sprockethawk

scene from the hard-to-find film, Embassy, starring the Rifleman Chuck Connors, who tells an American embassy official some harsh truths about our baleful hegemony. His line, "Like coleslaw," just killed me and earned the ex-Celtics player (during the all-white era), a backhander from the glaring hegemonist.

In the near future, in a new Dark Age, the Beasts take over, culling dissenters one by one, luring us to our deaths by playing on our empathy. Beasts who take the final screams of their previous victims and sound them out to lure empathetic humans to their horrific demise.

Two Sonnets On Our War With Russia by John Kendall Hawkins 1. We Miss Boris Yeltsin Blues Yikes, I keep having visions of Yeltsin dancing like a Mandela fool, his soft snapping fingers doing legless Russian squat work -- The Barynya! -- gin-soused, Western-friendly, “Slick Willy,” his best friend in the world, laughing at his wit -- The Cold War’s End!; The KGB saw an orthodoxal sinner. Putin wept, swore -- the humiliation lingers to this day, when proud Russian troops are advancing to the Ukrainian border to “exercise.” We gave them Yeltsin and maybe they gave us Trump for seeing the world according to Forrest Gump, choc’laty boxful and yum-fulfilling surprise. I’m on Russian roulette life support, three clicks in, and then I fade to black and big bang mortal sin. 2. Let the Panic Games Begin The Russians first gave a mad world Covid-19 vaccine in August ‘20 and called it Sputnik. The shit hit the fans of Cold War types who could glean the meaning of Russia’s ruling fooling nutnik, Vlad Putin, bare chested Pale Rider on horseback. And suddenly, in her panic, America was flooding the market with Covid vaccine gack, driving vaxxers and MAGAs to Hysterica. Personally, I saw trouble with the Stuxnet, the homophonic excess bristled me jib, firing one over the bow of the cybernet, knowing the Yanks’ “Wasn’t me” was a fib. Rolling pearlharbors ahead -- why not sputniks, too? Ice Station Zebras. Open the gates of the zoo.

Fair Use excerpt from Borat Subsequent Moviefilm. Rudy Giulianai, after claiming during an interview with our young lass, that China intentionally began the pandemic, takes her up on her offer to go into the bedroom for a drink. He inexplicably lies down on the bed and begins fishing for old Nemo, when, lo and NoNo, Borat comes rushing in to save the day for the "underage" teen.

War Hawk and former US Counterterrorism Czar Duane Clarridge, who dropped jaws when he told investigative journalist John Pilger that America would move on any nation at any time under the rubric of "national security," and if the world didn't like it it could "lump it." Here, Clarridge, the deep state insider, tells the world that the Saudis have a nuke, and probably obtained it from their special relationships with Pakistanis. (See Abbottabad.)

O, the kennel-heads are yap-yap-yapping at a red squirrel up a crazy tree, they woof, It’s our backyard; here’s our decree: Drop your dumpling-nuts, hooves tap-tap-tapping, while they wait for the rodent’s decision. It’s scurrilous, what you alphas propose -- conquests of liberty with lifted nose, said Hong Kong Po with wide-toothed derision. At that point opium gas was applied; Red’s army fell asleep to Mao-Tao dreams, and woke up mid-night with wild Dow Jones screams, Uncle Sam! Uncle Sam! the squirrels cried. Yankee grins shone from sea to shiny sea: Thing is, they were barking up the wrong tree.

Flammarion Woodcut, Anonymous Artist (c. 1888) Sonnet: Dog Stars? Are You Serious? by John Kendall Hawkins I read something not too long ago about stars devoid of light and life -- phosphorescent dog bones at the end of time that no god will ever claim, or dig up space to hide from other sniff-gods, who woof at themselves in a mirrored feedback lark -- one by one, snuffed out, until nothing’s left, nothing. Dead universe, a one-in-the-many frothing, cork-popped cathedrals lit by vigils in the dark of the remembered dreams we call Multi. The odds are against finding any two ideas the same and yet synchronicity brings its rhymes and koans out of which a paradigm appears: The First Cause. Noam (sic) sails by instinct now, digital sun breaking through the cloud, hexadecimal sea. One.

fair use excerpt from the film Betrayed (1988), with Debra Winger and Tom Berenger. The film is loosely based on real events involving the rise of militias and vigilantes groups in America, with Winger's character paying an FBI agent gone undercover to expose a militia group.She falls in love with Tom, partly, maybe mostly, because of his adorable children (the mom has died). This scene reflects the early onset of hatred in young minds already enslaved to adult evil thinking. It's one of the most disturbing depictions of childhood molestation I have ever seen.