Bad Examples

I've tidied up my grammar in my last few posts. I'm going home to write today's post. It's too crowded here at my neighborhood library branch to work comfortably, but I bet that the much larger central branch downtown will be almost empty when it opens. Will corporate support for crime win love or just more crime? 10:17am: While some Americans may see their state as a modern day Roman republic, it is unwise to emulate the ancient Romans very much beyond their ingenious political system. I personally find it vulgar to equate Hollywood movie stars with the gods and heroes of ancient myths - though I love Harryhausen. Of course, the ancient republic was fascist, with a connecting neoclassicism favoured by both Hitler and Mussolini, but aside from putting well proportioned nude women on parade floats, I consider their style to be a dangerous throwback. When admiring the success of the ancient Romans, we may fail to duly credit the conditions of their time for it. They inherited a world that was uncivilized, at least by our standards. Things like infrastructure and education were largely nonexistent in the tribal domains of their surrounding neighbours. By spreading their technological and civil progress into the lands they conquered, the Romans rightly viewed their expansions as positive and helpful. Today, however, it is not so clear which people are fittest to advance civilization. America is great, but why? Is this greatness merited by a people of superior character or merely of superior wealth? Money is nice, but it does not answer every need. Albert Speer commented in his memoirs on the reading materials of the Spandau guards. He noted that the Russian guards had far more sophisticated taste in reading materials than the American guards. Wouldn't Western style pop culture, which draws us away from well written novels to make room for TV and comic books - and blogs - actually lower the quality of life for such typical Eastern Europeans? Fast food strikes me as culturally regressive. Fast food's contempt for cuisine may infect our people with a general contempt for productive labour. Fast food not only deprives us of the culinary enhancements afforded by taking the traditional steps to cooking a meal, but fosters an unreasonable expectation for instant results. Such instant gratification may be behind the behaviour of all those who expected to copy and paste their way to stardom with my songs and blogs, heedless of the love and labour I poured into my work's construction. (Nonetheless, I love my 7/11 pizza - always ready in well under ten minutes.) 1:56pm: I think stars make poor role models. Frankly, the ancient Romans knew better than to glorify performers, who all too often fall for their own illusions. (I wonder if the ancient Romans own cultural mentors, the ancient Greeks, kept women off the stage to contain an already menacing grandiosity.) Too few stars embody the late Bruce Lee, mindful and protective of their real selves. Do you think Mick Jagger is Lucifer? I doubt it. Lucifer wouldn't let me get away with bashing him as consistently as I've been bashing Jagger and the Kidney Stones since 2007. Self proclaimed deities like Jagger could be in for an excruciating eternity if Part VIII of my poem, the Masterpiece (The Judgement), turns out to be accurate. And good heavens, where would that leave his multitude of fans? As critical as I might be of America, I greatly admire her. She is prosperous and strong. Her people are kind and tolerant and God fearing. As a Canadian outsider to their civilization, I am specially positioned to offer them cultural insights in their own language, or at least in something resembling their own accent, and I think they have been most generous to me with their attention. In my heart of hearts I consider myself an American, one whose pioneering ancestors dared to cross the Atlantic Ocean and stake out a bold claim here in the wild and unpredictable New World. May final success in my struggle against a host of rich and powerful adversaries ultimately prove America's fitness for supremacy among the nation states of our age, as a great champion of truth and justice and as a true beacon to happiness. 5:45pm: When I speak of a true beacon to happiness, I'm not just waxing poetic, but trying to specify the ideal political domination. Good hope is the beacon to happiness, for wherever good hope may exist happiness is possible. While my condition may appear at first futile, opposed as I have been by so many wealthy, high placed stars, consider that I am still here to continue the fight. Being so gives good hope to countless exploited workers like my late parents, whose worst nightmare would be for their children to fall into the clutches of greedy predators like the twisted stars listed in my Copyright Issues page. Beyond that, imagine the euphoria of my surviving the humiliating present to ascend to my own stellar success. Such dreams may only be possible in America. And Nasco workers: if you want to betray yourselves and your children for twelve dollars an hour when I would have paid you a hundred dollars an hour, just wear your Nasco black and keep standing in my way!
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Broadcasting Illusions

The wealthy elite are richer today than they have ever been in all history; their vast fortunes have made them secure enough to aim beyond the mere accumulation of financial profits. No longer can consumers use their shopping lists to impose their will upon the upper class. And it seems that a disgraced network like NBC can stay on the air indefinitely even without its sponsors. I believe that this is because our money is less important to capitalists today than our love. When I first learned about how establishing brand loyalty has become more important than increasing sales to modern advertisers I did not think about it very deeply. On the surface it looks like a more roundabout, less detectable way to increase sales, but it really isn't. A man's brand loyalty does not require any support from his wallet, only from his heart. Super rich corporate advertisers don't need your money anymore, they'd rather just hear you whistling their jingle. While we all like money, those who have the most of it would most keenly feel its limitations. They would see it less as a source of power than as a means to it. Power is the aim of any ruling body, with vast sums being spent along the way if necessary. And what greater power exists in the world than that which rules over the human heart? This is far more desirable to the upper class than their otherwise inert piles of money. How do they win your hearts? With powerful illusions broadcasted as music or comedy or pleasing imagery. The bands who stole my songs were loved. The comedians who stole my blogs were loved. Later, the reporters who exposed the fraud were loved. All of this love was passed on to corporate supporters. As long as your love is desirable to our corporate overlords, the broadcast illusions which deliver this love to them will be sustained regardless of financial losses. As such, TV and radio will make imposing barriers for me to overcome in my quest to secure my due recognition as my work's true author in the years ahead. 11:19pm: In my poem the Lover I recount personal experience to show how love is seldom true: my anomalous talent caused a gap to my father's love, which centred on the perception of his son as an extension of his ordinary self; women tend to fall for riches; and stars are more loved for their appearance than their substance. I end the poem by stating that being deprived of true (sacrificial) love along these lines made me closer to God. Along the way, however, I showed how God's style of selfless love is far from being the only love. This may cause problematic distractions for those in power. In George Orwell's novel, 1984, the ruling class has done away with all love but love of their party, known as Big Brother. They made it illegal to enjoy sex, with children enlisted to spy on parents and report any suspicious activity to the police. We call romantic partners lovers, though their love is strictly contained and reflected within their relationship. From within their cozy cocoon they feel safe in sharing their dislikes, especially those of authority. In the novel's totalitarian state there is no room for such outside love interests. Orwell took his inspiration from the fascists and the communists of his World War Two period. He wanted to make sure that nothing like their brutal totalitarianism ever rose up again. Perhaps he was successful, but his contemporary, Aldous Huxley, alluded to a more insidious power grab in the novel, Brave New World, one in which the slave unwittingly chooses his slavery. This seems to be closer to what is going on at this moment. Orwell spoke of television sets that would be illegal to turn off. Instead, more attuned to Huxley's vision, we have people today freely choosing to leave their TV's on. People may read my words today and think their hearts are safe from corporations, but the corporate logos on their clothes, the soundbites they choose for their ringtones, and even the bulletins they share from news broadcasts tell me otherwise. If they had to shun all commercial media - broadcast and print - as I've done, they would be at a painful loss for how to fill the gaping void that would emerge in their world. 1:08pm: After hearing again of some woman who is in possession of a hit, I am reminded of another aspect of this love you may unwittingly have for corporations: it brings me hate. I've never known such intense hate in my life as that which has been heaped on me by fraud committed with my music, poetry, and comedy on the TV and radio. You think you cause me no harm by tuning in their broadcasts when in fact I consider myself lucky to still be alive in spite of it. I almost jumped off a bridge from you all watching a Dateline broadcast behind my back. It's a good thing I survived to defend my honor and the honor of my parents, whose graves would be getting urinated on right now if corporate stars like Tom Hanks had had their way with my intellectual property. If corporate overlords want you to exclusively love them for my work, it is quite clear to me now that you would all end up hating my guts for it. 5:00pm: In keeping with this post's title, let's close by smashing a few of the wicked illusions which have been cast by the misuse of my work in the last ten years: The Crystalids' Dean is not Jesus: Songs from the Truck. Tom Hanks is not a war hero: Fighting Stance. Telus is unfriendly: Unfinished Business. Taylor Swift is a poor role model: Taylor Daft. Jon Stewart is not sweet: When FOX News and Jon Stewart Unite. The corporate media are not trustworthy: You Can Trust Us. Jay Leno is not funny: Jay Ego. Dateline NBC is not knowledgeable: Thanks for Nothing. FOX News is unfair and unbalanced: FOX News Hates. The Shards were not virtuous: They're My Disability. Bill Maher is not rebellious: Real Slime. MAD Magazine is unsafe for children: MAD Magazine Commits Fraud. And to the gang of crew people that tried to intimidate me on the street outside this library branch on my way here this morning: I AM NOT WEAK! 7:46pm: Boy, we really have some stinkers around here. I wonder when I'll ever get to meet these nice fans I keep hearing in my head. Let's start with this latest violation of my music. I'm sure that most of you reading this find new violations of my music insulting to your intelligence since you are well aware of my songs from following me online for the last eight years. To anyone else, do you enjoy being lied to with music? If so, why don't you get your idols to lie to you with your own music and leave me out of it? I want nothing to do with the commercial trends around which you structure your life. And do you want us all to be stupid? Do you want us to confuse ten years with twenty years and Joe Blow with Jack Frost? That's the kind of wish that might get answered with an ambulance ride. Next, I should ask my readers if I reached any of them with the above breakdown of my poem, the Lover. Did students sense any truth in my referral to the 'confinement' of parental love? Did women laugh at my mention of their materialism? (They're usually pretty cool about it.) Above all, did music and comedy fans agree that they love a star more for appearance than for substance? That last point is important to me because it explains why I might be less impressive right now than all those creeps who stood on a big stage with my songs. Please, I'm not just writing all these things for style. And speaking of stadiums, stadium rock is loud and I have a loud voice. That disturbance from last week that some people complained about in the wee hours of the morning - though I've fallen silent since - is the sound of an artist, one whose music they paid others to sing and play in stadiums, surviving overwhelming pressure to commit suicide. It ruptured roughly the same hour of the morning that TV stars like Jimmy Kimmel once occupied with stolen portions of my blogs. And lastly, to those joggers, one of whom thought her mate was 'funny' as they jogged past me in the street: the reason why the stars you think you love need limousines is to escape your cruelty. And I bet that joke you were laughing at was stolen out of my blogs: probably one of my rejects.
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Lights Out

I said yesterday that smoking was my greatest vice, but that was not altogether accurate. I would say that my greatest vice is a lack of discipline. My good friends tried to warn me of it, telling me I should buy groceries, for instance, but like most others, I thought my fault was acceptable. I no longer think so, and that is why I have quit smoking. Next I will try to discipline my behavior in other ways: staying quiet when I'm upset, being more careful with my money, etc, but I can only focus on one problem at a time. [8:55am There's suddenly another customer in the store with me. It's kind of early for anyone to be using the computers here, but I passed a CFOX pickup truck on the way here and it is parked just down the road. I just wanted to alert my online monitors of this to check for anything fishy with the system here as I type.] That stunt which was pulled to block out my lyrics index got me thinking of tyranny this morning. My assailants are allowed to block out my music index and call me suspicious when I am innocent, but I can not block out their radio stations and TV networks for being truly suspicious after they have clearly proven by their Nickleback promotions and Blue Rodeo promotions and support for corrupt TV stars like Ellen or Matt that they are still in illegal possession of my property. That is an extremely unbalanced control structure which smacks of tyranny. I was joyfully enlightened by Plato's discussion concerning justice (my title is meant to poke fun at the confusion caused by Plato's speaking through the character of Socrates) to learn that there are good sound reasons to reject the law of nature which dictates the rule of the weak by the strong. Power is not merely justified by strength but by character. A leader may be rich, but he may also be a fool. A leader may be brilliant, but he may also be arrogant. Plato described the tyrant as a light which shines in on itself. So is television. (Radio is a megaphone in a soundproof echo chamber.) Why would someone want a job in front of a TV camera or a microphone? For the power. I finally have the answer to the only question that stumped me on my entrance exam to my college advertising course, why do you want to work in advertising? For power! Of course! That's what I should have said, but I didn't know myself well enough yet. I totally flunked that portion. And what do I now hope to gain by sharing my work on the web? You guessed it! Wanting power is quite natural for all, but gaining it is somewhat more rarely justified. Broadcasters obviously don't ponder such questions at length or they wouldn't have made stars out of roadies with my music, out of extras with my comedy, and even out of reporters with my justice. Doing so turned these creeps into monsters of Sauron like proportions. Broadcasting staff erred greatly in expecting their hate for rising talent like myself, from the ranks of the 'ordinary' masses they prefer to suppress, to be shared by their subscribers. Instead they broke the hearts of millions with their cruel fraud. Their folly with my property also cost them considerable profits, at least since I returned to the public eye in 2010. 11:17am: So, now that I've established that we all seek power, when is power justified? Hopefully you have gathered that it is when the proverbial light shines outward on all; in other words, when it benefits its subordinates. Perhaps the greatest example to illustrate my point is the supreme power of God. (I need you atheists to stretch your imaginations for this.) God is great because He gives us free will. We live as we choose to live here, even when that choice hurts God. This limitless measure of freedom is commensurate with the measure of God's fitness for power. In my particular faith, the measure of Christ's fitness for divinity is His willingness to serve. Christ tried to explain this to the apostles when He washed their feet at the Last Supper, and I tried to elaborate on it in my poem, the Servant. So the corporate media were wrong to criticize me for being too humble to be a star; they should have instead praised my humility. The corporate media has the potential to be a force for good in our world by their well known freedom of the press. Some of their more outstanding figures from the past, like Edward R. Murrow, used this freedom to challenge and defeat the evil of their time. Now it seems that they use this freedom to tyrannize us, though they may be more and more held back by the restrictions imposed by monopolistic media magnates. The result appears to be an influential media that freely pans my existence in the face of my unquestionable fame. I hope media people don't hate me too much because I am more like them than they might think. I could easily have ended up in an advertising agency, working right alongside them, if I did not envision such a special future for myself. I now submit this vision as my grounds for power. It is a vision of hope and beauty, which promises to benefit all of my followers, including those who work in broadcasting, at least as much as it does me. 1:47pm: I've corrected the above reporter's name to Edward R. Murrow and provided a link to an earlier post about him. It sounds like there might be some more shenanigans going on with people who need to power trip with their cell phones, but I invite you to call the police and demand protection from their crimes. If this is true, you should let the police know that crimes against my posts hurt the whole population and not just me alone. My protection is otherwise irrelevant to yours. And see if you can straighten out who wrote this hit I keep hearing about. I'm sure it wasn't anyone from the abysmal sounding radio I was forced to listen to in the liquor store today. 6:14 pm: Yes, power is evil, but it is a necessary evil. It lets us organize into an efficient collective. Yes, power is corrupting, but that is why it must be reserved for people of superior character. (As for my character, I think I deserve credit for staying calm while listening to the cackle of a production worker watching a YouTube comedian violate my copyright as I typed this.) Handing power out to fools, as broadcasters so casually did with my popular works, was disastrous, not just in terms of breaking hearts, but inflicting terrible financial losses. Their arrogant refusal to admit this fault may well send them and their children to the poor house before they see my point. The wealthy stars they've been propping up will certainly abandon them in their hour of need. And while their power of illusion is impressive, they cannot fake their profits.
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All Treachery, No Talent

On the night before my old friend killed himself seventeen years ago, as CBC was giving my first plays to their friends, he advised me to kill myself. He believed that I was an artist and that an artist is 'noble.' He believed that this foolish world was unfit for artists, which makes an artist's suicide forgivable to God. I've often thought about him in the wee hours of the morning, whenever I had trouble falling asleep with some fresh new crime committed against me on my mind, as was the case last night. I have been discussing the crimes of big stars with my music here consistently for the last eight years. Blue Rodeo's is the most recent, in posts like What Did Blue Rodeo Steal? and What I Heard about Blue Rodeo. Madonna is mentioned in the Stars They Support, What Happened at Nasco, and Madonna Went to Prison. I talked about Seal in Ghoul and To Be Like Seal and Steal. I discussed Nickleback in Diamondback and Facing Truth Alone. I talked about AC/DC in Wrong as a Life Crime. I talked about Beyonce in Under Whose Umbrella and More About Beyonce. I alluded to Dwight Yoakum in Together Against. I complained about Coldplay in Do I Exist? I complained about Oasis and the Rolling Stones in I Don't Want to Be Oasis. I complained about Taylor Swift in Happy Canada Day Taylor. I exposed the Shards as frauds in Virtue Lyrics Quiz and complained about their appearance in 2007 on the Tonight Show in the YouTube description of my live video for that song. And as far as I know, all of the music I reclaimed from these bums has been removed from the radio playlists, just as all the scripts I reclaimed here have been removed from the TV's schedule. And after all that, Vancouver Police, I still wound up in this very library just a few days ago, falling prey to some chunky whore with the brutal face of a prison guard and her God damn cellphone (was it provided by Telus mobility?) as she gleefully showed the vipers who occupied the seats around me how she paralyzed twenty-five percent of this account's file structure with a blocking program called 'K-9' that blocked out my lyrics index and falsely accused my good music of being suspicious. (I've amended my profile information to alert you to any future assaults of this nature.) And does no one but me think that the TV and radio are suspicious? It deeply hurt me to see the force of years and years of my honest labor neutralized by a mere couple of clicks on a stupid software program. Do you believe in the work ethic out there? Do the majority of you agree that we are saved by hard work and thrift? If you do, then why are the copying and pasting shortcuts of online scoundrels rewarded by corporations for years and years of my honest labor? Seems to me that I am only ever damned by my hard work and I'm doubtful that I will survive under these outrageous conditions to gain anything from my thrift. I won't bother to ask the name of this latest assailant. I don't know any of their names, do I? I don't get to find out their names until they've been on the TV or the radio for a few years with my property, telling everyone I'm a monster. But they all know my name, don't they, Vancouver Police. Yes, these vicious assailants all know my name and face and I don't know any of them. Why didn't YouTube warn me of this before I shared my music with them ten years ago? See the way to get ahead in our society? Don't try to improve yourself, hurt me! Hurt me if I'm a better author and that way you can lower the general standard to your level and be a star! My friend said that God forgives artists for committing suicide. I believe him. And I also think that when God forgives an artist's suicide, He damns the ones who drove him to it. 12:00pm: I'm at the central library branch now, across from CBC, and I see that they're having some kind of outdoor event there. Why isn't anyone picketing them with signs that say CBC BREEDS FRAUD or CBC LIES TO CHILDREN or CBC CHEATS ARTISTS? Am I supposed to do that all by myself? On top of posting all these copyright claims? I know you're all reading my posts. Do you just read them so you can ignore them? When I weigh my superhuman, solitary struggle against the effortless copying and pasting and lying of the army of frauds who were rewarded so richly for my work, I hear the voice of my deceased friend telling me, David, kill yourself. I'm still doing without my nicotine and marijuana. This is my sixth week without a puff. Smoking was my only serious vice and I seem to have overcome it. I am always struggling to improve myself because I know I am far from perfect. When I think of how arrogant and corrupt these monsters are who stole my work and how they were presented to you as heavenly angels or even as Christ, himself, while I, their victim, must still suffer from constant image assaults, I hear the voice of my old friend telling me, David, kill yourself. Wow, I could sure use a vacation. Of course, I must stay online practically twenty-four hours a day to defend myself from backstabbing copyright infringements and character assassinations. Even under my constant attention, this account stills fall prey to crippling malice like that described in the third paragraph above. And what did those comedians and bands do after the broadcasters told you all that they wrote my songs and blogs? Did they have to spend all their time defending themselves like I've had to do ever since I first shared them on the internet? Who called me an idiot in 2010 for erasing my accounts in 2007? Gee, look at what I get now for keeping them all online in my name! When I think about it, I hear the voice of my late friend saying, David, kill yourself. And people find me funny when I scream in pain from this endless cruelty. Then they pay comedians to pass it all off to them as comedy when it's my suffering life. When are they going to tie me up and get some real laughs? That seems to be all I can look forward to if I don't heed my late talented friend's advice. Well, I guess I better add those statements to my index now. That way that mean bitch can block them out along with all the other thousands I've posted here by just zeroing in on one page. (She should be turned into a big star for that, right CBC?) Then I'm going home to take a nap because I barely slept a wink last night from all this intense abuse I'm always telling you about. And with any luck, I won't wake up. Maybe they'll copy and paste this page somewhere else to confuse you while I do that. After all, it's their only real talent. 5:53pm: I woke up in this world again. Too bad. On the way home from the library earlier I heard a voice say that I showed them that he stinks. I wonder if it was telling me about some ass of a backstabbing comedian who still wants to cash in on my pain when I don't even know him. I'm sure you'd have the good taste to reject him, as long as you knew what he was really up to. You can't trust the broadcasters to share your taste, though, I'm afraid. They love their treachery. They hope you will laugh now as they have been laughing at me all along, gaining pleasure from the destruction of an artist by his own work in the hands of thugs. They want you to cheer for the rich predator swooping down and slicing open the poor innocent victim on the ground. Don't expect their comedians to be good. And don't expect the radio to suddenly fill up with great music from bands who up to now were bumped out to make room for hours of my songs on its playlists. Cheering for them now is like telling broadcasters that it is they who hand out the talent and not God Almighty. You oughtn't to do that; they already believe it enough without you. 6:13pm: I better get the hell out of here now. Vancouver Police, a guy in a black t-shirt is really causing a distraction beside me as I try to work here at the Strathcona branch. I think he's on meth or something. If you want to know about that site blocker with the cellphone, I mentioned her in my 2:35pm entry of my earlier post to this blog entitled Poor Sportsmanship.
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More than a Weakling

I'm not sure if I heard right last night that someone was 'taking apart' my laughs, but I don't need to be funny, so I don't really care. If you depend on my comedy, you should care, but I only shared it because I sensed a demand for it. Whoever is doing this is the one who needs to be funny and whose own comedy isn't funny enough without first attacking and diminishing my comedy. After my experience, I think we should exterminate all people who need to be funny, and I'm not saying it for a laugh. The broadcasters' cowardly aversion to reality is apparent in their shunning of my existence, following my widely visible repossession of vast portions of their programming schedules in this account over the last eight years. If only they could get those juvenile delinquents to ignore me as thoroughly as they do, it would make my life a lot easier. And why are these youths obsessed with me when the TV and radio treats me like a nonentity? Probably because I'm a very large presence in their world, in spite of being ignored by broadcasters. And if I'm popularly admired for my intellect in scholastic circles (I'm only hypothesizing here) it would make me hated by the intellectually insecure deviants among them. Why must I still face this kind of hostility when I'm old enough to be their teachers' father? In my poem the Cocoon I depict reality as a terrifying monster. Reality makes cowards of us all, in one way or another. We think we are better off by shielding ourselves from it, but this only feeds the monster and makes its impact even more destructive. The bravest among us confront such terrible realities and struggle to abide by them with uncomfortable compromises. The weakest bury their heads in the sand of commercial broadcasts that tell us all is well, letting corporations dictate every artificial step of their behavior, in order to secure a cozy place for themselves in the mainstream. Broadcasters are the greatest cowards among us because they do not merely fear reality but actively oppose it. The mind altering signals put out by their great transmitters spread their fanciful illusions worldwide, as though to reinvent reality to fit within the confines of their tidy, corporate mindset. Their cowardice combines with arrogance and deception to make something far more evil, for which no word yet exists in our language. They live entirely within appearances and consider themselves the authors of our reality. Thus their greatest fear is to appear otherwise. 12:40pm: Let me digress for a moment to report that I am still a non-smoker. I no longer smoke and I do not miss smoking. My health has improved immensely, with my sexual functionality perhaps receiving the greatest restoration. At the risk of being funny, I should say that my reproductive organ is ready to compete with Olympic archers. You may even move the target back. I'm sure I'm not alone in finding the deception of commercial broadcasts harmful. Bad information like theirs impairs brain function. If they must spoon feed our information to us like this, can't they at least keep it accurate? They're already doing enough harm by supplanting the mental exercise of reading that might otherwise keep our brains fit. Indeed, the physiological effect of prolonged mental dormancy is a literal atrophy of the brain, a condition from which there is no chance of recovery. Would broadcasters damage our brains to make us easier to commercially exploit? I often find their illusions insulting to my intelligence, most notably those which depict aging stars like Goldie Hawn and the Rolling Stones as being young. Apparently their stars fear being old. I think I'd find this even more insulting if I were young because I would see it as a trick to gain my confidence. As I am, I find my advancing age to be an improvement, since it forces me to live more responsibly, and I have no intention of ever pretending to be young when I'm not, so I think Goldie Hawn and the Rolling Stones are fools. I plan to grow old with dignity and accept the limits it imposes on me with grace. And if some nubile woman still wants to sit on my lap for a thrill, let her be the pervert for it! (Sorry, I hope that wasn't funny.) 2:02pm: Nubile women, you know I love you and I would only call you a pervert in a playful, loving way. And did any of you give your knickers to the grandfather aged Keith Richards out of gratitude for my music in the last few years, so he could boast about it on YouTube? I think his little joke of giving his guitar a smoke is extremely obsolete now, myself. What a fool. And would anyone be trying to suddenly make me look like a hormone for talking about my improved health that comes from quitting smoking? I would have thought I deserved kudos for quitting, compared to Mister Nicotine boasting about his share of knickers when he's more than two decades my senior. So why don't you ask these web zanies the following, who wrote these songs and who wrote these poems and who wrote these scripts and who drew these cartoons? Ask them why they're not on the TV and radio anymore and then ask them why they need to make fun of the badly victimized author of these works. That might shoot down their stupid joke. If you do that for me, thank you very much. Don't worry, I don't need your knickers for my music as much as Keith Richards does. 3:15pm: Well, I'm back to my unbearably sour state that I guess I'm supposed to stay in at all times. After all, see what happens when I step out for even a brief moment of levity? It calls to mind another harmful effect of broadcasters' cowardice: the destruction of artists and poets. Artists and poets possess special insights which tend to conflict with commercial trends. As an artist who suffers along these lines, I used to be able to share this burden with others like myself. Now they are gone, two of them by suicide. The last one left a note apologizing for being weak and asking me for forgiveness. If any broadcasters are reading this, I might ask them why a good artist like that needs superhuman strength to simply be himself. While we all fear death, we may have a lot more reason to fear it if we toe the corporate line to swallow slogans such as those which praise the saving grace of money. Such reckless misguidance might cost us our souls. It might also be apt to mention how evil frauds have been rewarded by the TV and radio while yours truly, their victim, continues to suffer isolation and social rejection. Maybe the final reality feared by corporate broadcasters awaits them, their stars, and their subscribers in the fiery furnace of hell. 3:56pm: WHO BLOCKED MY LYRICS INDEX? WHO BLOCKED MY LYRICS INDEX? WHO THE HELL BLOCKED MY LYRICS INDEX? VANCOUVER POLICE, WHO BLOCKED MY LYRICS INDEX? VANCOUVER POLICE, WHO BLOCKED MY LYRICS INDEX? VANCOUVER POLICE, WHO BLOCKED MY LYRICS INDEX? IS IT ONLY BLOCKED ON THIS COMPUTER OR IS IT BLOCKED ON THE WHOLE WEB? I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW WHY I RECEIVE A K-9 ALERT ON MY COMPUTER IN THIS STORE WHEN I CLICK THE LINK TO MY LYRICS INDEX WHERE IT SAYS 'SONGS' IN THE ABOVE PARAGRAPH. DO THE VANCOUVER POLICE KNOW WHO MIGHT BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS CRIME AGAINST MY FILE STRUCTURE? WOULD IT BE SOME COWARD WHO MUST RESORT TO TREACHERY TO SUPPORT HIS FILTHY LIE ABOUT HIS CRIME VICTIM? 4:35pm: It looks like my lyrics index is back. That really upsets me when these criminals block out my links like that, but I guess I straightened it out with a direct message to K-9. Time to go home now and soothe my frazzled nerves. Good thing the liquor store is right across the street. 6:52pm: I see no interference with my links to my indexes at the public library system. The public library system is always reliable. But who would suddenly have a motive for blocking my music index from my web page visitors after three uninterrupted years of it being on the internet? Have I said anything lately to diminish the appeal of any new bands? Check my web posts from the last couple of days to answer this question.
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Folly's Fallout

I've had so much experience with the evil of broadcasters that I bet I could write a post a day covering a different aspect of it for the rest of my time on earth. As it is, I'll just stay on the topic to pass the time and defend myself, as I save the money I need to leave this cruel place and embark on my musical career. We are wrong to think of a fool as a harmless clown. Perhaps this error comes from watching too many cartoons featuring lovable bumbling oafs. In fact, a fool is evil, for a fool has not stuff in him to be good, as wrote La Rochefoucauld. I have already stated in past posts that it takes brains to be moral; a moral person is a thinking person is how I put it. Sound moral judgement demands intellect and wisdom, while lack of intelligence calls for treachery. I've even written verses to express this point, such as the third verse of 2014's Cheater Cheater. I looked up the definition of the word fool in my computer's dictionary this morning - one of my favorite programs, by the way. A fool is a person who acts unwisely. I think broadcasters have made fools of themselves in how they treat talent, with evil consequences for the whole population. The chief folly of broadcasters, with respect to talent, as I see it, is to have presumed that they are authorities on talent when, in fact, they know nothing about talent. Talent is rare. Have the stars who stole my poems come up with any good rhyming verses of their own yet? Have they been able to pay a poet to provide them with verses of the same quality as the ones they stole from me? Did any of the newsroom writers who rhymed their news reports to mock me in 2007 dream up some new tomes like mine to help keep their comedy stars rhyming? If the broadcasters had realized that my authoring skills were rare in 2007, they'd have foreseen how a noticeable gap in their programming would grow from my authoring claims in the present. Talent is aesthetic. When did I author Linger and Orbit and Mayhem and Meat Hooks? Didn't I write these songs after someone else got paid for my first round of songs? Why did I bother to put so much effort into authoring new songs after someone else got paid for my old songs? Because I care more about beauty than I do about profits. If the broadcasters understood talent, they'd not have expected their fraud to deter me from authoring new work that might embarrass them. Talent is sexy. Before broadcasters came along and lied to the world about who wrote all my songs and blogs, I stood alone as an outstanding artist in my classroom. With no one to confuse them about who drew my drawings or who wrote my stories, the girls let me know they were attracted to me. And I wasn't very physically attractive with my broken tooth and my pimples and my funny clothes, but they just liked my talent. But broadcasters still want to credit their bullshitting cameras and dismiss my talent's appeal for the sexual successes of stars that stole my work. Talent is bestowed by nature, not by class. The broadcasters who so vehemently oppose my stardom are bigots. They think that I am unfit for fame and fortune because I am not in their exclusive club. They think talent comes from going to parties and meeting the right people. With this attitude, they stand to destroy your gifted child if you're not wealthy. Talent is sensitive. My work is more from my heart than anywhere else. Broadcasters look for it in my brain and want to think of my songs and jokes as impassive algorithms when they are essentially my love. And this love was first answered by fan love around the world. Since then, these crowds of fans have had their hearts broken by broadcasters who overlooked talent's sensitivity. Last on this incomplete list, talent is protected. While an artist like me cannot save himself from suicide, he is certainly protected from murder. I submit my own survival against whole legions of evil industry people as proof of the supreme power of copyright protection. And this protection does not make class distinctions, as do the snobs of the media. This power drags stars right out of their limousines and takes them away to jail or prison. It acts strictly according to copyright ownership, regardless of class or wealth. This is very good news for most of us, but deeply disturbing to the snobs of the corporate media. If broadcasters understood talent, they'd have been too afraid to violate my work and image. 2:00pm: I've had some time to feel the impact of this last note, in order to close it with an appropriate thought. Here is what I have to say: If you're a fraud and you don't know how to construct a solid argument to counter this, you'll probably need to resort to some kind of treachery, like lying about my dick. And if you're a fraud and you don't know how to write a hit song or how to write a good poem or how to write a good comedy script, you'll probably need to resort to some sort of treachery to tarnish my image, like lying about my dick. And that's why my dick is being lied about right now, and one day, sooner than you think, someone will knock your teeth down your throat for telling your nasty lie. As for myself, I don't need to lie about anyone's dick because I know how to construct arguments and write poems and write songs and write comedy scripts and draw cartoons. 4:06pm: We do we save slimy degenerates from drug overdoses and let brutalized authors get thrown to the dogs? All those criminal creeps who plagiarized me were safely locked up in 2007 until I erased my online accounts. Then they were released from confinement to stab me with their damn syringe. So much for heroism. Heroin seems to matter more around here. 5:18pm: I've added a few more links above to help support this argument. And don't worry, I'll finance my real music if the industry only wants to push their pets on us. 7:50pm: I thought of another aspect of talent that broadcasters don't seem to know, talent is intellectual. While a song may come from the heart, intellect is required to refine it into a pleasing work. That may be why music and literature is called intellectual property. And to put my intellectual property into the hands of cretins as they did is, I think, utterly ruinous. Broadcasters, these fans of your trendy new four-letter pet bands, like DUMM, are pretty handy with a spray can, eh? Do you also agree with their genocidal policy towards squirrels and crows? That's what I get for drawing and posting cartoons, right? I just want you to know the kind of people who are on your side. I heard they're still laughing on the way here. They must have sniffed some good glue.
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Poor Sportsmanship?

I was thinking this morning about my childhood and how my talent was overlooked by my parents and siblings. Their dismissals led me to think that my gifts were ordinary, which is why I initially felt no need to conceal them from the world. And then look what happened. And does anyone fault me for not concealing my abilities better? Since then, what have I got for sharing my work on the web? Look through my statements and see for yourself. The most recent thing I can think of is being compared to OJ Simpson by a cashier at the Crosstown Liquor Store - on Abbott Street next to the 7/11 - where her workmate likes to cheer for Nickleback in my presence. That's what I got for authoring and sharing songs like Fool's Paradise and Nonchalant. But what did Nickleback get for stealing them from me? And does Nickleback also draw their own comic strip? If they did, I wonder if they would have to hear a put-down from the classroom clods such as the ones who thought my Walter the Street Squirrel/Episode 6/Altered Fates was disturbing. Who stole it when I first shared it in 2007 and what did they get for it? Back in 2010, after enduring three years of the most brutal hate since the Holocaust, I rewrote and shared my song Size. Not only was I screamed at to take it down, the authorities paid me a visit and almost threw me in jail for it. What did the Crystalids get for stealing it? And what did they get for all the other dozens of songs they stole from me? And what year is it now? Oh, yeah, 2017. My parents and siblings can be excused for overlooking my talent. A normal family doesn't see anything extraordinary about any of its members. Commercial broadcasters, however, knew that my impact on the web was phenomenal from the very outset, and instead of helping me, they have dedicated themselves to my destruction, all the way to the present. These people hate my artistic guts. Who gave them their influential jobs, so that they could get the whole population to reject an artist, no matter how much his work is loved? My guess is that it is the king of talent haters. The kind of brutality I see being directed against artists in our society tells me that the person on top of it all hates artists with a passion. Could it be someone who is rich and disagrees with God's inequality? Could it be a rich person who believes it unjust for a poor man to have more talent than he does? If so, this person might be a rich investor, but he is a very poor sport. 10:45am: This policy of officially rejecting popular artists causes a most troublesome reality gap for some people. Leading up to the ridiculous stunt pulled by rogue 'crew' members, some of whom apparently live as my neighbors here, I started listening to my recordings out loud in my room for a week or so. (I've capitalized the titles of my most listened to songs in my lyrics index.) This crew's fondest memories are all wrapped up in parties with the stars who stole my songs and blogs, and now, like their overseers in the corporate media, they cannot face the reality of my ownership. When I want to enjoy my recordings out loud, it makes them groan in pain and want to stick their heads in the sand to avoid the terrible reality of my talent, which may have driven them to such a desperate, transparent image assault outside my front door as what had my other neighbors again wrongly thinking I'd been thrown in jail for a short time. So now I've returned to listening to my songs with headphones. Most people out there like my recordings. They enjoyed my work from the beginning, or these fraud stars wouldn't have needed to steal it all. To attack me with copyright violations and character assassinations is to attack everyone who enjoys my work. Who's calling me a twit today? Can someone check my Twitocracy script and see if it has been illegally copied and pasted elsewhere? I have new comedy scripts which are much funnier than anything in We're All Dying, as well as very promising new recordings, but 'my' enemies don't want you to enjoy them. They force me to keep my new inspirations to myself and to avoid developing them until I can get a credit card. 1:45pm: Freed convicts of Vancouver, you won't get me to make the world hear your vicious voice by what you try to push past my earplugs when you pass me in the street anymore. There should be a restraining order against you prohibiting you from being within half a mile of me. You take your remarks directly to the public like I do and see how far your popularity takes you. Good luck. 2:55pm: As I typed in the preceding paragraph, it looked like I was surrounded by ex Nasco workers. I'm glad to have finally quit smoking and started to really save my money because I never meet anyone helpful here. Instead I am surrounded by crew people of the type I describe in my Tunesmith poem. They're the kind of people who might owe Nickleback a favor or something. They end up living in the house next door or in the room down the hall. They get jobs serving meals in the soup lines or as cashiers in the stores. They surround me when I'm in the library, where I can smell the stench of the things they are posting against me online. They stand in front of me in the soup line and call me names. They greet me with put-downs as they pass me in the street. They get together to stage image assaults at my front door while I lay unconscious in my bed. They seem to be everywhere here but in jail where they belong. And look at the twenty-year-long trail of fraud with my works that marks their legacy. When I was in the hostel in Ottawa in 2013, I looked out my dorm window on my second night and saw cops beating the shit out of these kinds of degenerates in the street. As for the efforts of the Vancouver Police, they seem more likely to inspire my next cartoon, which will probably be twice as popular as their TV show. How else will I able to prove I draw my own cartoons here? And just in case you missed my last amendment to yesterday's post, here it is again. I think it states my point rather well: 8:20pm: (July 7, 2017) Crazy or not, I'd be in prison if I were lying about my copyright ownership of my work; I'd be in prison and this whole account would be erased. Instead, what shows and stars have disappeared from the TV and radio since I shared my claims online? What happened to the hit songs on the radio that I said I wrote? What happened to all the repeat TV broadcasts which resembled my content? And what would a bunch of treacherous, fraud supporting broadcasters tell you now to save their skins? Perhaps you already know. Anyway, I'm sure I won't be flipping out in my room anymore, as long as I abandon my career designs to devote myself entirely to defending myself from violations of my work and image on the internet. And don't bother to try to shame me for not having a girlfriend because I'm fifty-one years old and no longer ruled by my hormones. Besides, I think single people are more interesting than couples. Couples talk about their partners too much.
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