Open discussion forum about NESARA, Dove of Oneness, Patrick Bellringer, Truth Warrior and all the others spinning the NESARA tale. Includes the latest rumors about the Galacticans comings to Earth and Jennifer's blood ozonation machine.
Stop the madness! Don't just throw in more pointless action as a way to paper over your glaring inadequacies as a writer who has no clue about how to actually plot out a coherent story. Why not, just for once, learn from a real author, one of the greats?
Charles Dickens, a master of lazy improbability, coincidence, and Deus ex Machina endings, went too far even for his vast talents in his last book, The Mystery of Edwin Drood. He, like yourself, wrote in installments and often paid no attention whatever to tying them together or plotting out even a basic storyline for the work as a whole. Edwin Drood was the culmination of all his faults. The six published installments make little sense as a coherent work. I've read it and I couldn't see any way of wrapping the story up that wasn't nonsense even by Dickens very loose standards. But Dickens, ever the master, saw the way out and took an entirely new creative approach in order to end the book. He died.
On 8 June 1870, Dickens suffered another stroke at his home after a full day's work on Edwin Drood. He never regained consciousness, and the next day, five years to the day after the Staplehurst rail crash, he died at Gad's Hill Place.
Brilliant in its simplicity. He left other, lesser writers to carry the burden of finishing it while leaving the impression that he actually had an ending worked out which his sudden death alone kept from his adoring public. You're at the perfect plot point. Heather and Trump are standing just one doorway apart about to have a meeting which is totally beyond your ability as a writer to construct. Hence your final sentence "Our volatile president was mere feet away, Heather’s mouth was poised to spew her incomprehensible nonsense, and all was right with the world. Nothing could stop us now, nothing that is, except for what happened next."
Just remove that sentence then emulate the master. The unintelligible gibberish that is your current story will instantly, magically, transform into the tragically unfinished masterpiece that is your final story.
"Yes Burnaby49, I do in fact believe all process servers are peace officers. I've good reason to believe so." Robert Menard in his May 28, 2015 video "Process Servers".
You forget I've taken an oath, the Writer's Hippocratic Oath, to only tell the truth. Oh yeah, and "First do no harm." Easy to swear to, but hard to uphold. I'm sorry, but as much as you would like the kind of scene we all know you desire between Heather Ann Tucci-Jaraf and Donald HoffelflingerTrump, common decency prevents it. Your perverted desires and false flags have no place in modern conspiracy science, we're highly-trained professionals now and not that mangy mob of muffin munchers who forever soiled our name in the 80's. I shutter when I think of the kinds of minds that could have come up with "A Flock of Seagulls." Don't worry, the same standards will be adopted by the Canadian Illuminati sometime soon, with all those unwilling to bend to the will of Satan being eliminated.
Wow - the ultimate intervention. Telling DK to off himself to save his literary reputation. But what if he already had a bad reputation to begin with? Why would he perceive killing himself on the off chance that later generations would change their opinion about his tawdry, yet pointless tales as a good gamble?
"I could be dead wrong on this" - Irwin Schiff
"Do you realize I may even be delusional with respect to my income tax beliefs? " - Irwin Schiff
The Covfefe Incident
An All Even-Newer Deep Knight Adventure
Chapter Twenty – Let Me Introduce You to my Friend Jackson
As all insiders “in the know” and schoolyard monitors know, most of the time trash talk is just trash talk. North Korea’s fat and ugly stand-in for Kim Jong Un, known to those “in the know” as Kim Jong Double Un, had to talk like an insane warmonger, it was how his part was written. Little did his millions of slavish worshipers know it was all an act, and that included Pyongyang Pete. Or should I say what parts of his brain had survived and now integrated themselves into the “matrix” bio-computer used for their nuclear and ICBM programs. Taught since childhood to have a blind hatred of all things American, especially the government, his ire was worse than a Northern Michigan Unorganized Militia member’s pig-biting anger at the days getting shorter in the fall. And he/they/it was in control of almost all of North Korea’s small collection of sophisticated digital machines and plans.
Hordes of North Korean agents had infiltrated trade shows and toy expos all over the fetid backwaters of Asia, looking for technology that might be useful to their two highest priority programs, the ones Pyongyang Pete was now in charge of. Amongst the spoils were several toy drones, the 4-propeler helicopter type like we use for surveillance (in black, of course), and a motley assortment of computer controlled 3D printers and machine tools. Instead of making rocket parts, the computer, now fully dominated by Pete’s insane desire to take action against the west, started manufacturing giant drones. More than 6 feet across, they looked like 4-legged hanging spiders, with a whirling blade of sharpened aerospace-grade alloy as each foot. Thousands of ‘em. In a normal business, someone would have noticed and said “no,” but not in North Korea, where secrecy was a mania. The drones could not only fly under matrix computer control, their propellers were both spinning guillotines and precision buzz saws. If a head needed to be taken off, or a hole cut in a wall for access, the mega-drones could do it. And those two skills fit the goal of now-Cyber-Pete, the total destruction of the American way of life! Starting, of course, with their beloved supreme leader, the orange half of our carefully-arranged meeting. And, of course, the timing for that attack was now.
The Secret Service jumped on the President just as Heather was uttering the first syllable of something silly and loud, the later to be heard above the thunderous sawing noises and crashing skyscraper components. This saved him from the first drone that came through and went directly towards his head, no doubt being programed to home in on anything orange. Unfortunately, it took off the top half of the top half of his protection detail, and the top half of his elaborate hair-doo! The agents that were left in one piece shuffled him off to the armored executive golden elevator, keeping low as they snickered about their charge’s silly new hairstyle.
Not only was the person we wanted to kill safe, the ire and cutting power of the ever-increasing fleet of drones that had made it into Trump Tower was now focused on us. Like lambs to the slaughter, except WAY more bloody, the remaining Secret Service and private security agents had their heads neatly trimmed one-by-one. It was as if the computer was playing with us. But as the wall of human flesh between us and the drones was reduced, Kid Einstein got a brilliant idea and hacked into “the Matrix” controlling them. I told you he was smart. While Kid Eisenstein filmed us in B&W, my virtual image entered the drone-controlling network as “Morphius.” Leather coated and wearing sunglasses, my virtual character appeared to be holding two pills in his hand. “You take the blue pill, the story ends,” I cautioned in a deeply resonant voice, “You wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill, you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.”
I hoped Pete would bite, literally. We were running out of time. Having chewed through every last agent and bodyguard left on our floor, the drones had decapitated Kid Einstein, flinging his over-developed brain around the room. Knowing the worst was coming, Kid Eisenstein filmed his own beheading, using an f8 to get greater depth of field. Heather was next. Stepping forward and taking a kung-fu stance, she announced, “Nunc pro tunc, mutha-@#$!ers!” both as a challenge and pro se motion to the court. Her head was immediately thin-sliced by the meat-slicer-like blade of a drone. Each cold-cut-like slice was dealt out like a pack of cards in a gory game of 52 Pick Up. It was reminiscent of a food fight in anatomy class. I was only saved from a similar fate by being surrounded by the Slice Girls. While their razor-sharp steel swords were no match for the ICBM-grade alloys making up the drone blades, the bio-computer was at heart a horny boy, who couldn’t resist removing their clothing instead of their heads. He was undressing them slowly, in a deadly game of deft swipes and severed fabric. The game was fun now, but who could tell when he would get tired of toying with them and play for keeps?
Back in the virtual world of the Matrix, Cyber-Pete, unable to pass on a challenge, grabbed the blue pill and swallowed it with a sneer. He was a hideous avatar, half mangled jet pilot, half smiley face emoji. But his triumphant smile stopped at his lips when he suddenly began to disintegrate before my virtual eyes. The blue pill wasn’t the path to ignorant bliss, it was digital poison! A mixture of computer viruses, unlicensed software, and protein supplements, it corrupted him from within and without. He started to dissolve, melting before my eyes, moaning “Ohhh! Yankee dog! Look what you done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh, what a world! What a world! Who think bad boy like you destroy my beautiful wickedness! Long live our beloved leader!”
If I thought the drones would collapse with his demise, I was wrong. And, to be honest, it was what I had been thinking. Instead, they pressed the attack home, trimming the ends off the Slice Girls’ swords, inching their way to our throats. Then, when it seemed that all hope was gone, out of the blue came a full battalion of airborne dachshunds, deftly maneuvering their steerable parachutes into our battle zone while spraying 50 cal. bullets into the massed drones. Bred to hunt badgers, these scrappy little wiener dogs did surprisingly well in with modern weapons, especially considering they don’t have opposable thumbs. After what I had been told by Satan, I was also surprised that they actually existed. This was explained by their Supreme Commander after the battle over a couple of beers and pickled eggs.
“If I had gotten money for what they thought was a real Dachshund battalion, it would have been subject to budget cuts and austerity programs and canceled years ago. But, since Satan thought it was a scam to feather my own nest through embezzlement, he left it alone for a small percentage. This kept our crack canine squad together and trained, the wisdom of which I hope today’s events have proven once and for all! Now, if only we could find a source of Sky Chief gasoline…”
I left well enough alone, valuing togetherness over apartness, yin over yang, taste over tongue. Descending to the command post in the basement, I was surprised to see The Prince of Darkness himself, and all smiles. It turns out he had followed our team to Trump Tower, intent on seeing the fun and slaughter, and run into President Flat Top as he was fleeing to safety. Not only had they kissed and made up, Satan had a whole new contract with the government, this time to eliminate certain dangerous “dreamers” from our shores. Why he thought he would collect on this one after all the others over the years was beyond me, but you know Satan and his annoying streak of boyish optimism.
In the end it was all meaningless. Only a tale, told about an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. Yeah, I know, that’s not exactly how Shakespeare wrote it, but Shakespeare was wrong. And so was Satan, thinking we could somehow trust the US Government when at the same time we had vowed to destroy them. Nobody said it would be easy, or for that matter make sense, but in the end it left you feeling cold and empty inside. But it was the kind of cold and empty men like me craved, independent men who loved action and danger and had a weak moral compass. Men, who at the end of the day can rise up out of a pile of their own vomit and sing, “This is mine, you can’t take it. As long as I know I have love I can make it. For once in my life I have someone who needs me!”
The end
Stay tuned for the next Deep Knight Adventure, “Shuddered Windows, Shuttering Hearts”
I went up to see the eclipse totality like about 750,000 people from Colorado, only my destination was Western Nebraska, not the closer but more crowded areas in Wyoming. This turned out to be wise as I had few impediments coming home. I also got to see an area I had never been to. Although "close" in a western US sort of way, I had never had a reason to visit. This included the area around Scottsbluff, where there are several landmarks from the Oregon/California Trail, including iconic Chimney Rock.
On the way there and back, I broke up the drive by stopping in some of the dying small towns along the way. Each had most of their businesses closed (should I say, shuttered?), typically with a gas station and bar and grill the only ones still open. My favorite of the last of these was "The Loading Chute" in Gurley NE where "Cowboys go to get loaded."
Anyway, a long-closed Texaco gas station had a Sky Chief pump, which I took pictures of, liking the logo. Not my picture, but here's even-older pumps with the logo:
This name got me thinking, I had been given model airplane kits when I was a kid by my much-older cousin who flew the same planes off carriers. I kind of remembered one being called a "Sky Chief," and looked it up. It was the A-4 Skyhawk, of course (he mostly an F-4 Phantom II, which was far sexier). Reality has a habit of intruding into my mostly-unplanned stories, and when the silly Sky Chief - Skyhawk pun occurred to me while thinking of old fighter planes, I ran with it.
Anyway, if you're ever in Scottsbluff, stop by the Nat'l Monument of the same name and drive the road to the top of the bluff. If you're passing through Gurley, stop at The Loading Chute and tell them one of the idiot "Greenies" who came up to see the eclipse sent you.
Greenies 'cause of our license plates. Sounds silly, but definitely a derogatory term in Wyoming and Western Nebraska.
The Covfefe Incident
An All Even-Newer Deep Knight Adventure
Epilog – Breaking A Dangerous Habit
My dreams of glory in tatters, I picked myself up and shipped out for the Pacific Northwest to make sure the forest fires we had set kept burning well. You know, keeping them supplied with wood, oxygen and the like. Oh yeah, a little wind helps, and of course no rain. The latter two conditions are usually delivered by our weather modification technology, but it was busy destroying Florida, Puerto Rico, and The Virgin Islands. The reason for the first two is obvious, and you know how vengeful Satan is, especially when it comes to a state or territory making fun of you-know-what. Bedsides, we get kickbacks from The Weather Channel. As for the Virgin Islands, the Big Guy hates the word “virgin,” feeling it’s competing head-to-head with his brand. Anyway, with no ultra-low frequency transmitters available, and cell phone towers useless for anything but mind control, we had to go “old school” and use witchcraft. The results are a testament to the old ways sometimes being the best ways, with choking smoke and closed roads chapters one and two. The only down side was the ire of Smoky the Bear, who I understand found out about my betrayal, swore a furry vendetta against me, and is out for blood. This despite our many years of friendship after appearing in the adult movie “Dr. Doolittle XXX” together. Luckily he will be going into hibernation soon, and the tracking device I slipped into his hat will make him an easy target for elimination.
As for Hillary and Vladimir, you might expect me to write about them getting back together and having a marathon make-up sex session in some semi-public location. You would be wrong. Sure, hatred can turn back to lust given the right circumstances and lubricants, but once the novelty of a new lover has worn off, nothing can bring it back. And let’s face it, the two of them had seen better days 20 years ago, and in normal times the bloom would have been off the rose after one or two bondage sessions. But these weren’t normal times, our new President had seen to that.
He had also made my life in Hell a living Hell with his on-again-off-again relationship with The Prince of Darkness. I kept waiting for one “deal” or payment for services rendered getting pushed out past 90 days and then ignored, to be one too many, but in vain. It’s gonna be a rough 3 years, unless He Who Cannot Be Named gets serious and pulls the trigger on impeachment. With the government in our pocket, and free militias money tied up in Dinars, it would be a snap. But then we’d have Pence, who knows enough about our inner workings from being on The Council of The Seven to be a REAL problem. No doubt why he was chosen as a running mate, just like Al Gore.
I shouldn’t complain. One less promotion at work is one less headache, and our Fantasy Trump Administration football is pouring money into our ammonia business, keeping up the cash flow until the extraterrestrial checks clear. Most of all, I was home and safe, or so I thought, until …
The bomb that rather rudely opened my office door was a bit too big for its purpose, and nearly blew the side off the building. Not only was I temporarily stunned, so was my assailant. But even in her and my combined dazed states, I could easily tell the badly-bleached blonde was Orly Taitz, dentist and real-estate agent to the stars. Not only had she sworn eternal vengeance for my killing her in a couple of my previous stories, my scorning her advances had put an unquenchable fury behind her behind. Luckily, my super-model-processing training had hardened me to physical stimulation, and I came out of the shock caused by the explosion first. Gently leading a still-stunned Orly to the edge of what had until recently been a wall, I assisted her in investigating further, pushing the boundaries as it were. As she dropped away into the rubble of the almost-finished replacement parking garage, I had to admit a grudging respect for the rapidly-accelerating birther. With only seconds to live, she still remained focused enough to mumble some words about former President Obama not passing E-Verify.
Orly’s overkill not only killed her, it sent my commuting dilemma back to square one. The smoldering ruins of the parking garage meant another multi-year delay until I could afford to park my car at work, and I absolutely refuse to pay $1,600 a month for an uncovered spot in a commercial lot 5 blocks away. I’ve been banned from all other forms of public and private transportation, something about the frequent attempts of my life causing too many of their employees and customers to die, and the thought of me in Spandex riding a bicycle made several of my readers ill. Telecommuting was out, Satan likes to see you sweat in person, so only two choices remained open: a motorcycle or one of those Segway PT things. I had ridden a “hog” in an outlaw biker gang when young, “The Dharma Dukes,” (mostly Buddhist monks gone bad), and had mixed feeling about it. On one hand you looked really tough and cool tooling around on a Harley, but on the other hand you kept getting hit in the face by high-velocity bugs.
Sure, the decision would be hard, but that’s why they paid me the big bucks and gave what had once been a plush office with 4 walls. No one said being evil would be easy, but they did say that at the end of the day you could lay down and get a good night’s sleep after using and discarding several afterwards-heartbroken lovers. And in the end, isn’t that what life is all about?
Now I know we are hitting rock bottom. Who in their right mind "continues" an epilog? The very point of calling the section of an article, play or speech an "epilog" is because the performance is ENDING, NOT CONTINUING. Just more proof when the Muses inspired you, they did it with a I-beam to your forehead.
"I could be dead wrong on this" - Irwin Schiff
"Do you realize I may even be delusional with respect to my income tax beliefs? " - Irwin Schiff
But... but... but..... it's DK of course he's doing it bassakwards. He's inventing or devolving, I'm not sure which, a new literary form.
The fact that you sincerely and wholeheartedly believe that the “Law of Gravity” is unconstitutional and a violation of your sovereign rights, does not absolve you of adherence to it.
I'm pushing the boundaries of literature and good taste, as any cutting-edge edge cutter does when confronted by what passes for "writing" these days. Ain't letting any grass grow on my lawn, no siree.
When in doubt, I find myself trying to emulate the great Scottish poet William McGonagall and his masterful rhymes:
The Tay Bridge Disaster
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
’Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say-
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”
When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”
But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.
So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o’er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill’d all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the tale
How the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.
You get one criticism and you go nuclear? Fine, choke on this;
See the tree, how big it's grown
But friend, it hasn't been too long it wasn't big
I laughed at her and she got mad
The first day that she planted it, was just a twig
Then the first snow came and she ran out
To brush the snow away so it wouldn't die
Came runnin' in all excited slipped and almost hurt herself
And I laughed till I cried
She was always young at heart
Kinda dumb and kinda smart and I loved her so
And I surprised her with a puppy
Kept me up all Christmas Eve two years ago
And it would sure embarrass her
When I came in from workin' late 'cause I would know
That she'd been sittin there an' cryin'
Over some sad and silly late, late show
And Honey, I miss you
And I'm bein' good
And I'd love to be with you
If only I could
She wrecked the car and she was sad
And so afraid that I'd be mad, but what the heck
Though I pretended hard to be
Guess you could say she saw through me and hugged my neck
I came home unexpectedly
And caught her cryin' needlessly in the middle of the day
And it was in the early spring
When flowers bloom and robins sing, she went away
And Honey, I miss you
And I'm bein' good
And I'd love to be with you
If only I could
One day while I was not at home
While she was there and all alone the angels came
Now all I have is memories of Honey
And I wake up nights and call her name
Now my life's an empty stage
Where Honey lived, and Honey played and love grew up
And a small cloud passes over head
And cries down on the flower bed that Honey loved
And see the tree, how big it's grown
But friend, it hasn't been too long, it wasn't big
And I laughed at her, she got mad
The first day that she planted it, was just a twig
"Yes Burnaby49, I do in fact believe all process servers are peace officers. I've good reason to believe so." Robert Menard in his May 28, 2015 video "Process Servers".
The Covfefe Incident
An All Even-Newer Deep Knight Adventure
Endnotes – The Final Epilog
1. According to sources, he only shaved this area because his wife’s mother insisted.
2. H. Robert (Fred) Piddler. 1823 – 1902. Considered by most historians to be the father of the American massage parlor.
3. Southern tradition attributes this quote to “(S)ome smart-mouthed Yankee.”
4. 8 inches (20 cm)
5. And again in 1987, although without the ruffles and lace.
6. Forensic analysis showed he wasn’t actually making an arrest at that time, but tying his shoelaces.
7. I before E except after C.
8. Newspapers had a field day with this story, ridiculing the referee without regard to his family’s situation. It was no surprise that he was found later in that same week.
9. At the time cocaine was typically measured in “metric ounces,” an even 28 grams instead of a full 28.4 grams. This made it easier to calculate “quarters” (7 grams) and “eight-balls” (3.5 grams) when the dealer was so loaded he couldn’t see straight.
10. 18,364 in 1972.
11. Red had indeed plucked his last rosebud.
12. Although the cathode on a battery is positive, when referring to vacuum tubes this is the negative pin or terminal.
13. Five at the time, although one fell in a storm in 2012.
14. They later married and had twins named Ferdinand and Ferdinella.
15. When mounted transverse to the axel, as is traditional in Africa.
16. Made from dried meat, dried berries, and melted suet; it will retain its food value for years, especially when served topped with a special sauce on a sesame seed bun.
17. Newspapers reported that he made it to third base before being chosen.
18. Satan’s wife, Gladys, refuses to live in anything but a trendy neighborhood, so they haven’t had a phone number starting with Hell’s area code (221) in years.
19. Measured from the knee.
20. The jury returned a verdict of accidental homicide. They obviously believed the ritual decapitation was the result of a tragic misunderstanding involving Dr. Bacon’s name, and this is why he was fried and served with two eggs, a side of hash browns, and toast. His colleagues, Dr. Ham and Dr. Chickenfriedsteak, did not agree and swore revenge, initiating the Covfefe Incident.
21. The first non-Canadian born on the Laurentian Divide, in 1989.
22. Missionaries actually never used this position, preferring a full time salaried exempt one.
23. And Gladys still holds this grudge as of this writing, despite Hell having frozen over in the interim.
24. A mid-50’s device to put pits in the windshields of early 50’s fighter jets. Results were mixed, and the project was abandoned.
25. The body was exhumed and his condition confirmed. Who the actual father was is a mystery until this day.
26. Although available in 5 “designer colors,” the only surviving examples are black.
27. Approximately the size of three, round, 26 oz. containers of salt stacked one on top of another.
28. The monks have hummed while approaching the temple for over 1000 years, nobody knows why.
29. He expired “after” not “with” his dying breath, leaving him in breach of contract.
30. Satan’s approval rating remains “moderate” at 11%.
31. The statue was repaired with superglue, and nobody was the wiser.
32. You’re welcome to try, but in my experience you’ll never get rid of the stains or the funny odor.
Burnaby49 wrote:You get one criticism and you go nuclear? Fine, choke on this;
I see you and raise you a Terry Jacks. Play with fire and you get burnt!
Seasons in the Sun*
Goodbye to you my trusted friend
We've known each other since we were nine or ten
Together we've climbed hills and trees
Learned of love and ABC's
Skinned our hearts and skinned our knees
Goodbye my friend it's hard to die
When all the birds are singing in the sky
Now that spring is in the air
Pretty girls are everywhere
Think of me and I'll be there
We had joy, we had fun
We had seasons in the sun
But the hills that we climbed
Were just seasons out of time
Goodbye Papa please pray for me
I was the black sheep of the family
You tried to teach me right from wrong
Too much wine and too much song
Wonder how I got along
Goodbye Papa it's hard to die
When all the birds are singing in the sky
Now that the spring is in the air
Little children everywhere
When you see them, I'll be there
We had joy, we had fun
We had seasons in the sun
But the wine and the song
Like the seasons have all gone
We had joy, we had fun
We had seasons in the sun
But the wine and the song
Like the seasons have all gone
Goodbye Michelle my little one
You gave me love and helped me find the sun
And every time that I was down
You would always come around
And get my feet back on the ground
Goodbye Michelle it's hard to die
When all the birds are singing in the sky
Now that the spring is in the air
With the flowers everywhere
I wish that we could both be there
*Actually from a Rod McKuen translation of the Jacques Brel song: "Le Moribond". Terry made some changes and left out the lines, "Adieu, Francoise, my faithful wife; Wthout you I'd have had a lonely life; You cheated lots of times but then; I forgave you in the end for your lover was my friend."
At least Terry Jacks is a local boy. I saw him at show at the University of British Columbia back in 1968 as part of the Poppy Family. His wife at the time was the lead singer.
"Yes Burnaby49, I do in fact believe all process servers are peace officers. I've good reason to believe so." Robert Menard in his May 28, 2015 video "Process Servers".
I see the Terry Jacks was born and spent his early years in Winnipeg, from where my Canadian connection comes (Red River Métis). I haven't visited there since I was very young, and mostly remember cold in December (Xmas shopping at the Hudson's Bay store) and having a lot of mosquitoes in the summer (near one of the lakes, at a fishing camp & cabin place that had a generator for power that they turned off fairly early in the evening).
My all-time favorite Canadian band, which was also from Winnipeg, is The Guess Who.
I had a girlfriend at the time who complained that some of the boys were a little too "beefy" to be rock heartthrobs, to which I responded, "You have no idea how cold it gets up there."
I on the other hand, couldn't stand the Guess Who. I was in my late teens when they came out and was receptive to new bands, particularly Canadian, but they left me cold. Because of time and place I had to listen to just about everything they did and didn't like any of it. Except for one song;
As for Terry Jacks he was born in Winnipeg but scuttled over to the west coast as soon as he could and has been here ever since. I believe he lives on one of the Gulf Islands. So he's a local boy.
"Yes Burnaby49, I do in fact believe all process servers are peace officers. I've good reason to believe so." Robert Menard in his May 28, 2015 video "Process Servers".
Believe it or not, I first heard Wolfman Jack on the TV, not the radio. From the time I started listening to Top 40 (late 1964) until 1968 Denver was a one "rock" radio station town with KIMN. It had 100% local-derived content, except for Xmas and New Years, when they would play syndicated top 100 from the year songs with nameless DJs. Didn't hear Casey Kasem or anything like that either. Not only did KIMN tightly control the playlist (no Motown until early 1965, and absolutely no James Brown), they assigned the DJs on-air names that were recycled over the years.
Instead, I moved one of my father's shortwave radios into my room (it had an AM band and was more sensitive than my pocket transistor radio) and listened to KOMA in Oklahoma City at night.
Throughout the 60’s and 70’s, KOMA was the favorite of teens all across the western US. With the big 50,000-watt signal and the relatively few rock-n-roll radio stations across the plains, KOMA was the main station for the hits. KOMA (along with handful of other legendary stations including 890 WLS, Chicago; 1090 KAAY, Little Rock; 1060 WNOE, New Orleans; 770 WABC, New York; 800 CKLW, Windsor/Detroit; and 1100 WKYC, Cleveland) could be heard on car radios, in homes, and everywhere a kid could tune in. Often teens in New Mexico, Arizona, Wyoming, Kansas, Colorado, Nebraska, and other western states would eagerly await sunset when the mighty 1520 would come booming through with the newest hits of the day. They would sit in their cars on hilltops, turn it up at parties, or fall asleep with the radio next to their beds as they listened to Chuck Berry, the Supremes, Paul Revere and the Raiders, and the Beatles. Soldiers in Viet Nam even reported tuning in KOMA to give them a little feeling of being back home.
Unfortunately, they didn't have national shows either.
Thanks a bunch for bring up Terry and Susan Jacks, and reminding me of the existence of The Poppy Family. If a song of theirs gets mentioned, it turns into a musical earworm which makes the fillings in my teeth ache.
"We've been attacked by the intelligent, educated segment of the culture." -- Pastor Ray Mummert, Dover, PA, during an attempt to introduce creationism -- er, "intelligent design", into the Dover Public Schools
I used to think The Poppy Family and their one hit were "one," er, "two of ours" because of what the song did to those millions of people. They never found an effective cure until it was too late for most of them.
Looking at the YouTube video, I noted one of the suggested videos to the right was "Love (Can Make You Happy)" by Mercy. I'm not sure why, except it was another "one hit wonder," going to #2 in early '69 (a lot of people did, it was the times). By this time I had graduated from Top-40 (a gateway drug) to the local alternative FM station, but at nights would sometimes still tune into KOMA, where this song was heavily played. Especially haunting when listened to on long-distance AM where it would fade in and out.
The original version, for those who like to watch 45s spin 'round. Squelched by Warner Brothers. Here's their version with the band in some groovy fashions. Mercy!
If anyone ever questions the presence of evil, this song "that broke millions of teenage girls' hearts" is it. Is it just me, or does the sign on the wall say "LSD (something something) BRUNCH"?
UPDATE - I've blown it up using super-secret Illuminati image focusfying software, and the sign says
