Thursday, March 26, 2015

Put on Your Tin Foil Hats, Folks!


What the bloody hell is this? Is this guy, Miles Mathis for real, or is he a brilliant satirist? This, his post about Bod Dylan is very long, but made me laugh and want to throw up at same time. I found this on Google+, where it led to WorldTruth.Tv.

Some readers apparently believe I enjoy yanking the rug out from under anything and everything, but the truth is these papers are as hard for me to write as they are for you to read. Although I do enjoy learning the truth—whatever form it may take—that doesn’t make the loss any easier. I grew up in the same world you did and took as gospel most of things you did. Despite my recent paper on the Beatles, I still own—on vintage vinyl—most of their records. I also own several of Dylan’s early records. I thought a lot of the lyrics were brilliant and I still do. I no longer believe Dylan wrote them, but that doesn’t change my opinion of the lyrics. His early performances are also often very good, and nothing will take that from him. I will show you a lot of leading evidence here, but none of it leads us to the idea he lip-synced. What would be the point of that? Like John Lennon and T. S. Eliot and some of the others I have exposed, Dylan was not without talent. But also like them, he is not who you thought he was.
The latest clues we have of that are very recent, and rather than start at the beginning, I will start at the end, with them. In 2012, Dylan was given a medal by President Obama. He accepted it with a grin. The Dylan we were sold in the 60’s wouldn’t have done that. You will say that he got old and lost his ideals, and I wish that were so. It isn’t. He is the same person now he always was, he just lost his pretty face and his lyricists. The same can be said of Joan Baez, pictured above. She is still an Obama supporter. She has kept up the fake-liberal façade a lot better than Bob, but she is the same person she was back then. That is to say, a controller of the opposition. A phony. An actor. A person hired to play a part.
Even more recently, Dylan has been doing Chrysler commercials. Don’t blame me for tearing out your heart with this paper, when your heart should have already been bled dry by watching those commercials. It is sort of like watching Gandhi as the spokesman for Monsanto, or Martin Luther King schlepping pharmaceuticals for Pfizer.
B4INREMOTE-aHR0cDovL3d3dy56ZW5nYXJkbmVyLmNvbS93cC1jb250ZW50L3VwbG9hZHMvZHlsYW4tY2hyeXNsZXItZmVhdHVyZWQuanBn
But let’s go back to the beginning, when Dylan was supposed to be the voice of his generation. Once again, the evidence is pretty easy to compile. As usual, Wikipedia—which you would expect to be totally whitewashed—is full of red flags. All you have to do is open your eyes. Most people know Dylan was born Robert Zimmerman, to a prominent Jewish family in Duluth, Minnesota. Most don’t realize how prominent they really were. I didn’t know until recently, when I read that his “uncles and great grandfather owned movie theaters around Hibbing.” With more research, that fact grew:
His great-grandfather and uncles owned the biggest movie theaters in Hibbing, Minnesota, allowing a young Dylan to watch films for free.
Hibbing had a population of only 17,000 in 1960, so maybe that still isn’t saying much. But it isn’t the size that is the first red flag, it is the business. They were Jews in the movie business. No, they weren’t making the movies in Hollywood (as far as we know), but they were still selling fiction. One of the fictions they are still selling is the one above, about Dylan’s great-grandfather. The lie can be spotted by any clear eye at Wikipedia, where they also tell us
Dylan’s paternal grandparents, Zigman and Anna Zimmerman, emigrated from Odessa in the Russian Empire now Ukraine, to the United States following anti-Semitic pogroms of 1905.[6] His maternal grandparents, Ben and Florence Stone, were Lithuanian Jews who arrived in the United States in 1902.
Do you see it? His four grandparents didn’t arrive in the US until 1902 and 1905, so his great- grandparents must have been back in Odessa and Lithuania. And yet 55 years later, his great- grandfather is supposed to co-own movie theaters in Hibbing? We are told that Zigman Zimmerman was born in 1875, so his father would have been born around 1855. That would make him 100 years old in 1955. The dates don’t work.
You will say the great-grandfather in question was on the other side, but the dates don’t work there, either. You can see that generation is too old to have owned anything when Bob was old enough to be going to movies. It was B. H. Edelstein who was supposed to own the theater, but he should have been almost as old as Zigman’s father. Bob’s mother Beatty was born in 1915, so she was 26 when Bob was born—not young for the time. She was just four years younger than Bob’s father, who was born in 1911. So if we put Zigman’s father’s birth at 1855, we can put B. H.’s birth at around 1860. The dates simply don’t work. My great-grandfather might have still owned a business in the 1950’s, but Bob Dylan is 22 years older than I am. My guess is they are trying to downplay the Zimmerman holdings and influence in that part of Minnesota by moving it back a couple of generations and telling you only a partial truth. Given Dylan’s career, it is clear the Zimmerman’s were extraordinarily well-connected, and not just in Hibbing or Duluth. They had already created Bob’s welcome in New York long before he got there.
Before we move on to the big cities, let’s look a little closer at Hibbing. A list of prominent people from Hibbing throws up some real head-scratchers, including Vincent Bugliosi, Bruce Carlson, Gus Hall, and Chi Chi LaRue. Gus Hall is the former leader of the US Communist Party. If you want to know why I see that as a red flag here, consult this recent paper, which exposes Marx himself as an early Intelligence asset. Bruce Carlson is a 4-star general and director of the NRO. The NRO is one of the big-5 Intelligence agencies, along with CIA, DIA, NSA and NGA. Carlson is also one of the heads of the Mormon Church. And of course Vincent Bugliosi was the attorney who prosecuted Charles Manson—who we now know was just an actor. [If you haven’t read those linked papers, you won’t get far into this one. Read them, come back to this one, and you will feel differently than you do right now.]
So some strange things appear to be coming out of Hibbing. We find more strange things from the Zimmermans. Bob’s father Abe worked for Standard Oil. That is Rockefellers, of course. You will say, “So what, maybe that means he owned a gas station.” No, we are told he was management level by 1941. Besides, any link to the Rockefellers is a red flag. I suggest this was the main link to New York City.
But let’s skip ahead a bit. In Bob’s highschool yearbook, next to his picture, it says, “To join Little Richard.” That’s curious phrasing. Not “To be the next Little Richard,” or something like that, but “To join Little Richard.” To join him in what? Wearing mascara? Being a drag queen? Remember, these phrases aren’t chosen by the kids themselves. They are chosen by the yearbook writers, who are usually making a joke. So the choice of Little Richard is both strange and telling. It appears his classmates knew something about Bob we didn’t and maybe still don’t. But even if we assume Bob wanted to “join Little Richard” in the ranks of famous musicians—as the phrase is usually read—the choice of Little Richard is still strange. As with the Bobby Vee connection a few months later, it doesn’t really make any sense. What did Dylan ever have in common with Little Richard or Bobby Vee? We can see the connection to Woody Guthrie, which we are sold in 1961, but Little Richard and BobbyVee? C’mon!
In 1959, Bob Dylan was 18 and Bobby Vee was 15. You should have a raft of questions at this point, like, “How does a 15-year-old boy from Fargo, North Dakota, sell a song to a record company, and then get a contract with the even larger Liberty Records in that same year?” Do you really think the record companies were that desperate for talent? Or do you think maybe Vee had some connections due to his family? Of course we aren’t told what those connections were (although I would bet good money someone in the Velline family {Bobby’s Vee’s real name} had married a Rockefeller or Vanderbilt or something). According to his official bio, Vee’s career started in 1959 when he was chosen to fill in for Buddy Holly, etc. on “the day the music died.” But that was in Moorhead, MI. Why would they choose a 15-year-old boy from Fargo to play in Moorhead, across state lines? Vee was a minor and couldn’t even get across state lines legally without someones help. He couldn’t drive himself, and anyone but his parents could be stopped for transporting a minor. Yet we are told Vee and his band volunteered to fill in, and were accepted. Is that at all believable? Age 15 isn’t even high school. That is middle school. This is a middle-school band filling in for Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper. Do you think the ticket holders would stand for that? We are told the gig was a success. Is that believable? Three major stars dead in a cornfield, and the show goes on with a middle school band? Who writes this stuff?
Want to hear something else weird? What did these middle school boys supposedly call themselves? The Shadows. Cue Twilight Zone music. Here are Vee’s own words on this, from the liner notes to his 1963 tribute album I Remember Buddy Holly:
About a week before this, I had just organized a vocal and instrumental group of five guys. Our style was modeled after Buddy’s approach and we had been rehearsing with Buddy’s hits in mind. When we heard the radio plea for talent, we went in and volunteered. We hadn’t even named the group up to that time, sowe gave ourselves a name on the spot, calling ourselves “The Shadows”.
What a lucky coincidence, right? A week before Buddy Holly dies in a plane crash near Fargo, ND, a group of middle school boys in Fargo, ND, start a Buddy Holly band and begin rehearsing his hits. Their lead singer memorizes all his lyrics in just one week, and when Holly dies, this 15 year old fills in for him at the local dance, becoming an overnight sensation. You may buy that, but I don’t. This is just a cover story for something underhanded, the least sinister of which is that some rich family used the Buddy Holly tragedy to promote their kids, and the most sinister of which is that they made it happen.
That was February of 1959. Before the year is out, Bobby Vee will have cut his own record—a Buddy Holly copy called “Suzie Baby”—sold it to a company capable of releasing it, and scored a hit with it. In that same year, he will be signed by an even larger record company, and will be touring. In that same year, Bob Dylan will play with the band in Minneapolis under the stage name Elston Gunnn.
You should not only ask yourself how Vee scored all that action as a 15-year-old boy in less than a year, but what the connection between Dylan and him was. Dylan was a rich Jewish boy just out of high school. Why was he chosen over all others to play keyboards with Vee? Liberty records didn’t know anyone else in Minneapolis/St. Paul who could play the keyboards?
And what is Elston Gunnn? Is that supposed to be clever? You should ask yourself this: does the cleverness of that stage name match in any way the cleverness of the person who wrote Shelter from the Storm or Like a Rolling Stone? The greatest folk lyricist in American music history starts out his career as El Stun Gun? That would be like finding out John Keats first choice as a nom de plume was Holden McGroin.
That name doesn’t match the later Dylan hagiography, but it does match other things Dylan was doing at the time. He spent a short time at the University of Minnesota, where he pledged Sigma Alpha Mu. Yes, Dylan was frat boy. Surprised? You shouldn’t be. It fits his medal acceptance from Obama in 2012. Dylan was never the rebel you thought he was. Rebels don’t pledge fraternities, it pretty much goes without saying.
Then we are fed the line about Dylan going to New York to visit his hero Woody Guthrie, who was in the hospital with Huntington’s disease. What we are never told is why Guthrie agreed to see him. Dylan was a college-dropout nobody. If you are a famous guy in hospital with a serious disease, do you want to see every stranger kid who knocks on the door? Does the hospital even allow it? I doubt it. And why would Ramblin’ Jack Elliott “befriend” Dylan? Elliott was already a famous guy in the folk music scene at the time, and Dylan was a 19-year-old nobody. I don’t care how talented you are, it doesn’t work that way. High school kids don’t just go to New York City and hook up with famous people. It doesn’t happen now and it didn’t happen then. You have to have some sort of entrée. You have to be introduced. In the bios, they always skip over that. You are expected to believe Dylan just met these guys in a coffeeshop or something and whipped out his harmonica, blowing them away with his soul. Again, it doesn’t work that way. They make you think these older guys are just sitting around stoops looking for new young talent. They aren’t. Older guys are normally trying to snuff young talent, since it is the young talent that will displace them. That is how the world really works. If Elliott was really promoting Dylan, it is because he was being paid to promote him. It appears Dylan had already been chosen as the front for a big enterprise at that time, and people like Elliott were simply used as cogs in that enterprise—to give it ballast and legitimacy. Elliott is also Jewish, the son of a wealthy New York surgeon, so it is not hard to find the first connection.
We see the same connection to Allen Ginsberg, who was also from a wealthy Jewish family. These people were connected in ways we aren’t told, and it isn’t just a Jewish connection. If you want to know why I think Ginsberg is a red flag, you have to read this recent paper on the Beat Generation, where I show it was also manufactured by US Intelligence. So just seeing Dylan hobnobbing with Ginsberg was enough to give me the clue. Ginsberg, like most of these people, was a big creep and a towering phony, and no one would be hanging out with him who wasn’t seeking promotion by the entertainment mafia (which wasn’t just Jewish—see, for instance, Joseph Kennedy). We don’t know who was really writing Dylan’s songs (yet), but I assume it wasn’t Ginsberg. Ginsberg couldn’t write for sour apples. Ginsberg was in desperate need of ghost poets behind him, but he was stuffed too tight to use them. The songs attributed to Dylan most often aren’t that great as poetry, either, but they are top-notch as songs and are way beyond anything Ginsberg ever wrote. I will flesh out that opinion below, where we will look at a few of the songs line by line.
We see more red flags early on, when in 1961, at age 20, Dylan scored a review in the New York Times. As with Ezra Pound’s meteoric rise in London in 1908, Dylan’s meteoric rise in New York in 1961 simply isn’t believable. He had been playing in Greenwich Village for only about six months, had no original material, hadn’t written any of his great early songs yet, and somehow the New York Times does a review of him? He was the opening act for the Greenbriar Boys at Gerde’s Folk City. There probably weren’t ten people in the audience. So let’s ask the question begged. Who wrote the review? Robert Shelton, who was really Robert Shapiro, from another family of wealthy Jews. Who was booking Gerde’s at the time? Charlie Rothschild. Does that name ring a bell? Do you think he might be Jewish also? Wealthy family? Also remember who is behind the New York Times. The Sulzberger family, extremely wealthy Jews who also founded the New York Stock Exchange. Even before the New York Times and all other media were taken over by the CIA in the 1950’s, that paper had been controlled by extremely vested interests, to say the least.
So clearly, someone had a plan for Dylan. Or, we should say, he was the front man for some operation. We will call it Operation Rolling Stone.
We know Intelligence was running all sorts of secret operations in the 1960’s. Many of them have since been partially de-classified, like Operation Mockingbird, Operation Bluebird, Operation Chaos, MKULTRA, and many many more. But there appears to have been an even larger, more fundamental Operation beneath all of them. This was Operation Rolling Stone. It was the promotion of change in all forms. To what end? The promotion of trade. The Jews and Gentiles that would run the 20th century were masters of trade. They were money lenders and money changers and money makers. These families had always been very good at making money, but in the 20th century they discovered a way to accelerate this money making beyond even their own dreams. They discovered that accelerated trade depended directly on accelerated change. The more change of any kind they could introduce into
society, the more money they would make. This is simply because change can always be accompanied with new products. New products = new wealth. More products = more wealth. Therefore, the fundamental and underlying Operation of the 20th century has been CHANGE.
This was revolutionary in every way, since humans don’t really like change. Like cats and all other animals, they prefer things to stay as they are. Living creatures tend to equate change with discomfort. So to promote change was to go against human nature. It wasn’t something that would happen on its own. It had to be manufactured and constantly sold.
It was revolutionary in another way, since it went against all tradition. Tradition had always taught that change was something to be avoided. All the major religions sought balance and harmony, neither of which could be maintained in times of rapid change.
It was revolutionary in a third way, since traditionally trade had been considered dirty. Thoreau was still teaching in the 1840’s that “trade curses everything it touches.” Gentlemen in the early 19th century looked down on trade, as we see from reading Dickens or Austen, or watching Downton Abbey. The English aristocracy mocked American wealth, since it came from trade. So you would think it would be difficult to flip the world 180 degrees, taking us to the present where most believe that trade sanctifies everything it touches.
Well, it was difficult. It required hiring millions of people and spending vast amounts of capital over more than a century. But the investment paid off, as we see. Accelerated change has made the billionaires into trillionaires. They are now so rich they have to hide their wealth. The wealthiest families won’t even allow their names to appear on the Forbes lists, the totals are so obscene. For instance, the Rockefellers are hundreds of times as wealthy as Bill Gates, but we are told they only have a few billion. The truth is, the Rockefellers had made their first trillion by 1930 (in today’s dollars). We are told they gave most of it away and are now worth less than then. Don’t believe it.
But what does this all have to do with Bob Dylan? Dylan was just one player in a vast operation of change. And one of the clues is the “Rolling Stone” meme. We see it coming up several times, in things that don’t appear to be related. We see Dylan’s famous song, we see the band the Rolling Stones, and we see the magazine Rolling Stone. All came out in the 1960’s. Why? Have you ever asked that question? Maybe. Has anyone ever explained that to you? I don’t think so.
To understand it, we have to go back to the maxim that started them all:
A rolling stone gathers no moss.


*It goes on and on. If interested, it's out there. Way out, there. 

Thursday Thoughts

An update on the "Beautiful blonde" who went missing. The whole affair has been a hoax, cooked up by who, we do not yet know. The blonde has disappeared again, along with her boyfriend. How very weird. 40 detectives were on the case as well as 100 support staff. It's such a waste, such a terrible waste of time and money. Someone is going to pay. You can guess who I think that might be.


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This is weird. The other day I went into a wonderful Swedish bakery. I had to get the egg salad sandwich which cost $5. It was delicious. However, I balked at buying a whole loaf of bread for $4.


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Badgers!
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Do you think this is creepy? My little one won't go near it. It is one of my creations. Hmm...

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OMG. Co-pilot may have intentionally crashed plane which killed 150 people, including babies and children. Just unbelievable.

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My daughter wants to be honest with her girl. Body parts are called what they are, such the, "vagina." That's okay, but I don't think the buttocks are called, "bun-buns," dear.


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Just finished reading book (above) I love Julia. Want to know everything about her.


Child's recipe...

Ingredients:

  • Eggplant (globe / 10 inches in length and about 9 oz)
  • 2 T Olive oil
  • 2 t seasoning (Italian)
  • 1 T salt
  • 1/3 cup parmesan cheese (freshly grated)
  • 1/3 cup mozzarella cheese (freshly grated)

For the Sauce:

  • ¼ t dried oregano
  • ½ t seasoning (Italian / dry)
  • 1 can of diced tomatoes
  • 3 pcs of finely minced large garlic cloves
  • 3 t olive oil (extra virgin)

Cooking Procedure:

The first thing to do is to cut your eggplant in circles, with at least half an inch thickness for each. Place them on paper towels and add a sprinkle of salt, to release the extra liquid inside. Let it sit for a few minutes, and start preheating your oven to 375 degrees F.
You can now make your sauce. In a saucepan, sauté garlic in your olive oil. Add your diced tomatoes (with the juice), seasoning, and oregano, and simmer. Wait for your tomatoes to soften, and for the juice to thicken, making it perfect for spreading, once the eggplants are done.
Roast your eggplants. However, before doing this, you have to grease your eggplants with olive oil first, and add a generous amount of seasoning on top. Make sure that you are using a non-stick baking pan, to avoid sticking and damaging the flesh of the eggplant. Bake your eggplant slices for at least 25 minutes.
Once your eggplants are done baking, take the out of the oven, and spread your sauce on top. Add your cheeses (mozzarella and parmesan) on top, and place them back into the oven in a broiler setting. Broil your eggplant slices for at least 6 minutes, but do not over do it. You just need to heat them up a bit, to melt the cheese on top.
This Julia Child recipe for pizza is not just going to tickle your taste buds, but will also give you the privilege to eat delicious foods, without worrying too much about the high calories that you get from traditional pizzas. In fact, this recipe is incredibly great for people who are watching their diet.



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TBT...

Me and big sis.



Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Beautiful Blonde Kidnapped!!


This news story really struck a nerve in me. It was about the young woman from Vallejo, California, who 'allegedly' was kidnapped for ransom. Her boyfriend called 911 eleven hours after 'alleged' kidnapping. Police say he is not a person of interest. Hmm.

What made me so angry about this tragic incident is the way it was reported by an anchor on the ABC morning news. As he read the report, he also noted she was a "Beautiful blonde." She is, but so what. This reporter may have just been reading what was written off the dummy cards and did not ad lib. In any event it is still so disturbing to me.

There is a web site devoted to women who have been in the news due to some horrific incident, such as being raped, stalked, murdered.... Yes, they are all white and beautiful. Obviously, the point of the site is to tweak our senses about how we and the media react to the physical outside shell.


White, black, homely, beautiful...., they all need our attention and help.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

The Carnimall


There was a time when pop rocks and guys with long hair made me go, "Zing!" Not so much, anymore. Same with malls. I now prefer specialty shops and local stores. Yet, somehow, over the weekend, I was bamboozled into heading to the mall so that my lovely daughter could get a picture taken of her offspring with the Easter Bunny.

Oy. (Now bear with me. This first section is really not my main point, but it is telling about why I no longer shop the mall.) It's not a big mall, but we did have to walk to the center, the four way wing section. The mall was practically empty, and as we reached the Bunny I wasn't sure if he was real or just a big stuffed rabbit. I also noticed there was not a single kiddie winkle in line. As we approached bunny, he moved his foot. Oh, a live one. That's all he moved. Yes, I say he because bunny had his legs splayed and arms resting on bench, as a fan centered right upon his bunny bits. The young lady whom I was guessing was faux photographer, barely moved either. She was leaning on one crutch, so I'll give her a pass. My granddaughter looked at bunny and shook her head and walked away. No response from bunny or photographer. It's possible they had been through this a dozen times before. Unfortunately, darling daughter was determined to get a photo. So back we went. Little Finn bravely stood next to immobile lump of hair and photo was snapped. Finn is now immortalized looking away as if it is all just too embarrassing, but mommy was so happy- happy enough to pay a ridiculous amount of money for two 4x6 glossy pieces of paper.

My duty was done. 'Let's get the hell out of here,' cried my brain. I wanted to run to the nearest exit. Yet...

Do you have children, or were you once a child? Then you know two year old humans do NOT walk in a straight line. They meander as if locked in some invisible maze. It was torture.

Okay, here is the point and rant of my post. The walk. The walk through what seemed like a Middle Eastern bazaar. At every kiosk (there was one every ten feet) we passed, we were accosted with the shouts of good cheer, trying to beguile us of their wares. I-phone covers of every imaginable color blend, candied goods, lotions, potions, coffees and crumbles. It was worse than the carny barkers! Even sales staff who had a place to hide, stood outside their store fronts and tried to tempt me with messages and oils.

To me, it was unbearable. I would have taken off to leave dearest spawn and apple to their own escape. I nearly made a run for it, then I made the mistake of looking back, only to see my daffy daughter walking in semi zig-zag, eyes still glimmering with pride upon her prized possession. No not the living, mobile child. My girl was viewing photos with one eye and hand, whilst texting with other eye and hand, as Finn decided to head back for another Bunny tete a tete. I finally managed to round up the girls and head them towards the exit.

Do you think we are done? I wish. You see, child o' mine wanted to enter a sweet shop where she had received a coupon for one free cupcake. I sat as she waited in the short line for what seemed an hour.  Oh, joy! At last, at last, it was her turn. She ordered the freebie, plus another one for me. Awww. (Really, I just wanted to melt away.) Okay hand over money, get change, let's go.

Oh, fuuuuuudge. Young lady at cash register made boo-boo. She charged for freebie. Now she stood, holding the change in her hand. And that was it for about two minutes. She didn't know what to do. Soon, another young lady came out from the back and took the change and stood for another two minutes. My daughter has the patience of a Tibetan Monk. I do not. This was insane. YL#2 again counted change. Seems we had a surplus of three dollars. I am not kidding when I say we spent at least ten minutes over this simple math faux pas.

It was hell. The carrot cake cupcake was so-so. But that's what mothers and grandmothers do.

*Not said photo but one I took. I got too close and was chastised by crutch wielding woman to back off.

Friday, March 20, 2015

Rocks in my Head

I like rocks. I don't know why. It's not new. I recall walking the fields and back roads when I was a young lass, looking for that elusive treasure. Still looking, and I did find some interesting objects on my walkies yesterday. To be honest I could not tell you whether this is an ancient stone or a piece of Mrs. Vukovic's gnome garden. What do you think? Any experts are there?


This one above is the largest. It's the size of a six inch sub sandwich. It very well could be. It has a rough surface. When I rub my hand over it the substance (poppy seeds?) comes off. It's yellowish, with some black tar like spots.


This one is pretty. Striated in hues of brown and it glitters (my fave) Looks fragile and has rough surface.


This is interesting. A rock oreo. Have no clue how this evolved but I do ponder. The outer layers, rough with smooth inner cream filling.


Yes, this is a lovely purplish stone which leads me to think, amethyst?


This is cool. Baby dinosauer? Man, that would be awesome. It sure looks like one. The white spots could be teeth, eh? Turn it over and it looks like he lost other half of head. Other side smooth, yet still shows the possibility of our former neighbors.



This could be a block of cement or a rock Native Americans used as a fire starter. Can you see the notches on opposite ends which look to me like it was secured. The top has smooth grooves. The back is flat.


Well, students, that was fun. Time to use your skills and knowledge because teacher is lazy.

And now for a movie on this first day of Spring. Well, of course it's about rocks and funny ladies who like them, too.


Thursday, March 19, 2015

I Spel Just Fin


Frum an anonimus commenter...

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Oh you will, will yuo!? I have frends. I don' need you're piddy! I can spell! I was wrd champean in my days with The Sisters of Chilaxin.

Come back when you no how to use punkchewateshun!

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

The Game We Both Play


I've been going to
 a shrink
 for au courant
therapy.
Time ticked to talk
about the id
inside of
me.
Her elfin
 ears are
sealed
while I 
wax upon
my weak and
 wobbled
past,
Ixnay on
present
tense.
She reads off
the list by rote,
the common
therapist
way to
 float.
The sessions all 
the 
same.
We both play the
Freudian
game.
She survives on my
hollow
soul.
there's no
chicken soup in
my empty
bowl.