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27 May
Sydney Pollack died yesterday.
We here at Walrus Comix all have very heavy hearts over the loss of this great director, this great actor, this great contributor to art of filmaking, in general.... To honour the man, we are reprinting Longcipher's 5 March tribute to this great artist...
I'm glad that I got to see him walking around the neighbourhood over these last years; going to the movies.. or reading his paper and enjoying his morning coffee at the local Tal Bagels..
RIP Sydney.. you were one of the greats.. thanks for the movies.. thanks for your wonderful acting performances..
Sydney
Last night I watched the film Michael Clayton, written and directed by Tony Gilroy. It’s Gilroy’s directorial debut, and he certainly did many things right, namely in the casting dept.
I won’t gush and glow over the film itself, but what I am going to do is praise the casting; George Clooney? Look, I wanted to not like him, but what can I say? He was good. He was right. He was spot on. He was Michael Clayton, not George Clooney. It could be the first time I was able to enjoy a Clooney performance, because for once he wasn’t trying to be cool; he was just reacting to the fantastic cast that surrounded him.
Tom Wilkinson? This guy is a beast. A true thespian. The real deal. The Waddy Wachtel of acting. He’s a Cadillac. A luxury car. A smooth ride. He can’t be beat.
Tilda Swinton? What a face. What a look. She looks like death. She looks like the sexy younger sister of the Grim Reaper. I want to spend the night with her, but I’m afraid I won’t wake up to brag about my conquest. She’s good. She’s so good you get the sense she’s slumming it in Michael Clayton. She’s just other worldly.
Michael O’Keefe? You may know him from Caddyshack. You may know him as the ex husband of Bonnie Raitt. I remember him best from Neil Simon’s The Slugger’s Wife, directed by Hal Ashby. The guy’s an ordained Zen priest, by the way (he specializes in Zen Buddhies). He’s got that presence, and I thought it was just something that came with age and marriage to a blues woman. Turns out it comes from Zen mastery.
A great surprise was to see Robert Prescott, best known as Kent from Real Genius. It was great to see him working, actually. I thought he had disappeared, but a glimpse on imdb.com shows he has been around after all. I guess I’m just not watching TV (at all). Apparently he’s been on Law and Order and Third Watch and many other shows. Come to think of it, I do remember him from a Sopranos episode; he was in Chris Moltisanti’s acting class. Anyway, while watching Michael Clayton, I kept expecting him to smile and reveal braces...
But what I really want to talk about is one specific cast member of Michael Clayton, and that’s the great Sydney Pollack, who plays Marty Bach, head of the firm.
It’s time this man was given his due for his great achievements in acting. As a director, he’s not as solid, and we’ll get to that. First, let’s have a look at his acting career.
Pollack began with a lot of TV acting in the early sixties, and he became a TV director around the same time, placing his focus there. After 1962, he disappeared from acting on the screen until 1979, when he made a cameo in his own film, The Electric Horseman.
In 1982, he reappeared onscreen in Tootsie, another film he also directed. He played Dustin Hoffman’s agent, and he was beyond great in this role; he was perfect. He was seminal. He was larger than life. He made everybody else (including Dustin Hoffman) look like they were acting. Sydney Pollack doesn’t act, he reacts, and he makes every other actor who works with him look better than they really are. He raises the bar for everyone around him. He is so present, so electric, so plugged in, he makes it look easy just like all the greats do.
After Tootsie he did a bit part in Robert Altman's The Player, but that film was so star studded it was easy to get lost in the shuffle of it all. After The Player, he did a cameo in Death Becomes Her, a less than memorable film. But then Woody Allen had a stroke of genius when he cast Pollack in Husbands and Wives in 1992.
For me, Husbands and Wives is one of Woody Allen’s best films of his entire career, and I would venture to say that in a cast that includes Judy Davis, Liam Neeson, Mia Farrow and Woody himself, Sydney Pollack steals the rug out from all of them ten times over. He’s more than real; he jumps off the screen with a truth that is like a diamond bullet to the forehead. When Sydney Pollack is on screen, you cannot take your eyes off of him. He could be standing next to George Clooney, and women will find themselves watching Pollack instead. He’s a force, a magnet, and he shines a light on everyone he reacts against.
Sydney Pollack is our greatest supporting actor. He deserves a lifetime achievement award for being one of the finest film actors of our time. He should be studied and analyzed by young student actors, and more working actors should strive to be like him.
As a director he hasn’t been as solid. And it’s ironic, because that is where his heart seems to lie. As a director he did They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? (1969), The Way We Were (1973), Three Days of the Condor (1975), The Electric Horseman (1979), Absence of Malice (1981), Tootsie (1982), Out of Africa (1985), and in 2005 he did The Interpreter, and I’d be damned if the United Nations would have let anyone else be the first to film inside their building if his name wasn’t Sydney Pollack.
Sure, he’s made a lot of duds since Tootsie (I've never seen Out of Africa, it looks too chick flick for my taste, too Hollywood). The Firm with Tom Cruise? Sorry. Hollywood trash. Sabrina? We could hold Pollack personally responsible for taking Greg Kinnear out of Talk Soup and into feature films... Random Hearts? I’d rather be water boarded than have to sit through a viewing of that crap. The Interpreter? Hollywood crap. Sorry.
His last film as director was 2005’s Sketches of Frank Gehry, which I have not seen, but that’s only because I don’t rent movies to fall asleep to them. There is nothing about that documentary that pulls me in. I may never see it, although Pollack does appear in it, though he's not acting, he's just appearing as himself.
But just when you think it’s easy to get down on Pollack for all he’s done wrong, we remember Sydney Pollack the actor; we remember Eyes Wide Shut.
Did he really replace Harvey Keitel? I don’t know. All I do know is that in the role of Victor Ziegler, Pollack was exceptional. He was the best part of the entire film. It was Kubrick’s final stroke of genius: the casting of Sydney Pollack. When Tom Cruise visits Pollack toward the end of the film and Pollack asks him what he expected to find at that private party... Cruise knew he was way out of his league. Not just because of what Pollack’s character tells him, but because Pollack throws that weight at Cruise and it bounces off the screen and into our laps. We feel the weight, the gravitas.
Tom Cruise can’t stand next to Sydney Pollack and keep his posture erect; Pollack props him up, he tries to make him look good, he tries not to knock him down (at least not on purpose) - but Cruise knows he’s no match for Pollack’s prowess. Cruise shrinks in Pollack’s presence because Pollack is a commanding presence that even movie star Tom Cruise cannot match. With all his scientology and false idol charisma, he shrivels to nothingness in the shadow of Sydney Pollack.
See Michael Clayton, and watch Sydney Pollack. If you haven’t seen Husbands and Wives, rent it immediately. If you’re a Sopranos fan, re-watch the episode Stage Five from Season Six, Part Two. If you don’t remember Pollack in Tootsie, watch it again just for him. And if you don’t have a smile that stretches from ear to ear when he yells at Dustin Hoffman, “you were a tomato! A tomato doesn’t have logic! A tomato can't move! ” - Then you need to have your pulse checked.
Sydney Pollack Forever.
21 May
Crooklyn, Part Deux, (AKA Welcome Back Kotter , There Hasn't Been a Major League Team Here in 50 years - I'm Just Sayin - An Edvard Longcipher Joint)
We arrived at The Williamsburg Hipster's apartment just past midnight. Lamaar pulled the limo up to 6756 Milner Blvd and we stepped out. The streets were desolate, and it was a cold May night. There was a string hanging from a window above. The Hermit pulled on it. Soon a rusty old bucket was being lowered to us. The Hermit reached inside it and pulled out a set of keys. He then gave the string a tug and the bucket was on it's way back up.
We keyed in the building, walked up five flights in the dark. It seemed the lights were out.
We stopped on the fifth floor. We caught our breaths. The Hermit, _________, author of Catch-22's, and myself were there. A voice came from a floor or two above us.
"Papillon? 'Zat you?"
The voice was old, grizzled, a woman's.
"Yeah," The Hermit barked.
_________ sparked a cigarette with a match he struck against the wall. His shades were still on, he had worn them all the way up the dark stairwell.
I was exhausted, seeing double at the moment.
The Hermit keyed into The Hipster's apartment and hit the lights.
What I saw was utterly familiar and yet foreign all at once;
all of my furniture set up in this Brooklyn apartment, ready to use, set up as a home, only with all of my furniture from Manhattan... In fact, I didn't notice any furniture NOT from my apartment.
There was a note on my desk.
It was titled "Longcipher"
I opened it.
It read,
"Welcome Home. Everything should look familiar, so make yourself at home. I won't see you by the time you leave, so just drop the keys in the bucket when you go. Oh, and steer clear of your old neighborhood for a while. Jack"
*********************************************************
I went to my dresser and opened the top drawer. There in a jewelry case were three vicodins. I tossed one in my mouth and offered one to both Hermit and _________. They declined. I then proceeded to eat the remaining two pills.
I fell on the couch and realized Hermit & ________ had vanished. The door was open, and there was what appeared to be smoke, or dust, in the light of the hallway.
I passed out on the couch. I don't remember anything.
*********************************************************
"Now I don't mind choppin' wood
And I don't care if my money's no good
You take what you need and you leave the rest
But they should never have taken the very best."
- 'The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down', The Band
When I awoke, there was a large old woman in a wheelchair staring at me. I didn't jump, I don't know why.
"Mornin," I muttered.
I cleared my throat.
She continued staring. She had a light beard.
She spit on the floor.
"Aw, come on," I said. "I'm gonna have to Hoover that, now."
"I know who you are," she snorted.
"Yeah. So?"
"So you'd better make it right..."
"Make what right?" I shot back, but she didn't answer.
She wheeled herself out of the room and vanished... More smoke. It was becoming hypnotic.
******************************************************
I checked the baseball scores. The Brew Crew had won, The Cubbies had lost, The Filet's and The Giants had won. I had picked all winners. It was time to call my bookie. Get back in the game.
I dialed him up. He answered.
"Coach. It's Longcipher."
"Ho, whatta ya know."
"Been a while."
"I like it better that way. You're gonna clean me out. Who do you like?"
"The Sox. White and Red."
"What? Straight?"
"Five bones spread across."
"You got it kid. Welcome back."
Click.
****************************************************
I walked over the Kosciuszko Bridge and back again. I did a lot of thinking.
****************************************************
Edvard Longcipher likes a good polka just as much as the next guy.
20 May
Longcipher Returns to The States - Epilogue
"Flew in from Miami Beach B.O.A.C.
Didn't get to bed last night
On the way the paper bag was on my knee
Man I had a dreadful flight
I'm back in the USSR
You don't know how lucky you are, boy."
- The Beatles, "Back in the USSR"
*******************************************************
The Hermit met me at JFK. He held a coffee in his hand. When I walked out from customs, and towards the taxi stand, there he was, in all his mustachioed glory. He handed me the coffee.
"Cream and sugar, right?" he asked.
I took it.
"Thanks..."
We began walking toward the automatic doors that would lead to "the outside..."
I was back in New York. It had been a month.
The Hermit and I walked toward the doors, saying nothing, as there was nothing to be said.
Finally, I spoke up.
"Thanks for being here."
He nodded.
"It's good to be back.... I think."
The Hermit stopped just before the doors. He stopped dead in his tracks. I stopped, turned to him.
"What? What is it?"
He paused, then looked at me.
"You're ready? You're ready to come back?"
He was looking into my eyes. He didn't like to have to do that.
"Yeah... Yes," I replied.
He nodded.
"Good."
**********************************************************
We walked outside and I followed The Hermit toward a limo that was parked near the curb. The driver of the limo jumped out as we got close, and ran around to open the door for The Hermit, but The Hermit beat him to the punch - The Hermit was able to open the door before the driver. He climbed in.
Driver (Annoyed): Where's your class?
The Hermit (Proud of himself) : Style, Lamaar, not class...
************************************************************
We got inside the limo, sat down, and I closed my eyes. I couldn't believe I was back in New York. Everything that I'd just been through... It hadn't sunk in yet.
I opened my eyes, and I saw him sitting across from me.
It was _________, author of Catch-22's. He was sitting there, wearing a vintage mod-style suit, smoking a cigarette, wearing dark shades. He seemed edgy. Pre-occupied. I was surprised to see him. I wasn't expecting this.
The Hermit broke the silence.
"You two are gonna end this thing, here and now. It's bad for business. Bad blood. You two gotta make up."
I looked at ___________.
We nodded at each other.
The Hermit continued.
"I don't care who started it, I don't care who said what - it ends now. Here and now. You understand me?"
_________ and I looked at each other. We nodded.
"Good."
Lamaar pulled the limo out, heading out toward No. Conduit Avenue. We were silent. I looked out the window and watched the taxis pour into JFK, scores of yellow cabs, one after another.
"Is he still thin?" asked _________, after a silence.
"Who?"
"Vanya," replied _________, matter-of-factly.
"Oh," I responded, "of course."
There was more silence for a while. I stared out the window, watching Queens go by. Finally I broke the silence.
"You'd like her," I said aloud.
There was silence for about a minute. Finally _________ spoke up.
"Who?"
"Nan" I replied. "She doesn't talk much."
*********************************************************
SOCA (Serious Organized Crime Agency, started by Tony Blair, as a sort of FBI-like group, specially formed to combat organized crime in Britain), had been watching Vanya for some time.
They took notice when I arrived at the Bungalow.
They had been ready to make their move for quite some time, it turned out.
I got caught in the drama.
Timing.
***********************************************************
Vanya had been on their radar for years. In addition to printing political propaganda for underground government organizations, he was involved in various gun-running schemes and money laundering operations.
They didn't really care about Nan and I.
But they did deport us. Me back to New York, and Nan sent back to ________.
We were separated down at the Fallout Shelter at Vanya's, The Faces blasting on the jukebox. I haven't seen her since.
They put me on a plane eight hours later. I was allowed one phone call, and I had called Walrus HQ.
The Hermit was sent for me.
*************************************************************
"What became of The Williamburg Hipster?" I asked the boys.
"Oh, he dealt with your landlord alright," said The Hermit.
"What happened?"
"We'll let him tell you," they offered, conspiratorially.
They laughed.
I looked out the window, saw we were not, in fact, heading to Manhattan, after all. We were heading towards Brooklyn on the Belt Parkway.
"We're going to Brooklyn?" I asked, casually.
"Your new home," The Hermit replied.
"What?! Where?"
"Tonight, anyway. You're going to stay with the Hipster tonight. We're gonna move you around to various members' homes for a bit, until we get a permanent home for you."
"What happened to my apartment?" I moaned.
"It's gone, Edvard... It's gone."
We drove along Coney Island in silence.
I looked out at my new home.
Brooklyn?
"Been away so long I hardly knew the place
Gee it's good to be back home
Leave it til tomorrow to unpack my case
Honey disconnect the phone
I'm back in the USSR."
- The Beatles, "Back in the USSR"
Edvard Longcipher is back on US soil. Beware...
He likes the San Francisco Giants, The Brew Crew in Milwaukee, and the Phillies. All are due for a win.
The Cubbies are due for a loss. Bet against them.
14 May
A Whore, A Whore, My Kingdom For a Whore (Europe, Part 7)
"History is a set of lies agreed upon."
- Napolean Bonaparte
"... The Fog is Rising."
- Emily Dickinson's Last Words
******************************************************
I couldn't sleep that night down in Vanya's Fallout Shelter, there was simply too much on my mind. I sat at the bar downing shots of whiskey, trying my damndest to pass out, but to no avail. It was as if I was impervious to alcohol, and the more I drank, the more awake I became. I would look over at Nan, sleeping peacefully on the sofa bed, and I was filled with envy.
"They're not up at 3:47," I thought to myself. How goddamned true indeed...
I was tempted to put on at least one of the four HD TV's, flip around Vonny's 800 plus channels, just out of boredom, but I suppressed the urge; if you're gonna be a TV hater, ya gotta commit, even on those sleepless nights. Besides, I had the whiskey, I had the jukebox going - there was some Hank Williams playing - and I had my thoughts, clearer than they'd been in weeks.
I could think down there, of that there was no doubt. Only I didn't want to be thinking, I wanted to be passed out cold, far away from reality and not thinking about what my next move was gonna be.
It appeared that Vanya was reluctant to purchase me a plane ticket back to New York, he was still counting on me to stay and write propaganda for him. Also, there was the matter of Nan, and what I was going to do about her...
She seemed to have no interest in returning to __________, she was with me, by my side, for better or worse at this point. She was a true tramp, no family, no job, no ties to "home," wherever that may have been to begin with...
At this point she was my sidekick, my partner in crime, my co-star... Although I still hadn't decided whether or not she would come back to New York with me, as I hadn't imagined her living with me in Fallout Shelter, NYC.
Vanya was being tough, and I had to call Walrus HQ three times to have them lean on Vonny for the plane ticket back. He was being shady, resistant, and stalling all along. He would tell the editors at Walrus that yes, of course he would purchase me a ticket, and then nothing would get done. Four days had passed, and I was still here at Vanya's bungalow outside London.
I had already started getting plan b in motion earlier that day:
I told the boys at Walrus that they should purchase me the one-way ticket themselves, and I would drive one of Vanya's cars (preferably the red Fiat Spider) to Gatwick or Heathrow, and that would be that. The only shame of it all would be abandoning the Spider at the airport, although I had no doubt Vanya would recoup the car at a later date.
But the editors at Walrus wouldn't go for it, they feared retribution from Vanya, that he would exact revenge on them rather than me, as he didn't know where I lived in New York, and he did have their addresses...
I told them I would write a letter explaining everything, but they simply refused to go along with it, also pointing out the plane ticket wasn't in the budget.
"We just spent a fistful on Brant Miles," they explained to me. "He wanted a five year contract, and his agent is Scott Boras. You do the math."
Ouch. Looks like I picked the wrong time to let the cheese slide off my cracker, as it were...
Any other time would have been perfectly acceptable to have a mental breakdown and run off to Europe, but your 'ol pal Longcipher had to go and choose the absolute worst time to do so. Had I known Brant Miles was re-negotiating his contract I would have gone to Key West instead and gone blotto on Margarita's and whores... At least I could have stayed in contact with my bookmaker back in New York.
Speaking of which, I was browsing the standings in baseball, and I was ill at the sight of things; it was a glorious time to be betting on flukes: The Florida Mah-lins??? Bet on them, at least for now. The D-backs and Dodgers were both due for a win, and the fact that the Yankees were trailing the Orioles and the Rays... Well, it was either a sure sign it was only May, or we were indeed in for a hellishly long season.
*********************************************************
Nan was in a deep sleep, she hadn't tossed or turned once the entire time I sat at the bar. She seemed more relaxed since we arrived here at Vanya's, she seemed to take to the Spring weather in England. She had pep in her step, and she was looking damn good, if I do so say myself.
I had been pissed off and angry that Vanya had no drugs to speak of, but somehow while the fog cleared from my brain, Nan was looking better and better to me, or maybe it was the British light, the way it hit her face... She just looked better than she had when I met her.
Either way, I was becoming emotional, and this was not a good thing. I needed drugs fast, I had to numb all feelings for this sweet, young thing asleep on the bed in front of me. To fall for her now would be pure stupidity, the last thing I needed. What I needed was to get back to New York, get back in the book, and make some fast cash. Perhaps a quick run to Atlantic City, generate some seed money at the tables, then I could catch up on rent, assuming my apartment still existed.
My landlord is a true Cunt, he makes Bill O'Reilly look like a girl scout selling cookies door to door. My sonofabitch landlord probably tossed all of my belongings on the street a week ago, and the fella's over at Walrus had sent The Williamsburg Hipster over to check on things at my place, but he hasn't been heard from since. That was two days ago, but the mood at Walrus HQ was confident.
"He's our muscle," explained _________. "He can deal with your stinking landlord."
"Let's just hope my cunt of a landlord didn't deal with him," I replied.
***********************************************************
President Bush acknowledged the record high price of oil today, and he did offer a solution to the problem; Build more oil refineries at home, become less dependent on foreign markets.
Brilliant.
I think I'll apply the same idea to my need of cash; it's hard to come by, so I'll start building a machine that can print it at home. That, or credit card fraud...
I'll have to get creative soon or I'll be stuck here at Vanya's pumping out propaganda for food and shelter, or, flip side, I get back to NYC and still need cash, so I'm writing this goddamned column for cheeseburgers...
I really need to get Brant Miles' agent, that's the bottom line...
***********************************************************
The room was beginning to tilt, if not slightly move, or rather float, and the fact that my feet couldn't touch the ground from the bar stool wasn't helping matters. I was holding on to the bar for dear might, the whiskey had finally taken it's toll. I was now in the belly of the beast, and I hadn't even noticed entering, as all four TV's were on, full blast, along with the jukebox pumping out The Faces' 'Stay With Me' at high volume.
Nan was sitting upright in bed, looking a combination of confused, scared and angry, and I remember seeing her, taking a look at one of the TV's and catching a glimpse of hard core porn, and then a light entered the room, washing it out completely to the point where I was blinded... I never heard a thing with all the TV's and jukebox blaring at once, but once I was able to open my eyes I saw that I was surrounded by about twenty SOCA agents who were pointing large guns at my face.
I was surrounded, and as drunk as I was, I could see this was all actually happening, none of this was being imagined.
Rod Stewart continued singing,
"Yeah I'll pay your cab fare home
You can even use my best cologne
Just don't be here in the morning when I wake up..."
To be continued...
Edvard Longcipher recommends betting on Tampa Bay and the Cubbies over in Chi-town, as both teams are on a roll right now.
12 May
Israeli Gears: Longcipher In London (Europe, Part 6)
"When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life;
For there is in London all that life can afford."
- Samuel Johnson
"A woman can only become a man's friend in three stages:
First, she's an agreeable acquaintance, then a mistress,
And only after that a friend."
- Anton Chekov, 'Uncle Vanya'
"Some folks look at me and see a certain swagger,
Which in Texas is called 'walking."
- George Bush
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Uncle Vanya was truly one sick bitch. I was beginning to wonder why the faithful editors of Walrus Comix would be associated with such a criminal-minded pervert such as Vanya.
I began to call him 'Tio' Vanya almost instantly, and he seemed to like this.
"Tio, I like what you've done to the place... It has that red coat feel... I want to grab a musket off the wall and go kill a rabbit."
We were walking around his bungalow, just outside London, drinking aged scotch from monogrammed tumblers. He was showing me around the grounds; we had just come in from a walk around his pond. He had told me about the swans, that they live in the park.
"Longcipher... I've been reading your column at Walrus... _________ and _________ have spoken highly of you.... They admit you are a loose cannon, but your opinions are of great importance. You are speaking a truth not heard elsewhere these days."
"Oh, it's nothing original... Anarchists have been around for years... You remember Guy Fox, I have no doubt."
"Yes, but you are doing important work, believe me... Americans are too spoiled, too child-like... They believe in Obama... That there can be change."
"I understand... It's all gone to hell. That rat fink couldn't change a tire."
"It's as if the people in America don't understand how the wheel turns."
"They don't understand how they get hot water, let alone how the system works."
He poured me some more aged scotch.
"Have you seen the news from Israel?"
"No. What of it?"
"More dollars of Israeli companies trade on Wall Street than they do in Tel Aviv... It's the Israeli side that's been performing like gangbusters, not the New York side. The New York side has had a depressing effect on Israeli stocks."
"I see..."
"The Tel-Aviv 100 stock index is up 150% in the last 5 years... The S&P 500 is up 48% in the same period."
"Right..."
"Don't you see? You yourself recently wrote that China was running the US."
"Well, they're providing us slave labor..."
"Indeed. But what about Israel? Where is all that money coming from?"
He wasn't joking around. This was clear.
"Vanya... I think I see what you're saying -"
He cut me off quickly. "The American people think it's all about good intentions... That if they want change..." He snapped his fingers. "They forget what happened to the Kennedy's."
"Fairy tales... They've read too many fairy tales as children... Plus, they play too many video games, where they are in control. It goes to their head."
"Precisely." Vanya drank from his scotch and stared at me a moment with his icy blue eyes. "This Obama cannot win... Clinton is finished."
"I've been saying this all along, Tio... The problem is, the readers of Walrus Comix are liberal children... They watch too much TV."
"You can help them. You can help us... It's not about McCain being four more years of Bush. The Democrats think it's that simple. They don't realize that the US makes most of it's income from the Iraq war... Those who want it stopped don't realize America would be broke without that income."
"Yes... Yes... I understand, Tio..."
"It's what keeps me on this estate."
I raised my glass.
"I'm with ya Vanya... You've got a lovely spread here... It'd be a shame to lose it."
"McCain says 100 more years in Iraq... That is music to the ears of those in power... He will make us rich!"
"Of course... Without Iraq we'd be so far in debt someone would have to bail us out."
"It may be Israel who does that."
"Don't forget China."
"But Israel has all the electric cars that your country had ten years ago... Israel is going to be selling those cars back to your country very soon."
"With China's money."
"Exactly... You understand everything, Edvard."
"That's why it has to be McCain... He will defend Israel... It's all about what's best for Israel. And Obama isn't any good for them."
"A black muslim? Ha!"
We touched glasses. We drank.
"Tio, I gotta tell ya, it's sad, the whole thing..."
"Don't get soft on me now, Longcipher... I'm counting on you to instruct the readers of Walrus Comix on what's happening politically... They can vote for all the Barrack Obama's they want... He'll never be president... He's not making the right people wealthier... The system's never been about what the working people wanted."
"And Clinton was just a red herring."
"All along... The Clinton's have been getting filthy rich in Israel for years."
"Hence the bombing Iran comments... Of course. Sucking up to Israel."
"But the Israeli's hate her. They know she cannot be trusted."
I shook my head.
"Obama is the hope of America... After this they may never trust again."
"Nonsense, Edvard... The young will always believe... The young will always be idealistic... But we, with the money..."
"Whoa whoa - watch the 'we' stuff, Tio... I don't have any money... I'm not profiting on the republicans... I'm just a realist. I see how the game works."
"I'm gonna change all that. I'm gonna make you a wealthy man, Longcipher..."
I almost did a spit take.
"But why?"
"I tried years ago with your editors at Walrus Comix... I like them very much, but they are too caught up in being Democrats... Democrats are always unhappy, always wanting change... They could not be happy being the elite. But you..."
"Me? Oh, I don't know, Vonny... I'm a man of the people... Granted, I hate the people, but still, I walk among them... I don't think I'd make a good billionaire."
Vanya smiled, revealing a gold tooth I hadn't noticed earlier. "Come with me, Edvard... I want to show you something."
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Vanya led me out back and toward what looked like storm doors in the ground. He pulled them open, and we walked down narrow steps which led down into the earth. He turned on some lights to reveal an enormous drawing room with drafting tables and pool hall style lights that hung over the work benches. There was a fully stocked wet bar and four large screen HD TV's, one on each wall. It was a real shelter. A Fallout Shelter.
There was a life size wooden statue of Winston Churchill, and next to him a smaller marble statue of a Walrus.
"Hey," I said, pointing to the Walrus statue, "do the boys know about that?"
"No," Vanya replied, "I was planning on shipping that little bitch to New York, but it weighs more than it looks, and it looks like it weighs a ton, right?"
I nodded.
"Better just send them a picture of it."
Vanya picked up a remote control and turned on all the TV's. One was showing stock market reports, another ESPN, another was showing the film "After Hours," and another TV was showing hard core porn. It was all too good to be true.
"So what do you think?"
I surveyed the room, arms folded, nose up in the air.
"It's Okay... But why only four TV's?"
Vanya laughed.
"Listen, I want you to feel comfortable here, Edvard... I want you to make this your home base. You can write here."
I was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable.
"Tio... Look, I don't know what you're getting at, but... You say you read my columns... I'm straight."
"No, no - It's not like that," Vanya went on.
He walked over to a drafting table and grabbed a pamphlet. He held it up.
"Propaganda, my good man... Propaganda!"
He seemed proud, but could also see that I was lost on what he was trying to tell me.
He went on;
"I want you to stay here, live here, make this your base of operations... Nan could stay here, too, if you'd like... You could write your 'Under Protest' column here and send it to New York, and meanwhile... In return, you could write political propaganda for me."
"What exactly... What kind of propaganda do you propose?"
"The only kind! The enemy is near... Terrorism is real... Support our troops... John McCain for president... You get the idea, don't ya?"
I looked around the bunker... It was certainly an enticing work/living space... I looked at the TV's... He'd certainly done his homework... But something wasn't feeling right. I began to nitpick, just to throw him off.
"There's no record player down here... I'm gonna need my vinyl."
"That could be arranged... There is a cd player... And a jukebox that plays mp3's."
"That's not gonna do. I'm gonna need my vinyl."
"Okay... That could be arranged."
"Also, while I like the TV's... I hate TV... Get rid of them. All of them."
He seemed stunned at this one.
"Okay... I'll get rid of them..."
"And the bar... I can see from here it doesn't have a beer tap. I'm gonna need Stella Artois on tap, and I want a treasure chest filled with ice and Corona's over there."
He smiled, and then the smile quickly faded from his face.
"A treasure chest?"
"Filled with ice and Corona's," I repeated.
Vanya scratched his head.
"I'm offering you a place to live, Edvard... Free of charge... You would have use of the entire house, any of the cars -"
"If I'm gonna feel at home here, Vonny, I'm gonna need things done my way. If you want me to stay on and write your... Propaganda... For you... Then I need things done right."
"You want a tap installed at the bar? I thought you liked whiskey... I have every type of whiskey imaginable back there!"
"Whiskey's good... But I need something for the early morning hours, Vonny... Beer is an important staple of my diet. Also, I'm going to need a pound of marijuana and sixty vicodins or percocets - Either will do - In a candy dish, on the bar, at all times."
Vanya was in shock, speechless.
"Also," I went on, "I'm gonna have to talk with Nan, see what she'll need."
"Of course," he replied, in a monotone.
"And I need to call Walrus HQ right now... Where's the phone? What do I dial for an outside line?"
Vanya just looked at me for a moment.
"You dial zero-zero-one, then the area code and number..."
"Very good. Will you excuse me, please?"
Vanya was totally in awe of me at this point.
"Oh yes, of course... I'll be outside... I'll go find Spicer... I think he's playing ping-pong with Nan and the other girls..."
His voice trailed off as he left the room.
I picked up the phone, dialed as he instructed, and Walrus HQ answered after two rings.
Walrus: Yah?
Longcipher: Yeah, it's me.
Walrus: What the hell's going on there?! You're still in London??
Longcipher: Outside of London, at Vanya's... He wants me to stay.
Walrus: And do what?
Longcipher: You wouldn't believe me if I told you... Did you know he has a marble statue of a walrus here?
Walrus: A what?
Longcipher: Listen to me: He's crazy! He's insane! He's totally out of his fucking mind!
Walrus: Hold on a minute, what did he say?!
Longcipher: I can't believe you sent me here, I can't believe you put me and him together!
Walrus: Longcipher, calm down, tell me what he said to you!
Longcipher: He's out of his fucking mind! It's one thing if I say the outrageous racist fucking comments - when he does it, it just pisses me off!
Walrus: He's going on about Israel, right?
Longcipher: You know damn well that he is... And he's not wrong... It's just... I'm beginning to really miss New York... I don't want to stay here with him, writing propaganda for him.
Walrus: Maybe it's time to come back home.
Longcipher: Well you know what they say, ________; you can never go back.
I put on my sunglasses, hung up the phone, and walked away. Somewhere in the distance, Roger Daltrey screamed...
"Meet the new boss...
Same as the old boss..."
Edvard Longcipher never liked cricket. He likes baseball, or beisbol, or la pelota caliente, como se dice in Havana...
7 May
Letters To Longcipher - (Who Are You? They Call Me Mr. Tibbs!!!!)
The Editors at Walrus Comix insisted I answer some letters from readers while I am in London... I don't really like my readers, but I'll pretend to do so as I answer their sniveling drawl whilst enjoying fine Scottish brandy and the vision of cocaine on a strippers ass...
The first letter comes from a Miss Ida Morgan from Aliquippa, Pennsylvania. Ida writes;
Mr. Longcipher,
Why are you such a crude, right-wing, racist, nazi, misogynist republican tool? Aren't you an artist? A writer? Why aren't you a democrat, a nice guy, a woman worshipping liberal like so many of us want you to be? If you could be more like the other artist types, then Walrus Comix would be so much more of an enjoyable place...
Why, Mr. Longcipher... Why?
Well, Ida, this was a wonderful question indeed...
Why am I a right wing, racist, nazi...
Ya know, when I was a young boy, I always dreamed of growing up and becoming a nazi... It seemed like such a wonderful occupation to me... Great outfits, black shiny boots... And the hand salute is just brilliant... Also, if you're gonna go hatin' on a group, why not the Jews??? They are so detestable, and that whole "state of Israel" thing - don't get me started, Ida!!
But seriously, folks...
I don't think I'm a misogynist, I just happen to think women are lowlier creatures than men... It's fact, anyway - look it up, it's all online. Just Google it, for christ sakes... Howard Zinn wrote an entire essay on the matter. I'll be posting it here tomorrow and claiming it as my own writing so douche bag democrats can read it and think it's mine... Only the real intelligent douche bag democrats will be able to tell that I didn't really write it, that I stole it (fair and square) from Howard Zinn, whose cock I suck on a regular basis... I don't just follow this grizzled old man, I please him orally every chance I get... I worship his anus, I toss his salad...
In short - my name isn't really Edvard Longcipher, it's Adolf Zinn, common-law wife of Professor extraordinaire Howard...
I love my work, what can I say?
At any rate, if I aligned myself with the democrats, that would just be asking for defeat... Asking for a beating... You see, Ida, the democrats are spineless fools who can't work as a team... They are divided in half over a blick guy and a cunt, and both sides think they are right... Just to prove to you how stupid democrats are, I direct you to North Carolina and Indiana, where dumb-as-rocks democrats are split down the middle once again...
The republicans are fools and whoremasters - We know this - However, they don't partake in this can't-get-it-together comedy routine that the democrats fall for like it's professional wrestling... What happens next? We have to wait 'til June to see who wins the party nomination?! Oh no!! I never saw that coming...
Ida, women are stupid (yourself included - no hard feelings), and only good for a shag or a hot meal... Democrats are only good for pissing on and lynching... and why am I such a prick?
Ida, I'm just as god made me...
****************************************
The next letter comes from a Mr. Saul Rabinowitz, from New York City... Mr Rabinowitz writes - Oh wait! I just remembered... I don't answer letters from filthy Jews! On to the next letter...
This one's from Frank Jones, Miami, Florida. Frank writes;
Dear Mr. Longcipher,
Do you support gun control?
Well Frank, I do indeed support gun control; I don't think democrats should be allowed to have them at all... They are all pussies, and they would never use them in the moment of truth... Some Commie pinko faggot would be able to rip the fire arm out of the queer democrat's hands and use it on him (the democrat), and then we wouldn't have anyone to push around anymore...
Frank, if we're gonna need weak, scrawny, loser types who troll my column all day, then we'll need those fools called democrats... They think they can save the world, and that's gotta be worth a few laughs for us Independents...
*************************************
Which leads me to the next letter, from a Miss Elaine Carucci, Teaneck, New Jersey. Elaine writes;
Mr. Longcipher,
You obviously despise the Democrats, and you don't seem to endorse the Republicans... So where do you stand? Surely you're not one of those "Independents," Mr. Longcipher... Everybody has to take a stand in the end...
Well Elaine, you're right...
I do take a stand in the end...
My stand is this: Poontang.
*****************************************
The next letter comes from a dippy artsy chick who lives in Brooklyn... I won't list her name here in case I actually make it back to New York and look her up... She sent me a picture and she looks like someone I might want to indeed fuck... I mean, after all, this little slut wrote to me about my penis!
She writes;
Dearest Mr Longcipher...
Is it true that men as brash as you have really huge cocks and can please a woman all night long? Oh Mr. Longcipher, say it's true, please please please...
Well well well, my little Brooklyn slut...
First of all, of course it's true - I am hung like a Civil War cannon and as brutal in bed as I am in politics...
Secondly, you should do Brooklyn a favor and start wearing leggings and vintage lime green sweaters with black Chuck Taylors... If you really want to fit in down in Brooklyn, you're gonna have to look like everyone else... Brooklyn's for hipsters, not foolish sluts who wear designer clothes - that's Manhattan, where the big dogs play...
Wow, all of this typing has gotten me dizzy... I need to call it a night, I'm not used to doing so much actual writing... I'm more of a plagiarizer, anyway...
Howard? Oh Mr. Zinn? Is there anything you would like to say that I could steal for my own useage???
I'll suck your cock for a sentence...
Edvard Longcipher is still in London and is beginning to enjoy futbol. He found a bookie there and likes warm beer. He sent us fotos we can't even show you of various body parts in the midst of... Well amyway, remember that Longcipher's views are his own and are not those of Walrus Comix...
6 May
The Continuing Saga of Bungalow Pill (Euro Rail Part 5, Leonard Part 6)
"What does dat meen?" She asked, her forehead all wrinkled and eyes arched. "Thee heck-lar? I do not know thees word..."
"Heckler... Somebody who harasses a public speaker, like a politician, or a comedian..."
"I don't understand."
"That's what I do... I'm the heckler of life, woman... I agitate people... Publicly..."
"That sounds meen."
"Shut up... You're a woman, you don't know any better... Not to mention the fact your English is barbaric."
"At leest I speek English... You cannot speek my language."
"Nor would I want to. I have bigger fish to fry."
The Chunnel train was moving along nicely, and I realized I'd be in London in three hours if everything went according to plan. I would have to call Walrus HQ and let them know I had arrived so they could set me up with my contact in London.
I was too exhausted to be excited, and the gin martini's were having a strange effect on my balance. I was dreading having to stand up, but I couldn't stop drinking, either. The glass seemed to keep arriving at my lips, as if it had a mind of it's own.
Nan was drinking red wine, trying to keep up with me, but it was really of no use at all. She simply doesn't have the stamina. And I don't blame her - I shoot rapid fire English at her and continuously order more alcohol and the poor girl tries to keep up with me drink for drink, but she's no match for your 'ol pal Longcipher, not in ________, and certainly not now on le tunnel sous la Manche.
It had been quite a journey from ________ to Coquelles. Nan and I hitched rides from Truck drivers and European hippies all the way there. The truck drivers just wanted to fuck Nan, and I let them think that may be a possibility... I'd give them head/hand gestures like I would be jumping off soon, and she'd stay on, and he could probably 'get in there' (fist motion) if he wanted to... Worked like a charm everytime.
We arrived in the small village of Coquelles on Friday night, and we slept behind the large American-style shopping mall after polishing off the remainder of the whiskey we stole from the second-to-last truck driver...
He was a surly Irish cunt, and that's being polite. I didn't let him think he had a shot at Nan, as I didn't like his b.o. and I didn't like his choice of music... He played Abba and Ozzy over and over, and I'd had enough of him and his stench after 5 kilometers. At the first rest stop I snatched his bottle of Glenfiddich and Nan and I hightailed it out of his truck and into another.
It was the 'ol Five Easy Pieces story, and we used it every time... "Everything was lost in the fire..."
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We rode along on the Chunnel and drank, and occasionally spoke. It was becoming evident she wanted to understand my cruelty and anger. It only enraged me further.
"I am harsh on people for one simple reason; I find it fascinating in a psychological way..."
"But why -"
(Cutting her off) People are stupid, woman. People are ignorant, dumb sheep... They need to be told what to do, what to say, what to believe... If they actually thought for themselves, they would probably jump off a bridge. They believe in religion... They believe in futbol... They believe in sacred holidays and their idiotic saints..."
"And what do yew believe een?"
"I believe in Martini's, woman... I believe in filthy women and clean drugs... I believe in gambling... Gambling for your soul, for your life, for your balls... I believe in spitting in people's faces and provoking an attack... I see the best in people when they are upset, agitated, seeing red... Their true nature comes out. And most of them have no class when they are angry. They have no intelligence. They are all emotion. And emotions are for small children... They have no place in the real world, woman."
"You do not reelly believe thees..."
"Yes, woman... I really do. Have you ever been to the floor of the New York stock exchange?"
"No."
"They eat their young there... They are cannibals, they are the lowest form of humans, and they are the heart and soul of this world, woman... They have no morals, no religion... They worship profit, they worship rape, and they worship bestiality."
"Beasty what?"
"They fuck dogs. They fuck cattle."
"How do zey do thaat?"
"They hold the bell around the cow's neck so the farmer doesn't hear them."
Her eyes were beginning to glaze over. This was too much information.
I sat back, realized I was drunk, talking shit, not making any sense at all. I realized it didn't matter anymore what I was, what I thought I was, what I thought I was doing in this life... All in that moment, it became very clear I only needed to operate on auto pilot, and the rest would take care of itself.
1. Get to London.
2. Call Walrus HQ.
3. Meet with the contact.
4. Get the money, and the plane tickets...
Shit, the plane tickets...
What was happening? I was beginning to forget in my drunken haze... Didn't they say the FBI had been around? Or did I dream that? I honestly had no sense anymore of what was real and what was a dream... I looked at Nan and realized she was a complete stranger. I didn't know her from Adam, and yet she bought me a pair of decent pants and a button down shirt and second hand sport coat... I was looking like a real citizen again, not just a homeless vagrant wandering Europe, ranting about fascist America.
But what was I going to do? Suppose Walrus bought me a ticket back to NYC? Do I go back? Back to the Jungle? Or do I stay in London for a while... Pick up the trumpet again... Try and hook up with a ska band...
I could stay in London. Make a home with Nan. We could make babies. Little Longciphers running around with British accents... Watch Benny Hill, eat crumpets and drink warm beer and get a job at a factory... Life may be better where the police don't have guns...
Who am I kidding? I needed my bookie, I needed my call girl service. I missed so many things about New York it was ridiculous. Maybe I had just taken some bad acid and flipped out... I don't even remember anymore... But I suppose that's how it would be, that's how it would happen: I wouldn't even remember swallowing the tab, I would just be sent off on a psycho babble trip worthy of jumping on a plane and fleeing the country...
I took the last sip of the martini and saw that Nan was asleep. There was still some wine in her glass, and I drank that, too.
Her face looked so young, so innocent, so peaceful in her sleep. I hadn't noticed that until now. I was going to have to abandon her in London, it dawned on me then. I couldn't possibly bring her back to New York with me, she would never survive there. The hyenas would eat her alive there, and I don't have time to baby sit. Still, she bought me the clothes, and the Chunnel ticket, and insisted on accompanying me to London...
*******************************************************
Walrus Comix answered the phone after two rings. I heard the Yankee game in the background.
Walrus: Yah?
Longcipher: It's me... I'm in London.
Walrus: Holy shit! You made it! We were beginning to wager you'd never make it!
Longcipher: What were the odds?
Walrus: Twenty to one.
Longcipher: Not bad... Listen, I have a friend with me.
Walrus: So?
Longcipher: Just tell your contact... I need housing for two.
Walrus: I don't know anything about that.
Longcipher: Well what about that other thing?
Walrus: The other thing?
Longcipher: Yeah, that last thing you told me about.
Walrus: Oh, that... Yeah, that's still a go.
Longcipher: But that means... What exactly? Again?
Walrus: Just lay low. You got a pen?
Longcipher: I'm ready.
Walrus: __________. You call and ask for Uncle Vanya.
Longcipher: Jesus christ. I never liked that damn play.
Walrus: You're gonna like this guy. He's got first class access to the finest stable of whores in London.
Longcipher: I told you, I got a friend with me... A girl. A woman.
Walrus: Aw shit, Longcipher... Aw right, how much?
*************************************************
Uncle Vanya sounded like he was in the middle of something, and he sounded annoyed to hear from me. I wasn't expecting the red carpet, but I wasn't expecting attitude, either.
"I'm sending a car for you. I understand you've got company."
"Yes, that's right."
"Well, she'll have to sleep with me tonight, I test the goods, you understand?"
I was silent. I was in shock.
"Just kidding, ya Mary... I thought you had a sense of humor... What happened to you over in ______?"
"Forgive me Vanya... Been a long trip here to London. Looking forward to a hot meal and a warm bed."
"Never mind that. We've got work to do."
"Work? What work?"
"I'll explain everything when you arrive at the bungalow."
"Bungalow? Where?"
"Don't worry, Edvard... I have a valium here with your name on it."
To be Continued...
Edvard Longcipher is the heckler of Walrus Comix. You love him, you hate him, you love to hate him...
5 May
Sin Titulo
• President Bill Clinton was elected in 1996 with a distinct lack of voter enthusiasm. As was true in 1992 (when 19% of voters showed their distaste for both parties by voting for a third party candidate, Ross Perot), the electorate was clearly not happy about it's choices. Half of the eligible voters stayed away from the polls, and of those who did vote, only 49% chose Clinton over Bob Dole.
• Clinton had become the Democratic Party candidate in 1992 with a formula not for social change but for electorate victory: Move the party closer to the center. This meant doing just enough for blicks, women, and working people to keep their support, while trying to win over white conservative voters with a program of toughness on crime and a strong military.
• **** Clinton re-appointed Federal Reserve Chairman Alan Greenspan, first appointed by Ronald Reagan and then re-appointed by George Bush. Clinton had an opportunity for change, but decided to stay the course as it had been since the Reagan years. Financially speaking, he (Clinton) did nothing different than Reagan or Bush, both Republicans.
• Clinton appointed people of color to government posts, but when they became too bold, he abandoned them quickly, never fighting for them. When Surgeon General Joycelyn Elders, a blick, made the controversial suggestion that masturbation was a proper subject in sex education, Clinton asked her to resign.
• Clinton made sure that the two appointments he made to The Supreme Court would be moderate enough to be acceptable to Republicans as well as Democrats. Ruth Bader Ginsberg and Stephen Breyer were not nearly as liberal as Thurgood Marshall or William Brennan, and Clinton was not willing to fight for liberal judges like them.
• Both Breyer and Ginsberg defended capital punishment, and upheld drastic restrictions on the use of habeas corpus. Both voted with the most conservative judges on the Court to uphold the "constitutional rights" of Boston's St. Patrick's Day parade organizers to exclude gay marchers.
• **** According to a three year study by the Fordham Law Review in 1996, Clinton's appointments made "liberal" decisions in less than half their cases.
• The New York Times noted that, while Reagan and Bush had been willing to fight for judges who would reflect their philosophies, "Mr. Clinton, in contrast, has been quick to drop judicial candidates if there is even a hint of controversy."
• Clinton, eager to show he was "tough" on crime, while running for president in 1992 and still governor of Arkansas, flew back to Arkansas to oversee the execution of a mentally retarded man on death row.
• Early in his administration he (Clinton) and Janet Reno approved an FBI attack on a group of (American) religious zealots who were armed and ensconced in a building complex in Waco, Texas. The attack resulted in a fire that killed 86 men, women and children.
• Clinton approved a new statute withholding federal funds for legal services where lawyers used those funds to handle class action suits (such suits were important for challenging assaults on civil liberties).
• The "Crime Bill" of 1996, which both Republicans and Democrats in Congress voted for overwhelmingly, and which Clinton endorsed with enthusiasm, dealt with the problem of crime by emphasizing punishment, not prevention. It extended the death penalty to a whole range of criminal offenses, and provided $8 billion for the building of new prisons.
• Both major political parties joined to pass legislation, which Clinton then signed, to remove welfare benefits (food stamps, payments to elderly and disabled people) from not only illegal but legal immigrants.
• In 1996, Clinton signed a law to end the federal governments guarantee, created under the New Deal, of financial help to poor families with dependant children. This was called "welfare reform," and the law had a deceptive title, indeed. It's aim was to force families receiving federal cash benefits (many of them single mothers with children) to go to work, by cutting off their benefits after two years, limiting "lifetime benefits" to five years, and allowing people without children to get food stamps for only three months in any three-year period.
• The New York Times, a supporter of Clinton, admitted that the provisions of the new law "had nothing to do with creating work but everything to do with balancing the budget by cutting programs for the poor."
• **** The Clinton administration steadfastly refused to establish government programs to create jobs, as had been done in the New Deal era.
• Clinton and the Republicans, joining against "Big Government," took aim at social services. The other manifestations of big government - huge contracts to military contractors and generous subsidies to corporations - continued at exorbitant levels.
• Clinton refused to raise taxes on the wealthy, or cut funds for the military, so he instead cut funds for the poor, the children, the aged - to spend less for health care, food stamps, education, single mothers, etc.
• From The New York Times, May 8, 1997: "A major element of President Clinton's education plan - a proposal to spend $5 billion to repair the nation's crumbling schools - was among the items quietly killed in last week's agreement to balance the federal budget..."
• The Boston Globe, May 22, 1997: "After White House intervention, the Senate yesterday... rejected a proposal... to extend health insurance to the nation's 10.5 million uninsured children... Seven lawmakers switched their votes... after senior White House officials.... called and said the ammendment would imperil the delicate budget agreement."
• Clinton's government continued to spend $250 billion a year to maintain the military machine.
• **** Clinton was in office barely six months when he sent in the Air Force to drop bombs on Baghdad, presumably in retaliation for an assassination plot against George Bush, although the evidence for such a plot was weak, as it came from the notoriously corrupt Kuwaiti Police.
• US planes bombed a suburban Iraqi neighborhood, killing a prominent artist and her husband.
• **** Under Clinton, the US continued to supply lethal arms to some of the most vicious regimes in the world. Indonesia had a record of mass murder, having killed 200,000 out of a population of 700,000 during it's invasion and occupation of East Timor. Clinton approved the sale of F-16 fighter planes and other assault equipment to Indonesia.
• The Clinton administration firmly supported Borris Yeltsin, even after Russia initiated a brutal invasion and bombardment of the outlying region of Chechnya, which wanted independence and democracy.
• **** Democrats and Republicans, enthusiastically supported by corporate interests, joined to pass the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), which Clinton signed. Labor unions (the working man) opposed it.
• The US, under Clinton, with 5% of the earth's population, consumed 30% of what was produced worldwide.
• **** As a result of Clinton's tax structure, by 1995 the richest 1% had gained over a trillion dollars and owned over 40% of the nation's wealth.
• Clinton promised, on his Inaugural Day, a "new government," although there was no program to take care of this. There were two ways of raising the money to form this program, but Clinton was under the thumb of corporations, and didn't fight to instate the program.
• **** Clinton refused to tax the super rich, as well as cut the military budget. Instead, in 1996, the US was spending more money on the military than the rest of the world combined - four times as much as Russia, eight times as much as China, forty times as much as North Korea, eighty times as much as Iraq - all under Bill Clinton's watchful "liberal" eye.
• In 1992, the Democratic Party held a dinner to raise funds, for which individuals and corporations paid up to $300,000 to attend. A Democratic spokesman told reporters, "it's buying access to the system, yes." When asked about people who didn't have so much money, he replied, "they have to demand access in other ways."
(Special thanks to Howard Zinn)
• Check your facts.
• Are you a Sheep or a Walrus?
Yours in solidarity,
Edvard
longcipher@yahoo.com
1 May
Someday My Princess Will Come... Fish and Chips On My Mind... Hippie-Goth Chicks and FBI Wire Tapping... America Being Overrun By Fascists Wearing Pant Suits... Assume The Crash Position, Things Are About To Get Hairy, Father...
I met her outside a jazz club in the city of ________, while making my way to London. There I was, in my tuxedo shirt/Adidas track suit pants and saddle shoes, sitting on the Mighty Mac coat to keep my ass dry, huddled by the grate in the ground so I could I hear the music coming from inside the club. In this European city where Dexter Gordon once lived for many years, they have wonderful taste in jazz music and horrible taste in drugs and whores.
But then she came over to me, like a vision in white, although dressed completely in black... She had long black hair and fingers full of silver rings and a hoop through her nose like so many Euro-hippie-goth chicks do... She had a great ass, though, I could see that right away from my low angle on the sidewalk... She stood above me, hovering, looking down at me with electric green eyes that pierced through to my loins... I became uncomfortable with her stare and decided to call her bluff.
"What?"
For a moment she said nothing, didn't even smirk. I was beginning to think she didn't understand English. Then, out of nowhere, she kicked me in the kneecap.
"Ow! You bitch! (Pause. Rubbing my knee) You kick me again and I swear I'll knock you on your ass, you understand me?! I don't care if you're a woman... I'll rip that hoop out of your nose and make you swallow it, you get me, woman??!!"
She stared at me, a smile beginning to creep upon her face.
"You are American... yees?"
"No... I'm Canadian... But I'll hurt you just the same..."
"Canadian? I have been to Montreal... I like very much..."
She was becoming more feminine now, she was beginning to appeal to my carnal senses, and I wanted to throw her down right there and have her real savage-like, clockwork style, on the sidewalk outside of the jazz club, the music pouring out of the grate below us.
I opted not to act on that instinct.
"Give me a cigarette."
"You don't say pleeeze??
"You kicked me in the kneecap... I think it's fair to say you owe me something..."
She seemed to agree with this after a thought, and nonchalantly tossed me a cigarette. She motioned that she wanted to sit down next to me, and I gave her some space on the Mighty Mac coat to sit down. She then proceeded to roll a joint of some of the finest pollen hash I'd seen in quite awhile. We smoked that, not speaking any words, listening to the music. She smelled like a hippie, but the kind I could get interested for, so I had a little faith.
An hour later we were in a small beer bar where they served roasted chicken on small wooden spears. The place was empty, except for a sixty something year old man with an eye patch behind the counter. He had wirey hair growing wildly out of his ears, and side burns that lifted off his face three and a half inches. His eyes told me he did not like me, and I smiled and winked at him, telepathically begging him to throw me out. I wanted a fight, after all I'd been through; I wanted to kill someone with my bare hands. That, or get a hold of some real drugs and dance the night away with this hippie-goth chick with the silver hoop in her nose.
I got her name. It was something like Oona-nanda, but I just called her Nan, or woman, which she seemed to like. She didn't seem to care much about anything, and I liked this about her. More so, I liked the fact that she was treating me to beers and chicken on spears. I told her my story, and how I needed to get to London. I looked her dead in the eye and asked her for five euros.
She smiled and then frowned. Then she pulled out five euros and laid it on the table.
"I'm going to buy a phone card... You have a cell phone, yes?"
She placed her cell phone on the table.
"Wait here. I'll go next door and buy a phone card, then I'm gonna use your phone to call Canada."
She looked at me with those piercing green eyes.
"You are not reelly Canadian... You er American... Yees?"
I smiled.
"Okay... I live in New York. I'm a professional gambler, I handicap baseball and basketball... The mob is after me."
"The mob?"
She seemed confused.
"And the government... I've been writing anti fascist propaganda, and the bastards want me locked up... I'm on the lam."
"The lam?"
"It's a witch hunt, I tell ya... Look, you seem like someone who despises American fascists."
She nodded. "Of course."
"Good. I need to call my people in New York, and I need to get to London... You want to help me?"
She stared at me for what seemed like eternity. The man with the eye patch said something I didn't understand and Nan motioned it was time to go. I looked at side burns and blew him a kiss. Off we went.
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Walrus Comix answered the phone after one ring. Thank god.
Walrus Comix: Yah?
Longcipher: Listen, I don't have much time, I'm on a calling card.
Walrus Comix: Where the hell are you?! Are you in London?!
Longcipher: No. I'm in _______.
Walrus Comix: _________??!! What the hell are you doing in _________??!!
Longcipher: You filthy bastard, don't tell me my business... I'm hoofing it now, and I think I can get to London by tomorrow night if I play my cards right.
Walrus Comix: Our man there is ready to take you in... Listen... The FBI has been by.
Longcipher: Christ on a crutch! What did they do?! Did they beat you?! Did they confiscate the lap tops?!
Walrus Comix: No, it wasn't like that... Two guys, black suits... Asked a lot of questions about you, where you might be...
Longcipher: You're starting to believe me now, right?
Walrus Comix: Yeah... Maybe you shouldn't come home after all.
Longcipher: What are the Yankees doing?
Walrus Comix: Not good. Posada, A-rod, both on the DL... The Democrats are playing dirty with Clemens... They've exposed him for having affairs with 15 year olds...
Longcipher: Those bastards. They'd sell their own mothers for a headline... It's too dangerous there... Listen, I need to go. I'll call again from London... Don't mention me to anyone... Burn all of my files... Sell the car, sell the house... sell the kids... I'm never coming back!
To be Continued...
Edvard Longcipher is not paranoid. He believes Lee Harvey Oswald was a patsy, the moon landing was filmed in Hollywood, 9/11 was an inside job, and that the Clintons are buying the election out from under the blick guy and the old man. The regime continues: Reagan (Bush)/Bush/Clinton/Bush/Clinton... God Bless America, and sleep tight ya morons.