God is a giant Hen

Balls Bazook and God, the giant Hen


   God is a giant Hen. Who knew? Well, a zill zill people know out + about in the galaxy, but Earthlings was in The Dark.

   When She clucked about this <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Iraq debacle being a chickenfeces¹ war, She was clucking about deityfeces big time.


   Our giant Hen who art in Heaven is rather a sardonic Fowl, truth be told, sooth be said. She ruffled Her feathers vexedly and turned to giant randy Rooster Randy, her consort, and clucked tinct with vex + saddish, “Blazing feathers, randy Rooster Randy, I may have really laid an egg, a pondu un oeuf, ha fatto un uovo, puso un huevo when I popped out egg Earth. No yolk, randy Rooster Randy,” She sighed as he began to shake his beet-burgundy-colored wattles in an effort to cheer Her up.


   “The yolk’s on you!” he crowed cheerfully. Political philosophy was not always randy Rooster Randy’s finest forte, but trying to cheer up Hen was. There is no Hen but Hen. Her fabulous feathers glistened like rubies and Her eyes shone like fathomless emeralds. She was as fine and shining a Hen as could be Seen or Known or Shown. She shone. She shone like the suns She had laid, that parade of suns which comprised galaxies. Our Hen who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy feathers.

   Balls Bazook greeted our God who art Hen and her consort randy Rooster Randy with the easy familiarity of old pals. Hen didn’t stand upon ceremony with Her pals, but She was plenty pissed with a lot of egg Earth’s dimwit denizens.

   As soon as Her gleaming emerald eye lit upon Balls, She cried, “Balls, what in chickenfeces Hell is going on down there on My egg Earth? I am about to land an official load of major league chickenfeces on that – that –“ She clicked Her beak dreadfully, “that pipsqueak, that popinjay little King George, a fragrant message from Mother, I’ll tell you.”

   Randy Rooster Randy, half of whose feathers were a glorious obsidian black and half were a pearlescent moonstruck tajmahalian white, sent a ruby-eyed glance of warning to Balls. “Do not provoke the Squawk” the glance urgently urged. If Hen got vehemently vexed enough, She could lose chickenwisdom, lose chickenrestraint, lose chickenfondness for Her Creation and lay the Edict of Squawk upon egg Earth and neither pity nor mercy would or could stay the tumult.

   She clearly loved Balls dearly, but in that tremulous, potential moment, She detested him like a vermin, like a maggot for being of the so-failed, so complacent, so vicious human race which didn’t even have the wisdom or courtesy to eat the corpses of the humans they slaughtered.

   Hen gazed with a blaze of amazing contempt at Balls, her giant turquoise claws tapping percussively on the diamond-tiled floor of the boudoir of the Hen Mansion of Heaven.

   Balls felt terrified, like a gnat, like a potato bug, an inconsiderable snack for a hungry and angry God.

   “The least they could do,” seethed a very unpleased God, Hen, “the least that Dickless Cheney could do is eat the people he arranges to have slaughtered and leave that many cows alone. I like cows better, by very far, than I like people these days. I am exceedingly disappointed in the very unsapiens homos and homas wasting the Earth of their birth, their glorious and beautyfraught, abundant earthright on bombmaking and gunmaking. I am sickened.” Her beak clicked with deitific enunciation.

   “You take a message back to egg Earth, Balls,” She said. “If they could interrupt their bloodbathing long enough to listen to their irate Creator, tell them their Mother, Hen, is ready to let the chickenfeces hit the fan if they don’t stop where they stand and observe with some calm and complete chickenwisdom the very unholy mess they have made. Not one thought more, not one cent more, ever, for destruction. All thinking, all acting, all wishing, all ways for construction from this hour forth. AHen, so it be.”

   Hen paused and pinned him with her glittering eye. “No yolk, Balls. I will chickenfece these bums to queendom come if they fail to quail. Reform is required. Pledge on the Holy Egg to deliver this message from your Mother, Hen, Balls Bazook, denizen of egg Earth. If they do not heed this exceeding warning, Balls, the Edict of Squawk will be invoked, have zero doubt.”

   She clicked her bright banana-yellow beak and turned away in deity-abrupt dismissal. But a tiny ruby feather fell at his feet as a talisman, a token of grace, of chickenhope. We could repair, we could forswear.

   Balls tenderly placed the tiny feather in the locket with the picture of  Fla Mingo which she didn’t know he carried on his farflung forays.

¹ On Hardball, Major General John Batiste, ret., said
“Donald Rumsfeld is still at the helm of the Department of Defense, which is absolutely outrageous. He served up our great military a huge bowl of chicken feces, and ever since then, our military and our country have been trying to turn this bowl into chicken salad. And it’s not working.”



in excerpt, e-referencedesk;

above, sparklenet, cromer;


see rhode island reds, google images;


If you know or are an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com


It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.


Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2006 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:


3 The Road . Eb . Grass . Rattlesnake Tooth . South . tzol 190  08.27.06 sun

877 days/2y4m24d left/1418  




the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead


Balls Bazook & Colonel Fogofwar

Balls Bazook and Colonel Fogofwar, part 7

   “Did you ever serve the red, white and blue, Bazook?” asked Colonel Fogofwar who ruled Asteroid 399 with an iron fist. Literally. He’d had his left hand blown off in 2119, the middle of the AmerIraq War which began on <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />March 20, 2003. He’d had the shattered stump fused with a clenched iron fist.


   There were few beings on Asteroid 399 except for the Myrmydons and he taught then to march in phalanxes and to salute when he blew his mind-cleansingly shrill silver whistle.

   “Saluting’s important, Bazook. it reminds everyone of who is in charge. Not unlike the sign of the self-inflicted noose or tie that corporate slaves obediently knot around their own neck every morning to prove with an outward and visible sign of herd-willing humiliation their submission to the corporate overlords. ‘I am not a troublemaker. I won’t stray too far. So long as I can have a Weber grill, a BMW automobile, and a brassette-trophy wife and the Superbowl, I am willing to forfeit and even forget dignity and originality and my spunky, punky peculiar freedom whatever that might have been.’”

   Colonel Fogofwar blew a sudden piercingly shrill blast on his silver whistle and the nearby undulating carpet of tiny ants stood still and each raised a delicate right front leg to its erect antennae. A second shrill blast released them to their unending tasks.  

   “I train 'em one at a time, Bazook. If you want real allegiance, you have to break down each spirit so it will sin on your behalf. Now, we all know, if you cut through the turkey offal, that to kill another humming being is a wrong and a dreadful act. the sin among sins, in fact. If I can twist your sunshine mind so you will kill on my command, I have stolen and stained your soul. You will have to justify my rationales however mad because you are complicit and to denounce me is to show the raw and writhing wound of your own maggot acts. Ant or man, Bazook, kill your own kind and you have lost your mind and it is mine.

   “Every time I get a new recruit from Queen Myrmydon – and hey, I have no idea, none, why she keeps shipping me her unwounded, delighted and still hopeful sons to be my myrmidon minions. But the first thing I do is snip 1/3 off their right antennae. A visible and outward sign that they are no longer their own ant.

   “Power over men’s or ant’s souls is a lovely ting, Bazook. You should try it. When I skipped from captain to colonel, I gained an inch, I swear. I get to define ‘cowardice’ as being refusal or even hesitation to do what I say. It’s like being a potter, but instead of the stuff of clay, it’s the stuff of souls over which I hold sway. Not unlike God, Bazook, not unlike God.”

   Colonel Fogofwar was immaculate in what in non-military fashion would be his considerably too tight uniform. Uniform buttons used actually to be real brass (like colonels’ balls) in the good old days when each officer had a button-polishing servant. His jacket was as tight as a corset, though it is not recommended that you mention that to him.

   Colonel Fogofwar was hewn from a square template. His jaw, head, shoulders, and stance were square. Sheldon outlined the physiopsychocharacteristics of human physical and psychological structures. the somatotonic is square. These are the generals et ilk. They naturally stride as if a walking phone booth. They are the 1/3 of people who make 2/3 of the noise at a sporting event. If they get upset, they require fast, hard action to resolve the disturbance —  driving fast or playing fierce football or tennis, actually or vicariously.

  Somatotonics have horizontal integration which means it’s as if they had a steelplate across the bottom of threir brain – their thoughts do not go down to include an assessment of their feelings. this allows them to send a battalion of men or ants to certain mutilation as if they were mere checkers on a boardgame. A vertical integration type would have doubts, dismays.

   Colonel Fogofwar had the de rigueur billboard of ‘ribbons’ displayed over the hole where his heart ought to have been. By the way, don’t make the mistake of thinking the somatotonic isn’t awash in ersatz feeling. They are sodden with sentiment, the kind of canned feeling you find in Hallmark cards, convenient so you don’t have to search for any authentic and doubtless awkward feelings of your own. they can ooze sentiment after a few bourbon and branch waters. Recall that Hitler loved his dog.



ribbon image google, vspa


If you know or are an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com


It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.


Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2006 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:


11 Deer . Manik . West . tzol 185  08.22.06 tues

882 days/2y4m29d left/1413  




the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead


pogblog Glossary .. [on-going .. update 09-19-06]

pogblog's Glossary .. updated 09<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />-19-06

pogblog's Glossary amplifies pogblog's fierce & droll vocabulary — both the coined or invented stuff & the nifty or nefarious words you may not have discovered yet; for people who love words as much as mangoes or a great forward pass or an icepick in Dick Cheney's right eye; or for the just plain baffled .. With obsidian humor and assorted other confections and delicacies of a certain melodious madness ..

includes:  àdroit; aleph ocean;  amethyst; anodyne;  après; assonance; Big Lie; blogovel; blood-dimmed  tide;  Blue/Bleu; Bush html stop; carpe comedy;  cf; chatoyant; clint; clive/full; contest(pogblog Glossary Game); crapaud; Digrif;  e=mc2; eclectic; enfers sanglant; enriched light; filigree; FixedIntelGate; frabjous joy;  frisson; full clive; funes; gallynipper; gateau; grb gamma ray burst; grok; gwatwareg; hasyasattva; hoi polloi; holosphere; karlsputin rove; legerdelengua; lq/lizard quotient; luddite; Mardi Gras; masochists;  maw; meme; mobbal; multiverse/many-poem place; mystery; nada; noosphere; obsidian humor; oneiro; passive belligerence; perfect pain; pinguid; pog; political engineering; polyglot; reagan's law; riro/reptile in reptile out; spooner; spiteful puffadder; stele; stynking synnes vile; suburbanality; sursurly; third base; toot doot; tzolkin; vouchsafe; vrai; wmd brain; warp-rinth; wolfofwolfs;

05-05-05 dedicated to obsidian fuller, an daily birthday present tinct with whimsy — enfers sanglant, amigo lobo, ami de ma vie, toujours et un jour .. 

andy goldworthy please see dvd rivers & tides

àdroit  .. clever or nifty from French; C’est àdroit – That’s clever. (Sorry about this recent obsession with àccènts – I just learned the trick of doing the accents on the keyboard in balky, not-so-friendly usually, mostly passive-belligerent MS Word. I’m in a zèal; no worries, it will pass. [To do the backward accent, it’s Ctrl, accent /on key left of the number 1/, then type the ‘e’ or ‘a.’ To get the other accent, it’s Ctrl ‘ (apostrophe), then the letter.] Actually the root of the word is à droit. Droit = right in French. Gauche = left.) I’m going to add ‘agauche’ to ‘adroit.’ One could say “That was a tad agauche perhaps” and have it be more a glancing blow than declaring, “You are clearly an imbecile.” (Yes, yes, I know ‘gauche’ exists, but it’s more harmful and doesn’t have adroit as its escort to the Word Ball.) Très àdroit .. very clever .. trezahdrwah. 06.05.06

aleph ocean .. the aleph ocean is where we live when we seemingly sleep or when we dearly & daffily muse or other meanderings of consciousness from the rigider paths of sense and logic . Its leitmotif, its signature feel is a melodic celtic knotting of times and of densities. 10.22.05

amethyst .. The OED entry is:1580 SIDNEY Arcadia II. (1654) 141 The bloodie shafts of Cupids war, With amatists they headed are.  //Oh my. Beastly Cupid’s arrows are tipped with amethysts? That explains it. My heart is stilled. 06.18.05

anodyne .. a drug, a repression, a cotton-candyifying layer of insulation between your conscious mind and the atrocities, large and small, (and never secret to the hapless universe) that you have committed willfully and have tried to hide &/or justify with creeds or legerdelengua, slithering sleights of  the forked tongue. 08.13.05

après ..  means after in French, as in après-moderne which is what comes after post-modern; will probably get gutterized as après-modern, but I'm fond of the French flair; ah-pray-moh-dare-n; 06.03.05


assonance .. is the vowel echoes, often internal that give a phrase or a sentence its full-bodied richness. Consonance is the consonant equivalent. Both these elements of the music of writing comprise alliteration. 05.30.05

Big Lie
.. The Big Lie was perfected by the Nazis and slid into American politics in a brazen way in the 2000 coronation. The basic idea is that you can say something even the opposite of the truth often enough and with convincing conviction enough and the innocent will believe it. WMD. Healthy Forests Act. Clean Air Act.  . . .How are the naïve, thee & me, so easily duped? Well, there’s the RaceHorse Haynes Factor. 30 years or so ago, I was watching the Dick Cavett Show, like Larry King, but smarter, wryer. It’s important to this fablet, this parable to remember that Dick Cavett had a Tom Sawyer, boyish, good American lad appearance. RaceHorse Haynes was a dashing famous superlawyer of the time. He was from Texas and oozed charisma by the bucket. One was, as I’m sure his juries were, spellbound. The shocking, nay shattering, point he made that has stuck with me all these years came when he said, “Dick, if you had murdered – minced —  your sweet old granny, I could guaranteed get you off in spite of ironclad evidence. You do not fit the unconscious inner picture that each juror has of what a murderer must look like. To them, you look too handsome, cute, baby-faced, blue-eyed to be a killer.

    “On the other hand, this gentle soul who has never so much as bruised a fly, if he has a certain dark and creepy look, they’ll convict him every time on the flimsiest evidence or no evidence.”

     So Karlsputin Rove and Ralph Reed and George Bush don’t look evil. And even Dick Cheney sounds avuncular so they say.

   The reason the Big Lie works on us sweet sheeps so effectively is that the words are spoken in the Form of Truth. (Like with a killer, we're sure we know what lying looks like.) I thought repeatedly for 20 years until this very day that my pathological Gambler friend was redeemed, cleaned up, telling the Truth this time because if I looked and acted like that, I would be telling the truth. He tells a seamless Lie better than I tell the truth. You believe the bastards because you’re not a bastard. . . Cynicism is not the response though. Alertness is. Trust but verify. 07-31-05


blogovel .. a blog novel — like pogblog's ToadSpawn, Be Gone! the Exorcizm of GeorgeBush from America's Soul — a mad dickensian masterpiece of serial venom. We coined the word as far as we know. Read ToadSpawn, Be Gone! 05-05-05

<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” /> 

blood-dimmed tide .. from Yeats, The Second Coming; http://www.well.com/user/eob/poetry/The_Second_Coming.html  The ‘slouches’ in the last line is also echoed in the beginning of pogblog’s Love letter to Lewis H. Lapham, June 2, 2005.

   The poem’s “The best lack all convictions, while the worst/Are full of passionate intensity” remains as forlornly chilling as when he wrote it. And “…but now I know/That twenty centuries of stony sleep/Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle” describes the present berserk jesus-mania with a grim precision.     


Blue/Bleu .. the Blue, as in ‘it came out of the Blue’; le Bleu (lu[r] Blu[r]), cf  sacre Bleu! in incestuous permutation leading to diabolique (devilish) Bleu or diabol Bleu – to whom/which one is damned grateful for the shower of present it suddens upon lucky one. Bleu happens. Suddenness is its mischievous leitmotif, its signature. It’s the opposite of an iridescent, a chatoyant big floating soapbubble popping & pooff, it’s gone, nada, nothing. Pooff, presto, magic, the Bleu arrives chatoyant with no unsightly gestation & no annoying labor pains. (Things may arrive out of the Glum, the gelatinous color of mucus, but not with the pristine delight of the ohyippee presents the tricksy Blue abounds upon you.) 05.30.05


</bush> .. my favorite bumpersticker of late. (Tho I was pretty chuffed by Is it 2008 yet?)

   The Bush thing is an inside joke and it’s probably evil of me to explain the punch line, but this is how it works. In html, the behind the scenes code which allows you to make things <b>bold</b> or <i>italic</i>, for instance, it goes like this: <b> begins the bold. Everything is bold until you put </b> which stops the bold. So </bush> would be stop or end Bush. Droll. 01.29.06


carpe comedy .. seize comedy. If I were to have some leitmotif other than besottedness with beastly Digrif, it would be carpe comedy. My good friend jeweller, Mark, who has his cool stuff in the SFMOMA, made me a silver dogtag that says carpe comedy. 10.22.05


cf .. means compare;

chatoyant  .. is from the reflection in a cat’s night eye; it is that strange glistening eerie-descence that tiger’s eye stones have; a luster like shot silk or oil on water; 05.30.05


clint; clinting; clintful; clintness .. My thoughts about “Clint” have previously been unprintable because I was one of the unfortunate thousands who saw that denture film-noir, Bridges of Madison County,  a penance for some unknowable wrong. This wretched film in which Meryl Streep did star shows you can do a silk-purse turn in a pig's-ear flick. ¶ At least as comiko-horror films go, the shots of Clint in the bathtub with his crêpy neck wattles are memorable if only one were into gigadizzguzzt. Not because he was old and horrible (gee, we all will be & will want to have been kinder), but because of his ineffable, upwelling-of-stench clintness — he whittles his lines. Wattles and whittling — what a treat. With the shower-stabbing scene in Psycho, we can induct the infamous Clint's-wattles scene into the Horror Scenes Hall of Fame. ¶ Usage: It was so clint, so skin-crawling to have to see Karlsputin Rove gumming up the phosphors on my tv screen. The overflow of sewage onto the street was clinting with the eerie glisten of mucal rot in an oily corruption attended by those paparazzi of insects, the dung-eating flies. (for cedral755 who planted the first pogblog poster across the Pond!) 6-25-05


clive, full .. many centuries ago, or tomorrow depending on where you are in elegantly celtic-knotting time, there was a bloke from Avalon, the mystery island of magic off the British Isles where the air always smells like sun-hot ripe apples — a bloke named Clive Owens who was a ‘movie star’ with well-more than his share of smouldering élan, and the damned English accent. There was some woman I talked to who said, “Oh, him, he never moves his face.” Well, that’s because he can move what’s between him and your face, you stupid cow. // There was a slangy phrase at the time, ‘the full monty’ which meant you were willing to take it all off and show your dangly bits. A step up the Michelangelo’s-David ladder is, luckily preserved on celluloid, the full clive. So if one is willing to go full out, (and I like you), it’s full clive. You don’t use it for bastards like the Maggoty Minions.  06-12-05  


coin .. to mint or invent a new word or a new usage of an existing word;


pogblog poster Global-Game-CONTEST: you can email pogblog@yahoo.com & we’ll send you the template for the small two-to-a-page pogblog ToadSpawn Be Gone! posters. Or make up your own. (Be cool.)


Send us a pict of pogblog poster in any place and you’ll win a PRIZE, and an automatic entry into My Own Custom Entry in pogblog’s Glossary – you pick the topic, pogblog writes the entry for YOU.


Wall Drug was this “mega-tourist trap” in South Dakota. It had signs for a hundred milesevery 200 feet saying “See the prairie dogs at Wall Drug.” The prairie dogs were mangy stuffed things, but as it was the only place to get a root beer in the hellsummer heat. You went to Wall Drug , or died. Wall Drug had this global sign game going for years and they even ended up with someone holding up a Wall Drug sign on Mount Everest. Pogblog wants Mount Everest too, but also Vermont and the Gobi desert or wherever you’re going. Pictures with cows get bonus points, as picts with giraffes or cats. Gehry’s museum in Bilbao gets, like, an entry in the Glossary AND in the Love Slave Hareem. Yo Yo Ma, Bela Fleck, or Clive Owen holding a pogblog poster, and well, gee. 06-25-05 


crapaud .. toad in French; crah-poh; as in C'est crapaud, mon cher .. That's really rather toad, my dear. 06.03.05

Digrif .. an on-going character; the word means laughter in Welsh;  05-05-05 

e=mc2 .. the formula is wrong which is why they can’t understand the 90%, all that dark energy and dark matter !haha!; all that extra stuff that they don't grok is the tissue, the fabric of your dreams and imaginations — standard science is still looking through the wrong end of the telescope so it cannot measure this substance yet; the formula is really e=mc8 (infinity sign) because anything that ‘exists’ has a nanomicro signature that makes it unique; cf  no giraffes, only one giraffe + one giraffe + one giraffe; 05.30.05

eclectic .. if you only get one word, take this one — it means taking the best from all possible sources; so you get wide-hearted;  rich (not the greedy kind but the embracing kind) the  golden rain of abundance; and oh frabjous joy, you get the somersaulting luck of having to pay lots of attention so you can separate the chuff from the chaff; 06.03.05

enfers sanglant .. Enfers sanglant, visages des porcs! means Bloody Hell, face of pigs. I’m mostly in the inventive invective mode of William S. who could swear at you in more vivid guises than a porcupine has quills; ohn-fairs sang-glaw(n), vee-sahzhuh day pork; 06-11-05

enriched light .. the CatsPurrDynamagik Machine uses the more elastic lights as you come and go from sleep or, if you're a little used to it, in blissfully slothfull musing states. This is cheaper than Walmart — <em>free!</em> and no exploited labor. The whole point of the coming ahaus and quetzals in the next five years and onward is to give the alchemic techniques of 'turning lead to gold' to everyone. Pb–>Au. Once I get Zin Nia & Fucky's Manual amanuensissed out, just reading and re-reading the pieces will switch on the patterns of energy dynamiks as much or as little as you want. Like the crop circles, the healing is a kind of anti-congealing or unclenching of intellectual and emotional toxins — a fountain of truth if not of perpetual youth.  Amused truth.Cheaper than Ginzu knives. It's as if the vrai or true crop circles are miniatures of the gobos of enriched light that are being pulsed into the EM grid of Planet Home.A gobo is a patterned filter you put over the end of a spotlight, say, to make patterns of light & shadow fall on the stage. Thus, the shaped light that is coming into the planet is phototuning your dna et cet. Some of the enriched, shaped light inpulses will have a hummingbird quality, others will be slow and serene as a swan swims. It's all free and yours all yours if only you pay some deft attention and relax your eyes — and unclench your mind + heart + viscera. 09.19.06     

filigree .. Is what you dimly call love, the insane rage, the filigree of mad mirth he and I pitilessly feel with each other worth that exile? Filigree is a dainty web of precious metal, an haunting elf song wrought into a tiny token, a lace of metal, a braille grail jewelry you could feel in the dark, that dark where all souls journey implacably alone sometimes, at times arranged by Fate’s deranged whim – that filigree to remind me in that doomed silence which may or may not end of our dread mirth which we dared, holding only each other’s hand over the uncalculatable abyss. So is it worth it, Digrif, my friend in obsidian mirth, my cruel ironist, this exile for which I paid my whole soul? Timelessness will tell. 07-11-05


FixedIntelGate .. Please remember that this outing the identity of Joe Wilson's wife is just one big spoke in the wheel the hub of which is FixedIntelGate. We sent people to war on 'intel fixed to fit the policy' (Downing St. Memo) a facet of which Wilson revealed and they wanted his reputation emasculated — 'his wifie sent him.' . . .FixedIntelGate is a deep shame and danger to our freedom. Going to war on what the rest of the world clearly sees as fixed intel will increase the recruiting terrorists for generations.


frabjous joy .. from Jabberwocky, LewisCarroll; 06-11-05  http://www.jabberwocky.com/carroll/jabber/jabberwocky.html  

.. (free-zzaw[n]) frisson, or French for shiver, is a sort of onomatopoetic (cf buzz & murmur) kind of word – if you say it out loud in what you imagine is a very French manner, you will feel cool.   05-05-05


full clive .. see clive, full;


funes .. Funes is the borges character who remembers everything in a blakean heart-exploding honor of universe-in-a-grain-of-sand detail. The key image is that Funes cannot understand not only how any 'dogs' can be lumped together, but even more, how dog, Swen, asleep in the idle sun-blasted afternoon street at 2:13 pm can be considered the same dog as that dog at 2:14 pm.

    We smear and lump and clump stuff to a dimmed degree of dullness that we surely live in the back broomcloset of Plato's cave, unalert and unillumined. Anyhow I add funes to grok as a more whole and paganly holy embrace of perception. I will, thus, give myself this credit: te funes — I 'get' rather a lot about you, tho I forlorn of painting your portrait as it really deserves in any medium except my curiosity and devotion.  5-18-05


gallynippers .. are faeries, they floppily fly between worlds, appear & disappear. They look like enormous mosquitos (as if they could drink or nip a gallon of blood, hence gally-nipper), but they are achingly harmless. They are preposterous – their legs are so long & spindly. It’s a sin to kill a gallynipper.

gateau .. means cake in French; gah-toe; 05.30.05

ginger rogers .. “Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did except backwards and in high heels.” One of the greatest drolly liberating lines of all time by the treasured Ann Richards, 1988 Democratic Convention keynote. Succinct. 06.18.05 


grok .. indispensable Martian for ‘understand in a way that you utterly drink deeply’; from Stranger in a Strange Land by Heinlein, an very interesting old sci-fi, sadly steeped in an appalling misogyny, but there it is.  5-18-05


grb .. stands for gamma ray burst – discovered in the 60s; “exotic, mysterious flashes pack the output of many galaxies into a single pulse that lasts seconds or less” – and that is exotic on any plane, http://www.space.com/scienceastronomy/astronomy/mystery_bursts_020516.html;

cf  “the consciousness-altering pulses that are emitted by the Hanab-Ku, the Cosmic Center” [http://www.calleman.com/– This relates to the Mayan energy-matrix calendar which pogblog honors because the path forward is holospherical not linear like the cursed Gregorian calendar and that ‘convenient’ atrocity, the metric system, may it boil in many liters of oil, which has taken measurement of distance and quantity out of poetry in one fell fell swoop. “Could you hear the heartbeats of my anguish across the lonely miles, oh my beloved?” “Could you hear the heartbeats of my anguish across the lonely kilometers etc.” I wasn’t trying to defend ‘good poetry,’ just the on-the-endangered-species-list poetic impulse. A poetic impulse looks not unlike a zebra. They tend to be solitary animals. They don't do herds. ‘He inched across the searing sand on his belly, a pilgrimage to an oasis, a mirage no doubt like other wet heavens.’ You can’t 'centimeter across the searing sand.' It’s a sin to kill an inch. 06-18-05

.. means irony in Welsh; 05.30.05


hasyasattva or silliness warrior; increase the gladness of all sentient beings by as many very tiny kangaroos as can waltz on the head of a pin; pogblog coined this hasyasattva word because the notion of ‘decreasing suffering’ breaks the hypnotic suggestion rule of putting the ‘command’ in a positive cast. “Don’t fall off the ladder!” is an embedded command to fall off the ladder: in order to comprehend the statement you have to imagine falling off the ladder. “Hang on to the ladder” is the better form of the statement. So kind folks wandering the Earth talking earnestly about  'decreasing suffering’ are causing all of us to gloomily, if unconsciously, contemplate suffering, oh woe is we. On the other hand, if you talk about ‘increasing gladness’ — in order to understand the statement you have to imagine some facet of gladness, a step on the somersaulting path.     06-11-05


hoi polloi .. the many, the unwashed mere mob before whom one ought not to cast one’s pearls; not the elite like us; it really should just be the polloi, but this is the way it slid through history; cf the El Camino; Greek; hoy puh-loy; 05-30-05


holosphere .. The next quantum in élan, in vivid being, is the holosphere. Right now as you read this, out of your noosphere hearing is whalesong, the infrasound that drones magnificently, often plaintively, sometimes mischievous, from planet side to planet side in the depths deeper than Everest is high – below the abysmal depths are the hadal depths, Hades deep, miles upon miles down and dark. According to both bizarre and fairly measured traditions, we are coming to the ‘end of time.’ Soon. This does not mean the end of being. It means the expansion into the wider holosphere. The end of the dominance of linear time. And of patriarchy, hierarchy, the exploitative models. We won’t give them up just because they are bad and sodden with shortsighted ignorance, but because they are like looking through the wrong end of the telescope – they’re limiting. It will feel awkward to give up the familiar boxes, the comforting structures and become aware that we all look at the same moon and are held from escape velocity by the same molten core. Under all our feet are twinkling jewels and lots of irony, I like to think….When we quantum to holo, we will be appalled by some things we stood by for. Allowing the mutilation of children in the name of any jingoistic fervor, for instance. We will not be hypnotized by moving striped pieces of cloth no more. Sometimes it’s hard not to be a lemming when all the little rushing furry bodies are flashflooding toward the cliff – how could so many fellow lemmings be wrong? . . . One of the swell things about the holosphere is that if you want to tune into the whalesong, you’ll be able to. Like after the telegraph, your reach of attention and perception will be augmented. It will be like the aliens landing, but they land inside your understanding and whether they are allies or demons entirely depends on your filter, your translator. See also noosphere. 07-31-05     



Karlsputin Rove .. 'nuff said. (cf Rasputin, the creepily evil powerracker who actually ran the deaththroes of the czars); 06-26-05


legerdelengua .. slithering sleights of  the forked tongue; cf calling mutilated children collateral damage; or the Clean Air Act, that boondoogle for major polluters (aka campaign contributors);


LQ .. Lizard Quotient; If we say that Mr. Cheney’s LQ or Lizard Quotient, is the platinum standard, a perfect 100, the Grand Imperial Lizard, the benchmark, then the rest of the Lizard Cabal ranks down in scalyness from that apogee. When in the USofA Inc Nation, our Emperor George is defrocked in your insight, in your insight, one by one we see clearly, the ghastliness is that his scalyness is revealed. It’s like the Gorgon of yore, if you glance upon the unclothed Lizard, you may turn to stone. You will certainly be petrified. Better to keep your rose-colored glasses on.  [This makes you queasy? Goes too far? What is far? Pogblog didn’t blow up any kids today on your behalf.] 06-14-05


luddite .. a luddite is someone who sees machinery and technology as dehumanizing. In reaction to the industrial revolution in the early 1800s, the actual Luddites homecrofting textile lace & knitter folk were precursors to the Union movement. But the notion of luddite has an undertone of being against progress, against the newfangled. As a gizmos-geek, I tend not to be a luddite tho I am strongly pro-Union – I love weekends which they brought us, and the middle class, sadly fast disappearing into the maw of the FatHog Cogists. 07-31-05 


Mardi Gras .. “No Mardi Gras,” sez the sursurd and vile and vapid Rev. Shanker. ‘It was God’s magnificent mercy that wiped out the City of Sin and Mardi Gras.’

     Me, I say, Mardi Gras? Why not Lundi Gras, Mercredi Gras,  Jeudi Gras, Vendredi Gras , Samedi Gras, Dimanche Gras? Fat Tuesday, Fat Monday, Fat Everyday. All days Yippee & Yummy. God forfend we have fun, I suppose. Pffffttt, I say to these Reapers of Grim. 9-10-05


masochists .. ‘For masochists in Hell, there is no suffering.’ Ye owls, that’s droll. It is not original to pogblog, but is one of three jokes I’ve ever been able to remember. Don’t know the adroit devil who made it up, but bless them. Lucifer loves you. 06.05.06


maw .. gaping mouth; dragons who gobble maidens have maws; gobbets (or large hunks of as yet unmasticated maiden) often stuck in the jutting teeth in a dragon’s fetid maw; cf corporate maw: you are devoured by the corporate maw; you disappear into the corporate maw; 06.04.05

meme ..  a meme is the idea equivalent of a gene or virus; it’s an idea (good or offal) that spreads around the world; e.g. “the world is round.” For a long time, the prevailing stench was that the world was flat. Then the meme of the world being round infected the general understanding. I’m not sure it exactly fits in with meme – I never thought about it til this very moment, but that picture of the planet from space had meme qualities; also that horrific picture of the napalmed little girl as if a sane species could drop jellied gasoline on people. me-m(uh).


 ¶  One concept I want to have be a world-sweeping meme is the idea of 2ThenAdopt. Now the world population is 6,446,038,867. Please every-sparrow-fall recall that one billion is 1000 million. Projected in 45 years about 9 billion. It’s absurd, friend, it’s obscene. We can’t take care of all these people. Our sweetly blossoming good will and lessening prejudices and ignorances keep getting tsunamied by a population running amuck. If the notion of 2ThenAdopt could spread, then people could have whatever sized families they wanted or could afford, but we could stop flooding away all the progress by holding the biology at a standstill, behind a dam of good sense until the social systems could catch up. 2ThenAdopt. Think about it. Pass it along. 06-06-05    

    The more people you ask, “Did you know that we are spending $200,000 per minute in Iraq?” – the more people can be disgusted by the waste of human and financial resources in this benighted war. Disgust can lead to action finally. (The real figure is more like $416,000 per minute, but I use the $200,000 per minute as a figure that no one can argue with. See the Math, sources, and more detail.) This way we can spread the $200,000 per minute meme and accelerate the process of Declaring Victory & Coming Home – the true support of our troops – wanting to save their lives from  death or mutilation.

    Beat the drum. Tell one friend or colleague. No one believes it. They shake their heads and say, “Really?” 09-10-05

 mobbal .. mah-bull, of the mob, also euphemistically called tribe, nation, town; 06-30-05    

multiverse .. multi-verse or many-poem place; where we live. The fables often refer to manypoem as the blossomer-forth of all this fascinating tinder in which we are immersed. 05.05.05


mystery .. Meeting you crescendos into a catastrophe of raw joy and raw terror. Our exquisite, excruciating obsidian humor is the last mystery, the unholiest sweet fact I grab before I plummet, wings on fire, into the Abyss. Our unholy humor is what makes me forgive the Universe for its goddamned Sins. 08.13.05


.. means nothing in Spanish; nah-dah; 06-04-05

noosphere .. Our lively mote awash in galactic seas is waking up. There come big surge-times in our story – the invention of the printing press, the steam engine, the telegraph. Expanding our attention-point, turning on more of our transformer, our brain and bones. We are presently in a crescendo of rising, of brightning energy, élan. . . .The Next-Age weirdos, of whom, like of the Democrats, I’m wryly and proudly one, are attuned to various facets of this shimmering phenomenon. I don’t cleave to any version with the zeal of a convert, but I can feel the stirring, the purring of the planet and its denizens awakening quantumly to a new holo-mosaic of how consciousness is patterned. One can literally feel this alchemic symphony of pulses in one’s bones. If you don’t notice it yet, you will. It is both fuerte or strong and dulce or sweet. . . . . Dear <b>Teilhard de Chardin</b>, mid last century philosopher, spoke of the lithosphere, the biosphere, and the noosphere. To which I, with humble glee, add the holosphere. . ..Litho means stone  The lithosphere was the primeval furnace, lava rock of the planet which dreamt and cogitated and desired for a long long time and blossomed forth the biosphere which is the lichen and the lemurs, the octopuses, oaks, giraffes, and us. (Culminating in cats, the quintessence of terrifying design.) This all rambled around, raucous and timid, amoeba, hippopotamus, and condor, until forth was effervesced the noosphere, a knowledge sphere, a heady stew of trivial and stupendous information. (Sadly, you cannot call the noosphere a wisdom sphere, yet.) See also holosphere. 07-31-05


obsidian humor .. from panther stone; Veriest dark humor; the kind of ironic humor during the magnetoquake of a pole shift: who knows that compass, the angle of refraction or distraction? Obsidian is a densely glassily perfectly opaque black stone (formed by lava hitting water); used by Quetzal Originals to make knife blades and objects of art. Obsidian is a myrth so black, so impossibly preposterous that all subjects are on-limits (not necessarily for all audiences – this may be projectile bile, but not casually flung); all subjects are fodder, grist, silage to feed the devil cows of your delicately diabolique, obliquely hilarious, intricately twisted mind-heart, élan-coeur.

  [Silage is most deliciously mature but still robustly green whole corn (maize), stalk and corn ear including the still soft cob inside the absurdly sweet rows of corn kernels. This is all coarsely chopped (nowadays by a huge bladed machine) and blown in to a silo, that tall cylindrical building on farms. The corn silage compresses and ‘pickles’ and ferments and waits for winter.

   A whole huge corn field can rest plotting in a silo – it is a kind of lumpy moonshine, cornshine, that is forked out from the top by the wide ten-tined silage fork. Cows love silage. Cows can get quite drunk on it. Having been brought up by cows (Holsteins; the black & white ones; modern art on the hoofs), I have utter respect for them, but drunk + cow is very droll.]

   Obsidian humor, daring it, delving it, is a love that steep and that deep. It begins beyond the Pale. It begins with the  letter after zed. Few jeopard it.       5-18-05 1:49:06 pm   ..


oneiro .. (oh-nigh-roh) the Greek root for dream; 05-05-05


passive belligerence .. passive agression on steroids; deeply, sometimes slyly sullen; one of my favorite coinages — you know people who are passive belligerent; you may even live with one, and, if so, may gods help you in your hours of  need for universal mercy. 06-25-05

perfect pain .. perfect pain is an intensity of grokking and intricacy of affinity coupled with a helplessness — as if you must be on parallel tracks, always together, never touching. And eternity is very long. 10-10-05 

pinguid .. 'fat, unctuous, greasy' from 1828 Webster's; its root meaning is roughly fat juice or fat sap — the sap of fat. Fits Karlsputin's pinguid pipsqueakery. I first came across it a 100 yrs ago in the secondbest book in the universe, The Horse's Mouth by Joyce Cary, a book about an old artist, Gulley Jimson, who has to paint walls — with heroic paintings of feet. Gulley saw an oil slick on the Thames and used the word 'pinguid' as I recall. Though I'll admit that the word does sound more Nabokovian. All artists must read Horse's Mouth which taught me to see and to take laughter as my highest value, tho often obsidian. (The movie has zero to do with the book to which the plot is adjunct. It's the sentences the sentences and the raw seeing.) 07-21-05   


pog, pogs .. This word pog is coined to escape all the labels for all the organized Religions.  The acronym of People of goodwill and good works only –> POGWAGWOs –  pogwagwos — pogs for short. (Only should really probably be often . . .);  05-05-05


political engineering .. I heard this from either Eugene Jarecki of Why We Fight (which I tenter-hookedly await) or Franklin Chuck Spinney, a Pentagon insider who says we’re spending the ½ trillion Military Budget for – not much. The notion of political engineering in this case is that the fabulously clever manipulation of, say, the B2 bomber. Instead of building & assembling it in one locale which would be efficient, every single state has a piece of building the B2 bomber. Thus when a new generation of the B2 bomber comes before the Congress OR the notion of stopping the program entirely as being obsolete, everyone has a stake in maintaining it. Jobs in the district. Money dispersed.

  The tentacles of the Military Budget Colossus Octopus are so entangled throughout the nation that the Gordian Knot seems simplicity to cleave compared to this Octopoid sucking the lifeblood from our future. To supply gigaTaxCut payola to the gigaRich, medicare, school loans, and food stamps were gutted – yet the gargantuan $820,000 per minute Military Budget is never mentioned, like the Seventh Name of God. The fake Big Boy Republicans bathe in the midal gold which they send in geysers and gushes of ye Olde Faithful — the Military Budget she nevair go dry, swig down the Dom Halliburton champagne, Big Boys, theys macho mucho more where that came from, Ponce de Military Budget, the Perpetual Fountain of Graft.

   Then my dear Democrats are gonadsless – afraid to be seen as soft on Killing & Dismembering & stomachless for Collateral Damage. (That the Republicans are soft on healthcare, soft on education, soft on the environment, soft on the future no one seems to be able to say out loud.)

 “The military industrial Congressional complex is a political economy with a big P and a little E. It's very political in nature. Economic decisions, which should prevail in a normal market system don't prevail in the Pentagon, or in the military industrial complex.

   “So what we have is a system that essentially rewards its senior players. It's a self… what we call it, we call it, we have a term for it, it's a self-licking ice cream cone. We basically take care of ourselves. And that's also why we have this metaphor it's Versailles on the Potomac.” Chuck Spinney in interview with Bill Moyers on NOW.  [http://www.pbs.org/now/transcript/transcript_spinney.html] 

“Have you seen these figures that CEO pay at Lockheed Martin went up from $5.8 million in 2000 to $25.3 million in 2002. I mean, that's five times increase in less than three years. CEO pay went up at General Dynamics from $5.7 million in 2001 to $15.2 million in 2002. It went up at Honeywell from $12.9 million in 2000 to $45 million in 2002. It went up from Northrop Grumman from $7.3 million in 2000 to $9.2 million in 2002.” Bill Moyers, same interview. pog entry 01.29.06


Reagan's Law as the moniker for pogblog's Campaign to Inititate a Child Mutilator's Registry is the coinage of chancelucky(http://chancelucky.blogspot.com/), a frequent pogblog commentator. It is a felicitous phrase indeed and as Digrif noted “pitchperfect.” Goaaaal! chancelucky! Pogblog tels us that “The Child Mutilator wants some anodyne layers of denial between him:or:her and the brain-exploding acts they are allowing in their name. The mafia does contract hits so the blood-splatter evidence is on someone else’s cheap suit. But the Mutilated-Children karmic score goes in your column, pilgrim, by not one digit less. A child:mutilation is a child:mutilation is a child:mutilation. You can’t pretty it up unless you’re freakin’ insane.

    “If I have to live next door to someone willing to call child-mutilating collateral damage, I want to know.


Please read the whole Child Mutilator Registry piece called Blog Throat, Radical Pacifism, & reagan’s Law, the Child Mutilator’s Registry on pogblog’s Main Page.06-25-05



riro .. reptile in, reptile out . . .Sad to say, once you've 'seen' the Lizardry in Our Leaders, you simply cannot unsee it. I've tried, longing to sleep better. I reckon it's like seeing auras or something, once you can see in that spectrum of light, you're stuck with that new knowledge. //There was a time about four years ago when I saw a pict in a newspaper of Mr. Bush in profile. I gasped. there it was — the unmistakable resemblance, the reptile profile. Holes in moles, I thought, maybe this rumor about the super-scientists in Atlantis doing dna experiments of reptile human hybrids wasn't just some gaseous New Age crock. (Now, now, a lot of New Age stuff is rivetting and inspiring; you just have to keep your discernment.) No doubt about it, riro –> reptile in, reptile out. 06.13.05


spooner .. as in darling spooner. Spooner was a daffy if not daft professor who had a legerdetongue which led him to transpose initial sounds in a phrase; the most famous is blushing crow for crushing blow; spoon, spoonerism; cf quisling & google which have also become lower-case ordinary words – sometimes a nifty, & sometimes a dubious alchemy. A quisling is a traitor (you know who you are who broke my heart, you quisling) — interesting that it never became benedict or arnold who was much more famous really. 06.05.06


stele .. a carved band of scenes from your life; like you would find in your chapter of the akashic record where the universe, helplessly, keeps the record of every thought and heartbeat of your life, benighted, noble, petty, delightful tho they may be. 08-13-05


stynking synnes vile .. from OED, 1450 NE. Stynking sublime phrase. 12.01.05 


suburbanality .. To torment a friend, I thored the word ‘suburbanality’ at him, as the master of lightning wielding, dear Thor might have, had anything in his experience prepared him for suburbs or banality. It was part of the patois of devoted mean by which we communicate in our obsidian way. There is the Golden Mean, a pleasing & harmonious proportionality. There is our Obsidian Mean, a pleasing and reckless splash in the sea of ebullient chaos and returning, so far, to the Shores of Reason with barracudas of odd truth.

     Because my putative friend is an original in so many ways, it irks him no end to be lambasted with suburbanality. It would be one thing to be called a hick or a hillbilly or a rube, a kind of reverse pride of which one might preen. But suburbanality? There is no pretzeling which can make that in any iota cool. Just as it tickles him secretly to be called an original, it prickles him to be dubbed suburbanal. Even Achilles had that pesky heel, dear. 01.29.06


sursurly .. cf sursurreal .. sometimes a word needs some steroids to possibly comprehend the horribleness of the totalityranny of the Reign of the 12ftTall Lizards Disguised As Human Beings. It surboggles the surbewildered mind, not sursurprisingly. 06.18.05


third base .. “George Bush was born on third base and thinks he hit a triple.” A line from the splendid Ann Richards, ex-governor of  Texas, in her 1988 Democratic Convention keynote speech. As nifty a remark about the presumption-of-privilege have:mores as one might whittle. See also ginger rogers; 06.18.05


toot doot .. A silly rendering of ‘without any doubt’; sans toute doute – without all doubt. Either avec (with), pron avek; or sans (without), pron saw(n) – you just think the ‘n’, you don’t really nail it. (Anglicized it’s sans—like sands without the ‘d’.  05.30.05


tzolkin .. roughly, a tzolkin round is a 260-day piece of the Mayan energy matrix (which we mis-name a calendar); it’s like setting out a new holo-chess board; each day has its own pulse or energy or note or pitch which shimmers through that day; a tzolkin is a gobo – a gobo is a cutout shape in tv & theater that goes over the end of a ‘spotlight’ and as the strong light is shone thru, that shape is cast on the curtain or on the stage – spinning stars, say. 06.01.05


vouchsafe .. means that you grant me a special privilege; can have hints of ironic undertones; it means that you ‘trust me with x or z, or even with your ecstasy’; is very formal & medieval – the kind of way knights talk – ‘If you vouchsafe me with your honor, cousin, I will defend it unto the death’; 06.03.05


vrai .. vrai is true in French; pog uses it also as truly – which is a tad fractured, but c’est la vie; pron. vray;  05.30.05


wmd brain .. if pogblog has an “accident” or an “heartattack”  — it isn’t an accident; it isn’t an heartattack;    pogblog drives very carefully and hasn’t been to a non-chiropractic doctor since 1979. Pogblog does have a wmd brain and the Lizardos are not going to like it! I’m under the radar now, but they’ll be hauling out the hemlock soon enough and I want you not to fall for their lizardiavellian lies. Keep up the fight after they get me: Duelling epic poems, dueling satire, the clang of unsheathed irony. We’re better armed than they are for the battle of wits which will appear slowly in the next decade like a polaroid  developing. But they are exceedingly cunning and they hunger after our warm-blood. Never underestimate a cornered Lizard. 06-14-05


wolfofwolfs .. mon lobo suave, mon lobo feroz  hecho del agua, .. .. .. In the waters of  delight, honey, you is the waterfall, all lavish splash. In the forests of delight, you is the wolf of wolfs, all silver danger under the moon. In the cosmi-circus, you is a four-trick pony with hoofs of gold and a mane of fire. Kismet dealt me a hard hand with thee, a new and terrible tarot And the reason I cannot leave or deceive is that it would be like betraying dawn or a fawn – done by some but it would be wrong. The fun we get to have is so damned earned. Our relationship is distinctly, probably entirely, medieval. It’s like open-heart surgery before anesthetic. The pain is profound; the laughter can be as bright red as blood and pure. Pure laughter is the lead turned to the gold. ..  .. .. ps. Like Clive Owens, you have a sudden stillness which is all potential – you could explode in a any direction at any time. (With you behind your lazily easy façade, it’s strobed –  sequential sudden stillnesses.) It is a very dangerous and distilled and compelling quality. It is why you are both so unbearably sexy. It is achingly rawly male. It is feral barely cloaked with civilizedness. You are both brothers of the Great God Pan – nothing remotely Christian about you. Untamed, and untameable. Damned dangerous is what you both are. Luckily I am a mutant with a very high tolerance for brutal radiation. o8.27.o5 


warprinth .. warp-rinth ..Maps are not truth, but they are links, useful links by which you can follow a theme or a thread. Warp-rinths are a kind of pattern of tunnels through time that orient you to certain threads in either a life of surpassing beauty or a life of surpassing ugliness like Karl Rove’s. .. A labyrinth may seem confusing, but it is a path. Warprinths are just such paths through times as well as spaces. .. Consider Mavericks, the greatest break on the planet – a wave so thick, deep, and powerful that only a handful of the greatest surfers dare ride it. And it killed the best of all time. Surfing the Akashic Record is like riding Mavericks except that you’re not just dealing with that one wave in one time. The times can slip a chron on you and you lose the thread. (Your mind can be mangled in time-riding certain time-waves.) It’s very tricky, though sherlockianly fascinating, of course. I’ll explain more about that another time (haha), about how to stay oriented in time when navigating the Akashic Record. Think sense of smell. 11.13.05

If you know or are an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com
It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.
Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.
copyright pogblog 2005..2006 all rights reserved
Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:
8 Vulture . Cib . Owl . South . tzolkin 216  09.20.06  wed
854 days/2y4m01d left/1441  
the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..
.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead

77 qualities of mischievous swift gladness

 ZProject ..

77 qualities of mischievous swift gladness

                    <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” /> 

mon uber cher ub,


ZProject Chapter 2, frolic, 1 of  77:


   On Saturday I went to an Handwriting Workshop [ok ok, a tad New Agey, yeah yeah]  which had some pertinent if not poignant insights. But the point here is from a meditation they had been doing for a few years on the 26 qualities the Gita’s Arjuna said were necessary to master for a noble life or somesuch. They have taken each quality like fearlessness or forgiveness and meditated &/or chanted it for forty days for each quality. Life-changing they claim. Well, who can gainsay that, per se?

  I just happened today Sunday to be looking up ‘frolic’ 


to see if my new dictionary fav Online Dict at DataSegment had the root meaning of ‘frolic’ as ‘swift gladness’. This dict puts synonyms at the bottom of the definition page and there was

Moby Thesaurus words for “frolic”:

     antic, beam, caper, caracole, carouse, carry on, cavort,

     celebration, chirp, chirrup, clap hands, curvet, cut a dido,

     cut capers, cut up, dance, delight, disport, escapade, exult,

     festivity, flounce, fool around, frisk, fun and games, gaiety,

     gambado, gambol, glory, glow, have fun, hell, high jinks,

     horse around, horseplay, jollification, jollity, joy, jubilate,

     lark, laugh, lilt, make whoopee, merriment, merrymaking, mirth,

     party, partying, play, practical joke,

     prank, radiate cheer, rejoice, revel, revelry, riot, roister,

     rollick, romp, shenanigan, shenanigans, shines, sing, skip,

     skip for joy, skylark, skylarking, smile, sparkle, sport, spree,

     tomfoolery, trick, trip, waggish trick, wassail, whistle


   Hmmm, I thought, Why not in some random periodicity, nimbly (imagine [thin, you bastard] an sure-footed mountain goat on steep hillside) commentarying on these 77 qualities of mischievous swift gladness, our non-creed, anti-creed, post-creed? How droll and perhaps even glittering, sequined for all we know. image  Since our babbling-brook stream of consciousness has the attention span of a firefly, small delightful illuminations, this forty-day gig ain’t on per se, but I thought I’d leave the timing in the legerdemains of the Greatest God Drolloa.

   Frolic is of course 1st & 4most my panbeloved cat palanddream Frolic who is like patting a sunwarmed nuage (new-ahj), a pewter colored cloud of silvery softness, so soft indeed that if you close your eyes you think your fingers are passing over a fluff of warm, sweet whipped cream. The root of ‘frolic’ is ‘swift gladness,’ a perfection of cat description that was fortuitous, a gift from The Blue, who pours presents upon us from the gigantic cosmic constellation, Cornucopia.


    [[In the interests of the rollercoastering chaos which fun foments for us, nuage & nuée both mean ‘cloud’ in French. Nuée ardente (new-hay are-daunt) is that ferocious pyroclastic (broken fire) flow of burning cloud which violently pours down from a volcanic eruption and is more sudden, savage, and lethal than the lava flow. In the great volcanic death events(eg 79 Mt Vesuvius; 1902 Mt Pelée; 1980 Mt. St. Helens) in history, it is the nuée ardente that encases and incinerates people and cities and no doubt goats and spiders and chickadees too. From Wiki, “fast-moving fluidized bodies of hot gas, ash and rock (collectively known as tephra) which can travel away from the vent at up to 94 mph. The gas is usually at a temperature of 212-1472 degrees Fahrenheit.”]]

   If we weren’t grim, if we couldn’t be grim, grimy, tarnished of heart, if silliness were our unsolid state, our legerdepieds, then we wouldn’t and in deed couldn’t ffffing kill collaterals aka people damage. We would sicken ourselves. $820,000 per minute on the bloated insane Military-Corporate Budget and the additional $200,000 per minute flushed in Iraq would have been better spent if troops of brightly costumed clowns with enormous pinks plastic shoes had just stood on the corner of al Thawra & al Kulafa streets and the corner of Qutuiba & Waqas streets in Baghdad and just handed out fistfuls of cash. In a mere 48 days, we could have given each of the roughly 5,772,000 Baghdadians $10,000 apiece. Does anyone think this wouldn’t have won more hearts and minds than the turning of gold into rubble and bones and Zones?

    Instead of all this cordite, a ferocious fascination with the permutations of fun, the facets of silliness, obsidian and nuage, vulture and dandelion, would serve our darling planet so nobly in preposterity.        

    Grok on, Frolic on, mon cher. If LJC, Siddhaha, MoHam, Jehovaha et al can’t frolic, can’t do a vaudeville turn or twain, fire’em and hire up some better deities or smarter asses. I am so allergic to piety that I break out into a fever of rage if I’m exposed to one pppm (piety part per million) – gimme arsenic or heroin before ffffing piety, thanks.


ever thine in pork belly futures,

jimmy dean    

  the 26 qualities – few of which I would recognize in the twilight:
Gita, Ch. 16, Verse 1: The Blessed Lord said
Fearlessness, purity of heart, steadfastness in Knowledge and Yoga, almsgiving, control of the senses, sacrifice, study of scriptures, austerity, and straightforwardness

Gita, Ch. 16, Verse 2 :
Harmlessness (Ahimsa), truth, absence of anger, renunciation, peacefulness, absence of crookedness, compassion towards beings, freedom from covetousness, gentleness, modesty, absence of fickleness

<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Gita, Ch. 16, Verse 3 :
Vigour, forgiveness, fortitude, purity, absence of  hatred,
absence of overweening pride – these belong to the one who
is born with Divine treasures.

2.  legerdemain = light of hand, slight of hand in magic; cf coined legerdepieds, slight of feet, as a lamb gambols.

image                                                                                                myopera dotcom

3. slithy tove above from drew bond, aka co nz

4. images of greys = Paul Klee, google images.

If you know or are an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com
It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.
Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.
copyright pogblog 2006 all rights reserved
Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:
2 Flint . Edznab . Knife . North . tzol 176  08.13.06 sun
891 days/2y5m07d left/1404  
the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..
.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead

Cheney's Mistress' Diary pt 2 .. Pamela’s Pomeranian

Pamela Pitzer Willesford’s Diary pt 2 ..

Pamela’s Pomeranian


Pamela Pitzer Willesford was the Third Huntress on 2/11 When Dick Shot Harry on the vast Armstrong Ranches in South Texas. Indeed, Pamela P. Willesford, Ambassadress to Switzerland, was the closest witness to The Deed. Ms. Armstrong was so far away, she thought Mr. Cheney had been felled with a heart attack instead of his having blasted Mr. Whittington in the face and chest with a shotgun.


Note: This material is extremely scurrilous and scatological, remarkably tasteless, and rife with raunch and contumely. If that ain’t your cuppo tea, I implore you to skip it.

   If it weren’t of such excruciating historical significance I would never print such nouveau faux upperclass smut. And this is the redacted version. For the unexpurgated filth and mindblowing world domination schemes, enter your ycn, yocto-code-number in the usual place.

   A copy of this was sent to me by Mr. Azul, a whistleblower in deepest cover as a servant for the Darth family. (‘Darth’ is the zetta-secret Knights of Jest cryptonym for Mr. Cheney.) Mr. Azul has been Darth’s valet for decades. The mole of moles, it is the most dangerous job in the world. Like copying the Pentagon Papers, copying Pamela P. Willesford’s Diary entails an ultra-risk that neither you nor I can shudderingly imagine.

   Don’t birdshot the messenger aka Don’t be shooting the messenger – at least not in the face and chest. (see also Pamela’s Diary part 1😉


Pamela Pitzer Willesford’s Diary pt 2 ..

Pamela’s Pomeranian



   How will anyone ever forgive me!!?!! This struggle between moi and GiganDick may incinerate the whole world, but I have my pride & GiganDick’s horrid little henchmen have Marshmallow, my prize Pomeranian.

   GiganDick wants disgusting favors to which I said No! and then they stole my fluffy sweetums Marshie. When GiganDick gets denied, his ‘condition’ gets exacerbated – he starts raving about dune snakes and Conplan 8022 and B61-11s (nuclear-tipped tac nukes). We were having one of our romps in the RBA Zentral Bank private vault knee-deep in Halliburton billions when he, buck-naked, a tripod, so visibly manly, looks at me with that sweet little sneer and says, “I’m gonna bust their bunkers and their balls over there in Tehran, Pammie, and ain’t nobody gonna stop me. I will rain tac nukes down upon their sinning, heathen bunkers until they scream Uncle, Uncle, Uncle Sam!” When GiganDick gets moody, I know some country’s got to pay.

   I looked up the tactical nukes and my God, I’m very afraid. A tactical nuke is about 1/3 the yield of Hiroshima. Nobody, even Karl, as nasty a bit of business as I’ve known since I was born, dares speak up to GiganDick. Not even the Gorgon Babs Bush, who looks like she has fifty writhing snakes for hair and is the coldest, most self-impressed woman I ever met, dares naysay GiganDick.

   Karl is walking botulism, utterly sadistically toxic. Once at one of GiganDick’s orgies, Karl got flattened on Utopias beers at 100 bucks a bottle and Duoro River Fladgate Port at 100 dollars a glass – it’s fortified with peasants’ blood or some such. He told me that when he was five years old, he realized that he’d been born on December 25 and that he was the Anti-Christ. It was his duty to hurt and ruin people to soften them up for God’s lidless-eyes interrogation in the Last Days. “Besides,” he said with the reptilian little thin-lipped grin in his cherub face, “It’s fun causing pain.” He likes people to know that it was him who ruined them and that they cannot lay a finger on him. He’s a genuine creep. But he can’t call out the bombs like GiganDick.

   I’m actually pretty deviant myself and I and GiganDick get up to all manner of no good, but this new disgusting stuff he wants to perpetrate with me is just too sinful for even someone as steeped in sin as moi.  I mean I actually love it when we gallop along with GiganDick in the saddle while he brandishes his precious Brescia Perazzi 28 gauge hollering, “Bombs away!” I like it when he growls, “I’m your Robust Nuclear Earth Penetrator, Pammie!” Of course he was never actually in the military, but he sure like to play General Dick and Army Nurse Pamela. Now these little games (Lynne is terminally dull dull dull) used to keep him a little defused out on the world-conquering front, but since he blasted Harry with birdshot for flirting with me and I won’t participate in these new perversions, he’s gotten dangerously restless and even more peevish than usual. Last week he sent me one of my darling Pomeranian Marshmallow’s paws in one of those velvet jewelry boxes in which you expect a big diamond ring, which I did.  

   Marshie’s paw!! Both Iran and I are in deepest doodoo. There is nothing whatever Iran can do, no submission, no capitulation servile enough. If you aren’t a eunuch, forget it. They are doomed. The world can cry out. The American people (those sheep — unlikely to do more than whatever the baaa equivalent of whimper is) might be aghast. Only I could stop him or slow him or divert him, but he cut my Pomeranian’s paw off and wants to make me watch and join activities I refuse to. WMD = Wickedly Mutilated Dogs.

   ////Yes, dogs. Now I’ve learned that GiganDick has a kennel of important dogs. Oh my Lord Jesus Christ, I went thru GiganDick’s briefcase while he was getting his post-coital massage at The Sanctum at our pet Borgo La Bognaia, the 6-star resort so exclusive that only billionaires and their hotsie tarts get to stay here. No wives allowed. So, I’m not so young and bimboesque, but I can hunt quail and he likes his gals to be good, ahem, with big guns.

   He has got this whole kennel of 3-pawed important dogs. JCS chief General Peter Pace’s poodle pup is there. Rove’s Rottweiler. Condo’s Borzoi. Colin’s Chihuahua. Scooter’s Schnauzer (who lost a second paw after the Plame Leak court filing last week!) GiganDick’s got Polaroids of the dogs in various states of mutilation. It’s like Abu Canine. He sends audio tapes of a CIA interrogator saying “Here, Marshmallow, here Marshmallow,” and then the horrific doggie screams as they hack off the first paw. Then you hear the officer say, “Cauterize that wound, soldier. We don’t want it to die. The VPOTUS may need more paws from this animal.”

   GiganDick has clearly gone from bonkers to berserk. Only a gigagenius of evil would conceive of kidnapping people’s dogs. People might sacrifice a child to the nobility of saving their country and/or the world and tell the truth anyway, but sacrifice their dog? Never. The covert kennel is in Easton, Maryland in the basement of the Tidewater Inn where Robert Mitchum drank himself blotto for a time and where on white starched-linen tablecloths, you can be served bowls of thick, greenish sea turtle soup for your hangover.

   GiganDick plans to do both Iran and NoKo (North Korea) on the same night with “a blizzard of tacs.” He shouts, “I’ll cut the nuts off  Mahmoud and Dear Leader Kim with one sword,” as he struts himself nekkid in front of the mirrored wall of our secret Site R suite in Sabillasville, Maryland, the under-the-mountain city where our Leaders go “to copulate and contemplate,” as it’s said by the servants behind our backs. The really Enormous Cheeses like GiganDick, Karl, Condo, Donnie walk around the underground city naked. GiganDick carries a riding crop to instill discipline among the minions. Under Raven Rock Mountain is the ultra-luxurious Safe Haven for when the Bad Guys Drop The Big One. There are gold-fringed American flags jutting out above the headboard of our big round bed. All the hand-painted wallpaper is huge American flags with huge portraits of GiganDick being gigantic on every wall that’s not mirrored. There are slave-artists kept in the Site R dungeons to perform enforced decorating tasks. Some people you think are dead are down there. They cloned Norman Rockwell and they make him paint their portraits for their rooms. (Norm2 told me, “I should have been a lot edgier when I had the chance. I got hooked on that Saturday-Evening-Post covers money.”)  

   (Oh my Lord Jesus Christ, I hear GD coming down the hall. It’s a clumping shuffle with a kind of snorting and slurping that he’s learned to disguise in public.) Iran has got him crazy. He salutes himself in the mirror, naked and, ahem, manly, and shouts, “I’ll show those un-American bastards who not to jerk off.”


a Note from Mr. Azul came in this package.

wendy, in haste – Here’s the next shipment of Pamela Pitzer Willesford’s Diary. She hadn’t known about the dogjacking operation — K9 Insurance, Leverage and Liquidation, KILL. I didn’t have the heart to tell her. Then VPOTUS had her adorable little fluffy Pomeranian, Marshmallow, snatched to keep her from blowing the lid on the Iran Plan . (VPOTUS requires the servants in private to leave off to leave off the ‘V’ and just call him POTUS. I heard VPOTUS snickering and sneering it up with KarlBoy about “curtising that upstart Iran with tacs and spaying Dear Leader at the same time.” (Re ‘curtising,’ remember General Curtis LeMay was the genius who called for ‘bombing Vietnam back into the Stone Age,’ becoming a hero with ostrich huevos for Cheney et Ilk back when.

   Vice and KarlBoy do an unseemly amount of hammer & tonging, by the way, often yelling, “In Jesus’ Name” at what one assumes are the apogeetic moments. I find religious perversion especially unsettling tho I am certainly not religious myself — having seen up close the hideous hypocritical harm it can lay waste with. No way one remains religious after you’ve seen what religionism has done to this crowd. Give me a crackhead over a christhead any day. Poor, sweet Jesus is utterly absent around here, to be sure.

   I don’t know how you get the word out on how avalanchingly dangerous it’s getting now that they’re feeling cornered. For awhile I thought that Mrs. Pamela could mitigate some of Vice’s pyre of ire and insane moods, but now it’s all drumbeat of bombing, tacs this & tacs that. They’re all obsessed with ‘tactical nukes’ which is perhaps the ultimate euphemism and delusion – like ‘smart bomb.’ “We’re gonna show those sandeaters who’s boss,” Veep utters or mutters a dozen times a day.

   Sometimes I wish I weren’t a certified shrink with a sheaf of putatively prestigious degrees. Recall the definition of ‘paranoid schizophrenia’: “In this type of schizophrenia, the individual has feelings of being persecuted or plotted against. Affected individuals may have grandiose (over-the-top) delusions associated with protecting themselves from the perceived plot.

   “The key symptoms are delusions and/or auditory hallucinations. Paranoid schizophrenia usually does not involve the disorganized speech and behavior that is seen in other types of schizophrenia. Patients with paranoid schizophrenia typically are tense, suspicious, guarded, and reserved.”

   Well, Veep and KarlBoy are both meganoids – meganoid schizophrenics. The reason this kind of megalomadness is so very hard to detect is that their own delusions are so self-consistent, so self-coherent that they seem more convincing, more truthful than a normaler person whose version of anything is tinct with a few hesitations and doubts. These Ilk are 100% doubt-free. Does God speak to you? Their versions of things are made radiant, illuminated by the pure testostermoronic patriotism and religiousism drugs they inhale, ingest, and swill 52/365.

   Their conviction gave the country a contact-paranoid-high. Rather than hypocritical, they are insane. They drink their own koolaid and do chasers of their own snake-oil.

   For the time I stay safe by portraying a perfect stupid, devoted shuffling obedience. To them, all servants are invisible and being black doubles my invisibility. As long as I say “Yes, Massah” and keep my eyes sufficiently submissively downcast, I should stay stealth.

    They’ll get me of course, as they will you. We’re doomed. But maybe we can give some courage to some undeluded militant pacifist rebels on the way out. The Old-Lace Option crosses my mind with increasing frequency. But they’ve made The Menace so hydra-headed, where does one begin, or end?

   It dismays me, wendy, that people get so disgusted up about the hideous things these SansSouls do to dogs, but barely ruffle a feather at the incendiary rending wrought upon children in their Kill Zones. ‘Collateral damage’ thinking. It stinks. 

   Do not doubt, by the way, that Cheney Reigns with his Prince of Vicious, KarlBoy, as his henchboy-in-chief. But Barbara Bush is the Queen of Nasty. I can see where the vacuous Prezzie gets his essential meanness – in all facets of that word. The clueless hubris of the nouveau riche.


Stay alive, wendy.

Mr. Azul




VPOTUS is a Secret Service acronym for Vice President of the United States;

Old Lace Option – cf Arsenic & Old Lace;

Militant Pacifist – my favorite teeshirt. Pacifism in its strong, in-your-face mode;

The formal definition of 'paranoid schizophrenia' is from Merck Source.



If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of fleetian material, please let me know at .. wendyfleet@gmail.com


It’s an honor to have you visit wendyfleet.com Do comment.


Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright wendyfleet 2006 all rights reserved

Please send Ask Dr. Druid's link to your friends:


7 Rainstorm . Cauac . Redbird. West . tzol 58  04.16.06 sun



the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead


The Bible, The Sequel

The Bible, The Sequel

<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” /> 

   Godette and God had been on vacation for 2005 years, 7 months or so. They thought they’d check out things in Earth House, the pretty resort planet they’d done up in a week a few thousand years ago, complete with a pearly moon and all.


                                                           antwrp gsfc nasa gov

   Godette and God zip along the glistening, kaleidoscopic warp highway in their nifty spacester. Godette loves artdecoesque vehicles. God yawns and stretches. “As much as I enjoy Galaxy WaterSilver, it’ll be good to see a zebra again and cats! I’m still not sure, Godette, that We shoulda completely cut Ourselves off from PsyNet for this vacation. I know We needed a real rest from constant communication. I know,” He added with a Leer, “how nice it was to have centuries long cosmic nights of lusciously disgusting lust without having to answer prayers and sweep up all the sparrows, but, still, I’m a little apprehensive about what the teenage biped species might have gotten up to in Earth House without Our matpat-ernal wise and amusing guidance.”

   Godette sat on His lap, cushioned upon His gigantic Deity Balls. Her Bosoms would have made mountain ranges proud.

   “Oh, Goddy,” She nuzzled into the cavern of His ear in an affectionate tone more fraught with hope than conviction, “They’re good kids. We brought them up to respect their parents and neighbors and to lovingly tend all living things. We left the simple unambiguous directive to ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’ That will have kept them safe and sweet. Really, how could they go wrong?”

       With the slightest nuance of seduction, She wriggled Her gigantic Goddess rump into His GodBalls and pursed Her lips contemplatively. They often leavened or effervesced Their Grand Philosophic Discussions with some rollicking rumpypumpy. It is well and meet that They have frequent not to say constant GPDs because the upshots of Their palavers become worlds.

  They loved the origami of concept and material and how it arose and woke and began to choose in a spiral of consequences. Flowers of consciousness. “Not always of conscience,” She fretted. There were blights – even in the Gardens of Godette and God.

   What, Their akashic amanuensis wondered, would They think when They discovered that some blighted Testosterone Cult wrote Godette out, along with all the jokes, of The Bible? The akashic amanuensis feared Wrath. God was very fond of His slapstick routines and of His beguilingly goofy side. And He and Godette were utter partners. He was unlikely to be Pleased.

   The Deitys (Godette+ God Deitys) were taking the back route home. “We should have earthfall around August Eight,” said Godette. “I look forward to all the art + music they must have astonishingly accomplished in raucous and delectable celebration of the glorious and fascinating planet We left them, She crooned with dervish zephyrs of pleasure.

   Wittowin, the akashic amanuensis, winced as she wrote scene I of The Bible, The Sequel. When Godette and God plugged back into the psygrid after the Self-imposed communications blackout of Their several millennia vacation, gee, They probably wouldn’t be too mellow with the mess Their earthchildren had got up to. Did she have enough earthquake and typhoon ink to akashic the coming matpat-ernal tirades?



If you know or are an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com


It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.


Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2006 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:


4 Cane . Ben . Reed . East . tzol 171 . 08.08.06 tues

896 days/2y5m12d left/1399  




the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead