The Bishop and the Butterfly: Murder, Politics, and the End of the Jazz Age
    Richard Day's picture

    99 PERCENTERS AND THE MAN AT THE END BOOTH

     

    The Booth at the End is some series of shorts (22 minutes, like the best Comedy News Program I have ever seen).

    I see no reason for the production.

    And that must be why I am so in love with this presentation.

    Some guy sits at the end booth, except it is not the end booth but the penultimate end booth, in some no-name diner. Later, with better camera shots, Booth is found to be in the last booth in the diner of nothingness, after all.

    The Seer is a famous actor to me. At least he is seen in many many films. We used to call them character actors which means that these actors are not as beautiful as Beatty in his prime or Pitt or whatever.) Xander Berkeley is the star. I sure have seen him in a number of flicks!

    The Seer simply sits there at the end booth, as people with some 'underground' referral system come to him in an effort to cure their ills.

    There is Zen.

    There is Navaho.

    There is the Buddha, laughing as always.

    There is the Christ, crying as always.

    But the Seer transcends the normal universe.

    I seek magic, one supplicant might say.

    A beautiful girl asks the Seer to give her beauty.

    The Seer questions the applicant; and the way I read it he is asking the applicant how a beautiful girl wishes for beauty; or at least more beauty. And this supplicant leads one into the area; the intellectual question: WHAT THE HELL IS BEAUTY?

     

     

    The Pogues, who were once introduced to me by Q kicked philosophy up a notch as far as I am concerned.

    Tim Robbins actually played with them once! Ha

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cgPugQfIbHA

    The Pogues ended up being the Pogues because they chose a Celtic name that seemed to address the angst and the anger of the youth of times past and times present:

    KISS MY ASS!

    hahahahahah

    The Pogues would tell you that in order to be free one must:

    Deny respect to all those who claim status or prestige.

    Always say no to any directive coming from a third party not in your 'network' or 'family'

    Never act like a member of a flock of sheep. If the dog threatens, kick him in the face.

    Never accede to the demands of the 'majority'.

    And never, never, never seek the advice of a third party as to how best one should behave in a world of chaos.

    And the Pogues act as a reminder to never trust anyone, ever. hahahahahaha

    These short stories that eclipse almost anything you would have witnessed on Twilight Zone or Tales From the Dark Side or Karloff's run at TV serials are pungent?

    Intriguing to the point that you might question any assumption you have ever made about anything. Despairing to the point that any feeling of religious 'value' might seem inane.

    First, the short series makes me ask an important question.

    Why in the hell should we ever go to another human being to ask him (or her) what shall I do next?

    Freud might hope that his patient comes to some nebulous epiphany; some realization that lies within a strange and mysterious unconscious.

    Jung might hope that the patient find a common chord with all humanity. (That Jung might find a common thread with Bill W really pisses me off actually! ha)

    And Rogerian afficianados might give up the ghost and stick with otherdirectedness which tells the hurting member of Humanity, nothing. Pay me $200.00/hr and I will tell you nothing. ha. Sounds like a lot of attorneys I used to know in the old days.

    WHAT DO YOU THINK?

    Never give your client a clear answer and you shall become the greatest attorney of all time.

    There is Nietzsche of course throughout this dialog. And the series is all dialog.

    How may one BECOME?

    There is certainly Marlowe spread throughout the dialog.

    The central theme of the Booth at the End seems to be:

    WHAT EXACTLY WILL YOU DO, WHAT ARE YOU READY TO DO TO RECEIVE WHAT YOU WISH IN LIFE?

    So Booth (love that moniker of course) tells an old lady that in order to free her hubby from Alzheimer’s disease, she must build a bomb that kills the maximum amount of people in a designated area!

    The old lady notifies Booth that she has set off the bomb, killed scores of innocent people (as she had rationalized in some prior scene) and demands to know how her husband’s Alzheimer’s disease is coming along.

    Booth looks at her and immediately knows she is lying.

    Otherwise, why would she ask him about the medical status of her hubby?

    The pretty girl who wished to be pretty.

    The dirty cop who wished to be rich and happy.

    The father who wished that his son become magically healed from some terrible disease by killing other children.

    The Roman Catholic Church sends us to the Confessor and somehow he will take all of our sins away; we shall say a few Our Fathers and Hail Marys and we shall all pass into another level of reality.

    I have been thinking about this lately.

    I have dreams of beckerhead evaporating in his own filth; just kind of rotting and turning into some dry mixture undetermined by CSI.

    I have dreams of rush being compelled to eat his own filth; on cable. And then admitting on national TV that he has been evil; kind of like Lee Atwater apologizing.

    I have dreams of Senator Sessions being humiliated per his own terrible exposition of his rhetoric which no true human being could ever believe.

     

     

    Our problem, in this republic is that we are a republic.

    No politician is going to fix our individual situation.

    EVER.

    It is a lie from the beginning.

    The system will allow for huge bribes bringing the bearer great rewards; that is how it has always been and that is how the system works today. Just ask Abramoff.

    God said to Abramoff, kill me a ton!

    Never question whether God is putting you on!

    http://www.democracynow.org/blog/2011/2/22/matt_taibbi_why_isnt_wall_street_in_jail

     

    And I knew this.

    I have always known this.

    But my hopes and dreams shall never pass.

    I live in my small world.

    Camus knew this.

    Samuel Clemens knew this.

    Plato knew this.

    And you can bet your last banana that:

    Mitt knows this.

    Sarah knows this.

    Newt certainly knows this.

    Michele knows this.

    Cain might not know much of anything but he knows this.

    Huntsman should go back to China and forget all of this.

    Ron Paul and his son Curly Rand think they are above all this but they surely are most keyed into this concept.

    NOBODY WILL EVER HELP ANYBODY REACH THEIR LEVELS OF DESIRE!

    Unless by trusts and estate planning.

    So they simply put together lying strategies.

    All of these people have given up. They believe in nothing.

    Does anyone really believe that Grover Norquist believes in anything? I mean this guy is still sweating the day that he will be indicted in the Abramoff fiasco.

    My hero Barack Obama holds out hope that something may be achieved.

    Boehner does not believe that.

    McConnell does not believe that.

    Lieberman believes in nothing anyway.

    The Sisters of the Sacred Maine Nunnery no longer believe that: otherwise why do they caucus with the devil almost every single time?

    Jesus may weep.

    Buddha may laugh.

    Mohammed might pray.

    We can not look to others to solve our inner demonic problems.

    Give up.

    These 99 percenters really mean nothing.

    Unless the 99 percenters take out their check books and contribute 10 bucks.

    I mean unless 99% of all adult Americans contribute ten bucks; the 1% will win every single time. Just as they have over the last four decades.

    Unless you have a check book with a bunch of zeroes that follow some real numeral, there aint a representative who gives one damn about you.

    And if you hand that rep a check with a bunch of zeroes on it following some numeral, be careful what you ask for!

    If you really really wish for change; look for the guy at the end booth!

     

    Comments

    The Stone Cutter

    There was once a stone cutter who was dissatisfied with himself and with his position in life.

    One day he passed a wealthy merchant's house. Through the open gateway, he saw many fine possessions and important visitors. "How powerful that merchant must be!" thought the stone cutter. He became very envious and wished that he could be like the merchant.

    To his great surprise, he suddenly became the merchant, enjoying more luxuries and power than he had ever imagined, but envied and detested by those less wealthy than himself. Soon a high official passed by, carried in a sedan chair, accompanied by attendants and escorted by soldiers beating gongs. Everyone, no matter how wealthy, had to bow low before the procession. "How powerful that official is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a high official!"

    Then he became the high official, carried everywhere in his embroidered sedan chair, feared and hated by the people all around. It was a hot summer day, so the official felt very uncomfortable in the sticky sedan chair. He looked up at the sun. It shone proudly in the sky, unaffected by his presence. "How powerful the sun is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be the sun!"

    Then he became the sun, shining fiercely down on everyone, scorching the fields, cursed by the farmers and laborers. But a huge black cloud moved between him and the earth, so that his light could no longer shine on everything below. "How powerful that storm cloud is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a cloud!"

    Then he became the cloud, flooding the fields and villages, shouted at by everyone. But soon he found that he was being pushed away by some great force, and realized that it was the wind. "How powerful it is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be the wind!"

    Then he became the wind, blowing tiles off the roofs of houses, uprooting trees, feared and hated by all below him. But after a while, he ran up against something that would not move, no matter how forcefully he blew against it - a huge, towering rock. "How powerful that rock is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a rock!"

    Then he became the rock, more powerful than anything else on earth. But as he stood there, he heard the sound of a hammer pounding a chisel into the hard surface, and felt himself being changed. "What could be more powerful than I, the rock?" he thought.

    He looked down and saw far below him the figure of a stone cutter.
     


    I love parables!

     


    .02000000000000000000000.....


    I was gonna link to Sister Rosetta Sharpe doing "99 and a 1/2 (just won't do)"... but then, I ran into this video again, and, well... it's just so much better than any joke I could make, that I think I'll just stick it here and shut up. 

    Sister Rosetta woulda fit right in with the Pogues.

    They knew.

    Have a good night, Dick. And RIP from all of us to Joe Frazier. A great great fighter.

     


    I recall Mailer covering one of the fights in a mag with great photos.

    Everytime they fought, it was like a war of giants.

    I just found this rather fine homage to Mighty Joe:

    http://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/08/sports/joe-frazier-a-champion-who-won-inside-the-ring-and-out.html?_r=1&hp