The reason I contacted my old buddy, Danny Boy Blake, was the epiphany I have been huding since 1971, I told Danny I suffere from PTSD due to the killing of Puppy,
What I was trying to say, I dug a deep hole for myself with this blog – that may be the largest in the world. There are five books for me in here, and – ten bools for other authors – including Thomas Pynchon, who was influenced by Ian Fleming and Raymond Chandler.
I did a major WHAT IF? in regards to not tell the Judge who I was, and how we knew each other – while handcuffed to his desk. If I told him the truth – I would have been a friggen hero. I had almost a year of sobriety. I would have sked the Judge to get my family in therapy.
“You’re honor. My wife is not well in the head as her ex-husband and his attorney clamed. Do you know she live with Thomas Pynchon for a couple of years, and that she was married to the writer whose wife Tom – took from him? There is another story about Tom dogging a mans woman. When Mary Anne told me her divorce turned to crap after she had a love affair with her attorney, I got very angry at her, and is the other reason I asked for an annulment. She and I need counseling. We are artists, Beatniks if you will. We are….
THE REAL DEAL WHILE PYNCHON THE ISOLATIONISTS BORROWS HEAVILY FROM OUR REAL EXPERIENCES.
I want to write a book about my adventures with the Boston Mafia. You and I will come out….smelling like roses. Have you read Pynchon, your honor?”
“Of course. I need a break from the real criminal zaniness I wideness every in my court.”
Tom! I know you read this blog. It’s time to pass the baton. Publish this sentance….
“John Presco gave me the best review – ever. His ‘Marijuana Road and Lil Hippie’ is puer genius. He saw that I never employee a McGuffin, and thus he produced one…..a bag of turnips!?Mr. Presco is, the Real McCoy. He has twenty books stowed away in Royal Rosamond Press. Its time some of them see the light of day.”
Don’t forget….
“And we made love to the same woman!”
Thanks, Tom.
I am going to get the record of my case against the Mafia, and a record of the custody battle – if possible. Britt was thirteen. What I am going to try to do is get an annulment of our marriage annulment. I believe I found….Justice in the World. I know I have found my McGuffin. I went home to Oakland to find it. Here………..she is!
Here is the review I posted of Inherent Vice. I am going to capture the illustration of Caldwell’s books who I now see are the original Rosamond Women. Virginia Caldwell illustrated some of her husband’s book. Christine R0samond Benton was the sister-in-law of Mary Ann Tharaldsen, who was also a artist. I am a artist and a writer.
Being a Hippie involves extensive contact with human beings, mostly other Hippies. The word “Hippie” was uttered twenty times in the movie ‘Inherent Vice’. I am not sure why.
The term “Lil Hippie” spew out twice from the faux fog that Kesey brilliantly created in ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’. I winced with embarrassment! Only when I awoke this morning with a marijuana hangover garnished from the contact high I got as a bonus at my movie house, did I see what work of literature, and movie art, this sophomoric offering ripped off. Does this line jar your memory;
“Hmm-yummy! I sure could use some turnips right now.”
Yep, that’s from the movie Tobacco Road, made from a novel that had a simple plot, and a lot of characters. Erskin Caldwell is an extremely generous author compared to Pynchon who has Doc Bogart the whole damn movie! Somehow, it never got passed over to me – THE PLOT! Doc looked like he didn’t have a clue, either. It is never quite clear – he wants a clue. Reese Withersppon looked like the Ice Lady who was married to the Silver Surfer, but, we don’t even get a taste of her sub-plot, and, off the set she go with a big bag of turnips.
Pynchon is a very selfish author. Twenty minutes into this movie, I struggled to stay awake. I didn’t own a clue why Doc rolled, or stuck in his mouth, another joint, because he never got, clear, or foucessed on doing his job that somehow pays the rent on the groovy pad he has on the Pacific Ocean.
“Not another Marijuana ciggerette! Are you going to start this movie – or what?”
After puffing away, I look for signs of intelligence behind those glazed cocker spaniel eyes. I am flabbergasted, because if I was alone in the office with this – Manson Follower – considering sharing with him my very troubling life problems, I would conclude this off the bat;
“Of course! This is where I always go wrong. I put my trust in the wrong people! Thanks, Doc! But, no thanks! You don’t know it right now, but, you helped me a whole bunch!”
In the movie ‘Chinatown’ the Japanese Gardner comes out of the pond wearing waders, and says;
“Too much grass. Very bad!”
Did I get that wrong? Big Foot busts down Doc’s door, and eats all his weed, which causes Doc to say;
“Are you alright?”
Did I just give away the ending the movie? Who knows!
Josh Brolin should have played Doc, because his pilot light was lit. Josh was really there, wanting badly for the other actors to start acting. And, who is that sidekick, that dimwit who runs into the PI in that alley that gives us a very stingy view of what Venice looked like in 1970. The Art Director must have been high when he backed up a vintage Cadillac next to the front of Volkswagon then shot a groovy scene of the sea between the vintage bumpers.
“C’mon, guys! (Giggle! Snort! Snort!) Work with me here. I just saved the producer a bundle. And, hey, look at that dude sitting on the wall down there. Go get him!” (Tee-hee!)
Actor X, did no acting. Which was interesting. But, the big stars didn’t want to get near him. He was snubbed, on the set of the hippest movie ever made – NOT!
What was going on in the director’s mind? Movie-goers are never supposed to wonder about this. I think he was getting cute with his own stoned states, and took this phrase too seriously;
“Tune in. Turn on. And, drop out!”
Everyone, but Brolin, dropped out of the movie, and left the camera running. Then, some grip said;
“Don’t we got to get something in the can?’
“Like what?”
“How about every time Doc goes to the cop station, they knock him on his ass?”
Brolin had a reputation to save after his masterful performance in ‘No Country For Old Men’.. His hiding the dope money under his trailer, along with the machine gun, while his little woman wonders what he is up to – is greatness! He’s doing it all for her. He’s trying to be unselfish. But he’s touched pure evil and total selfishness. He understands he has been cursed. Now, how do you keep the curse away from the woman you love?
I am sure the folks who had their money in this Film Noir suggested they change the title just to lure in a couple of million suckers so they could break even.
“How about – No Country For Old Hippies?”
For Pete’s sake, millions of folks come from all over the place to take in the wild&crazy scene on the Venice Boardwalk, and this fucked-up movie is too high and mighty to go film there? Tourists drop sacks of turnips all over the place, and, Doc is too cool to be seen with them? I mean, this guy is in denial. He is a Narc of sorts out to bust people’s ass! Didn’t he get that pot-laden schooner hauled into port by boat cops? Couldn’t the director and producer allow the stoned movie-goers the privilege of pointing to the screen and saying;
“I smoked a doobie, right there, under the noses of the lifeguards!”
Calm down Mr. Presco. It’s just a movie. Doc is not smoking real pot, he is smoking faux Hollywood movie, pot, pot the grips won’t touch with a ten foot pole. If you keep it up, we are going to have to ask you to leave the theatre. And, didn’t I ask you nicely to turn off your cellphone. Do you want me to take away your tobacco allotment for the week? Turn it off – NOW!
Yes nurse Ratched. But, I quit smoking fifteen years ago.
Do you think this is going to stop me. I’m sure there are other precious habits you might want to hold on to, if you get my innuendo.
The development of the Private Detective and his Snitch, is vital. Consider the Rockford Files and Rockie’s trailer by the surf. Then we see Angel treating Rocky to a chili dog on Pico Blvd. We all got this innuendo, didn’t we? Rocky is the Alpha Male. Doc is a Mutt, and proud of it. Perhaps there is a opening for a new character on Duck Dynasty?
Would someone please burn that straw hat!
A reviewer for the New York Times said it was a good thing that the new generation of hipsters did not get to see the art director recreate a period of time that would interest them. How selfish – and cheap! Just keep staring into Docs eyes, and – your’re there! Here, suck on this, Lil Hippie!
I wish I had been warned. I would have brought my Ouji board to see if my spririt guide could lead me to – THE PLOT. I could not believe I was led to an empty lot during a THE GREAT POT SHORTAGE of 1970, where in the rain, true love is found in a dirty bubble gum entryway. This lost sex kitten is letting Doc know this is what really turns her on, rolling around in the mud like pigs. This is what she came back for…..NOT!
There were shades of Borat here, but, not enough! I think the director wanted to recreate a Pynchonian Marijuana High that he thought he found in Thomas’s books. But, this is an illusion that Pynchon created with smoke and mirrors. What I would have done is lock the cast in a room and show them some Borat outtakes, a couple of Pink Panther movies, and Fillini’s 8 1/2. No dope is necessary. Hippies were very playful people who understood serialism and street theatre. Owning a sense of humor was vital to being a real hippy. ‘Inherent Vice’ should have been shot in black & white with old footage and pics of Venice Beach Beats that was LA’s Lil Italy.
I was reminded of the movie ‘The Umbrella’s of Cherbourg’ the first movie I ever ran out on. I could not get to the exit fast enough as these faux Bohemians meet and embrace at a Esso station. They hug and kiss after almost getting soaked in a good downpour, as a French biker fills his tire up – with free air!
“Die! Bad Art Movie. Die!”
Now to the hideous lines full of sexual innuendo I heard, that filled me with disgust. I dare anyone who is truly stoned to utter them. Thank the goddess for allowing my memory to go blank, so I can not repeat them. However this line will never be brain-washed away!
“Do you want to come over with a bar of soap and wash my dirty feet?”
“Yukk!”
If you used this great hippie pick-up line on the woman you suckered into marrying you, she would sue for a divorce. If you managed to muster the guts to go up to a table full of fellow innmates and give them a dose of Pynchonite Humor, they would get you while you slept, they beating you black and blue with a pillowcase full of bars of soap. However, if you did some editing, you might have used this line on Ms. Witherspoon, and got her to play with her nipple before you banged her like a male lion.
“Something tells me you are a dirty Lil Girl, and I should come to your house with a bar of soap and give you a long bath!”
It is clear to me Pynchon has not been around women that much. Oh sure, he might have put down his pen long enough to give his woman a quick spanking, then, sent her out to shag some Mexican fast-food, but, he would kill the mood with this request;
“You know what I would like to see. I want to see the Chinese woman at the porno shop go down on you while I watch!”
This scene is the most senseless scene every filmed. Doc should have been hit on head so hard, that he stays down. It was devoid of any erotic feelings. I dare anyone to go through their porno collection to find a BIGGER TURN-OFF. This is not Gene Teirney slinking up to Lov Bensey like a snake because she wants some yummy turnnips, too. A couple in their fifties walked out – before their genetalia swiveled up. This scene may have produced a pay-off if you dress two thespians as Lil Abner and Daisey Mae.
“Hey Daisy. What you say we go into this porno shop and see what the fuss is all about?
“Oh Lil Hippie. I thought you would never ask. You sure know how to make my nipples hard!”
I live in the Emerald Valley, and rarely do I see anyone walk out of a movie, because, many folks are out of work and are desperate to get out of the house. Another poor viewer heads for the EXIT.
If Pynchon had only dropped a MacGuffin in his story. Then folks would not have had to go back home, mad. They could have followed the bouncing ball.
“Just one bitty bite, Lov!”
There is not one drop of existentialism in this Fumble Flick, either! There is no ATMOSPHRE on the screen. It is a movie DRYSPELL. For sure, no one will attempt to make a Hippie Movie again. This is it! Pynchon and his movie people – SHOT OUR WAD! After the Great Existentialists punted the ball to Pynchon, he fumbles it out of bounds and into the sewer, then giggles like that mad man in Reefer Madness, because, only Tom gets the irony of it all. There was no irony in this movie. There was a shit-load of wasted carte blanche.
In the theatre, two teen girls on pot let out a few earnest giggles, only because they heard this was a Funny Pothead movie. They made sure they got their money worth. They made me chuckle, because, most young women are game for anything. When Josh Bigfoot gets angry in Japanese I am relieved to hear feminine laughter.
Josh is a cute guy. For them, it’s always Sadie Hawkins Day. I raised my hand to cover Brolin’s big jaw, and put a beard on him. I then did my own take where Doc Brolin is alone in the room with Witherspoon, and, the fire in his eyes (after smoking a joint) tells her he’s not going to take NO for an answer. As she goes to close the shades, he rips her white blouse off. The next shot is taken outside the building where we see Witherspoon’s hands clawing at the shade as if she was cornered by a Hippie Animal, instead of being bored to tears by Doctor Whimpy-Pooh, the Marijuana Med Doctor. And, what is that shit on his cheeks?
All of a sudden I am putting a swastika smack dab on Brolin’s forehead. Alas I am having a acid flash-back.
“Charlie, is that you?”
This movie was devoid of TENSION! I yawned when the Nazi bikers rode into the audience. Shades of Von Zipper in Beach Blanket Bingo. I would like to have seen a shark attack in the opening scene, that some folks would catch and talk about at the after-movie glow. There was no glow.
I did find tension in the vision I conjured up of the second script girl from the UCLA film school writing out that Sex Price List, and here come one grip after another, taking out their wallet, and delivering the exact same sex innuendo.
“I’ll have one blow-job, please – to go!”
The only scene that peeked my artistic senses was the glossy images of the Northern Flower Power Cult that was shot using that old Penthouse trick of smearing vaseline on the lens that renders the Beautiful People – more beautiful! Pynchon is fascinated by the Super Mysterious Hippies (with winery) that he traces to Vineland in another poke and self-giggle. This is a slap at his old hip friends, Dick and Mimi Farina, who did their damnedest to convince Tom smoking dope and being cool, was all about being with cool people, flower people who make-up the Generation of Love. As the Private Dick weaves in and out of the elevated consciousness, alas we see A PLOT. Alas we see why Pynchon feels out of place. These folks have no flaws.
Now we get a obligatory CAR-CHASE scene, of sorts, after Doc kidnaps a fellow Stoner from the Super Hippies that take a lot of LSD in order to acquire that look of high intelligence, and gets him home to his Lil Woman, who jumps up and down for joy at his return. There is some movie music here and a wry smile on Doc’s face as something sinks in, and he drives away. However, when the Lil Woman discovers her Big Bum failed to get himself a bag of turnips, she tosses him out on his ear! She’s no fool!
“Damn! Us Super Hippies did it, again. It’s all our fault! I should have known it would end this way. There had to be a villain at some point.”
Last night, I wished I had a Lil Woman waiting for my return from the Regal theatre, she popping a thorizene pill in my mouth – to bring me down! However, there are no hippie flash-backs to be had!
I want to put a closure on this review by recalling the first time I entered a Jack-off shop in Downtown Oakland – in 1977. The proprietor looked like a Palooka, and knew I was a virgin.
“You’ll need some tokens!”
“Tokens? What are those?”
I hand the Porno Teller three dollars, and he looks at me with disgust.
“Give me a fiver!”
I head down a dark hallway lined with dark velvet curtains. A large indsutial mop and bucket partially block my way. I find a open curtain, and enter. I slip a token into the slot, and am beholding my first image of two guys having anal sex. I fumble with the choice selector and hit choice one. A dude is going down on a woman. The screen goes blank. This is when I notice the stainless steel Kleenex dispenser on the wall.
“What is this sticky-stuff on the floor?”
Then I get it, THE PLOT. After I shoot my wad, and leave the booth, the Palooka will come in and give the place a quick mop, because, like all the other jeck-offs, I have an aversion to putting my cum in a lil white napkin! Why? God only knows! Did I get off? Buy my book!
Pynchon’s movie contained no real vice. Like I said, I struggled to stay awake. I did doze off for a few seconds. It was the handful of tokens slipping out of my hand and crashing to the floor, that awoke me.
Now that I am the reincarnation of Kilgore Trout, I am thinking of getting a job as a reviewer of porno movies. I will use the bucket and mop as my rating system symbol. There will be fifth symbol, a bag of turnips, that will denote I really got off on this one!
Hmm! Yum! I got me a big bag of turnips!”
Check out the high octane eroticism in this opening scene. I give it four mops and a bag of turnips with that last morning stretch with firm mammarys greeting the new dawn. This is what being a hippie was all about, the morning romp in the sack! There is a lot of Flower Power in this flick, too!
“Does anyone here have to get out of bed and go to work?”
“Not me!” she squeals with delight!
Unfortunately, folks had to get out of bed to go make this movie.
Jon Presco
POST SCRIPT
Some day in the future, when real Bohemians take over the world – and install Art Flick Theatres everywhere – will Inherent Vice be dug up and saved from obscurity. Artsy Folks will flock to see it, only after my mother’s Art & Madness home movie is spliced in as a forward to Pynchon’s……….Masterpiece (gulp)
As Rosemary rides and shoots with her friends, and the head doctor of the newly opened Camarillo State Mental Hospital (Dude with pipe) the subtitle will explain how the actor Ronald Reagan, who snitched on fellow thespians during the Commie Witch-hunt, signed a bill as the Governor of California that released crazy folks into the general public, who made a bee-line for the streets of Berkeley and San Francisco. This constitutes the most cynical act in our democracy, because Reagan had heard the Height was overwhelmed by young people coming there from all over America – and the world.
Before I even saw ‘Inherent Vice’ I knew it was near impossible to commit anyone to a mental hospital. Thus, the only plot in Pynchon’s romp, was terribly flawed.
Rosemary was the mother-in-law of Mary Ann Tharaldsen and Rick Partlow. Mary Ann was married to Thomas Pynchon, who is in my family tree, along with Rick who was good friends with, Lana Jean Clarkson, who was murdered by Phil Spector. This is the movie that should have been made with this cast and director. Bryan McLean who played at my wedding to Mary Ann, was invited by Sharon Tate to come over the night Manson’s crew showed up. He had something else to do.
Growing up, my mother would say this to her four children.
“Do you know your mother has a scholarship to Camarillo State Hospital?”
After watching the innocent look on our face, turn to fearful confusion, woe and wonderment at the idea we are insane, too, Rosemary let go her famous chortal. You see, the Doc she rode with needed a budding star in his spanking new hospital, a schill he could haul out of her cell and put before the press.
Rosemary, and her veteran husband (of the Vietnam war) smoked a hell of a lot pot together. When I stayed with Rosemary and Robby on a visit, I had to pass thru the only bedroom to get the bathroom. There they are in bed puffing on a pipe;
“Do you want a toke?” my father-in-laws asks.
“No thanks. I quit!”
Robby is six months younger than me. He and his platoon did way more drugs than I and my buddies, while they killed the Vietcong. I don’t want to investigate whether or not Doc is wearing a anachronism. I just want to rip that jacket off of him! Then, stomp on his straw hat. Maybe I should smoke some more dope? But, I never smoked to cope. I took drugs to have a good time. I got lucky. I was there at the beginning, with just the right people, when the world’s best party got under way! Every day was Turnip Day!
An anachronism (from the Greek ἀνά ana, “against” and χρόνος khronos, “time”), is a chronological inconsistency in some arrangement, especially a juxtaposition of person(s), events, objects, or customs from different periods of time. The most common type of anachronism is an object misplaced in time, but it may be a verbal expression, a technology, a philosophical idea, a musical style, a material/textile, a plant or animal, a custom or anything else associated with a particular period in time so that it is incorrect to place it outside its proper temporal domain.
The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (French: Les Parapluies de Cherbourg) is a 1964 French musical film directed by Jacques Demy, starring Catherine Deneuve and Nino Castelnuovo. The music was written by Michel Legrand. The film dialogue is all sung as recitative, even the most casual conversation (similar in style to an opera).
Existentialism (/ɛɡzɪˈstɛnʃəlɪzəm/)[1] is a term applied to the work of certain late 19th- and 20th-century philosophers who, despite profound doctrinal differences,[2][3][4] shared the belief that philosophical thinking begins with the human subject—not merely the thinking subject, but the acting, feeling, living human individual.[5] In existentialism, the individual’s starting point is characterized by what has been called “the existential attitude”, or a sense of disorientation and confusion in the face of an apparently meaningless or absurd world.[6] Many existentialists have also regarded traditional systematic or academic philosophies, in both style and content, as too abstract and remote from concrete human experience.[7][8]
Umbrellas is the middle film in an informal “romantic trilogy” of Demy films that share some of the same actors, characters and overall look; it comes after Lola (1961) and before Modelshop (1967).[4] The film was very successful in France with a total of 1,274,958 admissions.[5] The plot is very similar to Marcel Pagnol’s trilogy of plays entitled Marius, Fanny and César. The musical Fanny was based on Pagnol’s trilogy.
In fiction, a MacGuffin (sometimes McGuffin or maguffin) is a plot device in the form of some goal, desired object, or other motivator that the protagonist pursues, often with little or no narrative explanation. The specific nature of a MacGuffin is typically unimportant to the overall plot. The most common type of MacGuffin is an object, place or person; other, more abstract types include money, victory, glory, survival, power, love, or some unexplained driving force.
Lov Bensey, a friend of the Lesters, walks to his home at the train yard coal chute. He has walked seven and a half miles to get a sack of winter turnips for fifty cents; which is half of his daily wage. On his way home he stops by the Lesters to talk to Jeeter about Jeeter’s twelve-year-old daughter Pearl, to whom Lov is married. While Lov is talking to Jeeter, the book introduces the reader to sixteen year-old Dude, the youngest of the Lester boys; Ada, Jeeter’s wife; Grandma Lester; and Ellie May, an eighteen-year-old girl with a grotesque cleft lip. The entire family, acting in complete desperation, works to steal the turnips from Lov, who then becomes nauseated by the sight and leaves for home.
At this point the preacher Bessie enters the scene. Sister Bessie Rice, like Ellie May, also has a deformity of the face. Bessie’s nose contains no bone, and so when looking straight at her face one can see straight into her nostrils, like a pig. Despite this, Jeeter is still attracted to her. She does some preaching and praying for everyone’s sins, and then proposes marriage to Dude. However, Dude is more interested in her offer of letting him drive the new automobile that she anticipates purchasing than in actually getting married to her. Bessie then goes home to her hovel to ask God whether or not she and Dude should get married.
When Sister Bessie returns the next day to the Lester house, she exclaims that God has given her his approval for the marriage between Dude and herself. The two then start the long walk to Fuller in order to purchase a new Ford, for the purpose of traveling around the country and preaching. Once they are in the auto showroom, the salesmen take advantage of Bessie’s rural naïveté to pull off a quick and profitable sale, while at the same time constantly making fun of her deformed nose. Later, Dude and Bessie go off to get their marriage certificate and are questioned by the county official, who reprimands Bessie for attempting to marry a boy of sixteen years. (Bessie claims she is only 31 years old to the Lesters, but admits to 39 years at the registrar’s office.) Finally, they get the marriage license, and the anxious Dude gets to drive the automobile again. Dude incessantly sounds the car horn whenever he gets behind the steering wheel to drive off somewhere.
Over the course of the next two days, the automobile slowly gets wrecked more and more. First there is an accident with a wagon in which they end up killing the negro driver, and then Dude drives into a stump. The seats get torn by Jeeter’s blackjack wood, which he attempts to sell in the city of Augusta. The engine also becomes irreparably damaged by being run without enough oil. On top of this, they sell the spare tire and wheel for three dollars in order to pay for gasoline, food, and a night at a disreputable hotel where Bessie willingly gets prostituted from room to room by the manager. Some days later Bessie refuses to let Jeeter ride in her car anymore, which makes him upset to the point of kicking her off the land. When she physically attacks him, Ada and Jeeter proceed to beat Bessie and poke her with sticks until she and Dude take off in the car.
I found an e-mail from my Nutty Buddy, Tim O’Connor. He was fourteen when he asked me to take LSD with him, because, he was going to take LSD with my cousin and his best friend. We dropped in 1966. Tim has been looking to cash-in on someone’s fame. He can’t acknolege I tried to teach him how to play guitar. It might affect his Pay Day.
Since his famous father died in April of last year, I get a STRONG HINT he is writing a autobiography, and thus he wants to SHORE UP his copyright. Is he going for a movie?
Here is an old post where Tim slips Mafia Max some LSD, and puts six people’s lives in danger. I ended up playing chess for our friend Keith’s life. Max was up for days tripping.
I could hang the idea that Tim does not care about the plight of America when he made another demand, but, his e-mail arrived on August 1st, before the shootings. However, Tim has not cared about America because he became a ex-patriot living in Amsterdam. He’s a pothead, who has spent a million dollars on pot constructing ‘Lil Timmy’s World’. Now he wants to cash in – BIG TIME – so Timmy’s World IS THAT MUCH HIGHER! It can’t get more compact – AND COTROLLED! Fuck this CONTROL FREAK!
I highly suspect he is trying to pull my Dead Sister over to his BIO-PILE!
“I’m a poor musician.”
So fucking what? He and ten million others! Get a job – HIPPIE!
John Ambrose <braskewitz@yahoo.com>To:Tim O’ConnorAug 9 at 9:26 AMDid I tell you my best friend died a month after your father, died. I grieved for Ben Toney for half a year. We chatted every day on facebook. For five years we fought side by side the evil changes that were coming to America. He is one of the fathers of Radio London that was the Rock Invasion of England. He knew – everyone! I was trying to connect you with him. There was Radio Holland. But, you were too busy working on your obituary, something you have been doing since I met you. You’ve carved out a little plot ‘Lil Timmy’s World’ and you decorated it every day with STUFF about you. You want to look good -for God knows who?You keep telling me what I can publish on my blog. Who in the fuck are you? I am so tempted to publish some f your poems, and alleged hippie experiences. What would you do? Call up Peter and Christine and out some PEER PRESSURE on me? The other option is to take your poetry book out into the woods, drop my pants, and shit on it – while I film!You have been censoring me since we met. You are a little prick Nazi. You are one of the pushiest people I ever met. If we are going to continue to be NUTTY BUDDIES – can we start practicing HONESTY before we croak?John GregoryJohn Ambrose <braskewitz@yahoo.com>To:timoconnorAug 9 at 7:51 AMChritine left a message on my phone saying Peter is “missing”. She mean he wont pick up his phone for her. I had it with her abuse and exposed her on my blog – you don’t like! She has been abusing a famous NY artist for years. She believes she is superior to everyone because her dad fas a famous Boston doctor. Does Christine talk to you? How about Keith. I am doe with these fucking mind games.. Why can’t I publish one of your poems? Perhaps several of my readers will purchase your books? Are you afraid of the IRS? Or do you feel superior to me, and I am in competition with you as a writer? It is obvious you do not consider me your peer as a writer, which I consider a huge insult. I refuse to play your pecking order as if you were, and are a super hippie. You are not. At this stage of my life I am looking for Writer-Friends, because what I do as a owner and reorter of a newspaper is very hard. I work ten house a day – every day! I will not let you brush me off like a nobody, and have me go back to being that person you feel more comfortable with. That is narcistic as all hell. My nation is in peril as is the hippie and bohemian movement.John Gregorytimoconnor <timoconnor@hitchhikingpoet.net>To:John AmbroseAug 1 at 4:10 AMHi I’m OK, on a train, visit friends and look for gigs, did you get my poetry book?Sorry I’m a poor musician, took awhile before I could afford the 10 euro postage,Please let me know when you get it? They are for your eyes only, please don’t post them on your Blog, thank you very much.Have you heard from Peter lately?Love Peace Music Poetry, your Nutty Buddy Timmy BoyThe Ready-Made Nazi Amongst UsMerlin, Nurse Ratched, British IsraelismMerlin, Nurse Ratched, British IsraelismLet me being by saying I own a special copyright that ministers own. Everything I write is protected by this cop…Kesey Anniversary Quiz
When Christine told me she went to an Art Gallery opening, where on a table was a big plate of freshly nuked yams – next to cheap bottes of wine – I began to salvitate, because I saw Van Gough’s famous painting ‘The Potatoe Eaters’ . Yams are called ‘Sweet Patatoes.
“Was there a table cloth? If so, what color was it?” I wanted details. What a bi-line!
“You should have seen them. Some of them had colorfully dyed hair. They were almost eighty. It was like Easter for old hags. They made sure to wear dresses with no sleves so everyone can see their arm-flesh flapping. The more winkled – the better! Half of them were wearing black leotards with holes and rips in them.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“The scanks, the old European scanks, who came up to Stefan to get their Euro-kiss! It was disgusting. The germs! The dirty nasty scank germs. I didn’t want to catch what they got!”
This was my inspiration for my painting of Chris&Eins. I pictured them coming to the door of the gallery.
“Excuse me. Can I see your invitations?” the scank at the door asks.
“We don’t need no invitation. We’re Yam Eaters – of the Village!”
“Oh my God! What a privilege to have you here.”
“We came to eat some yams. It says you will serve them. We love yams!”
“You Yam Eaters go way back. To Holland, I believe?”
“Yes, Holland. You have pegged us. Now can we eat some yummy yams?”
“Excuse me, art lovers! Attention! We got members of the Yam Eater tribe with us!”
This review dovetails nicely with my review of Pynchon’s ‘Inherent Vice’. I am getting to own the Big Picture, being I have been up close to very beautiful women, and, they light up your consciousness, in ways – still to be explained. They are other worldly creatures. The Greek acknowledged this – and the church – who owns thousands of naked statues.
I camped fifty days with a young woman who looked like a young Gene Tierney, who like Rena, suffered from mental illness most of her life.
The truth is, Stefan Eins is jealous of me, and not because Christine and I were real hippie lovers. It is because of the photograph I took and sent it to him that depicts a fossil of his famous horsehoe crab in the cement in downtown Springfield Oregon. I pointed out the smashed-down pipe that the citizens identified as the source of The Creature that came to dwell in their world. Was it from another planet, a planet of Yam Eaters?
“Take note of the flattened pipe. It looks like a penis that delivered The Demon Seed!” I said in my e-mail to Eins.
For five months Christine gave me a eerie report on the hole neat her radiator that she claimed her landlord had drilled in order to spy on her.
“Do you think he is using a spy camera?”
“No! I think he is using his nose – to smell if I still got too many cats!”
I finally got wise. All my life people have been punishing me, torturing me, because I own a UNLIMTED IMAGINATION that has to be from another planet. I am – alien! I was forced to grade potatoes when I was a child. My father was The Spud King! His secretaries called him Vic The Nazi – to his face!
“This battered pipe represents the oppressive church that hides the truth of our real Genesis. They intercept our sexual beings – then pound the shit out of us!” I said to Ein’s on the phone. He called me.
A year later, Christine is telling me Stefan’s mother used to torture her son’s penis by sticking objects up it.
“She wanted him to become a priest. He went to seminary school for awhile, but, he was haunted by bad memories!”
“She was sticking a piece of straw up his penis.” I offered. “This was a common practice amongst German mothers. They did it get all the urine out so the baby won’t dribble. My father claims the same form of abuse, and thus is his excuse for abusing all four of his children. His people came from Germany. This shit gets passed down. Parents refuse to believe the truth that our memories go back – more than they want to know! They don’t want to miss their chance to recreate their abuse!”
Stefan was traumatized as a boy. But, I shocked the shit out him. I had done his portrait, captured his inner self, that he believed would never be revealed. Too many people are hiding in the places made for Creative Open People, they using this opening as their Cloak of Invisibility!
“See! I am wide open to almost everything! Even though I hate yams! I have no problem eating Art Yams!”
I am done with that! I am very psychic. Stefan sent me an e-mail, and called me up and asked if I could resend him this image. He must have got spooked and deleted it.
As for the hole in Christine’s floor………..
“Get a box of Fix-All.”
“What is that? How do you spell it! Hurry, the store is about to close, and I need a bag of kitty litter. My wrists are giving out. I may not be able to carry food home, just the litter! God! Why am I so hungry? This stems from my childhood, where at dinner-time my parents would make me sit at the dining table and watch my brother and sister eat steaks. When they were done, my Fake Mother brought out a bowl of luke-warm, Cream O Wheat. My family would snigger as I ate. I cried and cried! They didn’t care! I don’t know where I am going to get the money to feed all my cats!”
“Christine! Did we talk about the German Psychologist, Allice Miller. I think she is suggesting the reason you adopt so many cats, is, because you are ‘The Un-Wanted Child’. Your parents only wanted – TWO children. That was their ideal! Every time you bring home a new cat – you are spitting in your parents face!”
“Oh that’s nuts! My mother – is not my real mother! My father met a beautiful woman who wanted only ONE child – ME! After my father delivered me downstairs in his office, my real mother – who wanted me – disappeared! I think she was/is a Catholic!”
I’m done fixing stuff, unless you want to hire me for a lot of money! Has Stefan ever fathered a child? Did he get a vasectomy? If you don’t want people to react to your art, don’t create. If you don’t want people to react to your writing, don’t write! If you don’t want people to response to your acting – don’t act!
Christine claims Stefan is not a real artist.
“He rarely paints, or twists a piece of wire anymore!”
I think Stefan became an artist in hope of meeting someone who could figure him out – and fix him! The Catholic Church – failed! I did not! Now what is Eins going to do? If you don’t want get fixed – stop going to a shrink!
Has anybody painted a box of Fix-All? Consider this box my Ready-Made.
Being a Hippie involves extensive contact with human beings, mostly other Hippies. The word “Hippie” was uttered twenty times in the movie ‘Inherent Vice’. I am not sure why.
The term “Lil Hippie” spew out twice from the faux fog that Kesey brilliantly created in ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’. I winced with embarrassment! Only when I awoke this morning with a marijuana hangover garnished from the contact high I got as a bonus at my movie house, did I see what work of literature, and movie art, this sophomoric offering ripped off. Does this line jar your memory;
“Hmm-yummy! I sure could use some turnips right now.”
Three days ago Christine said Stefan called her to see how she was doing. I told my friend, he called to see if you are dying, because he wants money, and, wants to be the sole owner of your house. On Halloween Eve there was a man in Christine’s Village appartment looking at her T.V. He was trying to get more than the two channels this Beat Survivor gets! She is losing her ability to use her hands. She could not bring up the box I sent her with my old typewriter. She sent it to Wilkes-Barre. The fake Cable Guy is a old homeless friend, who asked Christine if he could use her shower once a week. I had visions of a Hitchcock movie.
“Don’t go for it!” I told my friend – who needs real help.
For years Christine Wandel has conducted rituals with stray cats she had taken into her studio apartment. She claims around two hundred New York officials and attorneys got involved in forcing her to give up her dozen or so cats due to the complaints of her neighbors who poured liquids under her door to staunch the stench.
Old crones have squirted her with water pistols loaded with Clorox. I have logged over three thousand hours listening to her miserable crucified existence, I concluding years ago that she was a Crisis-Christ Junkie who used these poor animals to go to Her Cross and grab all the attention. I complained many times about her no longer listening to my ongoing crisis over the destruction of my Literary and Artistic Family Legacy.
Chris has been telling me she hates human beings, and her stinky cats are superior to every human being on the planet, but her and I. However, I detected some deception here. There was talk about an Alien Bloodline. I saw myself in chains, being led before the Superior Feline Tribunal for reveling Cat Bag Secrets. In 1986 I began my science fiction novel ‘Elfine’ a half-human, half feline from the planet Felinia.
ELFINE
FELINE
Two years ago, Christine formed a bond with the infamous artist, Stefan Eins, seen in these photos with Herman Nitsch, who was barred from a museum for conducting bloody ritual sacrifices. Three months ago, I got calls from Christine informing me someone was ritually killing her cats that she secreted to another State with the help of Stefan Eins. This is all Top Secret stuff that I am not supposed to reveal. However, this Very Odd Couple employed stealth in order to suck me into their high drama, that is now High Art, and thus belongs in the public domain. Stefan turned Christine’s studio into his gallery after helping her with her cat crisis, thus, these cats are………….ART!
Consider Felini’s ‘Juliet of the Spirit’ and ‘La Strada’. Christine complains to me how her Art Bully drags her to perverted shows where she reels in disgust at what she beholds.
“There was a hairy vagina with bugs coming out of it – COCKROACHES! I told them what I thought, and they wanted to record it.”
“That disgusting art whore………..”
“You should have gone for it and become ‘The Last Honest New York Critic.”
This is how I envisioned Christine and Stefan, before I saw the infamous Kiss Flick starring Brooke McGowan, the kiss-starved Austrian gypsy waif.
There has got to be a mound of paper filed in the courts of New York about how to separate Christine from her feline disciples – her captive audience! They hired a professional ‘Sniffer’ who demanded Christine get out of her way so she could look in an unplugged refrigerator taped shut with duck tape. This woman wanted to see if there were dead mummified cats in there. Christine held out her arms, and in a scene of crucifixion..
“You will never see what is inside. Never!”
Everyone wanted to a glimpse of the Inner Christine. This was a great assignment that made good conversation at dinner at one of New York’s finest;
“Then, she came at me in a crouch. I swear, I heard her hiss!”
“You’re the talk of the town, Chris. They never want your case to end! It’s better than ‘Cats’.”
I’m going to NY and get copies of this legal material to use in my Ritualistic Masterpiece – that I deserve!
Ten years ago, she called me and told me about the sunrise service she held for ‘Jaws’ the cat that tore into her leg while she was taking a shower. Christine watched her blood flow down the drain. She gave Jaws psychotropic drugs and kept him in the bathroom because he was a killer. Never-the-less, he was put in a cardboard box, with lit candles on top. Christine described how she watched the killer’s coffin sail down to the Hudson – to the sea! I saw the box going under an old wooden pier and setting the waterfront on fire. The conversations we had on the phone were otherworldly. Three years ago we talked about recording them. I think we were bugged by everybody.
Christine and I compared Stefan to our friend Keith Purvis, Christine’s former lover that she first met in 1965 while she was attending Mill’s College in Oakland. Keith came from England. In 1963 Keith fell in love with my late sister, the famous artist, Christine Rosamond Benton, who picked up a brush for the first time in 1972. The movie ‘Across the Universe’ is about both Christine’s and Keith and I, who became my good friend in 1964 when he came to live with me in the Village. We were both seventeen.
In 1969, Keith and my younger sister, Victoria, drove to Camarillo State Hospital to visit Susan Villiani who was committed by her parents in what the ACLU told me was an illegal procedure. My brother drove me to see Sue a year earlier, but, they changed their mind, and would not let me see her. I said this to the head nurse.
“I am going to zap your mind as you sit there with that smirk on your face. I am going to wipe it clean. I will render you a vegitable!”
She must have pushed a button, and behind me stands a huge woman nurse breathing heavily. I knew she was prepared to grab me. I was ordered to leave. It was then I got an ACLU attorney, and began to make long calls to Sue’s father, begging him to get his daughter out of that asylum. He assured me Sue’s doctor knew what he was doing, and the shock treatments my ex-lover was receiving, was doing her a world of good.
A year later, Sue’s father calls me. He is crying.
“What have they done to my daughter. Greg, you were right. She is a veritable. She doesn’t recognize me! I lodge a complaint and Sue’s doctor has disappeared. I can not find out where he went.”
We cried, together. Sue was beautiful aspiring actress who go the attention of Hollywood directors who came to see her in High School plays. When Vicki and Keith went for a walk on the grounds, Keith led sue to his van, got her inside, and headed up Highway 101. Thirty miles down the road, Sue begged Christine Wandel’s lover to take her back. I have read some of the letters Sue and Keith have exchanged over the years. Keith has disappeared. We have not heard from him in four years. Sue was Christine’s best friend and roommate. Rosamond’s autobiography was disappeared.
Almost two years ago I began a musical starring Chris, Stefan, Belle, and myself, called ‘My Big Beautiful Blue Bicycle. I ran this idea by my friend, Jeff Pasternak, the son of the famous Jewish director. He is working on his own musical, and asked Marilyn Reed for help with he female heroine. Christine Rosamond, Susan Villiani, Jeff, Marilyn, Bryan McClean, and myself, went to University High School. Bryan and I sat across the table from Michael Barry, the son of the actor, Gene Barry, in an art design class. Michael made a movie called ‘The Second Coming of Suzanne’. It is an Art Movie. Bryan and I were the school artists who talked art theory all the time.
The Second Coming of Suzanne (also known as Suzanne) is a 1974 film directed by Michael Barry. It stars Jared Martin as an obsessed San Francisco indie film maker who hires a beautiful young woman called Suzanne (played by Sondra Locke) to star as a female Christ in his next film. Richard Dreyfuss appears as a member of the crew who becomes concerned at the increasingly weird antics of the rest of the ensemble, which culminate in the crucifixion of Suzanne on a local hill. The film was inspired by the lyrics of Leonard Cohen‘s song “Suzanne”, as heard on the soundtrack. The director’s father Gene Barry is also featured, as a TV presenter, in a somewhat opaque sub-plot.
This appears to be Michael Barry’s only known film as a director.”
I told my friends that Sue was crucified at Camarillo. They captured this beautiful woman, and ritually destroyed her. She was given twenty-six shock treatments and heavy drugs to conceal their crime. She must have been in very bad shape when I tried to see her.
Here is is a photo taken of the dairy at Camarillo that lie in ruin. Did Sue work here? When I saw this image I thought about the action art of Herman Nitsch. What really turns me on is the hill with a cropping of rocks. When our President formed a coalition to fight ISIS, I designed this flag.
Bryan McClean lived with Vito Paulekas who did performance art happenings as did Jirle Zorthian. Bryan was invited to dinner at Sharon Tate’s home the night the Manson Cult showed up, but, he had another invite. ISIS is a CULT that is blowing the world’s mind with ritual slaughter. They are destroying important Art and Artifacts. I believe the World of Art has a life of its own, and has been suing me to send a message to all of humanity.
Zionist Kosher Jews are furious with Bardot whose blue bicycle stars in my musical.
French actress and animal rights activist Brigitte Bardot has published an open letter in several French newspapers calling for a ban on shechitah, the Jew practice of torturing animals in order to please their satanic tribal god.
That the Herman show used the word ‘LOVE’ in show, is profound, but, this is the tops of iceberg. Christine and Stefan created a CULT where I was subjected to covert activity, and shunned if I did not demonstrate loyalty – as a non-member! For this reason, I am obligated to reveal what I know. I am a newspaperman. The world has gone – MAD! The French have sent an aircraft carrier to punish ISIS. What about……..THE ART?
Below is Christine’s apartment with a photo of Stefan on the wall. Chris told me about a pact they signed, and complained how his art was everywhere. She felt, choked, overwhelmed. She talked about getting him out of her life. When I asked her why she hadn’t, she said this most profound thing;
“I hate him. I love to hate him!”
After a long silence, I told my friend of forty-five years;
“You are in a very dynamist relationship with a well-known artist, that is worthy of being recorded in a book – a art book!”
Installed in the main exhibition space of the HVCCA, the Hermann Nitsch installation stands in dialogue with ‘LOVE’, which opened in February of this year. The bond formed between God and the Hebrews in that early desert stage was based on a love relationship, proven by salvation from Egyptian enslavement and a parent to child nurturing environment within the dessert
French actress and animal rights activist Brigitte Bardot has published an open letter in several French newspapers calling for a ban on shechitah, the Jew practice of torturing animals in order to please their satanic tribal god.
Bardot accurately referred to the sick Jew practice as “ritual sacrifice,” which upset the sneaking rats, as they prefer to use the euphemism “ritual slaughter.”
Le Parisien, Le Figaro and Le Monde all published the letter, which also calls for an end to weird Muslim torture routines.
Moshe Kantor, the ratlike chief of the European Jewish Congress, denounced Bardot for her compassion, saying “Ms. Bardot’s depiction of shechitah as ‘ritual sacrifice’ is not only deeply offensive and a slur against the Jewish People, but also shows a stunning lack of knowledge in an area where she purports to be an expert … Bardot has once again shown her clear insensitivity for minority groups with the substance and style of her letter.”
Nitsch’s Orgien Mysterien Theater performances (or Aktionen, as he calls them) can be considered both ritualistic and existential. The scene is often involved with slaughters, religious sacrifices, crucifixion, as well as blood and flesh. The performances are also accompanied with music, dancing, and active participants.[3]
In the first Orgien Mysterien Theater performance, Hermann Nitsch and his friends used animal carcasses, entrails, and blood in a ritualistic way. The cloths, bandages and other fabrics used in these performances introduced Nitsch to the idea of making paintings.[1]
Having grown up during the World War II, Nitsch reveals his fascination with the intensity of religious feelings for life in his art work with excessive means such as taboo images, nudity, bloody scenes and more. For this, he received several court trials and three prison terms. It is often suggested that his work may exemplify cultures’ fascination with violence.[1][4][5][6]
Hermann Nitsch (born 29 August 1938) is an Austrian artist who works in experimental and multimedia modes.
Born in Vienna, Nitsch received training in painting when studied at the Wiener Graphische Lehr-und Versuchanstalt, during which time he was drawn to religious art.[1][2] He is associated with the Vienna Actionists—a loosely affiliated group of off-kilter and confrontational Austrian artists that also includes Günter Brus, Otto Muehl, and Rudolf Schwarzkogler.[3]
Nitsch’s abstract splatter paintings, like his performance pieces, address the excessive beauty and intensification of human existence. In the 1950s, Nitsch conceived of the Orgien Mysterien Theater (which roughly translates as Theatre of Orgies and Mysteries or The Orgiastic Mystery Theater), staging nearly 100 performances between 1962 and 1998.[3]
On view: Friday, August 14th – December 6th, 2015
Reception: Saturday, September 12th, 5 – 7 pm
HVCCA is honored to present Hermann Nitsch’s one-person installation, “Leviticus.” The installation features Nitsch’s “Leviticus,” his seminal book (52 3⁄4” x 38 1⁄2”) opened to the segment describing the sacrificial services of the High Priest. The surrounding walls feature12 terragraph prints and accompanying extracts from Leviticus in both Hebrew and German. Complementing the prints are paintings and priestly garments.
Terragraph is a printing technique developed by the Israeli printer Har-El and used in the terragraph workshops of Jaffa, Israel. A very strong varnish is used in conjunction with sand from the Judean and Negev desert. By choosing this refined and localized technique, Nitsch takes us back to the actual sites where the book of Leviticus is narrated to the Priestly caste as a manual of the worship laws stipulated by God.
At HVCCA one can see the Biblical text most concerned with the codification of public prayers and rituals. The large format work is opened to the priestly manual describing the performance surrounding the sacrifice which will, on a practical level, supply the priestly class with their food, and on a spiritual level act as a purification vehicle for them so that, in servicing the community, they are free of sin. The omnipresent color red in all the works stands for blood as the essence of life.
Installed in the main exhibition space of the HVCCA, the Hermann Nitsch installation stands in dialogue with ‘LOVE’, which opened in February of this year. The bond formed between God and the Hebrews in that early desert stage was based on a love relationship, proven by salvation from Egyptian enslavement and a parent to child nurturing environment within the dessertwhere food, water and sustenance are generously supplied. The prayer: ‘Hear Oh Israel, the Lord Our God, the Lord is One’, and “Thou Shalt Love“…are reflected in this extraordinary installation by Nitsch, refracted through a veil of red and etched in sand.
Since 1957, Nitsch has been addressing the intensification of human existence through his ritualistic performance art in “The Orgies Mysteries Theatre”. With more than 100 performances to date, these staged Dionysian performances emulate religious sacrifices: mock crucifixion, blood, entrails, robes, dance and nude participants. Religious tropes are here: the intensity resembles scenes from Grünewald’s Isenheim Altarpiece, the carcasses nod towards Rembrandt’s hanging meats. Nitsch mimics the passion plays of the medieval period and harks back to the Biblical and pre-Biblical blood rituals where immersion in the ‘fluid of life’ and the use of animals and animal blood are surrogates for human sacrifice.
His paintings seen here are beautiful abstractions symbolizing what it means to be human. They are graceful violent palimpsests, full of vitality, but also quiet for contemplation, representing a life of originality, courage and dissidence. Hermann Nitsch (born 29 August 1938), a founder of the Vienna Actionists is one of the most influential artists today.
Hermann Nitsch lives and works at Prinzendorf Castle on the Zaya River, Lower Austria. His works are exhibited in the two Nitsch Museums in Mistelbach and Naples as well as in the Nitsch Foundation in Vienna and in prestigious international museums and galleries such as MoMA, Guggenheim, Metropolitan Museum New York, Tate Gallery London, Musée Centre George Pompidou Paris, Nationalgalerie Munich and many more.
“And they will be known by their dead bunny feet.”
Five hours ago I saw the movie ‘Knives Out’ on Amazon Prime. I got the plot right away.
A traditional Protestant Publisher has carved out a worthy fortune – the old fashioned Protestant Way. However, all his family members and offspring have become Christian Lunatics, believers in Qanon, Prosperity and Dominion Gospel – and what have you! Several take off their MEGA hats when they drive up to the grand house. The grand old man knows he is surrounded by Insurrections, so he plots on how to leave it to the Traditional Catholic Maid of humble roots. There is a Puritan element here. Shades of the Stewart family and the War of the Roses. In my Dead Family, the Rosamond Legacy never quite got sold to Pierrot by…
This morning I had a hunch that my kindred, Thomas Pynchon, was influenced by Ian Fleming, and his fictional character, James Bond. My ex-wife was married to Tom, who is kin to Ian. We do not converse. Neither do Lara Roozemond and I. We may have been sending each other e-mails – thinking we had a small bond? She asked me to remove several post on her facebook saying this was her “work” area. She either shut that account down, or blocked me. I am done guessing. I have furthered her career, immensely, and she should thank me. It may have been over Annie getting off with the eels in her foot-bath, or, Victoria Bond playing Nurse with her horsy chaps. I was experimenting on having MY FEMALE Bond be an aggressive sexist pig. This is a brilliant idea, and it is protected by my Copyright. I sent an e-mail to Bond people. No response! Is everyone talking to their attorneys? Rachel Maddow and other women got behind Tom Brokaw.
The author of this piece says Fleming was a source of some of Pynchon’s sexism, and, that is good enough for me. Tom is a CONTROL FREAK! Is Lara? I get to play Doctor with them both. Victoria Bond meets Thomas Pynchon! Wow!
I will have to take the time to describe the beautiful bond I had with my muse, I call ‘My Wing’. Will this be turned into a gross Stalking Tale? Lara has put her image and videos all over the Net – which she does not own. How I perceive these images, how they influence me, or, inspire me – is my own damn business! I chose to be FULLY OPEN about my true feelings!
All the famous people – are in my corner! They are in my family tree attached to my Copyrights! I might have Victoria Bond take on Darth Vader in the Swiss Alps! I am being very generous to Lara.
I forgot, it may have been the title of that chapter ‘Aunt Annie – The AntiChrist’ that concerned Lara who may have felt (without reading) this would keep her off the runway of Christian designers. Is she a Christian? I have studied how Biblical Men replaced goddess worship, and that is what I am aiming for. I made a mind-movie of the the first chapter, where Victoria runs away from a man out to kill her – as fast as she can! She is a good runner awayer. This is the opening chase scene inspired by Lara’s gun video. Victoria appears to be a coward. She owns no gun. However, she has a Guardian Angel. I just got chills writing that.
It’s time for Lara and I to do business. Are you just another pretty face, or, are you a poet and writer. I WANT your input. A collaboration is possible.
I am posting the cleaned up version of Annie, and the original – below. I have restored the original where Victoria get naughty with an ice-pack, verse the male Bond plying women with Bourbon on the Rocks. I have thirty years of recovery, and, doing my version of a male Bond, might put me in a bar, chugging them down – again! Yes, I was good at picking up women in bars. Women in bars – are instigators! It has come across the psychic airwaves, that Lara is a virgin.
“Lower them about an inch and half and you will take first place. Do you have an ice bag handy. If not, we can go to my place. You might need a bandage-wrap, too.” Again he did not flinch, even when she delivered an inviting squeeze – above his aching knee.
As to orgasm by small eels, I might have Victoria visit Hugh Cavenaugh in his London Playman mansion, it all she can do to sit still as he lays his Playman philosophy on her, backed up by Masters and Johnson psycho-babel. I am going search the internet for a Peter Sellers look-alike who will be in multiple scenes. My brother drove Sue Lyon to class. She, Liz, and Burton were playing sex games – allegedly.
A Virgin Bond! How perfect! Every Bond movie starts out with seeing James get his cookie, while his sex-mate gets hers. This is like watching thoroughbred horses mate. Ho-hum!
My mother played sex-games with the stars at the Beverly Hills Hotel. She told her teen children she made porno movies for the Mob. So, Lara is going to have to put her big pants on – and grow up!
“Those people were even too kinky for me!” Rosemary told me back in 92.
I am now conducting my first casting call, for a Peter Sellers look-alike, and a Mr. Dougsdale. Ringo may be my choice.
Good news! John Cleese is still alive! I want him to play Victoria’s Majordomo, who fills her in on all the Royal Gossip – that is fifty to a hundred years old! As she takes her coat;
“Good news. George has hired a specialist to help him with his stuttering. Now we can get the straight scoop without waiting a week! Wink! Wink! Nudge! Nudge! Things are going to change around here – in a hurry!”
Victoria is always slow on the up-take as she examines this latest vital information to see if any of it is current. She stutters as she starts to tell Sir Dougsdale he is hanging her mink in the toilet.
My ex was married to David Seidler. If we can’t get Cleese, I will play Dougsdale! This way, our star, Lara Roozemond, will not be able to distant herself from me – too much! Of course I will be Love-struck!
“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. My aunties on Corsica can trace their lineage back to the ancient handmaidens of Rome. They are experts on how to keep your legs crossed when encountering rich and powerful men.”
Jon Presco
Copyright 2018
James Bond and Gravity’s Rainbow: A Possible Connection
Author:
Robert L. McLaughlin
Abstract
Pinpointing the origins of ideas in a writer’s work is an often difficult task with not always relevant results. Nevertheless, much excellent scholarship has been devoted to discovering and explicating possible sources for motifs and episodes in Pynchon’s work. Pynchon himself, in both his fiction and the few published remarks he has made about his own work, has indicated some of the most important influences on him, some serious, others pop cultural. In the introduction to Slow Learner, for example, Pynchon admits he “had grown up reading a lot of spy fiction, novels of intrigue.” And in apologizing for the “racist, sexist, and proto-Fascist talk” in “Lowlands,” he explains, “The best I can say for it now is that, for its time, it is probably authentic enough. John Kennedy’s role model James Bond was about to make his name by kicking third-world people around, another extension of the boy’s adventure tales a lot of us grew up reading” (11). Pynchon’s familiarity with Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels may account for how a specific idea in one of them, Moonraker, found its way also into Gravity’s Rainbow.
How to Cite: McLaughlin, R.L., (1989). James Bond and Gravity’s Rainbow: A Possible Connection . Pynchon Notes . ( 24-25 ) , pp . 121–123 . DOI: http://doi.org/10.16995/pn.299
“Don’t tell anyone. But I’m having the best orgasms of my life! WHOA!”
“Can I get me some?”
“Don’t you get enough? Who are those bow-legged chaps I see you running around with?”
“I’m talking about eels. But, if you must know, no man can turn down a good ice-bag knee-job. It’s a trade secret. If you grab a man’s knee, just so, he’s your sex slave for a night and a day! Here, let me show you. I read about the K-spot in Freidrich de Rougemont’s ‘Wild Men of Borneo’.”
“OH MY!” I wish you had not shown me this. Now I will be lying awake all night thinking about the ones that got away. No more of your crazy horse-shit talk. Go to Manzes. Tell them I sent you. What are you going to do with them?”
“Aunt Annie. I have a confession. I wasn’t going to kill myself so long ago. You see, I have this movie going off in my head. I……….!”
“Say no more. What you got, is what few of us have. You own a – DESTINEEEEEEEEEE!
The Royal Janitor
by
Jon Presco
Copyright 2018
Anna Zola claimed she was the great granddaughter of Emile Zola. She lived on a tugboat on the Thames. One day, while in the wheelhouse, she spots a beautiful young girl who looked to be seven years of age. She was teetering on the edge, on a rotten piece of timber with big rusty nails hammered in it . How dramatic! She had the most troubled furl on her brow. Annie opens the window, gently, so as to not disturb the poor waif, but, owning a powerful voice, she almost knocks her into the water!
“IF YOU ARE THINKING ABOUT THROWING YOURSELF IN. WHY DON’T YOU HELP ME TAKE MY SCONES OUT OF THE OVEN, AND HAVE A CUP OF TEA WITH ME, INSTEAD?!”
Regaining her balance, Victoria Bond looks up, and as she later tells it,
“I beheld the Face of God, or, the Face of Goddess Hera ‘The Water Queen of Mount Olympus! It was a near-death experience!”
“The Water Queen saved my life!” she told the Austrian equestrian, who was so well bred, he did not flinch. Most royal people, are insane. He passed the test. Victoria now looked for the right moment to place her hand on his knee. She sensed an aching there. His stirrups were too high.
“Lower them about an inch and half and you will take first place. Do you have an ice bag handy. If not, we can go to my place. You might need a bandage-wrap, too.” Again he did not flinch, even when she delivered an inviting squeeze – above his aching knee.
Reaching for another scone, Victoria told Aunt Annie why she wanted to end her life.
“My mother died when I was four. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’ve read so many books. I know all the Fairytales, and other fanciful lore. But, I am left empty. I feel like a ghost upon the Moore. Perhaps one day I will find him – my Heathcliff!”
“All is not lost, my dear. I sense there is a poet lying within you – and a romantic?”
“How did you know. I have committed to memory a hundred thousand poems. Let us be friends.”
“You can come visit me anytime you want. Would you like to go see my play. I can’t give my tickets away? Perhaps, one day………….Now you got me doing it.”
“Doing what?”
____________________
Annie was Victoria’s GO TO. Whenever she was in trouble, or, needed a hand. The Right-wing Christians called her the Anti-Christ ever since she knocked Cian O’Hannesy out of the ring that was built for their wrestling match. They built it under near the giant Ferris wheel, and tripled the price to get on it and watch their Jacob wrestle with a demonic fallen angel. Cian was the only human being Annie hated.
“Everyone of his opinions, is a hateful one! Even Hitler had a nice opinion, or two. I wish I could get that ‘Catholic Starver’ in a ring with me! I don’t fight fair. I fight to win!”
From her tug, Annie Zola ran her radio talkshow that was now syndicated all over the world. Kin Kong Fu loved it, and invited Annie to North Korea. Cian was the King of American Plot Radio. Everything was a UGLY PLOT. The uglier – the better. When he called Annie, ugly, and compared her to Tugboat Annie, Annie became curious as to who Cian was talking about. Then, she found her, her Weir. It was love at first sight. Annie owns the whole collection of Annie movies.
Thinking she could now best Cian in there ongoing War of Words, she thanked him for introducing to her Marie Dressler. That’s when the Ugly Child Starver went after her Hero – and Wallace Beary. He called him a fag, and Annie a lesbian. His Goon Squad of UtterLosers loved every minute of it. They made Ugly Annie cut-out masks, and wore them in Confederate Flage Waving parades. That’s when the challenge was made – and accepted. Annie had her supporters who waved ‘Ugly Is Beautiful’ signs, which made her wonder if the world was coming to an end.
Her most ferocious supporters were the Skinhead Nazis, and Racist Evangelicals who thought her play ‘White Woman’ was about the Rise of the Arian Race – again. Britain’s Black Panthers, who worshipped the infamous American movie, picketed ‘White Woman’ around the clock. There were violent clashes, of course. Annie showed up at the latest riot, and standing on the bed of an old truck with a megaphone, she shouted;
“WHO HAS SEEN MY PLAY? RAISE YOUR HANDS? WHO KNOWS WHAT IT IS ABOUT? WHO WANTS A FREE TICKET?”
“We don’t go to plays!”
When the bell rang for the first round, Annie charged Cian while whirling her arm about like a helicopter.
“DEFEND YOURSELF. I’M GOING TO HIT YOU AS HARD AS I CAN IN THAT TIGHT SLIT YOU GOT FOR A MOUTH. I WANT TO SEE YOUR TEETH GO FLYING INTO THE THIRD ROW.”
When Annie saw O’Shannity’s eyes turn into two black pits of fear, and, as he looked in the corner for his agent who booked him for a good beat-down, Annie delivered an uppercut that knocked Cian over the ropes into a group of Beauty Queens that were texting away, and, didn’t see him coming. Cian, landed in their laps. Video shots were taken of Cian’s bloody mouth bleeding all over their Amanni dresses. Lawrers were called. The Starver of Little Children was……………..FINIS!
____________
“How can I help you Dearie!”
“They won’t let me play my dragon in the parade. I’ve been getting threats from the McDonald Boys, Huey, Louey, and Bluey. They say they’re going to drag me out of the parade and stomp the shit out of my “Satan Thing”.
“OH REALLY! Would you be a dear and fetch me a fresh bag of baby eels out of the fridge and put them in my foot bath?
“Why are you talking – normally?”
“This is all hush – hush. We lovers of Pie and Mash are smuggling in river eels from Russia. Those bastards got us by the balls. The owner of M. Manze is selling us bags of eels under the table. All up and down the Thames, we Eel Lovers are slipping these lil ones in the water. If we get caught, we will go to jail. We might contaminate the native species, forever.
That’s it. Just pour them in. They eat all the dead skin off my feet, then have a go at my toe cheese. The President of the United States is addicted to Pie and Mash. That’s why he built his golf course in Scotland. There’s a river running thru it. If these crittters take, then our troubles are over! Did you know New Zealand was founded by poor rioters who went ape-shit during a great eel shortage. We are on the brink of another great riot. Folks are starving in London.”
“Oh! I almost forgot. I finished Judith’s second number. She sings at the Comet Café in South Africa. It’s a lament, telling her adopted tribe a great comet is coming that will take her home to her people in New York. Here’s the score.”
“This looks good. Hand me my accordion. What a brilliant idea to turn White Woman into a musical.”
“Aunt Annie. I have a confession. I wasn’t going to kill myself so long ago. You see, I have this movie going off in my head. I……….!”
“Say no more. What you got, is what few of us have. You own a – DESTINEEEEEEEEEE!
Rosamond Press 
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