The A's win!!! And I'm a happy son of a gun. That will make Pope Crazy Watermelon cringe--ha! In other, more important, news: Don't forget (Sis-ki-you Countians) that there's a dang poetry reading this Saturday (August 13th) in Yreka (CA) at Nature's Kitchen (@7:30). This particular reading features Jackie McNamara, Jonah Bornstein and David Bell. You could go to the reading, or you could go to the Norman Rockwell painting that's gone awry that is the Siskiyou Golden fair. Me, in my omnipresence, will go to both. How's reading The Man Who Was Thursday coming, C.O.T. agents? "What?," you ask. Okay, to refresh ya'lls memory. The Church on Thursday reading assignment from almost a week ago is to read G.K. Chesterson's The Man Who Was Thursday. Didn't know anything about it, eh? Too bad. You must read the damn BLOG! It's a simple book to read and kind of a difficult one to find...but at least you'll understand the transformation that's taking place in your soul. And, for you frickin' spies (outside of C.O.T.) who have nothing better to do than make meager attempts at surveillance, at least You'll be entertained (if you're intelligent enough to understand the goddamn book). The only problem with The Man Who Was Thursday is that it practically reveals everything (to the more astute of you). Thus, the inevitable "real life" climax that's destined to take place this week or 3 years from now, will not be as entertaining or enlightening. Oh well. Now that no one is reading this, I can make fun of Vine magazine. Except for it's like throwing rocks at a retarded kid. I just don't understand why when a C.O.T. agent is nice for once and makes an earnest attempt to support a (let's face it, lesser) entity, that particular entity can't just be thankful and reciprocate the gesture. But NOOOOOOO...acknowledging the existence of something cool(er), some people think, takes away from their baby identity. Maybe if you just close your eyes, we'll disappear. Nope, still here. Anyway, it's morning time and I'm rambling again...As ever, your Texas Two-Step, FELIX

¶ 9:02 AM //   

I done just got off the horn with Joey Nova. Him done chastised me for hating the punk rock. I don't hate punk rock! Just to prove it, here's a list of my five favorite punk rock albums of all time. 1. SNFU "If You Swear, You'll Catch No Fish" 2. Rudimentary Peni "Death Church" 3. Meat Puppets II 4. The Undertones s/t 5. Nomeansno "Wrong" 6. The Rezillos "Cant't Stand The Rezillos 7. Dag Nasty "Can I Say" 8. Buzzcocks "Singles Going Steady" 9. X-Ray Spex "The Day The World Turned Dayglo' 10. Bad Brains "I Against I"
I know that's, like, TEN. They're probably not even really my ten fave...oh well, right now they are. Actually, I'm listening to Cheap Trick's first album as I type this...my frickin' Molly Hatchet CD is in my truck. I'm kind of keyed. I done just got back from the frickin' Siskiyou County Golden Fair (or whatever). Unless you reside in the Siskiyou County, you probably cannot relate to what I observed tonight. I mean, the frickin' Siskiyou County Golden County Fair (or whatever) actually has, like, those exhibits like SEE THE WORLD'S BIGGEST ALLIGATOR or THE WORLD'S BIGGEST PIG (or whatever). This kind of shit plays in the sticks....kind of like Dancin' Homer. I done even seen my friend LuAna going to these frickin' exhibits. She's a twisted chick who claims to read these blogs. I like her Hawaiian/American family very much. I even likey going to the Siskiyou GOlden COUNTY Fair and drinking beer. I am very keyed. "Auf Wiedersehen" by Cheap Trick kicks ass! But not as much as "One Man's Pleasure" by Molly Hatchet. Except for I done left my Molly Hatchet CD in my truck. The first Three albums by Cheap Trick kick ass. Just check my record reviews of them on this here website. Bye Bye So Long Farewell....Your Truckin' Convoy, Felix

¶ 11:38 PM //   

Fucking A's! They done lost tonight (to the stupid Los Angeles Angels of Anahiem of the United States of America), making me one pissed off bastard! But I am not here--believe it or not--to lament the A's losing ways (at home). This Saturday (August 13th), in Yreka (CA) there's a poetry reading at Nature's Kitchen (@7:30 p.m.), featuring Jonah Bornstein, David Bell (no, not the 3rd baseman of the Phillies) and Jackie McNamara. Of course, it will interfere with the Siskiyou Golden Fair...Oh well, I don't think fairgoers are likely to be interested in a poetry reading. Anyway, be there or be...like everyone else.
Oh, and thanx to Evelyn Dawn for her comments on the dang blog. She's the only one who makes comments because most of you have such better things to do, I'm sure, like...NOTHING! Oh well, as ever, your Witchfinder General, FELIX

¶ 12:49 AM //   

"Punk's not dead, it just deserves to die..."-Jello Biafra
It's true. What Jello said. He said it, like, almost 20 years ago. Now "punk" is a really stale cartoon. Sometimes I think I imagined all the good things about the punk scene. Or, that I was just so fucking naive that I didn't know any better. I always make fun of people (especially that I grew up with) who spent their teenaged years trying to be "popular" (in a town of 6,000 people)or focusing on fitting in so much that once they got out of high school they couldn't even remember who they once were...maybe couldn't even remember that they couldn't remember who they once were. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe the Risky Business haircuts, and ugly pastel clothing and McCarthy-like reverence for conformity was really the right path. I mean, here I was, as a 12-year old on, discovering unique and interesting bands, reading books to try to counteract the public school mindfuck, seeking out cool people who had their own identities...for what? So the post-Nirvana MTV sheep could hijack "alternative" fashion and mimic "alternative" music and produce plastic shit? So I could go through thousands of profiles on the stupid-ass My Space and see people with piercings and dyed hair who listen to The Killers (or worse) and proclaim proudly that they don't read (unless they're pretending to be educated and write down some names that they think makes them appear intelligent even though they don't even comprehend the ideas of the writer they list). I thought the Nineties were bad enough as an "Exterior Counter-Culture" (see my article on this here website titled "Who Do They Think They're Fooling?" in Unfathomable Misc.)with stupid grunge music. Now all you need is the money for a few tattoos, a piercing or two and "Whammo!"...you're punk! Or Emo! Or Rockabilly! Or whatever's cool this week. Fuck you! If I thought that punk would end up this way, I would have been practicing conformity instead of listening to Corrosion of Conformity. Anyway...
What kills me almost as much as the poser punks (who embrace consumerism and materialism) are the so-called "gutter punks". Here we have another extreme that pisses me off. Not showering, living in a "squat", and being so socially retarded that even I can't tolerate you, doesn't make you punk...it makes you a borderline homeless, change scrounging, a-political, hippie that's no better than the capitialists you claim to revile. If all you care about is seeing how much you can "get" from other people, what separates you from a greed-sucking capitalist? I just don't get it. I hate the Warped Tour contingent and I despise the overpass dwelling scum. Why do these people gravitate towards punk culture? Is it because punks of old were open-minded and accepting? Punk is more than nihilism...isn't it?
Another thing I'm sick of is the anti-intellectualism that's so prevalent in the scene. Who do you think the first punks were? Let's skip The Stooges/Velvet Underground/MC5/Seeds origin debate, a center on when "punk" became a valid moniker for a group of bands. That was in the mid-Seventies in New York. That was the Richard Hell (who the Sex Pistols were modeled after). That was Patti Smith. That was the Ramones. That was Talking Heads. That was bands from Ohio such as DEVO and Pere Ubu. These were intelligent and diverse bands. Richard Hell and Patti Smith and Tom Verlaine (named after French Symbolist poet Paul Verlaine) wrote/write poetry. The Ramones were intentionally dumbed-down to make a statement. DEVO and Pere Ubu were art school dropouts. That's punk. How many so-called "punks" today read or write or paint?
Even a lot of today's so-called "artists" piss me off. How much of an individual can you be if you and everyone you hang around with listens to the same bands, have the same haircuts and so on? Being "intellectual" just seems to be another fashion accessory. Is this generation that shallow? It's early, and I'm complaining about the same things I was ten years ago. That's frustrating. And, it's sad. And, probably, no one cares. But the reason I mention it is because I see it. Maybe other people see it, too. There...have some validation.
Sometimes I wonder why I do things...like this website. I'm glad people have contributed to it. My friends in Murray, KY being the greatest and most enthusiastic about doing so. And I'm happy I've come into contact with people like Loryn and Charles Colyott and Corinna a.k.a. Corinna, and Shawndra--even though I haven't had the chance, yet, to get to know any of them. But I feel like it's all destined to get sucked into a void. I guess that's why I'm doing this...to prove that these people and what they write about aren't all in my imagination. AND I'M NOT WHINING like The Elusive Leather Pirate! I think I should probably just avoid fucking My Space. And television. And writing unfocused diatribes at 7:30 a.m. Anyway, what was the point of all this? I don't remember. Oh yeah, I HATE PUNK ROCK! So quit trying to get me to listen to stupid bands that sound like bands I used to (and kind of still) like such as The Fall and Gang of Four! All I like listening to, now, is Merle Haggard and Molly Hatchet and The Kingston Trio's early stuff, and Johnny Paycheck and the Paint Your Wagon soundtrack (from the Motion Picture...with Lee Marvin) and Waylon and Shooter Jennings and the CD Rachel made me that has Eddie Rabbit and Slim Whitman on it! Well, Buckaroos, that's all for now. Why doesn't anybody comment on these? And read The Man Who Was Thursday by G.K. Chesterson. As ever, your Silk Upholstered Chair, FELIX.
"I was saying let me out of here before I was even born/ It's such a gamble when you get a face"--Richard Hell

¶ 8:11 AM //