The Terror’s New Clothes
The Great New Partee! “Want to party all the time…”
Yes, they’re all dressed up in the fancy new gowns and uniforms of the Equity Movement, Critical Race Theory, Antifa/BLM, LGBTQ Liberation, the Green New Deal, Pandemic Control, and, you know, Social Justice generally. But the fact of it is, there are no new clothes, just as there are no new alphabetic characters or new ideas on offer. What appear to be clothes on this page are what all the new new new progressive initiatives are — body paint and very little more.
Except for the mask and veil, not a stitch on for the new Queen, Alexandra.
It’s all still what it has always been on the American New Left in my lifetime. Naked Protesting.
Yes, you CAN watch it. Just click on the underscored
‘Watch’ sentence. The only real pros at getting away
with being starkers in public are babies. Sad when
they get to be older. Worse when they’re pushing 80.
Except that now we’re involved in an elaborate game of dress-up naked protesting designed to make the antique failures of totalitarian Marxist Fascism seem Revolutionary and exciting. They aren’t either of those. They are merely sad masquerades. Senile babies with the same diaper problems but none of the charm.
A marriage made in the corridors of power, not the bedroom.
Both sides pretending they are not totalitarians but progressives.
Farcical. And hypocritical. Here’s one whose body paint can’t save her.
Black Lives (may) Matter in the run-up to elections but
Kamala never mattered coming or going, as she is now.
Oh. The single One that isn’t body paint but a complete painting, total fabrication. But for the reality of the baffled boy hunting for something meaningful inside the superannuated and senile Miss Havisham.
The heart bleeds. Though the paychecks have been more than generous.
Here was the planned movie soundtrack underneath the image flow. Hear and watch it all fall apart.
Wish I knew how to talk about all this. I don’t. There are no leading idealistic stars. Every member of Congress “serving” for 30 years or more is a multi-multi-millionaire. They are all like the picture up top of ultimate corruptocrats. Who else can turn $160k a year for a single adult into fucking millions?
And WE never ask, demand answers.
Trump made his billions the old-fashioned way. He talked people into making millions-earning skyscrapers. Why everyone hates him. He got to put his name on what he did. Nobody else in Congress or the fed bureaucracy could possibly be anything more than ashamed of what they did. (Including Nancy with her hundred dollar ice cream.) Principally because they can’t explain it. So Trump must be destroyed.
None of this is about Trump.
Not on my end. It’s about Americans living again, reclaiming their liberties. We need to rise up for our own selves and let the old man rest on his well-earned laurels.
Are you American?
*********
There you go. 52 songs, one for every week of the year. And yeah, I left out a bunch of the old body paint crowd. No Judy, Joni, Alanis, Lauras here. No Seeger communists, no incestuous Mammas & Papas, no America-hating, motorcycle-hugging parasites from Jersey, no copycats, no pseudo-intellectual poseurs but Bob Dylan, no self-satisfied narcissistic divas but Stevie Nicks, no acid rock bands but the Grateful Dead… You know. Diversity. Have we mentioned the dread subject of women yet? Sorry. (But they’re bad, whether you can admit it to yourselves or not.) Never mind. Onward and upward.
These ones were all naked souls for real and had wings, no paint, no masks. If they were bad people, they were the still the first in their genre. Can you remember? Probably not. Are you an American? No? You’re a citizen of Earth, the endangered planet that will survive you and yours for aeons of peons like you? Doesn’t matter. The whole rest of the world is American, whether they know it or not. Whether you know it or not. We are their everything most intimate, jeans, underwear, music, phones, curse words, drug addictions, dreams of wealth and perfect sex, legal rights, human rights, bratty expectations about what the world owes spoiled kids, guns, air traffic control (yeah, can you imagine the day when China switches all pilot-tower communications to Mandarin?), and sex. Every girl in the whirl wannabe blonde. We own this shit. We owned it before you losers were ever born. And the funniest part of it is nobody’s gonna get fooled that slavery is freedom. Even YOU will eventually wise up to this after you’ve enslaved enough doddering old white men. Because the way it works is this: you enslave your enemies, and then your friends enslave you, so that everyone in the end has equity — meaning everyone shares the nothing that remains. And everyone, including you, is naked in the dark, eating cats and dogs and no body paint in sight.
Yeah. I finished it. Looks kind of stupid, don’t it? Why is mangled more romantic somehow?
So you can hide all you fucking want behind your body paint and painted-on causes. In the end we’re the only ones who remember the sound and fury of helicopters on the edge of death. You can never have that until you bring the dark age upon us. Why you want to. We know. That’s just how naked you infants are.
Sorry for all the teasing. Here’s the whole thing.
Changed my own life forever when I first heard it.
From that moment on I knew I was at war. I lost.
Thing is, masks and body paint are always followed by concentration camps, gulags, and incredibly huge mass graves, from the Guillotine to Bergen-Belsen to Siberia. The only thing standing in the way? The America you hate so much you are trying systematically trying to destroy it. But you’re probably too late. America is a virus that has infected the world and the peoples of the world will preserve the life-giving parts of it and develop their own antibodies to the killing parts of it, which definitely include this pitiful millennial generation of naked protesters.
P.S. Funny funny funny thang. Dave Chappelle versus Rick James.
You see, you’re allowed to make fun of things, and people, including yourself and other people, even the ones in your group, even if you’re these people.
Which you millennials to-tal-ly are.
P.P.S I know you’re being exposed to advertising as you work through the music list. I am ABSOLUTELY getting a kickback from the advertisers who are spoiling your sensory experience. Uh, no. I’m not. Sorry.
P.P.P.S A few I couldn’t find room for. They all have a backstory, why they belong here but not on the Big 52 List. The yodeler was dying the whole time he was giving life to Victor records in Camden. The Blues Brothers? This waren’t they’s song but a comedy skit that made an archetypally American movie funnier. Lorrie Morgan. Her husband was the next gifted vocalist set to replace George Jones (whom Sinatra called the second best singer after me), but he was so fiercely addicted to alcohol that he committed suicide immediately after recording his greatest ever hit song addressed to his wife Lorrie. He couldn’t beat his curse; she had to put the pieces together on her own. This song is her wistful attempt to do that — a failure, I guess, but maybe not. It still brings tears to my eyes. Real Americana if not great songwriting. The others? They just don’t fucking matter.
Metallica. Nothing Else Matters
Pearl Jam. Jeremy doesn’t matter either.
Eminem. Because some things do matter.
Who will be the next Queen after Alexandra implodes?
Courtney’s Hole is too old at this point…
But Chelsea is already warming up in the bullpen…*
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