The "Boops" Phenomenon (or: I never would have believed it!).

The "Boops" Phenomenon.





I never would have believed it!



Say it isn't so (especially if it is!).



Ayn Rand really is the Goddess?



Say it isn't so (especially if it is!).




No!




No!

the Goddess?

                                                             Oops!

                            Well...it's too late now (the time zones....in the East...)

A (Same Old) Song Bird Who Plays Cornucopian Horn: Arthur Brooks. Eu weh! Ach Odjessa.

Arthur Brooks:  the Dignity of (Mutual) Enslavement.




Another cornucopian  puritan of "conservatism" and prosperity through austerity (and slavery).





                         In God we thrust our own memeload of platitudes warmed over:

      Another Jazz Hornist, and Condoleeza playing Beethoven, wouldn't have been so bad.




Mouthing of about the dignity of work, share-holders (a contradiction?),  and all the same old bridge to the nineteenth century (pre-environment-whack) Eden.




                                                            More!

                                                   ...of the same old Same-old.




 What a shame, old souls, new souls are what's needed!   No?   Maybe?



So?



Iron-pyrite...or whatever it is....




Eu weh!



Eu weh!  Ach Odjessa, spieleme twas heimlicher freilachs, Warschauer freilachs, Mazeltoventänzer,  Tuba mira doine, Deune, twas Imaginary Jiddischer Klezmer Liar Music New Octatonic Penta-in-hepta-tonic Qunitessential Riechtrance Sexual Trancedance Unfolding Vine-nipping Winehouse Xylobiotic Yes-songs Zeno-eleatiecstatic  Ars aeterna Blues...



                                                           Eu weh!  Ach Odjessa. :

                                                  Imaginary Jiddischer Klezmer Liar Music.






 "Tell me no [truth] make me a happy man."

Oy, fur, beat...Pneumanthropy and the study of Pneumanthropy, Pneumanthropology....

Pneumanthropology...



Pneumanthropology...

For, ex ample...

Oy, fur, beat...

 




                                           Pneumanthroposophy...A habanera of beastly lust:

                                                           for a beauty lost...forever?

forever?

No?

dea gratias....


!



The Anaesthetic of the Beast.



It is with some severity of a simple-mindedness that we must now turn to the decade of greed with its mirror-minded mnemonics.

Some happier aspects of various dreadfully serious aesthetics:   the perspective that jumps out about Duran Duran, considered by Rube-scholars to be a mere eighties girl band, is their use of the four chord system.  Like the overly vaunted “be-bop” scale advanced in sterilely Marsalis-bound junior jazz academies, the fourth chord implies a new even-ness, and inertia of asymmetry.    At once the Renaissance project of mannerist fisticuffs spills out of the Bar Fields, out of the Streets, and superfluidly floods the bloodless academies.  Which Nirvana and the suicide-prone Cobain never really got to in their plebian incomprehension of the truest syncephalon of “carpe diem.”

 



Flying the f---ed up flag of Freakonomics....



Flying the f---ed up flag, not for the faint-Arted...



!


Oy, fur, beat, the drums of  halo-gramophone "hologramophone" rhythmic Feigenbaum-bound strange attractors, seductive, mysterious femmes "fatales."

Just as far as the  ‘eYe ‘ can see.

With Duran Duran’s discovery of the Four Chord Tune,  Hillbilly patriotism becomes forever obsolete, and the confederate flag, something you can wad up and stick up your Astrological Sign of the Times, as far as the eYe can see....

This bold move did much, much more, to advance the Cause, more than the Police’s  “there is no political solution,” or the bloodless Beatles’ “you say you want a revolution,”  to advance the cause of the New World Order.  Uncle Sam is surely headed the way of the Tasmanians, or the natives of Tierra del Fuego.

 


Q.E.D.

"Oh war is the common cry, Pick up your swords and fly.
The sky is filled with good and bad that mortals never know.

Oh, well, the night is long the beads of time pass slow,
Tired eyes on the sunrise, waiting for the eastern glow.”

A morning after...

150 + or – 73n.   e.g.,...

19 * 127.  (32).

Bite the Fur Yo-yo!




Bite the fur yo-yo!   Oh, a b-jet,ooooh, oh, oh,  a dry run out of Canton.   At a Hercufatworks called B-tek  (B is for boobs,  booze, I mean).



 T.R.  Listen!   (Or I'll sperm u in the Ear!) ...

“To serve your Captives' need;
To wait in heavy harness
On fluttered folk and wild -
Your new-caught sullen peoples,
Half Devil and half Child.”

Who ur talkin' ' bout?


Him?



179.


5*19.


Preter (LEGAL) Gastarbeiter ... sports deports ... or departs...