a lifeboat, and the lifeboat sinks. Only nothing is left. Nothing, no proof, no life, no existence. Nothing before something, then after, just nothing. No proof that anything existed at all. And then you and I don't exist. Your computer, your cat, your favorite cake, nations, continents, the oceans, earth, galaxy universe god? Nothing exists at all. She was, she is, and she shall continue to be. And you will see her again.

CLICK ON "read more"

 CLICK ON "read more"

Each Blog is presented to you, the User "usually" in an abbreviated / abridged form

so,

you have to select the unassuming little link in the tiny preview they give you called:

read more

that's it, the entire post is now visible, and these are placed on EVERY entry:

read more

Upset at first, I have to admit that squishing posts down to a title and perhaps a few sentences and then putting read more is simple enough for people to understand. And then they are able to list more Posts on the screen.

Sweet Anita words of wisdom: Mistake vs. Malicious Intent <-(Link opens post)

(Immediate removal upon request of Ms. Anita or 

her representatives for any reason whatsoever.)

To see Sweet Anita (<---YouTube link) in action. Hear her take on life. 

And witness the sometimes funny, sometimes horrible aspects of Tourette's within a living human being as opposed to a bunch of writing. It's not romantic, it's not a fetish its a disability that sometimes can prevent a person from even getting out one coherent sentence.

To learn a boatload about Tourette's Syndrome for the layman, follow this link to its WIKI entry.

To watch the actual video of this transcript (and then get addicted to the things she has to say, and watch more) follow the link below:

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/SdpnOODYqrQ?feature=share

Severed Heads : "All Saints Day"

(Immediate removal upon request of Mr. Ellard or his representatives for any reason whatsoever.)

"This is the end Beautiful friend." the mind-self-soul vs. the brain and non-existence

Hades Abducts Persephone and takes her down to the Underworld, called by his own name, "Hades."

But there is no "Hell" in this story, the "shades" of the dead in "Hades" are not punished and do not burn. They remain as they were when their bodies were still alive, they remain themselves, or, a shadowy version thereof, despite what Milton, or Dante, or the many authors of the Old and New testament have to say about the matter.

(Draft)

Mind Moves Matter -- Virgil

"Mind Moves Matter" -- Virgil

Left: Virgil, Right: Dante

I am my self (my mind) and myself is my soul (my mind is my soul) And therefore self and soul are the same, not two things equal to each other, but one thing in the same. There is no separation between myself and my soul.

How could I sell my soul independently of my mind. Why would it matter to me to sell my soul, assuming it were possible, to the Devil. If I am not my soul, then it is a thing separate from me, my mind, and so why would I care if the Devil takes my soul. He could just as well have my car, or my house, or my favorite synthesizer; and none of that, after the death of the body (and the brain with it), none of that makes any difference anymore when you have "given up the ghost." The only thing that matters is how you choose to move on in this vast construction of the universe (perhaps to a more intense, bright, "heaven" or to a less intended "shadow" or "shade" (not "utter darkness" or the "abyss" as yet [notably named "The Gulfs" in the works of Clive Barker]) in "Hell" or better for my arguments, "Hades" or "the land of shades" as these souls have chosen to retain the personalities and memories of their previous life, but in the absence of a grip on that life, the only way to hold on to it is that fall away, back, down, to a lesser light if not a lesser truth. But if the soul craves the light and "love" of God in "heaven," to move up and away, into the light and the greater truth, then one follows that tunnel to the light at its end, and joins the 2/3rds of the angels, in the company of God, the Holy Ghost (modern: "Holy Spirit") and his son whose name is actually Yeshua or "Joshua," a bizarre mis-translation from the old Hebrew "Yeshua" which is most definitely not "Jesus." It reminds me of the "Jehovah's Witness" movement. They mistranslated, mispronounced the name of God, YHWH, or Yahweh as Jehovah and then stuck with it even when it was pointed out to them that they were saying it "wrong" (who can really said to be "wrong" about these things? Perhaps "incorrect" is the better term.) There's also some dispute among theologians about the original version of the birth of Jesus. Some say that when Mary was called a Maiden, which can mean "a virgin" OR just mean "a young woman" that the translators mis-translated it to mean Mary was a Virgin and therefore the only way she could have been impregnated and given birth to Jesus was if "God" and his angels did so (not at all unlike the Greek god Zeus who impregnated a "few" women in his time (quite a few if you look it up), which may be the origin of the drastic mistranslation and subsequent near (or up close) "worship" of Mary in the Catholic Church (which was originally just called "The Church." --egad, what heresy does he spew?!) Her near deification has always bothered me, even when I was a Christian. It seemed so "pagan" which actually did come in handy when converting the "heathens" to Christianity by Missionaries across the globe who found the plethora of primarily female deities an easy way to slide Mary, mother of the Christian god, right in there. And today, it's become a distinct, actual deification by the "feminists" who claim she is a goddess, and is the feminine side of God, thus "resurrecting" the motives of the missionaries.

But then who's to say that there aren't "higher" or "lower" places than Heaven and Hades (once again, in modern Christian theology: Hell, in my version: Hades)? Perhaps an infinite of both directions, like a Jacob's ladder leading up to heaven, or down to earth, or lower, down into hell. And what if what he perceived as an infinite up and an infinite down are actually one great wheel that meets itself again, coming and going, the worm consuming it's tail, eternity, so much so that with "human good and evil" out of the picture, it would not be impossible for them to meet, or for every equal or opposite place on the ladder wheel, to be light into darkness, or darkness into light.

And so, if my brain and my mind were independent of my soul, then I could sell a thousand souls to hell and still ascend to heaven. For why would heaven need a soul either, if it were separate from the self. I, myself want (or choose) which direction my mind-soul will go, up or down, light or dark, (but no, no good or evil, these things are constructs of human beings, they are more akin to the baser nature of the robotic human brain. Hunger, pain, sickness, health, full, fat, fight or flee; all these things are physical attributes of the brain, and therefore the body, which are necessary to keep us alive or, if ignored, drag us down to the death of the body and the brain.

But the soul does not hunger for food. The soul does not eat too much or drink to much, or depend on drugs or take sex to excess. The soul "seems to" have an opinion of fight or flight, but that's just chemicals in our body, specifically to adrenaline pushing the body in its best direction, towards or away. And so the same for a human's good or evil. They are pushed one way or the other based on what they feel is right, even in the face of alternate facts. Even if everyone else can see it's evil. 

Evil is when one or more humans consciously inflicts bodily or mental harm upon another human or group of humans. Consciously, or sometimes by a lack of action where action is needed. 

Was Hitler moved by supernatural evil, was he possessed by a devil, or pushed by The Devil? Those who fear the facts about human nature would prefer to think that no man could do the deeds he (and Stalin) did to their own people, their own race. Forget not that Hitler's father was a wealthy Jewish man who spurned his mistress and their bastard son. And Stalin was a Russian who was perhaps more power hungry than Hitler, who knows if he was part Jewish, or even Asian, who's to tell? The fact is he killed "more" humans than Hitler, but humans prefer to deal with Hitler because he's easier to wrap our "heads" around.

So, Hitler wished to bring back the glory and honor and riches that Germany had before the first World War. And he blamed the incompetent coward Kaisers and the rich conniving Jews for the loss of this. And so he was motivated, almost more than any man in history, to move forward with war, conquering, and killing all enemies from within and without. 

But there was no devil that did this. No soul of his bound for hell. This was done by a man, a human, and at the very base of it was the desire for comforts, political and bodily as in rule and physical excess. And so we would like to believe Hitler burns in Hell. And if the self, the soul, had any part in this (which I must believe it did) then he is indeed in a place "removed from the light and the love of God) if not necessarily "burning" in "hell."

Incomplete: First Draft

Another abandoned/deleted YouTube post: Short history of my Personal Religon.

Chickisha : Church : Altar and Cross : Me and my family: Approximately 1973

Oldest: Sister (from left), Middle Son (second from left), Mother (white dress), Oldest Brother (upper right), And that's me (Philip Haggard Berry) (lower right) in the pinstriped jacket, brown shorts, and silly shoes.

Hunt Souls: “This gives us the situation of the disciples he called: for they were from Bethsaida. And this is appropriate to this mystery. For ‘Bethsaida’ means ‘house of hunters,’ to show the attitude of Philip, Peter and Andrew at that time, and because it was fitting to call, from the house of hunters, hunters who were to capture souls for life: ‘I will send my hunters’ (Jer 16:16).”

My father was a priest and was constantly searching for his own church and his own way so we moved around a lot. I started out 1st and 2nd level Primary, then 1st and 2nd grade at a Christian Episcopal prep school in Oklahoma City, OK. 

Chisolm Creek : Oklahoma City, OK Dad, a.k.a.

The Right Reverend Dr. Max Bright Berry Jr. Lieutenant Commander USCG BA MA PHD

(Doctorate in Divinity [Theology])

I know you're really too young to make judgements like this, but I was very popular as a kid at that school. Endless friends, crushes on girls maybe a little too early for that (though I never did have a "girlfriend" back then.) 

Moving from Oklahoma City--- 

----short but necessary interruption: people are so freaking dumb and ignorant, Oklahoma City has a population of roughly 750,000 in the "metropolitan area" and ranks 20th in the most populated cities in the U.S. Now think about this, there are approximately 19,405! cities in the U.S. and Oklahoma City is in the top 20. So pull your head out of your ass, we don't have teepees. . . I could go on...) ----

---so we pulled out of the big city and moved to the city of my birth, second largest in the state, Tulsa Oklahoma (population just over 400,000 [i.e. around half a million] not small)

It was culture shock going to a public school with hundreds of kids where you could quickly be swallowed up by anonymity. It was the opposite at that small prep school. Everyone knew everyone. I found out very quickly that you couldn't just walk in and become the popular kid. I didn't know how to adapt, I'd never had to do it before. People began to dismiss me as "weird," a description I would carry for the rest of my life. 

On that first move I was very rapidly tossed down the rungs of the social ladder until I was at the very bottom, in the dirt, and had almost no friends except a few very cool ones who lived in my neighborhood. 

(as an aside: my school was directly, like a few steps, across the street from my house. It was exceedingly strange. But one benefit I had was that I just had to cross the dead end road to have access to the playground, the cent of which was one of those big wooden forts with sand at the base called a "Big Toy." I had the coolest time playing Star Wars figures there with the entire place to myself. A had recently been gifted a action figure sized Millennium Falcon which made it all the more cool [and a little prescient considering the "final" film of the actual factual "trilogy" began on Luke's home world, the dessert Tatooine (reminder, the big toy was on a big sand box.)]

Anyway, back to my shit show life (great name for a tv show) I learned pretty quickly, through changing schools about every few years, that people hated the class brain, and the teachers pet. So, I became the class clown, the comedian, embraced the "weirdo" way. In doing impersonations and acting out movie (or cartoon for the best laughs) scenes. 

This got me a free pass from the bullies. They could yell at one kid down the hall, "meet me after school on the playground, I'm gonna kick your ass." And then turn around to me, "oh, Philip, do that British accent."

So, my advanced IQ and my natural ability to do well in all subjects became buried. I did poorly at schoolwork on purpose. A feat easily done by just not studying for tests, and not doing homework. And who would ever think the class clown was a genius? And this became so ingrained in my personality I couldn't shake it, even at college. I skated through classes (with the great exception for Literature and Art), faking my way along. 

I was shocked and really really pissed off that we had to take "electives" (I didn't elect these wastes of time!) which were basically reruns of high school. I went there to learn how to be a writer, not be a "Renaissance" man who could master Biology and Physics and Sociology along the way. Fuck all that!

It wasn't until my four semesters at the Masters level in the Creative Studies Department of the Liberal Arts college that I finally was doing what I wanted to be doing in every single class after 5 years of fucking about as an undergrad (oh, failed to mention, I ended up with a B.A. in English Literature and Criticism, and a stupidly "undeclared" minor in Art and Design (the head of the Graphic Design "wing" asked me to switch from English Lit to Graphic Design. He told me I had the right kind of mind for it, as well as the artistic chops. But I was set on becoming a writer. I wished I could be both.

So, back to Masters school: this was what I had imagined college was. It was unfortunate, and quite expensive, to fart around as an undergrad drowning in classes I despised. Here I was right were I belonged, class after class of perfecting my writing skills. 

(They'll tell you, and should tell you, in both Liberal Arts and in the Art Program, that you can't have "talent" taught to you, no matter how many classes you attend or how hard you try. Talent for a subject (or subjects) is something you're born with. You go to school to "perfect" your talent, to "sharpen" it. But by no means can anyone "teach you a talent."

Apparently the Art School had waded out into some deep waters by allowing people who didn't have any of these talents they so wanted to have, graduate with a degree. Graduates were coming back to the school to complain that they were unable to find any work based on their submissions and portfolio. They were being told, quite frankly by many prospects, that they just didn't have the raw talent necessary for the job. Not even an Art teacher at an Elementary school! You actually do have to be an artist to land that job... at most schools (sometimes they randomly shuffle someone like one of the sports coaches to fall in and teach out of a text book. Thankfully I always had wonderful art teachers who were actual artists and encouraged me on my own artistic path.) 

So, starting fairly early into my weird journey through the Art School I was running in to classmates who had been counseled to leave the Art School ("you're just not working out as an Artist, and we can't give you a degree just because you attend all the classes. We believe its in your best interests to feel around and find something else that you have a talent for.")

(shh... so we don't get sued by people we handed a degree but without the ability to land a job or otherwise use said degree.)

I counted myself lucky in both "schools" that Liberal Arts wanted me to remain in Liberal Arts, and that Art and Design wanted me to leave Liberal Arts for Art and Design (specifically Graphic Design.) It was a nice ego boost, but also, for a time, very very confusing.

Flash forward to Grad School: things, everything, went into the shitter by the end of the 90's and I never recovered. 

When I returned to Oklahoma City from living with my parents in little (but cool as hell) Muskogee Oklahoma (birthplace of my father, and location of his last and favorite church, over which he was the Priest, Grace Episcopal Church. Muskogee population roughly only just 50,000, relatively small compared to the other cities listed, but not small compared to ALL the cities in the country. . . I've lost my self again, oh, I went back to Oklahoma City to finish out my Masters... and fuck all, they refused to give me anymore student loans. I only needed ONE more semester for my Masters in Creative Studies. But even after an appeal with notes from teachers I was told no. There was no way for me to pay for it myself. After going straight from Highschool in to College as an Undergrad and then into Grad school I had never actually had a "real" job, i.e. one that you could live on. Much less make enough money to also pay for Grad school!

After moving to Muskogee, Oklahoma, then back to Oklahoma City, then back to Muskogee again, I finally moved down to Austin, Texas (population [this is becoming a fixation] 1 million! number 11 in the top twenty most populated cities in the U.S. ...P.S. in this list Oklahoma City was not included in the top 20... ah well. 

I was on my way to L.A. (to be a professional writer, of course.) But my brother convinced me to first move down to Austin with him to get a feel for what a major move is like, and then move on to L.A.

Well... I never made it to LA, but the unofficial town slogan of Austin is "Keep It Weird" so I figured it was a sign from the gods that this would be my knew home (and perhaps final home, at the rate I'm going). 

I finally found out why I was so eccentric, weird, and sometimes had brief, and not so brief, psychotic episodes growing up, when I was eventually diagnosed with "Bipolar 1" AND "Extreme Panic Attacks" (which often had a crippling "Agoraphobia" just to add some spice to the panic) and all the medication I take (six kinds) sucked all my creative energy dry: several unfinished screenplays, a novel only just over half finished, art work abandoned, and the biggest casualty for me, my music has remained untouched for about 15 years now.

Oh, growing up, I did have great parent's who truly loved me, showed it, and told me so. Typical older siblings who only mildly, as per usual "bullied" the baby of the household, but always came together as, not too too close, but descent friends. I developed my own group of friends in middle and high school when we'd settled back in OKC even though I changed schools "four" friggin times by the time I graduated high school in 1990. We were all the outcasts at school which brought us closer together than the constant power struggle among the popular kids. 

But flash forward to 53 years old and I've become imprisoned by my own mind and the meds it requires to keep me sane (you know, that thing necessary to hold a job, pay rent and bills and food and clothes and housewares) I've worked at a "big box" store for nearly 25 years, stoned out of my gourd every day on 6 different medications. No friends, no girlfriends, it's all just blech! One big Shit Show. And now really really stuck in a hole in terms of finances. 

Father died of Alzheimer's and now my mother is batshit crazy from Dementia (she's 81). Oldest brother (who "tricked" me into movie down here) died of alcohol poisoning after a life of severe drug and alcohol abuse. 

I have my older sister and brother (the middle son but about 4 years older than me) they are still around, but they're about a 9 hour drive north of here, straight up I-35 into Oklahoma City with complicate lives of their own (my sister basically takes care of my mother. I don't know how she does it but she's a freaking SAINT!) 

RANDOME Deleted YouTube comments... part 1, psychology:

I have Bipolar 1 a.k.a. "Manic Depression" (a great Jimi Hendrix song, by the way) with both Mania and Depression, and sometimes both at once called a "mixed episode" which can make you feel like your personality has splintered and you are viewing something or thinking about something from two or more points of view at the same time! 

I also have "Extreme" Panic Disorder which comes along with a little friend called "agoraphobia" where I become convinced that if I leave my apartment I'm going to be murdered. 

I used to have very mild psychotic episodes as a teen, WAY before I was diagnosed. And have, luckily thus far, only had one major psychotic episode as an adult which I can currently remember (a few others one would consider "minor" like believing the video game "Silent Hill II" was designed exactly for me to take me to a higher level of existence. And I began to see parts of the visuals all over the place. From a foggy/misty day where the swimming pool area of my apartment complex was covered in a white cloud (similar scene in the game) to the look of one of the trucks we were unloading which had a roof which let in light through what looked like animal skin. 

But back to that "major break," one morning, after being off my opioids for 5 days, I became convinced that my brother, in Oklahoma City, had called a mental institution, down here in Austin, to send an ambulance out to get me and put me away. It finally resolved after my mother talked me down and we did some yoga breathing, and particularly when I got the 5 day delayed medication I was missing.

So, anyway, all that aside, I have, since at least teen-hood, had minor and far apart physical tics and twitches but they are NOT Tourette's but rather fall under "Tardive Dyskinesia" (which is now known to many people due to a heavy scattering of commercials for a  drug which supposedly treats it) which can be a side effect of a mental disorder. 

It also happens when I'm very upset and very depressed, and it can be very embarrassing when people see it. But man, oh man, it's nothing like the constant torment of Tourette's syndrome, sheesh. 

And, last but not least, it's not uncommon for people without any disorders to have a nervous tic when they feel very stressed. I.E. if you twitch, or have occasional tics, this is probably not Tourette's, but you might get a checkup by a Psychologist or Psychiatrist just to be on the safe side. 

(The difference between: a Psychologist: is usually a person with a degree or degrees in psychology, "talk therapy", and general counseling whom you go to to "discuss" your mental health and or any disorders. 

Whereas a  Psychiatrist is most often a "Doctor of Psychiatric Medicine" and is mainly geared towards "medication management" in the treatment of a "chemical imbalance" which is most likely causing your disorder. And you will seldom, if ever, discusses any behavioral problems you're having in any great detail (with the exception of something brief like, "I feel depressed" or, "I feel anxious") which the Dr. (with your input) will help decide what chemical paths [medications] one should take [and be prepared to be patient with it, it takes some experimentation to find the right balance for whatever "chemical imbalance" you have.]

I also used to have a verbal twitch going on back into my mid teens. (Once again, NOT Tourette's syndrome.)

If I thought of something I didn't want to be think of, or if the thought just popped up independently, then I would often whisper (loudly? can you whisper "loudly"?) the word "Death" which usually dismissed the thought, although sometimes it took a repetition of three, "death death death" to banish the thought. 

On a few occasions I was not careful and said this when someone I had not noticed was there, or they came around the corner just as I said it. But it was very easy just to pick up a tune saying "Tick Tock Tick. Doot doot doo doo." (from "Fly Like An Eagle") and only occasionally got a quizzical look. And one time at work a coworker said, "what was that?"

"What do you mean, I'm humming a song," and gave him some examples. But he still looked at me funny.

I was shocked? amazed? relieved in a way? when I stumbled upon a film on cable (and later, the complete uncut version on a "Criterion Edition" DVD remaster) of one of my all time favorite films, "The Ruling Class" starring Peter O'Toole as a paranoid schizophrenic who believes he's Jesus, but is brought to his family estate after his father dies to take his position in society and the House of Lords. About 75% in, the film takes a sudden dark turn, as he no longer believes he's Jesus (according to everyone; "he's cured!"), but now thinks he's an evil serial killer whose first name is known as "Jack" i.e. "Jack the Ripper" "Spring Heeled Jack" (Jack is his character's real name in the film.)

Anyway, when he was confronted by an idea when he thought he was Jesus and he rejected it he would say, "I put that into my galvanized pressure cooker. Whoop, Zang, and it's gone." 

I knew exactly what that was like.

(The Ruling Class (film) - Wikipedia)

The Lord of Shadow and Below

The Lord of Shadow and Below

My Life At School: The Grand Shit Show

My father was a priest and was constantly searching for his own church and his own way so we moved around a lot. I started out 1st and 2nd level Primary, then 1st and 2nd grade at a Christian Episcopal prep school in Oklahoma City, OK. 

I know you're really too young to make judgements like this, but I was very popular as a kid at that school. Endless friends, crushes on girls maybe a little too early for that (though I never did have a "girlfriend" back then.) 

Moving from Oklahoma City--- 

----short but necessary interruption: people are so freaking dumb and ignorant, OKc has one of the highest populations in the country, it's in the top twenty... now think about this, there are approximately 19,405 cities in the U.S. and OKc is in the top 20. So pull your head out of your ass, we don't have teepees. . . I could go on...) ----

---so we pulled out of the big city and moved to the city of my birth, second largest in the state, Tulsa Oklahoma. It was culture shock going to a public school with hundreds of kids where you could quickly be swallowed up by anonymity. It was the opposite at that small prep school. Everyone knew everyone. I found out very quickly that you couldn't just walk in and become the popular kid. I didn't know how to adapt, I'd never had to do it before. People began to dismiss me as "weird," a description I would carry for the rest of my life. 

On that first move I was very rapidly tossed down the rungs of the social ladder until I was at the very bottom, in the dirt, and had almost no friends except a few very cool ones who lived in my neighborhood. 

(as an aside: my school was directly, like a few steps, across the street from my house. It was exceedingly strange. But one benefit I had was that I just had to cross the dead end road to have access to the playground, the cent of which was one of those big wooden forts with sand at the base called a "Big Toy." I had the coolest time playing Star Wars figures there with the entire place to myself. A had recently been gifted a action figure sized Millennium Falcon which made it all the more cool [and a little prescient considering the "final" film of the actual factual "trilogy" began on Luke's home world, the dessert Tatooine (reminder, the big toy was on a big sand box.)]

Any way, back to my shit show life (great name for a tv show) I learned pretty quickly, through changing schools about every few years, that people hated the class brain, and the teachers pet. So, I became the class clown, the comedian, embraced the "weirdo" way. In doing impersonations and acting out movie (or cartoon for the best laughs) scenes. 

This got me a free pass from the bullies. They could yell at one kid down the hall, "meet me after school on the playground, I'm gonna kick your ass." And then turn around to me, "oh, Philip, do that British accent."

So, my advanced IQ and my natural ability to do well in all subjects became buried. I did poorly at schoolwork on purpose. A feat easily done by just not studying for tests, and not doing homework. And who would ever think the class clown was a genius? And this became so ingrained in my personality I couldn't shake it, even at college. I skated through classes (with the great exception for Literature and Art), faking my way along. 

I was shocked and really really pissed off that we had to take "electives" (I didn't elect these wastes of time!) which were basically reruns of high school. I went there to learn how to be a writer, not be a "Renaissance" man who could master Biology and Physics and Sociology along the way. Fuck all that!

It wasn't until my four semesters at the Masters level in the Creative Studies Department of the Liberal Arts college that I finally was doing what I wanted to be doing in every single class after 5 years of fucking about as an undergrad (oh, failed to mention, I ended up with a B.A. in English Literature and Criticism, and a stupidly "undeclared" minor in Art and Design (the head of the Graphic Design "wing" asked me to switch from English Lit to Graphic Design. He told me I had the right kind of mind for it, as well as the artistic chops. But I was set on becoming a writer. I wished I could be both.

So, back to Masters school: this was what I had imagined college was. It was unfortunate, and quite expensive, to fart around as an undergrad drowning in classes I despised. Here I was right were I belonged, class after class of perfecting my writing skills. 

(They'll tell you, and should tell you, in both Liberal Arts and in the Art Program, that you can't have "talent" taught to you, no matter how many classes you attend or how hard you try. Talent for a subject (or subjects) is something you're born with. You go to school to "perfect" your talent, to "sharpen" it. But by no means can anyone "teach you a talent."

Apparently the Art School had waded out into some deep waters by allowing people who didn't have any of these talents they so wanted to have, graduate with a degree. Graduates were coming back to the school to complain that they were unable to find any work based on their submissions and portfolio. They were being told, quite frankly by many prospects, that they just didn't have the raw talent necessary for the job. Not even an Art teacher at an Elementary school! You actually do have to be an artist to land that job... at most schools (sometimes they randomly shuffle someone like one of the sports coaches to fall in and teach out of a text book. Thankfully I always had wonderful art teachers who were actual artists and encouraged me on my own artistic path.) 

So, starting fairly early into my weird journey through the Art School I was running in to classmates who had been counseled to leave the Art School ("you're just not working out as an Artist, and we can't give you a degree just because you attend all the classes. We believe its in your best interests to feel around and find something else that you have a talent for.")

(shh... so we don't get sued by people we handed a degree but without the ability to land a job or otherwise use said degree.)

I counted myself lucky in both "schools" that Liberal Arts wanted me to remain in Liberal Arts, and that Art and Design wanted me to leave Liberal Arts for Art and Design (specifically Graphic Design.) It was a nice ego boost, but also, for a time, very very confusing.

Flash forward to Grad School: things, everything, went into the shitter by the end of the 90's and I never recovered. 

When I returned to Oklahoma City from living with my parents in little (but cool as hell) Muskogee Oklahaoma (birthplace of my father, and location of his last and favorite church, overwhich he was the Priest, Grace Episcopal Church. I've lost my self again, oh, I went back to Oklahoma City to finish out my Masters... ... and fuck all, they refused to give me anymore student loans. I only needed ONE more semester for my Masters in Creative Studies. But even after an appeal with notes from teachers I was told no. There was no way for me to pay for it myself. After going straight from Highschool in to College as an Undergrad and then into Grad school I had never actually had a "real" job, i.e. one that you could live on. Much less make enough money to also pay for Grad school!

After moving to Muskogee, Oklahoma, then back to Oklahoma City, then back to Muskogee again, I finally moved down to Austin, Texas on my way to L.A. (to be a professional writer, of course.)

I never made it to LA, but the unofficial town slogan of Austin is "Keep It Weird" so I figured it was a sign from the gods that this would be my knew home (and perhaps final home, at the rate I'm going). 

I finally found out why I was so eccentric, weird, and sometimes had brief, and not so brief, psychotic episodes growing up, when I was eventually diagnosed with "Bipolar 1" AND "Extreme Panic Attacks" (which often had a crippling "Agoraphobia" just to add some spice to the panic) and all the medication I take (six kinds) sucked all my creative energy dry: several unfinished screenplays, a novel only just over half finished, art work abandoned, and the biggest casualty for me, my music has remained untouched for about 15 years now.

Oh, growing up, I did have great parent's who truly loved me, showed it, and told me so. Typical older siblings who only mildly, as per usual "bullied" the baby of the household, but always came together as, not too too close, but descent friends. I developed my own group of friends in middle and high school when we'd settled back in OKC even though I changed schools "four" friggin times by the time I graduated high school in 1990. We were all the outcasts at school which brought us closer together than the constant power struggle among the popular kids. 

But flash forward to 53 years old and I've become imprisoned by my own mind and the meds it requires to keep me sane (you know, that thing necessary to hold a job, pay rent and bills and food and clothes and housewares) I've worked at a "big box" store for nearly 25 years, stoned out of my gourd every day on 6 different medications. No friends, no girlfriends, it's all just blech! One big Shit Show. And now really really stuck in a hole in terms of finances. 

Father died of Alzheimer's and now my mother is batshit crazy from Dementia (she's 81). Oldest brother died of alcohol poisoning after a life of severe drug and alcohol abuse. 

I have my older sister and brother still around, but they're 9 hours north in Oklahoma City with complicate lives of their own (my sister basically takes care of my mother. I don't know how she does it but she's a freaking SAINT!) 

I am woe. Woe is me?

"I feel-ah so break up, I wanna go home." --Dr. Emilio Lizardo from "Buckaroo Banzai" (a movie full of weirdos like me! hehe.)

After the end credits bonus scene: 

I've always been an abnormally fixated movie buff. One thing I tried to do for a long time was find a character in a movie who was the most like myself in real life. It was to be a kind of Intro To Me and my Behavior class for a weirdo class clown geniuses who have a talent for Art AND Literature.

Oh there were scores of characters I wished were me. Some of whom came pretty close (Luke Skywalker. I know thousands of people "want desperately" to be like Luke Skywalker, but study his personality, his weaknesses, his talents, that's pretty close to me. And when all is said and done, actually not someone you'd really actually want to be. He was an inexperienced farm boy who suddenly had to become this Messiah who would destroy the Empire and set the galaxy back on the "good side of the force." [and restore the great Temple? Oh, no, that's the Jewish Messiah.] See also: Paul Atreides for an almost "specific" allegory to the Jewish Messiah.) 

Much later on, in a galaxy far far fucking far away, Harry Potter and I shared some very similar circumstances. I was the school Chaplain's son, aka Father Berry's son. And I constantly heard, "oh, you're Father Berry's son. We expect great things from you." And (this is when I came back to the prep school after 5 years away) I was also bullied like Potter was. If you've seen the first Harry Potter then you know exactly what I mean.

But I finally found my doppelganger in the title character Martin in the somewhat obscure George A. Romero "unconventional" Vampire pic, "Martin." I was like, holy shit, that's me on the screen. Fat lot of good it did me though. I mean, watch the end of the movie to get some idea of how his quiet isolated self ended up.

(And, as with "Bladerunner," there's a kind of argument as to whether Martin really actually was a vampire, or was he just mentally ill. Romero thinks mentally ill. --I say "fuck that shit. Pabst Blue Ribbon." Okay, that was from "Blue Velvet"-- I believe Martin really was a vampire. I think the black an white flashback scenes of Martin, looking exactly as young now at 84 as he did then at 16, and the fact that his cousin, Tata Cuda, appears as an equally young man in the flashbacks, but, unlike Martin, he's now a very old grey haired man.

Fuck Romero (ha! not really,) the man has had, not as much as, but and on a smaller scale, a similar amount of an influence on the genre of horror cinema (and it's subtle allegory, lost on most casual viewers) where was I? Oh, Romero has had as much influence on the smaller scale horror genre as George Lucas with large scale space operas and how to make a good movie overall. (don't hang me over that statement. Its true to a reasonable degree.) 

I'll end today's sermon with a quote from Jeffery Goines, played by Brad Pitt, in the criminally underrated "12 Monkeys:"

"Fuck the bozos!"

Theme for the Book "The Sound of Silence" Titled "Matt's Theme"

 https://youtube.com/shorts/8aAseU9b8HI?feature=share

An attempt at creating a theme song for my unfinished novel "The Sound of Silence" the song is titled "Matt's Theme."

Enjoy (or not)

Solice In Silence for the Non Normals and the Austic and Jetta

 https://youtu.be/X2_dGJcV6Q0?si=-HOmwkL7DxJAAEsn

feedback test loop: Main YouTube Page

 https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCAxJ9q-7ACcqHYqO76pvCiA

The cult of the right hand, en masse.

The cult of the right hand, en masse.

They must have cast iron stomachs, because all the cool aid was drunk during the last version of this shit show, and there's no more left. They may have moved on to other means of dispatch to prove their devotion to their cult leader, and yet they seem to be immune to that as well. 

I'm beginning to think they didn't actually drink the cool aide at all but rather dumped it out when no one was looking. And whatever new suicidal means of proof of loyalty is being used (perhaps a hidden capsule in the mouth) they have found a way to spit that out when no one's looking as well.

So, the old king has no clothes on, and they cheer him still. 

How anyone could be so "accidentally " stupid as to not understand what a tariff is and how it "always" works and then proceed, after warnings, to destroy the U.S. and the World economies . . . that takes a very special kind of stupid, maybe the most special in the history of presidents, to go forward into heavy weather while ignoring all the weather reporters and meteorologists. Then getting sucked up into a tornado, spit back down in a different state, and then everyone who has plainly seen this superhero level stupidity just ignores it, and, like the followers of Tommy in the titular rock opera; 

"Welcome to the camp
I guess you all know why we're here
My name is Tommy and I became aware this year
If you want to follow me
You've got to play pinball
And put in your earplugs
Put on your eye shades
You know where to put the cork"

But there's never a moment where the cult of the orange man comes to their senses and yells [or sings] 

"We're not gonna take it, never did and never will.
Don't want no religion, as far as we can tell. 

We ain't gonna take you, never did and never will.
We're not gonna take you, we forsake you, 

gonna rape you,
Let's forget you better still."
(not so sure about the "rape you" part, kind of out of place.)

As I said, they never sing that part. 

They never reach that level of intellect and understanding. 

They're all too happy to oblige the jester king.

That part's only sung by the left hand. The hand that actually knows what the right hand is doing.

Every dog will have its day, but its 15 minutes of fame has been stretched out to years of pure unbridled evil.

Human beings have been on Earth for roughly 550,000 to 750,000.

"Are we, are we, are we ourselves." -- The Fixx

Human beings have been on Earth for roughly 550,000 to 750,000. 

If you are non-pulsed by this, count to ten and time it. Hmm... not so bad. Count to 100, time it. That's a lot harder. Now, increase that time to 1,000.000, its an overshot, but still shows the drama. Suddenly you discover it takes about 11 days, 13 hours, 46 minutes, and 40 seconds. Think about how you're at work for 9 hours, 8 hours working with an hour for lunch. Then think of time off after work, 8 hours of sleep, getting up getting ready and going back to work, 24 hours in a day, 48 hours in 2 days... 11 days, 13 hours, 46 minutes, and 40 seconds. It'd be like a marathon after a marathon, and so on.

Now imagine how many days week years decades centuries, millennia that we've been here. Though there is no proof, and it still hovers in the realm of "conspiracy theory" there could EASILY have been SEVERAL very complex civilizations that are so old any trace of them was wiped away by sun heat rain rust. If we can find a Pharaoh's tomb over 2000 years after it was put there, we think, "damn, that's a long time." But within the realm of 550,000 to 750,000 years, that's a mere blink of an eye.

I don't think it's likely that "extra-terrestrial" aliens have ever been to earth, but I do find it possible that ancient but far advanced civilizations of humans rose and fell, perhaps many times over. And perhaps some are still around.

Therefore, it is my opinion, that if they did find structures, buildings, cities, and UFO's checking them out; well, that's explained in my private pseudo-scientific philosophy (or mythology) by an advanced human race living under the oceans, or up on the moon.  

I don't believe in aliens, I mean to say, I'm certain that there are advanced forms of life in this giant universe, I just think its pretty much impossible for them to have developed the way we did and then built interstellar ships, and then found earth.. I don't believe in time travel (you'd mess up the current timestream so bad just by taking up airspace and breathing in it.) no Big Foot, Loch Ness Monster, Mothman, giant spiders, Chupacabra,  vampires (wouldn't that be cool), zombies (I hate the whole zombie thing, never got it. Watched tons of movies with lots of Italian films, just bored the crap out of me.)

Ghosts? Maybe. We have tons of data on ghosts, sound, video, etc.

Ah well, I've run out of steam.

End of line.....