Goodbye Blue Monday

maybe too much of a build-up in the title, but this is where the launchsite was;

i’ve officially become fascinated with being in the same physical space that was inhabited by extraordinary vehicles of death and destruction. apparently this site, fort tilden, has been home to massive implements of death since the teens. i thought it was just beginning to guard our harbor since world war two, but apparently it was since the great war (that’s world war one).
i’ll probably add those pics into this mix and story, whatever turns and twists it takes.
when it comes down to it for me, as many times as i might rail, casually or forcefully about guns and bombs and war and death, i probably won’t get into a political stance about anything anymore. such is the freedom of letting go….
…of america’s violent history because it’s part of this world’s violent history which is just part of humanity’s violent history.
we’re vicious fucking animals.
some humans are cannibals wearing brooks brothers’ or chanel suits.
there’s a type of personality that’ll get what it wants by any means necessary.
humans can be such bad-asses. these are the “capitalists” that ayn rand forgot about but it’s much clearer now that i know that she never wrote that book, rather the author was one of those con-artist lizards that made a meal out of her and can still be heard laughing when they do readings on the veranda that can be seen if you’re ronald coleman, louis XIIIth, jimi hendrix, leon trotsky or roy cohn and have protons or electrons or any of that other universal “matter-on-the-go” passing by a convenience stop at the speed of light and looking back, because you know when you’re traveling at the speed of light, the best you’ll do is gllance very briefly, provided you’re somewhere near the eighth-plasma-ocean of the ninth-dimension, which is pretty easy to do because every now and then i’ll close my eyes for just part of a second and find myself there for days and days.
“what a great vacation” i might say to myself, “and i dont even have to pack or unpack.”

i choose to believe that this planet floats along on the celestial “lucky river” and the milky way is but a pee-stream next to a galactic country stream that connects to a universal babbling brook that lets out to vast river of time and space that is a tributary of a larger river that sits on the head of a pin and so on and so on…

for now, for the moment, i am part of a silent room that is goodbye blue monday in the midst of our live yoga show, today entitled “yoga time!!!”
it’s 4pm, thursday.
maybe so “peppy” a show title shouldn’t be for such a silent and breathing-oriented experience, but i recall an earlier show (we have different teachers, therefore, different styles) where it was more “yoga time!!!” than this.
this is the “yoga experience.”
in between this show and the first one was a show that could have been called “yoga yowee!”
i haven’t heard too much pain this week, as opposed to the “yowee” show.
maybe the show each week should be called “gbm’s freeform yoga show” with our tagline something like;
“we do our yoga like we do our music – freeform,”
but i’m just waiting till i can go and have dinner with my dear old dad, something that will and has happened, and i’ve come home and days have gone by and i’ve become a bit of a political note-dropper out there in note-land (what used to be known as blogland).
but that’s another story and i’ll get back to that somewhere up the line….

back to my hunt for lizard-lounges under the beaches of brooklyn and queens.


this is the remains of a nike missile-missile launcher.
it’s got old-school wiring harnesses, making me believe what i felt about general motors reliability when i was a kid was tied into this place where nuclear weapons were aimed at threats from above.

i was once in a pontiac like this one except it was dark green. it had the amber pontiac-indian head like you see as this car’s hood ornament. i thought it was the coolest thing in the world.
this was the stuff made by the smartest, best country in the world.
i remember being told to wait in the car one day when i was a little kid.
it was wintertime and i think my original-equipment father was taking my mother to the doctor. i waited in the car.
it was cold enough that i got an idea.
i pressed the cigarette lighter and when it popped out and was hot, i put it in my cupped hands and warmed myself with it. when the coils cooled, i depressed the lighter again and when it popped out, i did it again, but this time, i brought it close to my face.
so close, in fact, that the coil went “sssssss” on my right cheek, just below my eye and boy, that wasn’t good.

this an artistic rendering of what was “ssssss-ed” onto my cheek that day, except it was about a half-inch in diameter, but it was a perfect spiral like this;

but back to nuclear warheads, grifting lizards and the other good old days;
we will eventually be back to doing this shit with sticks and stones.
i can almost see it.
oh, and that’s if we’re lucky.
it’s all about luck at this point and chances are, it always was.

as an owner of a 1959 triumph TR-3, i relate to this stuff and i get such a laugh at the notion that the end of the world hinged on such technology.
british cars from the fifties were notorious for bad electrical wiring and a severe inability to make a decent gasket. thank goodness they were on the other side of the ocean.
you know, just in case.
i also wonder if they had a cigarette lighter located on the weapons board down there underground. hell, you used to be able to smoke in hospitals.
imagine that!
back then, there were cigarettes everywhere and the tobacco companies always made sure there were lighters everywhere for everyone.
thank you, thank you, thank you.

sorry – it’s hard to concentrate on weapons of death while this cigarette thing has a hold of me. it’s been almost thirteen years and every now and then, well, you know……

i guess i’m still distracted a bit by addiction.
HA!

take a look at the building in the background of the pics above and below…

hydraulics and stainless steel never change – even for death machines.

but then there was the hatch and the ladder down.

having maxx prevented me from going down there. oh and i was scared shitless.
that was another consideration. no flashlight. that was another one. i bet they could smoke down there, i said to myself.
the underground missile storage area was here as well as the “room.” there wasn’t a grifting lizard to be seen and that would have much to do with their ability to know where i am and where i’m going.
i understood completely. i don’t like to show people my apartment, either and theirs is a total mess.
i walked around and snapped more shots that i could line up with the past, like this;

which used to be this;

if land on earth were able to conjure up human thought and if it could sit on a barstool and recount past glories, the difference between this place as it is now and the way it was then reminds me of max bialystock’s speech to gene wilder from the producers;

i don’t doubt i fit in this critique somewhere.
for all i know, i’ve stated this before.
maybe max bialystock is an allegory for america.
academic creative accounting indeed.
is america wearing a cardboard belt?

ok. that’s a reach.

….with the daily show and fast money this past week, i’ve become a “two-cents” add-er to jossip and a few of those news-notes sites. i’m trying to figure out how it is that admitted criminal behavior in those clips that jon stewart referred to during the thursday-night- cramer-bitch-slap, the ones where cramer talks about manipulating the market by means of passing rumors and such, haven’t been seized upon and investigations haven’t been started about such obvious questionable activity.
but then again……

One Response to “into the lair of the con-artist lizards from mars”

  1. Goodbye Blue Monday » Blog Archive » and then i went and talked to the eduardo cianelli-sounding guy…

    […] glimpse the grifting lizards peeling stacks of american greenbacks while grinning and laughing, a member of the party reading aloud tracts from “atlas shrugged,” while members of the party hold their stomachs and others yet wipe tears of laughter from their […]

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