Tuesday, 31 July 2018

Harsh Triggering

"...the process of transformation, even if it brings revolutionary change, is likely to be a long one, absent some catastrophic and catalyzing event - like a new Pearl Harbor."

Rebuilding America's Defences,
The Project for a New American Century
Summer 2000

Saturday, 28 July 2018

The Princes of The Universe : Sons of The Goddess, Men Without Fathers


"The sacrifices are burnt on an altar. Why? 

Well, the smoke rises. 

Well, so what? 

Well, God’s up in the sky and if the smoke rises up there, he gets a whiff of it, he can tell what the quality of the sacrifice was. 

Job 5:7

And you can laugh about that and you can think about it as primitive, but it’s not primitive, it’s artistic and it’s beautiful and it’s accurate and here’s why. 

Because before the invention of the electrical light and maybe before the invention of fire, the closest a human could ever get to confrontation with the absolute unknown was to look up at the night sky. 

Because the night sky, especially when it’s sprinkled with stars, confronts you directly with the fact of the infinite. 

And to make the presupposition that God resides in the infinite, and you’re having a direct experience of the infinite at that moment, is not a primitive notion. 

It’s a very intelligent and creative hypothesis and so the notion that God occupies the sky, and the day sky being as equally impressive as the night sky, is not a primitive hypothesis. 

It’s a reflection of the nature of a certain kind of human experience. 

You burn something and you send the smoke up. 

God gets a crack at determining the quality of your offering, the quality of your sacrifice. 

Well, let’s be perfectly clear about this. 

If your sacrifices aren’t first rate, the nature of your relationship with the infinite is going to suffer dreadfully. 

And that’s exactly what the story of Cain and Abel reveals."

          The Stones "Sympathy for the Devil" kicks up as we wait...
          The doors split open and HARLING MAYS steps out. HARLING has
          a pony tail and a goatee and is probably wearing a Tommy
          Bahama button down shirt.
          We follow HARLING as he strides down the hall. With ear buds
          in, HARLING points a Sanyo pistol-shaped cam corder at the
          ATTENDING NURSE at the nurses' station, recording her...
                          HARLING MAYS
           I'm on the list baby girl. Check
           the list for Mr. Mays. Harling.
          The Stones continue to wail as Harling strolls on, adjusting
          the duffel bag he has slung over his shoulder.
          HARLING stands in the doorway looking in. He sees...
          The MORNING NURSE is helping WHIP to stand. HARLING points
          his camcorder at WHIP and the NURSE.
           HARLING MAYS (O.C.)
           If this is gonna turn into a sponge
           bath, I'll come back.
          HARLING immediately goes to WHIP and supports him.
           It's okay, Harling.
                          HARLING MAYS
           That's right honey, I'm on the
           list. Harling Mays. Some say they
           Harling knew me.
          HARLING boxes her out. She steps away.
           HARLING MAYS (CONT'D)
           Honey can you hustle us a couple of
           daiquiris and a cocktail weenie?
           On second thought just bring the
           booze. I brought my own weenie.
          No reaction as the NURSE collects the trash and towels.
          HARLING focuses his camcorder on the NURSE and leaves WHIP in
          an unsteady stance. HARLING films her and comments...
           HARLING MAYS (CONT'D)
           She's offended, and she should be. I'm a pig. And I hate me. That's  what we have in common Nurse Ratched...we both hate me.
          And she's gone. HARLING turns to WHIP.
           HARLING MAYS (CONT'D)
           Whip? What the fuck my man?
           They're sayin', "Sweet Jesus, what
           a fuckin' stud that pilot is."
           You're a hero, no shit. You will
           never pay for another drink in this
           life time. There is crazy news
           people all over, look at this shit--
          HARLING helps WHIP to the window...
          From WHIP's window we can see a slew of news vans with signal
          towers as well as reporters milling about -- a small zoo.
          HARLING and WHIP stare for a moment at the circus below.
          WHIP doesn't last long and slowly returns to the bed as
          HARLING continues to gawk.
                          HARLING MAYS
           Classic hero worship, you're a rock
           star man. You gotta see the video
           I've got -- I'm making a doc about
           you, well us, y'know?
          HARLING pulls an iPad out of his knapsack and flips it open.
          He lets a collection of videos run...
           HARLING MAYS (CONT'D)
           This is outside your condo...
          On HARLING's iPad we see footage of PRESS swarming outside
          WHIP's condo. We also see the crash scene footage.
           HARLING MAYS (CONT'D)
           Look that's me, and that`s Mark
           Mellon...you know that douchey
           talking haircut from local Atlanta
           channel 3? I said a few words.
           Just straight talk, y'know?
          WHIP's hands shake as he grabs the bed frame. HARLING takes
          notice and stashes the iPad...
           HARLING MAYS (CONT'D)
           You okay Captain Whitaker? Easy...
          HARLING helps him get settled. We see the beads of sweat on
          WHIP's lip and forehead.
           The meds they're giving me are
           fucking me up -- I'm all shaky and
           dried out. I can't sleep good.
          HARLING immediately picks up the small paper cup that holds
          WHIP's pain meds. He fishes out the two pills and stares at
          them. HARLING shakes his head.
                          HARLING MAYS
           Aprazolam? That's generic Xanax and
           this Hydrocodone is generic
           Vicodin. It's shit, prolly
          HARLING casually tosses the pills down his gullet and
          expertly swallows them without water. He grabs WHIP's
          medical chart and scours it as he prattles on...
           HARLING MAYS (CONT'D)
           We want the premium stuff. Blue
           label...not the fucking well shit.
           Where's the dihydromorphinone?
           Or just some fucking Palladone
           would suffice. What is this?
           Fucking amateur hour over here?
           Get that goddamned doctor in here.
           You just saved a 100 people from
           death, they should get your fuckin'
           meds right.
           (calls to the door)
           YO! ROOM SERVICE!
           Listen Harling, leave it alone.
                          (HARLING CHILLS)
           So you got my message and decided
           not to call me back? Did you bring
           me smokes?
                          HARLING MAYS
           I decided to come by instead. And
           yes I got your fucking message and
           yes I brought you smokes.
          HARLING hands WHIP a pack of smokes from his pocket. He also
          pulls out a carton of smokes from his backpack.
           HARLING MAYS (CONT'D)
           Here is a fresh carton, enjoy. You
           fucking earned it -- you smoke your
           nuts off, champion. If I were you
           I'd fire up right here in the God
           damn room. Fuck'em, you're
           immortal, you're a fucking God man.
          WHIP motions with his hands to "calm down."
                          HARLING MAYS
           Sorry Whip. It's just...this is
           big time, man. You're a hero in a
           time when we really need heroes.
           Shut the fuck up, Harling...Six
           people died.
                          HARLING MAYS
           96 people lived! When are you
           gonna take yes for an answer? Pick
           up the phone, man. Fuck.
          HARLING pulls something from his vest pocket and puts it in
          WHIP'S hand. WHIP looks at it and back at HARLING.
           HARLING MAYS (CONT'D)
           Here's a pint of Smirnoff and a few
           Red Bulls. You know what I'm
           sayin'? I know my customer.
          HARLING continues to pull items from the bag.
           Harling, take the vodka with you.
          HARLING freezes his frenzied energy with this odd command.
                          HARLING MAYS
           What?! Take the vodka? Dude, are
           you insane? I'm gonna just tuck it
           in the bottom of your-
           Take the fucking vodka!
          HARLING hears him this time and raises his hand and nods,
          putting the VODKA back in his own duffel. HARLING tosses a
          tee shirt, sweat pants and flip-flops on the bed, then...
                          HARLING MAYS
           Okay man. Check it out.
          HARLING holds up a silk Japanese Happi Coat, with elaborate
          stitching depicting colorful birds flying around Mt. Fuji.
           Look, I'm tired man.
                          HARLING MAYS
           I'm out. You rest up.
           You gotta come and get me,
          WHIP pulls his keys from the bag that CHARLIE gave him.
                          WHIP (CONT'D)
           Here are my keys. Go to the condo
           and bring me some nice clothes I
           can wear, my phone charger and grab
           the veal outta my fridge. It's
                          HARLING MAYS
           The veal?
           Yeah, the veal that's in my
                          HARLING MAYS
           Done and done. What time you need
           me here?
           Tomorrow. I'll call you.
                          HARLING MAYS
           Send the mayday and you're outta
           here in 7 minutes.
                          (A SMILE)
           I got you a few stroke mags too.
           I've been in hospitals. I know
           what you need. JUGS, HOT MILFS in
           heat. ASSMASTERS. You should just
           stroke it all day. You're a hero --
           know what I'm saying? If I was in
           here I'd be jerkin' it all day
           long. See, there's a smile.
          HARLING puts his hand on WHIP's forehead in an attempt to
          reassure him. A quiet moment before HARLING slips out.
          WHIP wakes up in a cold sweat. He is breathing heavy as he
          scans the room. LIGHTENING FLASHES from outside the window.
          Thunder RUMBLES.
          WHIP looks to the night stand where we see a pack of nicotine
          gum has been chewed through. WHIP uses his hands to get to
          the edge of the bed. He roots through the duffle bag that
          HARLING left and finds a pack of smokes and a Bic lighter
          still in its package.
          Determined to smoke, WHIP eyes a WHEEL CHAIR that has been
          placed next to his bed. Leaning against the wheelchair is a
          medical cane.
          Wearing his Happi Coat (or robe), WHIP limps in to the empty
          hallway with the use of his cane. He checks the quiet
          corridor as he begins his quest...
          INT. HOSPITAL -- FIRE DOOR -- 11:38 PM
          The door swings open, and no one appears to be on the other
          side. Now WHIP fights to push the heavy door open again to
          slip through. A hand grabs the door and holds it. WHIP
          walks into the sanctity of the stairwell.
          We find the owner of the helping hand was NICOLE who returns
          to a quiet spot along the wall of the stairwell as she
          demurely smokes a cigarette.
           Thank you.
          WHIP leans his cane against the wall and carefully pulls a
          pack of smokes from his pocket.
                          WHIP (CONT'D)
           I didn't think anyone would have
           the same devious thought about
           using the fire stairs to have a
          NICOLE smiles and looks down, awkward around men when she is
          not loaded. She drops her cigarette which we see was barely
          smoked as she maneuvers to leave.
                          WHIP (CONT'D)
           Don't go. I'll be quiet.
          He offers her a cigarette, she takes it.
                          WHIP (CONT'D)
           We don't have to talk. Be nice to just smoke with someone.

And they do. They sit in silence as the stairwell fills up with smoke. After a long beat... NICOLE Were you on the plane? WHIP studies her, she's beautiful in an exhausted way... WHIP Yeah, I was. Were you? Nicole shakes her head. NICOLE Where were you sitting? WHIP Up near the front. Again it falls silent as we let them smoke and think in the sanctity of the fire stairs. A VOICE breaks their silence. VOICE (O.S.) Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green in the morn, cut down at eve; It shows our decay, We are but clay;...I love the smell of Nicotina in the morning. Smells like...victory. We hear a metallic rattle and WHIP and NICOLE look to the stairs. VOICE (CONT'D) Don't flee dear comrades! Really, wait for me, please. A GAUNT YOUNG MAN makes his way to their landing. He is dressed in a hospital gown and carrying an I.V. pole on which hangs a small bag of clear liquid. The man's hair has completely left him. His skin is gray. Eyes hollowed from his battle with cancer. GAUNT YOUNG MAN Can I bum a smoke? WHIP offers him a cigarette. He takes it and fires it up with a lighter he keeps stowed in the pocket of his gown. GAUNT YOUNG MAN (CONT'D) I should quit, my cancer might get cancer. (SILENCE) Joke. You guys in the plane crash? NICOLE He was. WHIP looks at the ground as the GAUNT YOUNG MAN studies him. GAUNT YOUNG MAN (it hits him) You're the fucking pilot. Nicole gives Whip a look. 55. GAUNT YOUNG MAN (CONT'D) I saw you on TV. Holy shit, man. Tough deal, but you walked away or it looks like you limped away. WHIP Yeah, I'm lucky. Goin' home tomorrow. GAUNT YOUNG MAN Home. Home for me is The Basement, they keep cancer treatment in the basement. I'm livin' here. WHIP You're living here? GAUNT YOUNG MAN No. I'm dying here. WHIP What kind of cancer?  
           Fibro-mixzoid sarcoma, soft tissue sarcoma. Very rare, God chose me.
          GAUNT YOUNG MAN laughs.
           God chose you? You believe in God?
           GAUNT YOUNG MAN
           Fuck yeah bitch. You're a stupid fucker if you don't believe in God.
          The GOD topic has silenced the stairwell...
           As soon as you realize that the
           random events in your life are
           God...you will live a much better
           life. You spend your life
           believing that you have all the
           control over what happens.
           Bullshit. The plane you're flying
           goes down? Out of your control.
           God gives you cancer. I have no
           control over that. Did God give me
           cancer? You bet your ass God gave
           me cancer. You think if I begged
           for cancer God would have given it
           to me?
           No...because I assure you I have
           begged for God to take it away -
           and guess what? I have no control
           over that.
          GAUNT YOUNG MAN smokes the cig to the nub and rubs the
          remains against the smooth concrete wall.
           Can I get another smoke? What's
           wrong with you honey? You're
           beautiful, do you know that? Do I
           scare you? People either have to
           pretend they don't see me or
           they're drawn to me. It's funny
           because people see me as being
           close to the other side -- they
           feel like I have power or wisdom.
           They think I have the answers. Who
           knows? Maybe I do. Death gives
           you perspective. I lived my life
           so indecisive, in a haze. But now
           that I'm dying everything is so
           clear. It all makes sense somehow.
           I'm sorry but I can't get over how
           beautiful you are? Look at your
           arm, you an addict?
          NICOLE looks at him. She nods.
           What's your name?
           GAUNT YOUNG MAN
           What do you do in the world Nicole?
          She laughs, what a question.
           Not much. I was a photographer and
           then I was a masseuse and I wash
           hair at a salon sometimes.
           GAUNT YOUNG MAN
           Where is it? I'll come by, I'm
           easy, you can wash my head.
                          (SHE SMILES)
           Do you think you're gonna die?
          NICOLE laughs to keep from weeping.
           You're not. You're not gonna die.
          The men watch as NICOLE quietly cries, it's powerful.
           Don't you love her?
           I don't know her.
           GAUNT YOUNG MAN
           Bullshit, I do. Random act of God?
           Don't think so. Survive a plane
           crash to meet a gorgeous girl in a
           stairwell. Fuck you man.
           (he reflects, then...)
           I'm sure they're looking for me.
           My family just showed up from Utah.
           You know it's bad when they start
           flying in. Every morning is
           special now, I'm so grateful. It's
           a trip, wish I could bottle this
           feeling I have...about how
           beautiful every breath of life is..
          GAUNT YOUNG MAN starts laughing. WHIP joins him.
           Can I get a smoke for the road?
           Here's a pack.
           GAUNT YOUNG MAN
           Thank you, I'll pass them out in
           the cancer ward. Take care Nicole,
           you're gonna be okay.
          The GAUNT YOUNG MAN leaves, clanging away with his I.V. pole.
          NICOLE wipes away her tears, we see her hospital bracelet as
          well as her track marks.
           Chemo brain. Chemo makes you
           pretty foggy.
           They call it chemo brain, my mom
           used to slur her words and get all
           Your mom had cancer.
           Breast cancer, she was only 54.
          It's quiet.
           But why'd that guy ask you if you
           were gonna die?
           I dunno. I flat-lined twice in the
           ambulance. Heroin addicts who use
           needles tend to die. Especially
           women for some reason.
           Is that right?
           I have a pamphlet to prove it. A
           girl from AA just came to see me --
                          (IT'S QUIET)
           That guy was a trip. He made it
           feel like, I dunno...we were the
           last people left on the planet..
           (drops her smoke)
           ...and together we should save the
          NICOLE steps on her cigarette and puts the nub in her pocket.
          She begins to leave. WHIP stops her.
           Well, where should we live? If
           we're gonna save the world, where
           should we do that?
          NICOLE laughs.
                          WHIP (CONT'D)
           You don't want me.
          WHIP laughs.
                          NICOLE (CONT'D)
           You don't want me either.
          NICOLE's laugh tapers off as she senses his honesty.
                          WHIP (CONT'D)
           Where do you live?
           Why you wanna come visit? It's
           (silence between them)
           I live in Bankhead, it's south
           Atlanta, near the bus station.
           The luxurious bus station?
           I'll come visit you.
           You're sweet.
           I will. What's your address?
          She measures him.
           I live at the Georgian Gardens on
           Taylor street.
           Georgian Gardens?
           How long are you staying here?
           Trying to stay as long as I can but
           I don't have insurance to cover
           rehab. I'll prolly be out
           Oh. Okay. And you're a masseuse?
           What kind of masseuse?
           I've been every kind of masseuse
           there is.
          There is strong tension between them. An orderly busts
          through the down the stairs. This breaks their stare.
           Good luck Nicole.
           You too.
          WHIP leaves NICOLE where he found her.
          WHIP is wheeled out of a service exit by an ORDERLY who also
          holds the duffle bag of WHIP's stuff around his neck. Whip no
          longer wears the eye patch but has a butterfly bandage over
          his left eye brow.
          HARLING jumps out of his 2001 Cadillac STS and immediately
          takes over, grabbing the duffel bag.
           Thanks Mike.
          The ORDERLY tries to hand WHIP a medical file. HARLING
          snatches it.
                          HARLING MAYS
           Yeah, thanks Mike.
           (Harling tips him)
           Here's 20 American.
                          ORDERLY MIKE
           Thanks. Good luck, sir.
          HARLING hugs WHIP who hangs on tight. The ORDERLY spins the
          chair around and heads back inside.
          HARLING uses his key fob to remotely pop the trunk and stow
          Whip's duffel.
                          HARLING MAYS
           This is how they get the Stones out
           of Madison Square Garden, man. 4
           smoked black limos fly outta the
           VIP driveway and the fans jump on
           the limos...mayhem. Those limos?
           Empty. Meanwhile, Mick and the boys
           go out the service exit into
           delivery vans -- casual, rock star
           type shit.
           HARLING helps him into the front seat and they pull away.
           The Stones, "Gimme Shelter" starts to play...
           As they drive off, we see media mayhem collected in front of 53
           the hospital. Trucks with towers, cameramen, stringers and
           newscasters add to catering trucks and coffee stands as the
           vultures wait for the carrion of sound bytes and footage of
           INT. HARLING'S CADDY -- DAY
           Whip watches through the rear window -- the "Media Circus"
           disappears as the Caddy rounds a corner. The back seat is
           piled with Whip's clothes, most of them still on hangers.
           HARLING lights a cigarette and hands one to WHIP who takes
                          HARLING MAYS
           I couldn't find any suitcases so I
           just put your shit in grocery bags.
           HARLING pulls a cold Becks from a cooler on the floor of the
           back seat and uses a bottle opener that's been screwed to the
           dash of his car next to the radio to open the beer. He
           offers the beer to WHIP who waves it off. HARLING gladly
           keeps it for himself... "Gimme Shelter" continues to play...

Thursday, 26 July 2018

Peace, Joy and Happiness are Only to Be Gained By The Way of Duty

David : 
I loved her, of course. 
Much as you love Daniels.

Walter : 
You know that's not possible.

David : 
Really? Then why did you sacrifice your hand for her life? 
What is that if not love?

Walter : 

David : 
I know better.

Four of the five female Ripper victim’s throats were all cut from left to right in accordance with the masonic Entered Apprentice “penal sign.” In some cases their intestines were severed, lifted out of the body and placed over the poor victim’s left shoulder. In masonic ritual, the three “Juwes,” Jubela, Jubelo and Jubelum, are all killed by having their bodies ripped open and the entrails thrown over their left shoulders.

Wednesday, 25 July 2018

The Tyler Durden of 1956

Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles?
Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit; but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit.

A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit.

Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire.

Wherefore by their fruits ye shall know them.

Rita Hayworth Gave Good Face

 Greta Garbo, and Monroe
Dietrich and DiMaggio
Marlon Brando, Jimmy Dean
On the cover of a magazine
Grace Kelly; Harlow, Jean
Picture of a beauty queen
Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire
Ginger Rogers, dance on air

They had style, they had grace
Rita Hayworth gave good face

Lauren, Katherine, Lana too
Bette Davis, we love you

Ladies with an attitude
Fellows that were in the mood
Don't just stand there, let's get to it
Strike a pose, there's nothing to it


Kane's Son

The Creator does not care what happens in This World. 
Nobody has heard from Him since He marked Cain. 
We are alone. 
Orphaned children, cursed to struggle by the sweat of our brow to survive.

He looks like Phantom of the Opera.

I didn't peg you for a musical fan.

Oh, there's a musical?

I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;

"Kane's Son..."
- Ash
It's a Robot, Ash is a Goddamn Robot.

"You still don't understand what you're dealing with, do you? 

The Perfect Organism. 

Its structural perfection is matched only by its hostility. 

I Admire It's Purity.

A Survivor...
Unclouded by Conscience, Remorse, 


Delusions of Morality. "

It's a Robot, Ash is a Goddamn Robot.:
Look, what would you have done with Kane?

 You know his only chance of survival was to get him in here.

Unfortunately, by breaking quarantine, you risk everybody's life.

It's a Robot, Ash is a Goddamn Robot :
Maybe I should have left him outside.
Maybe I've jeopardized the rest of us, but it was a risk I was willing to take.

That's a pretty big risk for a Science Officer. 
It's not exactly out of the manual, is it?

When I heard talk of miracles, I dismissed them. 
[ You would. ]
But then I saw the birds with my own eyes, flying here, and I had to come.

There isn't anything for you here.

No? This all belongs to me. 
This land.
This forest. 
That stronghold of yours.
Did you really think you could protect yourself from me in that?

It's not protection from you.

Then what is it?

An Ark to hold The Innocent when The Creator sends his deluge to wipe out The Wicked from This World.

The Creator does not care what happens in This World.
Nobody has heard from Him since He marked Cain. 

We are alone. 

Orphaned children, cursed to struggle by the sweat of our brow to survive. 

Damned if I don't do everything it takes to do just that.

Damned if I don't take what I want.

One thing I could never stand was to see a filthy, dirty old drunkie, howling away at the filthy songs of his fathers and going blurp blurp in between as it might be a filthy old orchestra in his stinking, rotten guts.

I could never stand to see anyone like that, whatever his age might be, but more especially when he was real old like this one was.

The Tramp in A Clockwork Orange DOESN'T HAVE A DOG

 Sin? What's all this about sin?

[Alex has the tramp pinned down]

Well, go on, do me in you bastard cowards! 
I don't want to live anyway, not in a stinking world like this!

Oh..? And what's so stinking about it?

It's a stinking world because there's no law and order anymore!
It's a stinking world because it lets the young get on to the old, like you done. 

Oh, it's no world for an old man any longer. 

What sort of a world is it at all? 

Men on the moon, and men spinning around The Earth, and there's not no attention paid to Earthly Law and Order no more!

[He starts singing another song, and Alex and his droogs proceed to beat him]

Cause Rick is incorrigible. 
He shows up at my brother's house, fucked up.

Nice place, nigger!

So he had these dirty cowboy boots on. 
Pushed us out of the way, barged in the house. 
My brother had these brand new couches, they were suede, right? And he gets on the couch and says...


And just started grinding mud all into the couch, man.

Yeah, I remember grinding my feet into Eddie's couch.

You remember why you did it?

Cause Eddie could buy another one.

Fuck your couch, nigger! 
Ha ha! Buy another one, ya rich motherfucker. 
Fuck your couch, nigger. Fuck your couch! 
Darknesses! Darknesses!

Cause of my complexion, he used to call me darkness. 
He calls me and my brother darkness. Darkness brothers. See, this was long before Wesley Snipes, back then we was the blackest niggers on the planet according to Rick James.

Eddie and both of them darkness. Twin brother darkness.

And we're standing there looking at him and he's looking right in our eyes as he grinds this mud.

See, I never just did things just to do them, c'mon I mean, what I'm gonna do just all of the sudden just jump up and grind my feet in somebody's couch like it's something to do? 
Come on, I got a little more sense than that. 
...Yeah, I remember grinding my feet into Eddie's couch.


See, I never just did things just to do them, c'mon I mean, what I'm gonna do just all of the sudden just jump up and grind my feet in somebody's couch like it's something to do? Come on, I got a little more sense than that. ...Yeah, I remember grinding my feet into Eddie's couch.

But then it was like 
'You know what? Let's handle this' 
We went over there and we held him down and we just wailed on his legs.

Awwww! You Darkness.!!
You black. Midnight. Evil motherfuckers!!! 
Black magic, darkness. Darkness. Delirious motherfuckers. You are cold as ice.

But still, Rick James, even after taking a beating like that.

Fuck your couch, nigger!

This motherfucker's goin out, his legs is like linguine.

I've been kicked out of better homes than this. I'll be back, you black motherfuckers. 
Wide nose having motherfuckers. 
They should've never given you niggers money!!!
 You don't know how to appreciate shit. 

You know you can get another couch. 
But what am I gonna do about legs!

My brother, you know, he's a lot more compassioniate than I am. 
He's lookin' and the limo's driving off and he says 
'Wow man, Rick really needs help'. 

I was like 
‘Yo, we just gave him some help!’ 

Busted his fuckin' ass.

'I betcha he won't come over here and disrespect like that again.'

You're talking about Rick James, man.

Cocaine's a helluva drug.


And Who Wrote "Frankenstein - The Modern Prometheus" , published annonymously in 1818...? 

PERCY Shelley -  
NOT Mary Shelley...... 

It's Autobiographical.

Sometimes it takes 200 years for people to properly understand something.

Lines Written among the Euganean Hills
By Percy Bysshe Shelley
Many a green isle needs must be
In the deep wide sea of Misery,
Or the mariner, worn and wan,
Never thus could voyage on
Day and night, and night and day,
Drifting on his dreary way,
With the solid darkness black
Closing round his vessel's track;
Whilst above, the sunless sky,
Big with clouds, hangs heavily,
And behind, the tempest fleet
Hurries on with lightning feet,
Riving sail, and cord, and plank,
Till the ship has almost drank
Death from the o'er-brimming deep;
And sinks down, down, like that sleep
When the dreamer seems to be
Weltering through eternity;
And the dim low line before
Of a dark and distant shore
Still recedes, as ever still
Longing with divided will,
But no power to seek or shun,
He is ever drifted on
O'er the unreposing wave
To the haven of the grave.
What, if there no friends will greet;
What, if there no heart will meet
His with love's impatient beat;
Wander wheresoe'er he may,
Can he dream before that day
To find refuge from distress
In friendship's smile, in love's caress?
Then 'twill wreak him little woe
Whether such there be or no:
Senseless is the breast and cold
Which relenting love would fold;
Bloodless are the veins and chill
Which the pulse of pain did fill;
Every little living nerve
That from bitter words did swerve
Round the tortur'd lips and brow,
Are like sapless leaflets now
Frozen upon December's bough.

On the beach of a northern sea
Which tempests shake eternally,
As once the wretch there lay to sleep,
Lies a solitary heap,
One white skull and seven dry bones,
On the margin of the stones,
Where a few gray rushes stand,
Boundaries of the sea and land:
Nor is heard one voice of wail
But the sea-mews, as they sail
O'er the billows of the gale;
Or the whirlwind up and down
Howling, like a slaughter'd town,
When a king in glory rides
Through the pomp of fratricides:
Those unburied bones around
There is many a mournful sound;
There is no lament for him,
Like a sunless vapour, dim,
Who once cloth'd with life and thought
What now moves nor murmurs not.

Ay, many flowering islands lie
In the waters of wide Agony:
To such a one this morn was led
My bark, by soft winds piloted:
'Mid the mountains Euganean
I stood listening to the paean
With which the legion'd rooks did hail
The sun's uprise majestical;
Gathering round with wings all hoar,
Through the dewy mist they soar
Like gray shades, till the eastern heaven
Bursts, and then, as clouds of even,
Fleck'd with fire and azure, lie
In the unfathomable sky,
So their plumes of purple grain,
Starr'd with drops of golden rain,
Gleam above the sunlight woods,
As in silent multitudes
On the morning's fitful gale
Through the broken mist they sail,
And the vapours cloven and gleaming
Follow, down the dark steep streaming,
Till all is bright, and clear, and still,
Round the solitary hill.

Beneath is spread like a green sea
The waveless plain of Lombardy,
Bounded by the vaporous air,
Islanded by cities fair;
Underneath Day's azure eyes
Ocean's nursling, Venice lies,
A peopled labyrinth of walls,
Amphitrite's destin'd halls,
Which her hoary sire now paves
With his blue and beaming waves.
Lo! the sun upsprings behind,
Broad, red, radiant, half-reclin'd
On the level quivering line
Of the water crystalline;
And before that chasm of light,
As within a furnace bright,
Column, tower, and dome, and spire,
Shine like obelisks of fire,
Pointing with inconstant motion
From the altar of dark ocean
To the sapphire-tinted skies;
As the flames of sacrifice
From the marble shrines did rise,
As to pierce the dome of gold
Where Apollo spoke of old.

Sun-girt City, thou hast been
Ocean's child, and then his queen;
Now is come a darker day,
And thou soon must be his prey,
If the power that rais'd thee here
Hallow so thy watery bier.
A less drear ruin then than now,
With thy conquest-branded brow
Stooping to the slave of slaves
From thy throne, among the waves
Wilt thou be, when the sea-mew
Flies, as once before it flew,
O'er thine isles depopulate,
And all is in its ancient state,
Save where many a palace gate
With green sea-flowers overgrown
Like a rock of Ocean's own,
Topples o'er the abandon'd sea
As the tides change sullenly.
The fisher on his watery way,
Wandering at the close of day,
Will spread his sail and seize his oar
Till he pass the gloomy shore,
Lest thy dead should, from their sleep
Bursting o'er the starlight deep,
Lead a rapid masque of death
O'er the waters of his path.
Those who alone thy towers behold
Quivering through a{:e}real gold,
As I now behold them here,
Would imagine not they were
Sepulchres, where human forms,
Like pollution-nourish'd worms,
To the corpse of greatness cling,
Murder'd, and now mouldering:
But if Freedom should awake
In her omnipotence, and shake
From the Celtic Anarch's hold
All the keys of dungeons cold,
Where a hundred cities lie
Chain'd like thee, ingloriously,
Thou and all thy sister band
Might adorn this sunny land,
Twining memories of old time
With new virtues more sublime;
If not, perish thou and they,
Clouds which stain truth's rising day
By her sun consum'd away—
Earth can spare ye! while like flowers,
In the waste of years and hours,
From your dust new nations spring
With more kindly blossoming.

Perish—let there only be
Floating o'er thy hearthless sea
As the garment of thy sky
Clothes the world immortally,
One remembrance, more sublime
Than the tatter'd pall of time,
Which scarce hides thy visage wan:
That a tempest-cleaving Swan
Of the sons of Albion,
Driven from his ancestral streams
By the might of evil dreams,
Found a nest in thee; and Ocean
Welcom'd him with such emotion
That its joy grew his, and sprung
From his lips like music flung
O'er a mighty thunder-fit,
Chastening terror: what though yet
Poesy's unfailing river,
Which through Albion winds forever
Lashing with melodious wave
Many a sacred Poet's grave,
Mourn its latest nursling fled!
What though thou with all thy dead
Scarce can for this fame repay
Aught thine own, oh, rather say
Though thy sins and slaveries foul
Overcloud a sunlike soul!
As the ghost of Homer clings
Round Scamander's wasting springs;
As divinest Shakespeare's might
Fills Avon and the world with light
Like omniscient power which he
Imag'd 'mid mortality;
As the love from Petrarch's urn
Yet amid yon hills doth burn,
A quenchless lamp by which the heart
Sees things unearthly; so thou art,
Mighty spirit: so shall be
The City that did refuge thee.

Lo, the sun floats up the sky
Like thought-winged Liberty,
Till the universal light
Seems to level plain and height;
From the sea a mist has spread,
And the beams of morn lie dead
On the towers of Venice now,
Like its glory long ago.
By the skirts of that gray cloud
Many-domed Padua proud
Stands, a peopled solitude,
'Mid the harvest-shining plain,
Where the peasant heaps his grain
In the garner of his foe,
And the milk-white oxen slow
With the purple vintage strain,
Heap'd upon the creaking wain,
That the brutal Celt may swill
Drunken sleep with savage will;
And the sickle to the sword
Lies unchang'd though many a lord,
Like a weed whose shade is poison,
Overgrows this region's foison,
Sheaves of whom are ripe to come
To destruction's harvest-home:
Men must reap the things they sow,
Force from force must ever flow,
Or worse; but 'tis a bitter woe
That love or reason cannot change
The despot's rage, the slave's revenge.

Padua, thou within whose walls
Those mute guests at festivals,
Son and Mother, Death and Sin,
Play'd at dice for Ezzelin,
Till Death cried, 'I win, I win!'
And Sin curs'd to lose the wager,
But Death promis'd, to assuage her,
That he would petition for
Her to be made Vice-Emperor,
When the destin'd years were o'er,
Over all between the Po
And the eastern Alpine snow,
Under the mighty Austrian.
Sin smil'd so as Sin only can,
And since that time, ay, long before,
Both have rul'd from shore to shore,
That incestuous pair, who follow
Tyrants as the sun the swallow,
As Repentance follows Crime,
And as changes follow Time.

In thine halls the lamp of learning,
Padua, now no more is burning;
Like a meteor, whose wild way
Is lost over the grave of day,
It gleams betray'd and to betray:
Once remotest nations came
To adore that sacred flame,
When it lit not many a hearth
On this cold and gloomy earth:
Now new fires from antique light
Spring beneath the wide world's might;
But their spark lies dead in thee,
Trampled out by Tyranny.
As the Norway woodman quells,
In the depth of piny dells,
One light flame among the brakes,
While the boundless forest shakes,
And its mighty trunks are torn
By the fire thus lowly born:
The spark beneath his feet is dead,
He starts to see the flames it fed
Howling through the darken'd sky
With myriad tongues victoriously,
And sinks down in fear: so thou,
O Tyranny, beholdest now
Light around thee, and thou hearest
The loud flames ascend, and fearest:
Grovel on the earth; ay, hide
In the dust thy purple pride!

Noon descends around me now:
'Tis the noon of autumn's glow,
When a soft and purple mist
Like a vaporous amethyst,
Or an air-dissolved star
Mingling light and fragrance, far
From the curv'd horizon's bound
To the point of Heaven's profound,
Fills the overflowing sky;
And the plains that silent lie
Underneath, the leaves unsodden
Where the infant Frost has trodden
With his morning-winged feet,
Whose bright print is gleaming yet;
And the red and golden vines,
Piercing with their trellis'd lines
The rough, dark-skirted wilderness;
The dun and bladed grass no less,
Pointing from his hoary tower
In the windless air; the flower
Glimmering at my feet; the line
Of the olive-sandall'd Apennine
In the south dimly islanded;
And the Alps, whose snows are spread
High between the clouds and sun;
And of living things each one;
And my spirit which so long
Darken'd this swift stream of song,
Interpenetrated lie
By the glory of the sky:
Be it love, light, harmony,
Odour, or the soul of all
Which from Heaven like dew doth fall,
Or the mind which feeds this verse
Peopling the lone universe.

Noon descends, and after noon
Autumn's evening meets me soon,
Leading the infantine moon,
And that one star, which to her
Almost seems to minister
Half the crimson light she brings
From the sunset's radiant springs:
And the soft dreams of the morn
(Which like winged winds had borne
To that silent isle, which lies
Mid remember'd agonies,
The frail bark of this lone being)
Pass, to other sufferers fleeing,
And its ancient pilot, Pain,
Sits beside the helm again.

Other flowering isles must be
In the sea of Life and Agony:
Other spirits float and flee
O'er that gulf: even now, perhaps,
On some rock the wild wave wraps,
With folded wings they waiting sit
For my bark, to pilot it
To some calm and blooming cove,
Where for me, and those I love,
May a windless bower be built,
Far from passion, pain and guilt,
In a dell mid lawny hills,
Which the wild sea-murmur fills,
And soft sunshine, and the sound
Of old forests echoing round,
And the light and smell divine
Of all flowers that breathe and shine:
We may live so happy there,
That the Spirits of the Air,
Envying us, may even entice
To our healing paradise
The polluting multitude;
But their rage would be subdu'd
By that clime divine and calm,
And the winds whose wings rain balm
On the uplifted soul, and leaves
Under which the bright sea heaves;
While each breathless interval
In their whisperings musical
The inspired soul supplies
With its own deep melodies,
And the love which heals all strife
Circling, like the breath of life,
All things in that sweet abode
With its own mild brotherhood:
They, not it, would change; and soon
Every sprite beneath the moon
Would repent its envy vain,
And the earth grow young again.