Saturday, August 1, 2026

Epstein Probably Killed Himself

 




I may well be the one free-thinking dude, wily of imagination, who thinks that Jeffery Epstein probably killed himself. It’s not actually complicated at all. This man was almost certainly at least at one time an intelligence agent specializing in high-level extortion and his life intersected increasingly publicly with both politics and organized crime. Ironically, I believe that one of the things they did on his gross and weirdly public island, aside from having sex with underaged girls, was watch seriously fucked-up surveillance footage from around the globe. In Japan, a man like that who has been arrested and placed in a temporary holding cell would be full-on obligated to kill himself or there would be red hot hell to pay later, not too far down the road, and no damn ambiguity about it. The situation was more or less the same for Epstein, who was being held in the Metropolitan Correctional Center in lower Manhattan. He had not yet been tried and was therefore not in a prison. What he thought his immediate future might look like is anybody’s guess, but he knew it would be worse than death by hanging, which is definitely no picnic (it’s not like in olden times where they’d drop you from a plank and your neck would immediately break). The only people in a position to kill him and hang him up afterward would be the staff. It’s hard to do something like that without breaking limbs and leaving marks, and the staff at the Metropolitan Correctional Center aren’t trained to do that and definitely aren’t fucking paid nearly enough to do something so foolhardy even if able. To sneak professionals in to carry out the hit and then sneak them out again is not the kind of gamble lowly jailers would be inclined to participate in and no evil mastermind would be inclined to petition them to do that, because it's dicey as hell. Most people who work in corrections, as I’ve already argued, are underpaid and disgruntled. The United States has a lot of prisons and jails that are above capacity and no other nation on earth comes even close. However, these are underfunded institutions in the extreme. Some conspiratorially-minded folks are inclined to claim that because certain surveillance/security cameras were out of commission this points to cover-up and tampering. Simply Google it and you will see that the security camera industry estimates that 10% to 30% of the world’s surveillance cameras are non-functional at any given time due to “hardware failure, power loss, or lack of maintenance.” You may recall that the fact that cameras weren’t working in the Pont de l’Alma tunnel in Paris when Princess Dianna died in a car wreck led to all manner of gonzo conspiratorial conjecture, when the main cause of the accident was simple and easily verifiable: her driver was speeding and intoxicated.   







Friday, July 31, 2026

My New Chantal Akerman Fridge Magnet







Another Triumph for Humanitarianism!



Merzbow, Pulse Demon [Full Album]





My Two Favourite Merzbow Records Are Both from 1996!







Thursday, July 30, 2026

Top Ten Robert Coover Novels

 

Robert Coover is my favourite American writer of all time by a considerable margin. Here are my ten faves from among his twenty-one novels. The dear gus died in October of 2024 and I'm bummed I never got to confabulate with this most esteemed of elders in person. Heh heh, you can tell they're 'postmodern' just by looking at the titles. 😄 



















Wednesday, July 29, 2026

Walk and Talk With Me


If it's all so fucking futile, what the fuck are you so fucking upset about, fuckhead?
- Eric Bogosian, SubUrbia 






The Social Network (David Fincher, 2010)


Steve Jobs (Danny Boyle, 2015)


Molly's Game (Aaron Sorkin, 2017)





Hasil Adkins, "Walk and Talk With Me"







Three Superlative Beatles Covers [in Chronological Order]

 

The Supremes, "Can't Buy Me Love"


Ike & Tina Turner, "Get Back"


Bill Frisell, "Strawberry Fields Forever"



A Selfie and a Song and Then a Shelfie

 

Full grown, get down
I need a full grown woman
- Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, "Full Grown"

There is more. A lesbian travel agent in Saint Tropez has been questioned about her alleged intimacy with Madame Pompidou.
- Edward Chisholm, Murder in Paris '68: A True Story of Death and Glamour






Jon Spencer Blues Explosion & Dub Narcotic Sound System
"Fudgy the Whale"








* Both Charles de Gaulle and Dylan Thomas died on my birthday!




Tuesday, July 28, 2026

A Sermon from Erlton

 





Today I have gathered you together, the anointed and the garlanded, in the hopes that God may not trespass against us, hoping to divine all those precious artifacts that we might carry with us like the ancient pharaohs to whatever awaits us on that others shore…the one pronounced and promised in the bluegrass music of old Kentucky. I am the sermonizer and I carry along with me nothing remotely resembling wrath. I am an imperfect man searching not for perfection but rather hoping against all odds to become better at being imperfect right here and right now because that’s all we got. In his sermon on the mount, God advises us through his embodied son to be more like the bird of the air and the lily of the field. The hereditarily doomed German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche is saying the same thing when he advises us in near-desperation to prioritize ethology over ethics. When you don’t understand something just ask. What ethology means for Nietzsche is very close to what Deleuze and Guattari mean when they talk about becoming-animal, which is to say that ethology means natural creatural behaviour without subordination to higher human values but with survival and coexistence still in mind. “Freud described three great historical wounds to the primary narcissism of the self-centered human subject, who tries to hold panic at bay by the fantasy of human exceptionalism,” admonishes Donna Haraway. The three wounds are the Copernican wound, the Darwinian wound, and ultimately the Freudian one. The Jewish and Viennese Dr. Freud was not above a certain amount of equivocal self-laceration. In the 21st century, to look at what we’ve done to the earth and persist in believing in our exceptionalism is both monomaniacal and a crime.


The quickest way to reach God is to look within. You are made of the same subatomic building blocks as everything else. God and the devil are the same thing; sensorial life is polarized. To take care of yourself and look after your body is to fend off angels and demons. You don’t want angels and demons crawling flickeringly through your windows, believe you me. Tibetan Tulpa and Haitian Loa and the Great What-Have-You. Romantic Angelicate, Closed Circuit, Secret Gnosis of the Central Nervous System's Basic Operational Polarity. What is time? You’re too terrified to even really ask. Time is three cherries on all the slot machines at once and they suddenly blow their top, like in Twin Peaks: The Return. The owls are not what they seem. Little birds chirp in order to mock us; owls arrive with the full force of God-sanctioned death. Your are no more than an enabling formal vessel like a puppet and you do not yet have any idea what kind of damage can be done to you remotely. Memory orbits around itself and it is impossible not to get dizzy; you can only stand on two feet for so long. I plead with you not to let your relationship with God grow toxic. You do not want to become one of the malefactors of eternity. “You pushed forward even while pieces of you were falling away ravaged and bleeding,” writes Paul West, “and you did not bother signing your name to your life…” Indeed it is the person’s name, the proper noun itself, which prevents that person from apprehending the greater world.


The other shore is the contravening non-side of all theoretical sides that might be taken or adopted. A distorted consonance of sides and a constitutive differential of alliance. The side of Eve is the side of life. Death’s side is the pigpen, mortuary of mud and shit. The slow and stupefied suicide of the human race turns power into a verb and the earth into a rendering plant. There is a real divine mandate that is hopelessly obscure to us. Any triumph of livingness over death would have to strip this world of the sociopathic reign of the human individual. It is impossible for us now to imagine a utopia that isn’t despoiled from without or within. Let us pray. All clarity is a true clarity we would rather not possess. You are not made to meet it without suffering, your joints and sockets and their errant carpentry. All of the current models are horribly compromised, new models are needed. My humble advise is to sit in a pasture and read indefinitely.





Eric Dolphy, "Eclipse"