Monthly Archives: May 2011

Visitations

Salvador Dali and Françoise Hardy

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Joyeux Anniversaire Grace Jones

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Instruments of The Devil

Rock and roll music is used by Satan in deception. People are led astray and they will no longer respond to the Bible. These people become distant from God, worldly, and immune to Scriptural correction. They become obsessed with their love of Satan’s music and will defend it unto the destruction of their souls! Rock and roll rebels develop a type of rebellion in their hearts. Do not be deceived by Satan’s rock music! If you are a pastor then get it out of your church immediately (before you are judged for harming God’s people). If you attend a rock and roll church then get out now! Be assured that the Lord left that church long ago.

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Go Greyhound and Leave Your Head With Us

Tim Mclean, having just wrapped up a seven week run working a carnival in Edmonton, called his girlfriend Alexandra Storey a little after midnight on July 30, 2008 that he was on his way home to Manitoba and then settled in for the 850 mile bus trip. He sent her dozens of texts as the Greyhound he was riding made its way east to Winnipeg from Edmonton that Wednesday.He sent her playful photos of his tattoos including his newest, a cursive script across his stomach saying “Wanna Play” , a reference to the game booths he ran at the fair. He told her that other passengers on the bus were taking ecstasy and he was counting down the hours by sending a new text at every town he passed.  It was from Brandon, Manitoba, some time before 8 p.m. that he sent the longest flurry of texts, she said. He planned to go see his father, collect his pet iguana from a friend and wanted to visit Ms. Storey later that night. In his last message, Mr. McLean said his phone was dying and he was going to charge it when he got to Portage la Prairie.

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Thief’s Journal

Flowers bedeck the fragility of the convict and I garlanded myself, lovingly pursuing a journey through sweat, sperm and blood that led to prison. Without what people call my evil, I am castrated. Un petit-bourgeois rien. There was a moral vigour in the acceptance of my destiny. I was hot for crime.

I give the name violence to a noble boldness that hankers for danger, and I have seen it in many of the pimps and thieves I have worked with, men whose authority and beatific treachery bent me to their will. Rene, Stilitano, Guy … I could describe them, but I won’t. I am too much of a literary outlaw for that. Instead, let me take you back to the Barrios in 1932, where I used to jerk myself off into a sperm-spotted handkerchief, while thinking of my mother.

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