RIP Barry Bailey

Yet another aging Rock Star has passed. This time it's Barry Bailey, guitarist for the Atlanta Rhythm Section. He died last year but I only recently found out. Many other deaths of famous musicians have hit me much harder, but this hits home in one way.

 ARS was my first concert, and me, and Barry, were pups back then. It was back in high school. I went with my Main Musical Mentor Leon. He had some acid, and offered me some. I'd only taken it once before, also with Leon, and I'd had a powerful and fairly overwhelming experience, which caught me off guard at first but soon became enjoyable, although I doubted I'd ever take it again, but I decided WTF. It was a concert after all.

 The acid was real Purple Microdot, which was super-clean and potent, although not overpowering, at least not with one hit anyway. I loved ARS and I was excited to see my first real Rock concert so I'd have enjoyed it anyway, but the acid did intensify the experience somewhat. I'd heard live bands before, including Buddy Rich's band, Stan Kenton and other Jazz bands, and they were pretty loud, but I'd never heard a Rock band live, and they were damn loud. 

 I was whistling and clapping like everyone else, but I was more in a mood to be still and listen. It was probably partially due to the acid but mostly I was fascinated by my first show. Just seeing them playing these songs I already liked was really fun. Seeing a drummer playing live and hearing his drums coming through the PA was thrilling, and I could imagine doing that myself one day. Fortunately I got to do it a few times. 

 I saw some nice colors and a few tracers due to the acid, but my vision wasn't distorted or impaired, except that if I watched one person for a long time and then looked away, the afterimage would last about three minutes. The bass player smoked about 150 cigarettes and stepped them out on the stage. Sometimes the smoke would turn purple. 

 The concert was great and they did an encore or two and everybody left happy. On the drive home, which was about an hour, I was still tripping a little...enough to get very excited when I saw a radio tower way up the highway and up on a hill, and thought it was my first UFO. I was waiting a minute just to make sure it was really a UFO and not the acid before I pointed it out to Leon.

 I was thinking "Wow...my first UFO...and I'm tripping!" I was thinking that there couldn't possibly be a better encore to my first Rock concert than seeing a UFO. but then I realized that it was only a radio tower, and I was bummed. Still it was worth a good laugh when I told Leon about it. All in alls I'd say it was a very good time all-around, from the bass player's first cigarette to the would-be UFO. 

 I've seen my share of great concerts since seeing Atlanta Rhythm Section, but they were my first, and you know what they say...you never forget your first concert. I also haven't forgotten Barry's guitar playing either. I can't put my finger on it at all but I really loved his parts and his playing, although he wasn't exactly known as being one of the gunslingers. His simple, funky, slightly-jangly and very catchy rhythm part on the song "So Into You" pops into my head all the time...not the whole song, just the guitar part. 

 It hits home, not just because it was my first show, but also from a thought that popped into my head one day. I was listening to all these great bands and thinking that most of them were only about ten years older than me, if that, so I'd know I was getting old when guys in these bands started dying. It's a bit of a morbid thought I guess, but some young musician had just died, and I was thinking about when the rest of these guys started dying of natural causes at a normal age. It was true, and npw here I am. 

 Barry died at 73 (of MS) which isn't ancient, although on average the life-expectancy of most Rock Stars is well-below that of regular folk. He didn't die from drinking and drugging, and I always admire that. Thanks Leon. Thanks Atlanta Rhythm section. Thanks Purple Microdot. It was fun. RIP Barry. 

 

Stars of the Clown Show: Jesse Duplantis

These motherfuckers...sometimes I just don't know what to say about them, except for what I've said a million times and still enjoy it every time I say it- They can take every televangelist on TV, stuff them into a clown car and drive it off a pier. I'd "tithe" to see that for sure. 

 I have a hard time deciding who's worse...some days it's "Boy Wonder" Joel Osteen, some days it's Joyce "Jive-Ass" Meyer or super-demon Kenneth Copeland or several other clowns, but when it comes to narcissism, Jesse D takes the cake. 

 Did you hear that Jesse has been to Heaven? That's right, he has...apparently for 5 hours and 15 minutes to be exact. Jesse tends to reiterate things he wants to make sure we get, and he mentioned that exact amount of time more than once. It's interesting he'd be so clear on the amount of time he was in Heaven. I'd think that any concept of time would vanish in such an incredible event.

 When I go to Six Flags I don't give a fuck what time it is...how could it be any different in Heaven? Did they have a wall clock up there? Did Jesse still have on his Rolex watch? Maybe his cellphone? How did he keep track of time? Did he look at the clock at the exact moment he left Earth, and at the moment he returned?

 If someone told you they'd visited Heaven, if you even believed them at all, you might ask how long they were there. Probably 99.99% of people would say something like "I don't know...maybe around five hours or more." Who'd ever say "5 hours and 15 minutes" in normal conversation, much less when describing something like being in Heaven? Since he made it a big point to emphasize them, let's have a quick look, shall we? 

 Without going into the Numerology of it all, except to say that numbers are extremely important to the Elites, and they do EVERYTHING by the numbers, by addition and reduction and by how the numbers would be separated when written out, we can get 3, 6, 11 and 12. 11 is a Master Number and the rest are just as significant. Granted you can also get 2, 5 and 7, but those numbers tend to be disregarded.

 It does sound rather arbitrary or coincidental, and granted it could be, but they do go by the numbers. If you should ever happen to do any research into these folks, besides the fact that they're Luciferins, the first thing you'll learn is that they go by the numbers, and they don't ever stray from that policy. 

 Anyway, here's an overview of Jesse's incredible level of narcissism and his view of himself. This is from clips of different televised sermons, where he's told the story over and over. Now to be perfectly fair, I can't say for certain that Jesse didn't go to Heaven, but I seriously doubt it. All the people sitting in the audience...or rather congregation I guess, who are going "AMEN!" as he tells his story for the 335th time believe it though. Those are arbitrary numbers I just picked BTW, but, ha-ha, you can get some of the same other numbers from them. Maybe it all really is arbitrary. I wish...

 As Jesse goes up to Heaven for 5:15, and right off the bat the angels thank him for visiting...twice. He saw a horse, and it thanked him too. The horse said, and I quote, "Thanks for coming!" Before long Jesse ran into John, aka John the Baptist. Guess what...yep, John thanked Jesse too. They walked past John's home and Jesse commented on how nice it was. "Yeah, but you should see your home" John replied.

 What he's saying is that since his home is nicer that John the Baptist's home, he's more important. His narcissism knows no bounds, yet people in the crowd keep saying "Amen!" every five seconds. It's a clown show. 

 Then John drops a bombshell...Jesse's home was built by none other than Jesus Himself! Wow...Jesse must be important. Apparently Jesus didn't build John's house, because he's not as important as Jesse. Here you have to think about the people in the crowd, who don't get up and walk out en masse when they hear him saying this shit, but they eat it up. For one thing it's blasphemy, but I guess it doesn't matter. 

 So then King David comes along to show Jesse his heavenly home. As they're standing in the foyer admiring a hand-carved table that Jesus also made for Jesse, Jesus walks in. "Hi Jesse. Thanks for coming" he says, of course. Jesus goes on to say that he carved the table and made a pair of golden eagles just for Jessee, and that he put just a touch of his own thing into the project, but made sure to let Jesse's tastes shine through, because after all, Jesse's wishes are more important than Jesus' wishes. 

 He's just setting 'em up and knocking 'em down...one by one we're finding out that Jesse Duplantis is more important than most of the major figures in the Bible. As Jesse notes the splendor of his home, he proclaims "My GOD, I'm doing well for myself!" "Yes you are" Jesus replies. Most people would laugh at his narcissism and bullshit, but not his followers. 

 Narcissists, since they have no empathy and are unable to put themselves in anyone else's shoes, can't understand how others view them and how ridiculous their stories are. As spooky as it is, narcissists actually believe their own lies, and therefore expect everyone else to as well. They keep telling these grandiose stories, expecting everyone else to believe them and go along with them.

 Sadly his clown-audience does believe him, or this would be a lot funnier. I guess anyone who's stupid enough to send money to these clowns when they should be spending it on food and rent will believe anything. And it's not like they're doing an altruistic act...it's not from their love of God or them trying to feed starving children somewhere. 

 No, they're hoping for a monetary reward that's many times what they invested (see: Prosperity Gospel). It's basically like a lottery with fucked-up religious overtones. In fact they should just do the regular lottery, as long as they're being stupid, because God doesn't work that way, no matter what the televangelists say as they're asking for more money. 

 I believe God rewards those who truly help people, financially or otherwise, although not necessarily in ways people expect, but God doesn't generally pluck someone up from a trailer park and plop them down in the Hills of Beverly. That's not how it works, but there's a numbnut born every minute. 

 I had to give up reading around the time Jesse finally got around to meeting God. He was talking about flying babies and all this shit, and I'd about had enough. Actually I'd had enough of Jesse Duplantis years ago, but I looked through this stuff anyway, and if nothing else found the most narcissistic one of them all. I'm guessing that God thanked Jesse too but I didn't get that far. I don't know if Jesse tried to say that he was more important than God or not, but I have heard him say in other interviews that God asks advice from Jesse.

 What a fucking clown is Jesse Duplantis. He's a deceiver too, but again, consider his followers, or more accurately his victims. I joke about it but it's really not funny, because he's a liar. He doesn't worship God...he worships the other guy, and that makes it worse...he's pretending to be a "man of God" but he's anything but. It's like those guys who play in so-called "Christain Rock" bands. They say they're into Christ and everything but then they wear Aleister Crowley t-shirts onstage.

 Sorry pal, but that's not "Christian." They're worse than Black Metal bands who openly worship Satan. They don't try to hide it, but these "Christian" artists do, and that's a million times worse. Like Jesse, they're deceivers. Uncool. 

 The thing about narcissists is that they're wired differently, and when it comes to figuring them out, or at least understanding that they exist, we can't think about them in normal terms, because they don't think thay way. In their minds they're perfect and above everyone and everything, period, and that includes God, and in the case of one of my exes, even Spellcheck.

 If a narcissist says they believe in God they're lying. Well, maybe they do believe God is real, but they can't truly love or worship God. It's impossible for them to lower themselves to even be on the same level as someone else, much less below them. It's not how narcissists think. 

 So it's not surprising that Jesse would place himself above all of the Heavenly Host, just like Satan tried to do, for those keeping score, but he's really pushing it. I believe in exactly what Jesse claims to believe, plus one extra thing. I believe in God and that He's the one to serve, and that the Devil is also every bit as real and is the one to be rebuked, and I also believe that Jesse Duplantis is totally full of shit. All those fuckers are, but Jesse's the guy as far as an inflated sense of self-worth is concerned. Narcissism 101.

 Jesse got to visit Heaven. Saints and talking horses thanked him for visiting, and well...just for being him. Jesse's home in Heaven is nicer than even John the Baptist's home. Heck, Jesus Hinself built it. Where's that clown car?
 

The Worst Jokes in the World #97,7328,294,025,933

Need an ark? I Noah guy. 
 

Quote of the Day

"Look at these witches. It's like you just stepped into a haunted house or something. These creepy, frowny, witchy, ghoulish emmineffers...no wonder Elvis died young." - Paul Romano (Pockets of the Future), on YouTube
 

Ads that Catch Your Eye

This ad popped up on some page. Dang. That's one fine sister. She's probably an "ad model" and not a real flight attendant, but who cares? The article is about insider tips from flight attendants. I'd sure love to be insider! Ha-ha. Fly United. Fuckin'-A. Well, I guess it's official, and I figured it'd happen one day...I've become a genuine Dirty Old Man. It doesn't really matter at this point. It's all good. Dang. 

Terms Relating to Science (SCIENCE) that I Wish I had a Dollar for Every Time I've Heard Lately

There are two terms that have been bandied about quite a bit over the last three years or so, when scientists are trying to come up with explanations for all these bizarre and unprecedented things happening all over the globe and in our solar system and beyond. Like everything else they're ramping-up exponentially. 

 It's comical as Hell, and it would seem to confirm what I've been saying in this blog for years...that there would come a time when so much crazy shit would be happening that they'd never be able to come up with explanations, truthful or otherwise, for everything, at least not believable explanations. If I had a dollar for every time I've heard these two phrases, I could buy a really nice snare drum or something, no joke.

 The terms are: "Scientists are scrambling to explain..." and "Scientists are baffled." Indeed. It may make them seem to be less intelligent than we tend to think they are, but the truth of the matter is that most of them know WAY more than what they're allowed to say to the general public, at risk to life and limb. It's 100% true. Still there's plenty they don't know, and this stuff is so crazy that it doesn't fit their formulas or paradigms. They're often just guessing.

 I get a grin every time I hear or read these phrases. I figured it was going to happen, but if I'd have known how often it would, I'd have kept count. We're told to "Trust the science," (SCIENCE) but lately it seems that science (SCIENCE) is a bit baffled, and is scrambling to boot. If you want to believe every single thing that science (SCIENCE) says, it's your choice, but right now it's just a bit baffled. And scrambling. 

 

 
 

Back to Incandescent

I just now did something I've been wanting to do for a long time...I went back to incandescent bulbs. I knew I'd be pleased with the results, but I was blown away by the difference, and acutely aware of the time I've been used to LED bulbs. 

 Although Obama signed the incandescent bulb business out of business during his term, there's still a fair amount of stock left that luckily hasn't yet been made illegal. Obama was just the puppet who wielded the pen anyway. You can buy them on Amazon, but if you dig around pretty good and compare prices, you can get them cheaper on eBay.

 I ended up getting a dozen 60w frosted bulbs for like $18.75 plus tax, which is worth every penny. I had to dig back into my incandescent memory when deciding which bulbs to buy. I remembered that 100w were generally a bit bright for a cozy den or living room, 75s were good for reading, but 60w bulbs gave a nice general ambiance (French pronunciation, please) to the room. 

 Sure, LED bulbs use less juice, and that's great. Sure they burn much cooler and last longer. So what? When it's something you have to live with every day, you have to weigh it out. It may or may not be worth it. Plus I've been "Green" since junior high anyway, and I've conserved resources to a degree some would find compulsive. Like I've said a million times...if I were God I'd have made an 11th Commandment- "Thou Shalt Not Waste." I hate using more energy and all with these bulbs, but the vibe is way worth it. 

 There are four lamps in the room, and when I changed the first bulb I was like "Oh hell yeah...that thing." The difference in the warmth of the color was so striking that it almost looked orange for a minute. Gone was the clinically-white light of the LED bulb, and in its place was a warm glow more akin to sunlight. When I'd replaced all four bulbs, looking around the room was like going back in time a couple of decades. 

 Granted, to young people who've grown up with LED bulbs, incandescent light might look weird or "not bright enough." I started to take before and after photos but I didn't think the difference would be so noticeable. It's so different that I'm going to put back the LED bulbs just to take photos, and a video going around the room. The difference is surprising, and worth documenting. 

 Like everything else in the Universe, it's a frequency deal. I'm guessing that the frequency of incandescent bulbs is much closer to what humans have experienced forever, and certainly since the days of the electric lightbulb. As soon as all four bulbs were changed, it was almost as if the air got sweeter and easier to breathe. It instantly felt much homier. It depends on what you like. I like. 

 It may have just been the slight euphoria from going back in time to the incandescent days, but I think it's more than that. It's like I can feel a very mild but very pleasant energy in my chest and on my arms and the part of my face that isn't covered by hair. It could just be that I'm tripping, but it feels very real. You certainly wouldn't want to put fluorescent lights in your living room, and without going into details, some say LED bulbs aren't good in some ways. 

 Whatever it is or isn't, the room is so much warmer and less clinical. My mom immediately noticed and was very pleased. She said it was so much warmer, and before I mentioned anything about the "vibe," she said that it was like the air in the room felt better, and it's interesting she said that. It's just another frequency deal. 

 The only disadvantage is that it takes away from the salt lamps just a bit. In the former stark-white light of the LEDs they stood out more, and drew your eyes to them, proving to me that those light frequencies are the ones our brains like best. It's closer to the color of the Sun and the color of fire. It's kinda primal I reckon. 

 When I came back in from taking a walk it was like "Ahhhhhh...nice." Again, I knew I'd probably like it better, but the difference is ten times what I thought it'd be. If it weren't so damn much better I'd go right back to LEDs. I'll probably switch back this Summer, to save on AC costs, but as long as we can still buy incandescent bulbs, I'll never go back to LEDs. I'm extremely pleased. It's a frequency deal. 

Things That Truly Frightened Me: The Draft

I'm old enough to remember the Vietnam War, and the draft that went along with it. For about a year or so there was a time where I was eligible. By then they'd been showing the war every night on the evening news for several years.

 It was gruesome but they showed it every night. As if it weren't bad enough to have to watch it every day, by the simple luck of the draw you could be drafted straight into that motherfucker.

 By high school I was already well-established as a fairly fearless person, and yet the draft scared the shit out of me. I'd jumped the family Buick at well over 100mph over a famous jump on Brookwood Road that had previously killed not one but two people in failed attempts, and yet every night when the draft came on TV, I got all knotted-up. 

 It's a surreal memory, and one that my brain has kindly allowed me to almost forget, and I really don't know what made it pop into my head now...maybe it's the talk of war or whatever, but the sheer intensity of the experience was the thing. It was almost like if your numbers came up out of the barrel, they'd snatch you up right through the TV, throw on a uniform and hand you a gun and say "SHOOT!" It was Bullshit Bingo. Your ass was riding on the numbers in that barrel. 

 With a quick search I can't find a confirmed estimate of what someone's chances of being drafted were, but some say less than 5%. That's still high enough in my book for something like that. According to military.com, numbers between 1 and 366 were assigned depending on birthdate, and lowest numbers were called first.

 That doesn't sound like a lot of numbers, and it doesn't explain the whole process, but it doesn't matter and I don't care to dig into it more. The point is that you very well could be called, depending on the roll of the barrel. Speaking of, it looks like a barrel full of potatoes, but they're capsules containing numbers. No matter what or whom we were doing, we high-school seniors stopped whatever it was when the draft came on. 

 Granted some of were gung-ho about it, and were planning to go into service anyway, and we thank them for their service. Some were in ROTC and were ready to go anyway. But for most of us it was a nightmare. We didn't want to go anywhere near Vietnam. It was bad enough seeing it on the tube. By then most people were tired of a war that they thought was bullshit to begin with, but it was still going. 

This iconic poster came out as a result of the war, and back then it was everywhere. It certainly holds true today, except that it should read: "War is not healthy for children and other living things, except for the military-industrial complex, the arms manufacturers, the elite banking families and them." That's what it should say. 

 Of course we looked into the options of avoiding the draft, or if drafted, how to avoid actually going. There was the option of going to college, although I can't remember if that was really foolproof. I don't think so. Going into the priesthood or certain religious exemptions might've worked for some but I'm not sure what the stats were. If I'm not mistaken, Cassius Clay got out of it.

 Preemptive-enlisting was an option, with the hope that you might see service elsewhere or at least not the front lines, but that was rolling the dice. Splitting to Canada was an option for many, and considered by everybody. I did love maple syrup but not enough to move to fucking Canada.

 I don't remember what the penalties were for fleeing to Canada but they were pretty severe as I recall, and I've always wondered if there's still an aging community of draft-dodging ex-pats living somewhere up there. It certainly crossed my mind, but I'd think "FUCK...moving to fucking Canada?" Leaving friends and family didn't seem like an option. Back then it was still okay to love your country, and to most people it was a huge dishonor to run away.

 We weren't a bunch of pussies either. We just didn't want to potentially die because someone told us we had some enemy we didn't know shit about a few years earlier, and who weren't directly fucking with us. My views on the matter were basically how difficult it'd be for me to have to shoot someone who wasn't my enemy personally, and someone I might otherwise have sat down and had a cup of tea with, and maybe discover a mutual interest in music or whatever. It just made no sense to most of us.

 We'd seen people who'd fought in Vietnam and come back. Some of them seemed about the same as before they went, but lots of them were fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucked-up. They were either totally "shell-shocked" as some still called it back then, or were addicted to dope, or both. It turns out they pretty much got all the drugs they wanted for free while they were there, but that wasn't the case back home, where drugs cost money. They were fucked, and treated badly by a good bit of the public. We didn't want any part of that shit.

 Although I was a conscientious objector in the genuine sense of the term, in that it would be truly difficult for me to hurt anyone, there was also a big part of me that was resolved to just go, and put my faith in God, if I were drafted. My dad was in the Army and served in Korea although he didn't see any front-line action, and he'd have been disappointed if I'd split to Canada. It was considered a disgrace among many people, but the only option by some. 

 I played army as a kid and I learned to shoot a real gun at age five and I love to shoot targets, but people would be a different story. We knew they did all that shit to whip you up into a frenzy and convince you that these people were your enemy, not to mention all the free dope to get you all jacked and pain-free and to where you don't give a fuck and just want to blast some shit, and none of us had any desire to go through that either. It just didn't compute. People made posters, and chanted "HELL NO, WE WON'T GO!" 

 Although it's not a memory I'll cherish, I'll never forget the "five minutes of fear" every night, and the whole world stopping for it. I can't say what I'd have done, but I'm pretty sure I'd have gone if I'd been called. I'd have certainly told them about my feelings on the matter, and that I wouldn't want to put other lives at risk if I hesitated or whatever, and I'd just have to hope that'd do the trick. 

 If someone were coming down my street with the intent to shoot me then hell yeah I'd blast them in a heartbeat, but Vietnam wasn't that. Back then I had a mild case of flat feet, which was sometimes an exemption, but not always, if I'm not mistaken. We weighed all the options, and the best thing was to just hope and pray that you didn't get called. 

 "Please God...please God..." I prayed as hard as I've ever prayed in my life. I remember the barrel turning, and feeling my stomach tumble around in it. Look at that stoic-ass motherfucker cranking the handle...basically with our balls tumbling around inside that thing...there's no amount of money you could've paid me to have that job. I'm almost surprised he didn't wear a hood, but that would reveal the true nature of war.

 Boy, the draft was surely a fork in the road I'm glad I didn't have to take. Maybe I could've gotten a gig in the military band or something. I'm glad my number never came up, possibly in more ways than one. I dodged a bullet as it were. Remember...war is not healthy for children and other living things. Have a nice day. 

 

 

Quote of the Day (Presidential Edition)

 "More than half the women in my administration are women." - Joe

The Result of a Godless Society 8

Here's a biological male who's transitioning to a female, complaining about his...umm, or rather "her" newfound "periods." This person's breasts were sore and they had awful stomach cramps. Maybe some Mydol would help with the cramps, but it would take something much, much stronger to help with a twisted mindset, and in my opinion that would be the God that I worship.

 The problem isn't so much sad and delusional people like this, but rather that a surprising number of people actually believe this bullshit. The Elites are shoving this agenda down our throats, because it's how they roll, and they want everyone else believing this shit too. It's a joke. BTW, if anyone calls this "hate speech" they're simply a fool. It's called "reality." Biological males don't have periods, period. 

 If this is the insanity you believe and the world you embrace, then I truly feel badly for you, because in the next world, if there is indeed one, things may not go so well for you. The truth is the truth, and no one can spin it. Wake up. 
 

Reply of the Day

Officer: "Do you know what year it is?"

Driver: "...2121."

Officer: "Do you know what time it is?" 

Driver: "...21:21."

-a seriously-inebriated driver, answering questions from a cop who pulled him over