Redneck Speaks to My Condition

CLICK ME !

My folks had a chicken farm in rural Robbinsville, NJ in the middle 1940s.

I know what it is like to use a burlap sack as a sunshade or umbrella and pick potatoes out of the ground all morning. The Sun is brutal. After I started crying, my folks put me in the barn where I could harass the kittens. I was four maybe. And they went back to picking.

My parent's grew Tomatoes for Campbell's Soup in Camden and Eggs and Chickens for all comers.

So even though I am an immigrant's Pole/Wop child from New Jersey, I claim honorable redneck status. I know about ridicule because you talk funny. I know about living off the Earth and reading books. Jeffersonian. This man speaks to my condition.

Traditional Art / Paintings / Still Life©2016 ab39z

I Loves Me Some Nasty Women. Been there and done that.

Always Unsuitable

She wore little teeth of pearls around her neck.
They were grinning politely and evenly at me.
Unsuitable they smirked. It is true

I look a stuffed turkey in a suit. Breasts
too big for the silhouette. She knew
at once that we had sex, lots of it

as if I had strolled into her diningroom
in a dirty negligee smelling gamy
smelling fishy and sporting a strawberry

on my neck. I could never charm
the mothers, although the fathers ogled
me. I was exactly what mothers had warned

their sons against. I was quicksand
I was trouble in the afternoon. I was
the alley cat you don't bring home.

I was the dirty book you don't leave out

for your mother to see. I was the center-
fold you masturbate with then discard.

Where I came from, the nights I had wandered
and survived, scared them, and where
I would go they never imagined.

Ah, what you wanted for your sons
were little ladies hatched from the eggs
of pearls like pink and silver lizards

cool, well behaved and impervious
to desire and weather alike. Mostly
that's who they married and left.

Oh, mamas, I would have been your friend.
I would have cooked for you and held you.
I might have rattled the windows

of your sorry marriages, but I would
have loved you better than you know
how to love yourselves, bitter sisters.

Copyright 1999 Early Grrrl: the Early Poems of Marge Piercy Leapfrog Press

MOLON LABE PUSSY GRABBERS - Sign of the Month October 2016

Monsters by Andrea Dietrich

Monsters live in houses, like you and I. 

They eat and sleep and go to work each day. 

They laugh and they feel pain.
Perhaps they cry!

They have different games they like to play.
They need to have control.
Therefore, most seek a victim
who is young or not so strong.

They think they are almighty,
but their mind is weak. 

Depraved, they pay no heed to right or wrong. 

They may seem crude, but some of them are slick. The ones with brains play too well at their game.

All monsters love what normal folks find sick. 

They brutalize and rape, and feel no shame. Beware! One could be living on your street or be that charming guy you’ve chanced to meet!

::: pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy :::

Take this as an invitation to show us your precious pussy. Meow. A picture of your cat will do. Heh. Or find us another pussy song and post it in the comments.

Photograph is a flower Hydnora africana.

Hydnora africana is an plant native to southern Africa that is parasitic on the roots of members of the Euphorbiaceae family. The plant grows underground, except for a fleshy flower that emerges above ground and emits an odor of feces to attract its natural pollinators, dung beetles, and carrion beetles. The flowers act as traps for a brief period retaining the beetles that enter, then releasing them when the flower is fully opened.

Crooked Hillary

I am voting for Crooked Hillary. Crooked Trump gets caught. I like people who do not get caught.

Now that mess is dealt with, this is why we must persevere and wear the name Social Justice Warrior with pride. The children are watching us and weeping.

Thus saith the LORD; A voice was heard in Ramah, lamentation, and bitter weeping; Rachel weeping for her children refused to be comforted for her children, because they were not. Jeremiah 31:15

Van Gogh Paintings Recovered

2 Stolen Van Gogh Recovered By Anti-Mafia Police In Italy

September 30, 2016
CAMILA DOMONOSKE 

Anti-mafia police in Naples, Italy, have recovered two paintings by Vincent van Gogh that were stolen from a museum in Amsterdam more than a decade ago.
The Van Gogh Museum announced Friday that a curator inspected the two works, at the request of Italian authorities, and 'drew a firm conclusion: They are the real paintings!' 

The director of the Van Gogh Museum, Axel Rüger, said the museum owed a debt of gratitude to Dutch and Italian authorities. 'The paintings have been found!' he said in a statement. 'That I would be able to ever pronounce these words is something I had no longer dared to hope for.' Read more...

I traveled to the Brooklyn Museum to see the Van Gogh exhibit. I had to stand in a long line of art lovers cheek by jowl. 

I Got a Flu Shot and What is Truth?

It tired me out that shot. I can I do nothing but have flan for breakfast. I like it when my day starts with a laugh and the joke has historical precedent.

Did your Mom fall for "Not my fault. It was Jimmy who made me do it. Honest, Mom, I did not want to."?

"No matter what is said up there (in Newark), I had no knowledge prior to or during these lane realignments," Christie said. "I had no role in authorizing it. I had no knowledge of it. And there has been no evidence ever put forward that I did." - Chris Christie

and an oldie but a goody.

In the presence of English Barons, Henry II—who is now utterly vexed by Becket's actions—cries out: Will no one rid me of this troublesome priest? Believing the King meant for Becket to be murdered, four knights ride to Canterbury Cathedral and kill Becket on December 29, 1170.
Murder of Thomas Becket - Awesome Stories

and a nothing with a tautology

The way to stop discrimination on the basis of race is to stop discriminating on the basis of race. - John G. Roberts Jr.  

See what happened when the Roberts court did that and what I predicted here and what happened here. 

What is truth?...I am innocent of the blood of this just person; see ye to it. - Pontius Pilate

Evidently this is tradition. It is somebodys other than the real perpetrator who should take care of the mess. We take good care of and give money to the mass poisoner and ignore the poisoned with our taxes. The Big Mahoff never goes to jail. It is no longer a sane strategy to be law abiding in the USA.

Any man can lose his hat in a fairy-wind. - Irish Proverb - UPDATE

John Michael Gray of The Hat Sisters has gone to glory. Rest in Peace and Feathers. A GoFundMe site has been set up to help Gray’s husband and Hat Sisters partner defray medical expenses. From the page:

In time of great social turbulence, profound illness, isolation and heartbreak in the gay community, John Michael Gray and Tim O’Connor created an extrodinary and heroic presence, by creating flamboyant works of fascinator haberdashery. The Hat Sisters joyously and generously entertained people from all walks of life with their unique and artistic fashion statement. They did not walk away from controversy. They walked towards acceptance, breaking down barriers of prejudice wherever they went. Just as they walked for us then, we will walk for them now.

I need to get out more. I just found The Hat Sisters. They have been making hats for fun, charity and each other for 30 years. I love hats. The Hat Sisters could be seen in their natural habitat at Carnival in Provincetown in July for many years. 

Filth and Dirt - Censorship and Poetry

Disqus is an internet comment system I use on my blog.

Dear doG, I hate internet censorship with all my heart and soul. Disqus channels' robot censor suspends Charles Bukowski. A Poetry site. He is unacceptable. I wonder if he will ever get out of PENDING. 

I tell you the truth, I cannot live in a world where Bukowski is unacceptable and I cannot use the word SLUT in a bit of Doggerel. I wonder if I will ever get out of PENDING.

Here is my doggy silly transgression:

Suckabee!
He's oozing all over me.
Fat right winger on a spree,
Peddling God for the GOP.

Suckabee!
Calling me 'slut' for a fee,
To takeThe Pill from me,
Peddling shame and eternity.

Suckabee!
Left FUX Snooze TV,
To run for the Presidency
An act of cupidity.

Refrain:
Just ignore the crucifix in the parlor.
Suckabuck sells Jesus for the dollar.

Here is what the great Bukowski is not allowed to say. And he is such a cute old guy. I think he was old when he was young. And he got younger when he got older.

Ultimately, when I think about it, I have been pretty unacceptable at times. When you are bipolar, you tend unacceptable. So take the grain of salt with the whining.

Back To The Machine Gun - Poem by Charles Bukowski

I awaken about noon and go out to get the mail
in my old torn bathrobe.
I'm hung over
hair down in my eyes
barefoot
gingerly walking on the small sharp rocks
in my path
still afraid of pain behind my four-day beard.

the young housewife next door shakes a rug
out of her window and sees me:
"hello, Hank!"

god damn! it's almost like being shot in the ass
with a .22

"hello," I say
gathering up my Visa card bill, my Pennysaver coupons,
a Dept. of Water and Power past-due notice,
a letter from the mortgage people
plus a demand from the Weed Abatement Department
giving me 30 days to clean up my act.

I mince back again over the small sharp rocks
thinking, maybe I'd better write something tonight,
they all seem
to be closing in.

there's only one way to handle those motherfuckers.

the night harness races will have to wait.