Persevering Through


Relentless Absurdity
 

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RIPOSTE
     
by RIP RENSE

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GIMME SHELTER

(Apr. 13, 2020)
(copyright 2020 Rip Rense, The Rip Post, all rights reserved.)

         It's lurking. It's salivating. It's breathless, waiting in the pandemic quiet. And at first opportunity, it will step out, roaring, spitting fire, devouring free will yet again as it commands you, you, you, and you to consume, consume, consume. All in the name of "returning to normal."
           Well, I hate normal. I hate what normal has become in this society: addiction to  low-common denominator "popular" culture, from empty-headed wailing pop “icons” to corporate sports to the smarmy Kardashian beasts. Greed, gluttony, self-adoration, arrogance, rudeness, willful ignorance, idolatry, acrimony, lack of empathy, compulsive consumerism . .are "normal."
           Yes, the corporate Grendel is waiting, snarling and slavering, and it is coming for your head again. Chomp. Trump has the green flag in hand, as thousands continue suffocating with crystallized lungs. TeeVee will rise up as never before, commanding you to buy that new Mercedes SUV and iPhone enema app in the name of "returning to normal." Will you do it? Or will the ongoing lockdown and deprivation of beloved stimuli prompt the birth of something approximating empathy? A saner perspective? Will it (cue pious celeb versions of “Imagine”) rearrange our priorities? Make us kinder, gentler?
           Oh, yes, and Trump will acquire humility. 
           As far as I'm concerned, this "shelter-in-place" thing can go on for the rest of the year. Or longer. Gimme Shelter! I love seeing fabulously spoiled Amerryguns deprived of their fave entertainments, addictions, with their corporate masters in blind panic. It's the pleasant dream in this nightmare. Cynical? No. Moral.
           Further consider American normality: racism, greed, amorality, greed, hatred, xenophobia, narcissism, greed, truculence, tattoos, Jennifer Lopez’s gyrating ass, greed, NRA ensuring more mass-shootings, $100 admission to Disneyland, $250-$300 for a family of four to watch multi-millionaires play baseball at Dodger Stadium, $80-bags of groceries, Grammarly, BMW’s built to roar like flathead hot-rods, greed, I was like, millions of polluting leaf-blowers, foodies, greed, Entertainment Tonight, The Bachelor, Flip or Flop, giddy newsmannequins, vocal fry, "influencers," homeless tent cities full of TB and MRSA, greed, gluttony, obesity, apathy, entropy, and pee in the streets. And greed.
           Re-start the economy? I would rather see fabulously spoiled millennial tekkie princelings standing ragged in soup and bread lines. I would roll on the floor in ecstasy to watch Giant Beardboy designers of “apps” and “start-ups” pitch pup tents outside trendy Venice buildings where they once made millions. I would tap-dance naked in the street to see developers and investors who have raped L.A. with thousands of hideous cool/awesome apartment/condo penitentiaries. . .lose their asses! Economic death, where is thy sting?
          What of the poor? Well, they were already poor. And now they would have more company.
         
Der Trumpfuhrer is currently crying that he has to make the “most difficult decision of his life,” regarding “re-starting the economy.” Bullshit. He makes decisions the way people involuntarily belch. He is losing allegedly billions of his personal fortune, and is in deep re-election shit, and that’s the bug up his giant white ass (his defining feature.) Pardon my French.
          Difficult decision? It’s the easiest decision imaginable: health over money. Verrry simple. Health over money. Chant it with me, now, health over money, health over money. How can there be any argument? Answer: the economy is predicated on hypertrophic luxury and titanic, flatulent avarice, and in recent decades has become a vulgar, stinking send-up of capitalism---what with sterile, ticky-tack cement hives renting tiny units from $2500 to $5000 and higher---and the crummiest old 800-square-foot 1940’s houses in Reseda and Compton going for nearly a million bucks. I mean, I give you: ten-story cruise ships. Shitbuckets from hell.
          The economy is insane, tongue lolling and eyes rolling, and long has been only a stooge for "venture capitalists" and “private equity groups” (legalized criminals) to exploit  for supernatural gain. Why should they care about: crazy-making density, more air and noise pollution, destruction of green space (and attendant birdies, squirrels, insects who enjoy it), housing prices driven to levels affordable only to tekkie royalty? It's un-Trumpamerican!  
          Money over health---from Monsanto to Trump's evisceration of environmental protections---is “normal” America.
          Of course,
I’ve lately watched allegedly adult humans on TeeVee whining about how the “shelter-in-place” order is “outrageous,” bleating, “I can’t even go out to a restaurant? That’s crazy!” As well as 30-40-50-year-old juveniles moaning about having to miss the Hollywood Bowl season, and the Coachella Festival. Gee, that's tough! They must really envy Muslim Uyghurs thrown into China de-programming concentration camps, and girls raped and murdered by Taliban for learning how to read.
           Some brain-trust I don't know wrote this to me on Facebook the other day:
           Continuing this sort radical isolation until the Fall of 2021, when we *may* have an effective vaccine, would destroy our economy. Millions would be out of work. In fact, hospitals would be unable to function, laying off staff, not purchasing supplies, and leaving many more people in danger of sickness and dying, and not just from C-19. We need to find some middle ground—as it seems that Sweden has been doing in their response to the crisis. I don't mind someone having a negative opinion about a sitting president. (I have a few myself.) But please don't let it color our thinking to the point where we become illogical.
           
Oh, no! Not "illogical!" This society is nothing if not predicated on shining logic, lead by the very Wazir of Logical Wonderment! What's more logical than ignoring warnings of impending pandemic as a Democratic hoax? If ending the lockdown is logic, give me the madhouse.
           Destroy our economy? Uh. . .doesn't there have to be an economy to destroy in the first place? The so-called economy, as I said, is a poisonous sham, and the shock of sudden market paralysis is casting a thousand-candlepower spotlight on the fraud. Millions would be out of work? Millions are out of work---never mind fake employment figures the government always cooks up. Driving for Uber is a career? The “gig economy” is an economy? Menial tasks are a livelihood? Former professors, highly skilled laid-off journalists, librarians, people earning honest livings as bookstore managers, etc. are putting things in boxes for Jeff Bezos! It's the United States of Errand Boys (and Girls.) Tipping is not a city in China, but it is much of American income today. Here's a tip: sell your silverware on eBay.
           And Facebook Boy’s Trump-shilling scare tactic about hospitals is nonsense. Given the punishment hospitals are enduring right now, you’d think they would have already collapsed. Emergency room doctors and all nurses are the most valiant people we have, period end of story, and their courage is largely holding the wreckage of the country together. If hospitals “collapse,” it would be because the federal and state governments allowed them to collapse.
          As for the limp centrism of "finding middle ground," I run screaming! Here we have a catastrophe. Catastrophes require drastic action. What kind of fool would call for “finding middle ground” to combat a. . .plague?
           Ah, but this is America the booty-full, the land of the fee and home of the crave, where Der Trumpfuhrer preaches Triumph of the Till and all the world's a wage. Besides,  billionaires who pay no taxes while the rest of us count every penny are. . .donating to help the crisis, aren't they? Er. . .yes. . .
           Amazon.com’s Jeff “I want to smell you” Bezos (as he wrote in an e-mail to then-married ex-newsbimbo Lauren Sanchez) has donated $100 million for food banks. Wow, you say? Of course, $100 million for Jeffy is, uh, a little more than one week’s income. Exclamation point. Gasp. Faint. And he still doesn’t provide sick leave for his slaves, I mean workers, unless they test positive for Covid-19, in which case they get a whopping two weeks. (Of course, they could die before time runs out, and save him more money.)
           Then there is the “charity” of  the Waltons of Walmart, who hired about 100,000 more workers (gypsy delivery persons) in the past three weeks but did not bother with social distancing for fourteen days after the CDC advocated it on March 16. Three callous-fingered Walmart employees died, and many more became sick.  Gloves? Masks? Hand sanitizers? Not at Amazon, and not at Walmart (which also provides zero sick leave.) Yes, there was an attempted national strike at Amazon, which was filled by scabs faster than you can say "ventilator." This would make Scrooge blush.
            Ahem. Sing along with John Lennon, now:  "I-I-I. . .soLAAAAAAAA. . .shun!"
            You want "normal?" The lockdown has brought it back.
            I mean, all the fine citizens who revel in bad behavior are now forced to do so in the privacy of their sumptuous domiciles. I don’t have to drive a gauntlet to the market---of darting scooters, oblivious skateboarders with earbuds, pedestrians on cell phones walking slowly down the middle of the streets (honk and you get the finger), cars blasting through stop signs, SUV’s lurching out of every alley and driveway without looking, tailgating me, waving arms at me for doing the speed limit, bicyclists cutting in front of me from nowhere (honk and you get the finger, or, as happened to me, a bicycle thrown at your car.)
            I no longer have to sit outside my favorite coffee joint, having a moment of repose destroyed by millennials hollering conversation as if they are on opposite sides of the Grand Canyon, literally two feet away. Dude! I no longer have to fail to control my temper, snapping, “Hold it down, please,” and sometimes getting threatened with violence in return. I no longer have to listen to every entitled latte-sipping bro and influencer yelling “awesome!” every third word. And. . .no selfies! Bliss!
           This is how things used to be!
           Want more? The 405 is a sleeping kitten. My ears are no longer a circus of  whoosh from nearby boulevards, a sustained explosion from the freeway three full miles away, not to mention: jackhammers, idling trucks, backhoes, leaf-blowers, buses, mowers, trimmers, beep-beep of trucks in reverse, sirens, throbbing car stereos pummeling the air with rap/hiphop filth, cries of “fuck you, asshole” inspired by inability to comprehend four-way stop signs.
           I no longer have to play chicken with every millennial punk and punkette approaching on sidewalks, refusing to move to one side in order to allow passage. My wife no longer has to elbow them in retaliation, prompting, “Fuck you, bitch!” and other niceties so appreciated by senior citizens.
           The air? Clearer than an Einstein equation.
           And I hear. . .birdies! There aren’t many left, thanks to global warming (really---their local numbers must be down by 75 percent)---but I hear them. Little peeping hummingbirds, cheeping finches, chirping sparrows, the inevitable crow, every blessed morning! The Elysian Fields are a Megadeath concert by contrast. The only people I see are---gasp, sputter, cough---peaceable! Really! There they are, walking their happy little doggies, politely nodding to one another’s masks from six feet away. No conversation. You'd think this place is civilized or something.  
          End the lockdown? Hell, no. Cue the operatic aria,O paradiso!” from “L’Africaine,” by Giacomo Meyerbeer. In it, Vasco De Gama views the New World, and he speaks---er, sings---for me:
   
           My heart throbs, wondrous scene!
           At last I embrace you, land that I’ve dreamed of!
           O Paradise, emerging from the sea,
           Flowering earth, brilliant sun,
           You entrance me.
           You belong to me.
           Oh new world,
           I can offer you to my homeland.
           This fertile earth is ours,
           Which can enrich all!
           Wondrous scene,
           You ravish me!
           Oh world,
           You belong to me.
           To me!

           

                                              (printer-friendly version)
 

Longtime Venice High Teacher A.H. "Bud" Rotman Dies
full obituary here

           Riposte Extra!
           L'Kikki pour L'art
      
    The greatest artist you have never heard of.

                                            full story


© 2020 Rip Rense. All rights reserved.

RIPOSTE EXTRA!
WHERE IS THIRD BEATLES REUNION SONG? here

         

Read "Who's a Whore?" a fun little verse for all sellouts to, I mean investors in. . .China!
here

             E-MAIL: 

RIPOSTE column is published when the author is motivated, which has become quite an infrequent occurence in recent years.

We get e-mail! Here's our all-time favorite:

I think if humanity upsets you so much go live in alaska, or somewere
where you don't have to put up with the people who make your life
tolerable to say the least.

Paul Manners


Dear Paul,

I can now add you to that list! FYI: "alaska" is capitalized. "Somewere" is spelled "Somewhere." And you meant "intolerable," not "tolerable."

Rip Rense

THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING?
 IT IS.

READ DAVE LINDORFF


"There is no more truthful, well-researched, important commentary, even if you don't agree with it."---Rip Rense
 

 


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Once upon a time, in a Los Angeles far far away, there were. . .newspaper wars. There were five---count 'em, five---papers in town, and as many as 12 editions per day for each one. Rob Leicester Wagner, grandson of original Daily News reporter Les Wagner, is the only writer ever to put the history into a book. This was an uncrowded, freeway-less time of paste-pots, cigars, Red Cars, and just a touch of alcohol. Red Ink, White Lies.
ORDER IT HERE

ClownA Verse to You:
Starring Rip Post resident laureates:
 the late great Scott Wannberg, Charles Bogle, Raj Bavnani, even Rense himself.

Enjoy samples below, and. . .
visit the poetry archive
and don't trip over
 yourselves to purchase:

here

VAGINA HOTEL
I walked into the Vagina Hotel
just because of the name
Tell me, I said, why is this hotel named for a vagina
and the proprietress
who claimed to be a poetess
said, why, does that threaten you
No, I said, I've never been threatened by a vagina
but then, I've never met one that could talk, either,
so I can't be sure
Misogynist loser, she said, so I moved on
Feeling hungry, I stopped at Vagina Burger for lunch
Tell me, I said, to the waitress,
Why is this place called Vagina Burger I mean
that's not very picturesque
Oh, she said, are you threatened by the word, vagina?
No, although I admit I find it a rather ugly sounding word
I mean, couldn't they have called it a morning glory or a midnight moon or something
She snorted and walked away, mumbling "asshole"
So I left and went to Starbucks where a woman on a laptop
had a bunch of books next to her called My Vagina, Your Vagina, Our Vagina, The Cat in the Vagina, Of Mice and Vaginas, Huckleberry Vagina, and The Vaginas of Wrath
Oh, and that one by Naomi Wolf called Vagina: a Biography
What are you staring at, snapped the laptop woman
Oh, sorry, I said, I couldn't help but notice your books
Do they threaten you, she said
No, books don't threaten me, I rather like them
Then why are you staring
Oh, well, I've never seen so many books about vaginas, and naturally
it piqued my curiosity
Are you threatened by vaginas, she said
No, I'm threatened by aggression, mostly, at least to some extent
But I do wonder how a vagina could have a biography
Does that threaten you, she said
Well, let me think about that, seeing as this question keeps coming up
Stupidity and arrogance threaten me, and hostile, defensive people threaten me, and guys with lots of neck tattoos of bloody knives and Jesus threaten me, but a biography of a vagina, no
that's too ridiculous to be threatening
Laptop woman's eyes got as big as ignorance and she said
What do you mean, ridiculous!
Oh, well, it's like this: the idea that retreating into a frame of mind where one's sex organ is exalted, where one's very self-worth is focused on one's sex organ, where an obsession with one's sex organ is conflated with philosophy, and in the case of the vagina, is somehow construed as "feminism" and "empowerment," well
this strikes me as asinine and puerile
and a mite indelicate
Laptop woman's eyes got as big as vaginas and she hissed get away from me you fucking pervert or I'll call security
I momentarily wondered what security's phone number might be, and happiness's, goodness's, and joy's
Then I moved on because I felt threatened
---
Charles Bogle

 

Il perche non so
mi chiamano mimi
il perche non so
my name is this
I don’t know why
things pump into
neurons
sensory flesh
groceries into bag
dogs play in yard
bestial shouts from windows
supernova roses expand
petals to Betelgeuse
super apes trail offspring
hungry
no cookie
love pondered
gland obeyed
sun nuclear fire
moon barren
little mites feast
littler mites
amoral
pernicious
chanters hum
terrified pray
wail impotent trill
murders of joy
painter wipes fix
moment gone and beauty
crack and fade
universe and skin
blue eyes and harlequin
il perche non so
---Charles Bogle

Raj Bavnani Reads!
Heard it once? Hear it twice!
Listen to Raj Bavnani's
 end-of-year poem, as read on KPFK-FM.

 

Listen at:
 
http://rense.gsradio.net:8080/rense/special/Raj_Bavnani.mp3
Raj read this epic poem for 2010 Jan. 3 on "The Music Never Stops," with Barry Smolin, on KPFK.
 
slums of gold
the slums of gold
are having open houses for all the affable c.e.o.'s and financial wizards who have taken their bailout money to build shiny brand new executive bathrooms and finance relaxing weekend retreats far from the noise and fear of the street.the slums of gold have king size beds that will make the most tired and achy executive feel so human and tender.
special guarded elevators will take these new stylish tenants to the penthouse,but wait a second, sometimes the penthouse has no roof and the vultures soar overhead awaiting their next happy meal.
the slums of gold find themselves eventually under a fierce rain which washes that fake gold off revealing corroded iron and brokedown wood.
it's a new year
homicide will soon reach its deductible
and its bills will reduce greatly.
the slums of gold are having a block party.
bring all your favorite yes men and women,executives.
bring your bylaws and meeting minutes.
you'll have to budget the air
inhale just so much oxygen.
the banks glow in the dark.
they begin to pull up stakes
and slither across the earth
looking for food.
meanwhile,all humans with no health care whatsoever become kings and queens for one day.
they are asked to pose for high profile pictures.
as soon as you're through coughing up blood could you smile and say cheese.
the c.e.o.s have blood in their underwear.
should they panic?
should they take a happy pill?
all the happy pills forgot their distemper shots.
they are not agreeable this morning.
when you go to open them up to ingest one they bite your fingers.
---Scott Wannberg, 1/24/09

i didn't see all that much but boy do my eyes hurt
in the hallowed building
that forgets where it lives
i saw a way of life
try to shove itself into a tube of toothpaste
the teeth of the world
chatter
when love runs naked
through the battle
that dances up and down
the road out of town.

periodically the reaper fellow
comes through selling subscriptions
but frankly his pitch needs grease
and the navy can't tread the water
you shower in.

i didn't see all that much
honest
but boy do my eyes hurt
every time you ask me to leap off the ledge
i remind you i still haven't earned anything
resembling a wing

tell the rage
to act its age and smile
once every now and then
anything it can throw at me
i've already fielded
in a time
when popcorn fell from the sky
and wounds grew gardens.

going home time
finally slipped through the wire,
treat it gentle,
pass the veneer
ache no more
for at least a minute, anyhow
heard a rumor
we were being pulled back
to a rhythm
that wouldn't break us.

killers will eventually get monuments erected in their honor.
and the pigeons will rejoice
through impending snarling weather
asleep on the side of the road
you will find civilization
rolling dice in pitch black night
one more round for the survivors
wherever they crawled off to

the highway refuses to comp you
pay as you attempt
anything
meteors aim their best profiles
at our hacienda
raise your vulnerable face
to their fire
tell them the story
you never finished
the one about the woodsmoke
the shiny people
and when its time
to wander upstairs
to a room that goes on for hours
place your heart on mine
make some music
they claim vaudeville is coming back
together
we'll bring down
the leaking
roof
---scott
florence,oregon
10/27/09
tom russell
blood and candle smoke

A Verse to You Archive


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        JERRY LAWSON DIES AT 75
          Jerry Lawson, the smooth baritone lead singer and arranger of the fabled a cappella group, The Persuasions, died July 10 at a Phoenix, Arizona hospice following a long illness. He was 75. His wife, Julie Lawson, was at his side.
                                                  (Full obituary here)      
 

NEW: SATURDEE OPRY LINKS!

Joe                 Jack
WONDERFUL MUSIC CURATED WEEKLY BY RIP RENSE
 FOR YOUR PLEASURE AND BEFUDDLEMENT!

 

MIXED FEELINGS ABOUT
THE NEW 'WHITE ALBUM' MIX

 RENSE COMMENTS ON POOR CHOICES, EXPEDIENCE, LACK OF IMAGINATION
 EXCLUSIVE!

 The sequel to "The Death Sisters"

cover by David Allen
read all about it
 

cover by David Allen
Twelve Brilliant New Stories
read all about it
 

the greatest grateful dead album
 the grateful dead never made.


 
PERSUASIONS OF THE DEAD
20 TRACKS. 2 CDs. 12 GUEST ARTISTS.
The Persuasions, Brooklyn-grown street singers who became the most important and powerful a cappella group in American history, interpret the songs of Robert Hunter and Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead. Songs that still are among the most original and engaging in American music.
Sheer poetry, meet sheer melody.


"enchanting!"
---grateful dead lyricist
 robert hunter.

produced by Rip Rense
 mixed by Marc Doten

cover illustration by Luis Genaro Garcia

SPECIAL GUESTS ARTISTS: Country Joe McDonald, Mark Karan (Ratdog), Jackie LaBranch and Gloria Jones (Jerry Garcia Band), Grateful Dead keyboardist Vince Welnick, Dongming Qiao, James King, Alyn Kelley, Eric Thompson, Peter Rowan,  Pete Grant, Mary Schmary.

"Deadheads, take a hit from this double disc dose of the real thing. Persuasions fans, this may be the last time you'll ever hear a Persuasions line-up with original lead, and once-in-a-lifetime talent, Jerry Lawson. . .These tracks are stories that happen to have been set to song, not songs that happen to have a story."
---Jonathan Minkoff, Recorded A Cappella Review Board.

"Album producer Rip Rense calls the marriage of these two acclaimed artists "a surprisingly natural fit." He couldn't be more right. It works because these tracks are more than just covers; they're tributes. Each arrangement is designed to draw something new out of the original. Many of them include actual instruments, such as piano, guitar, and baritone saxophone."
---Nicole Maria Milano, Recorded A Cappella Review Board.

 ZOHO ROOTS
 AND RENSART PRODUCTIONS

LISTEN TO SAMPLES AND ORDER
 

THE PERSUASIONS
LIVE AT McCABE'S GUITAR SHOP!


The Greatest A Cappella Group in American History
in its only LIVE NIGHTCLUB ALBUM.

Everyone knows, or should know, that as great as Persuasions studio albums were, you did not experience The Persuasions unless you saw them live. Rip Rense set about capturing this vocal lightning in a bottle at McCabe’s Guitar Shop in 1999. Yes, it’s just like being there.

NINETEEN SONGS.
70 MINUTES OF MUSIC AND JOY.
5 SONGS NEVER ON A PERSUASIONS ALBUM.

PRODUCED BY RIP RENSE AND MARC DOTEN
FOR RENSART RECORDS.


"The Persuasions have come to save your soul. America is safe again."
---The Bluegrass Special


"Live at McCabe's is a great find, a reminder of this act at its best."---Soultracks.com

"You need to buy this album!"
---
Contemporary A Cappella Society

"We came out smokin'!"
---Jerry Lawson.


 listen to samples
 and order

NOW ON iTunes!

"Their signature album."---Floyd Kucharski.

 

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 west of the Rockies."


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 WITH THE ORIGINAL "NEWSIES!"
RARE PHOTOS!

MEMORIES OF L.A.'S ALL-BUT-FORGOTTEN MOST BELOVED NEWSPAPER.

THE OAKS
A NOVEL
BY RIP RENSE

"Staggeringly well written. . .sweet. . .funny. . .sad. . .elegaic. . .not a thought nor sentence out of place."
---Keith Snider, San Francisco.

review: ''EDGAR SAWTELLE' VS.
 'THE OAKS,'

 by Barbara Weeks here.

review:Susan Christian Goulding's
Daily Breeze column on "The Oaks" here
.


FLASH! MAN CHAINS SELF TO OAK TREE, READS 'THE OAKS' AGAIN AND AGAIN! here


TO ORDER

"I stayed up to finish the last 100 pages.”
---Dave Allen, Thousand Oaks.

""This book deserves to be read by hundreds of thousands of people It is a gem that talks to a diverse group of people: those who grew up in dysfunctional families(!); Southern Californians who will love the suburban anecdotes; teens and everybody who has ever been a teen with all the awkwardness those years impart. It's also quite funny. Readers simultaneously laugh while groaning over these horribly insensitive 'adults' raising Charlie, who is much more adult than they are."
---Susan Christian Goulding,
columnist for the Daily Breeze,
 People Mag. Correspondent.

 REVIEWS, SUMMARY,
 SAMPLE CHAPTER


Rense interviewed about "The Oaks"
in Ventura Star
here.


ORDER NOW

 

The Rip Post motto:
"Persevering Through Relentless Absurdity"

 on tote bags, T-shirts, hats!
Amaze your friends! Frighten your pets!


click the products to visit the OUTPOST
*trademarked term.

RENSE ON THE BEATLES!
exclusive!
JOHN LENNON PLANNED TO REUNITE THE BEATLES

PLUS!
SAY YOU WANT A (new) REVOLUTION?
AND. . .
LENNON'S GREAT LOST SONG


---------------------------------------------------
***********************************************************
LESS THAN SATISFYING ENCOUNTERS WITH HUMANITY---ILLUSTRATED.
THE DECLINE OF WESTERN CIVILIZATION. . .
Measured by its attitude.



"The greatest book I've ever read---in the bathroom."---Mike Ball, Glendale, CA.

"You have more 'less than satisfying encounters' than any three other people I know.  I've given this some thought and my conclusion is that it is your unhappy fate to be something of a "schmuck magnet." Unpleasant-incompetent-self-aggrandising people enter your close orbit with greater frequency
 than the rest of us."
---Bob Ballenger, Encino, CA.

230 pages of LTSEWH's.
 
WITH ORIGINAL ARTWORK

ORDER HERE
*************************************************************
LINGO CZAR

THE DECLINE OF WESTERN CIVILIZATION---
Measured by its language.


The long-running column (L.A. Times, The Rip Post) is now 210 acid-dripping pages exposing rigidly conformist slang, pin-headed outbursts, 'cool' patois, abominable cliches, infantile drivel, smug rejoinders, mandatory peer-enforced buzzwords and iPhone-speak that Americans are spewing from their 500-word vocabularies as their knuckles hang ever closer to the sidewalk.


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HERE IT IS: THE MOST IMPORTANT SPEECH MADE BY ANYONE IN THE LAST 60 YEARS. WELL, MAYBE. THE GREAT BILL HICKS.

The Rip Post Interview!
SHIN3

ALL FOR TAIKO, AND TAIKO FOR ALL.
How two educators and a scientist came to
 devote themselves to the drum.

HERE
also. . .

DR. HU!

CHINESE MEDICINE DOC EXTRAORDINAIRE!
HERE


AND. . .
SIMON LENG,
AUTHOR OF "WHILE MY GUITAR GENTLY WEEPS: THE MUSIC OF GEORGE HARRISON"

AND. . .
"Mr. Smolin:
teacher, deejay, recording artist--
on Mata Hari, Daktari, high school students, John Donne, the future of the planet, and his album. . .

HERE

plus: 'Breakfast With The Beatles' host Chris Carter, and more HERE

 

MUSIC BOX
HARU NO UMI
GRACE MOORE: UN BEL DI VEDROMO
GRACE MOORE: MI CHIAMANO MIMI
LAWRENCE TIBBETT: ON THE ROAD TO MANDALAY
CHALIAPIN: DOWN THE PETERSKY
GIULINI CONDUCTS FRANCK


FOR THE ENTIRE MUSIC BOX, CLICK HERE

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