Updated: The Perfect Combination for My Life…

Since everyone seems to want to make a movie of my life, I thought I’d help you along. These two movies combined are the perfect description of what the government has made of my life. No real answers just Pink Panther, good cop, bad cop games and no way out. Even the homeless shelter dorms are fraught with new recruits for Operation Born Yesterday. All have Alzheimers (they do the same thing every day expecting different results) and all measure their success by how many times they can fail to get me to go along with their “covert” ops. Someone should make them a video like in 50 First Dates to remind them that all of this already happened yesterday.

I don’t think they even know what they’re trying to accomplish anymore cuz leading me to believe that a plan for freedom is in place every other day advances the game not one bit. The game will be over when one of two things happens: 1. The government gives up on me and lets me get a job, we part ways amicably and they never expect me to create free stuff for them again or 2. Someone blows the whistle and I get the millions of dollars back that they’ve stolen from me. So aside from the unlikely event that either of these actually happens, all else is bullshit. Here comes the panic to convince me I’m wrong. Also typical.

After looking for a job for 7 months I’m wondering if I should add this note: “I understand that you will likely not want to hire me as my presence in your company will surely make you feel inferior. Damn people like me these days who still have morals and standards.” I make people uncomfortable because I’m not willing to whore myself like they have. Most people have no dignity or integrity these days. In my family, it died with my grandfather. The whole family went squirrely, seedy and retarded after he died.

Another thing: they constantly throw women in my path. I’ll never date a woman again until I can afford to take her out for a nice dinner and all that. Good, decent women deserve to be treated nicely. Unlike the haggard drones they keep sending. It’s funny, I say this and within minutes a woman who I wasn’t thinking of when I wrote the last sentence shows up. It’s kinda like, “you called for haggard and here I am.” Wasn’t actually thinking of her but if she wants to throw herself into that category, more power to her. They always catch half of what I think and screw up one setup after another.

Note: If you’re gonna read someone’s mind make sure they don’t know you’re doing it. Otherwise it’s completely ineffective. And make sure that there’s emotion attached to the thoughts otherwise you’ll misread everything as anger. Just because you’re angry, it doesn’t make sense to assume I am. I guess they’ll never get it because they’ll keep assuming I’m as stupid as they are and they’ll always be shocked when I don’t stoop to their level. If they were smart, they’d give up but, well, you know… Spy-Game-poster the truman show 1998 jim carrey

Here’s the question everyone in the CIA is asking themselves right now (see photo below). These scumbags actually think they should be left to continue this shit. Congress was supposed to shut down MK Ultra in 1973. It didn’t. It’s capabilities have been taken to their logical extreme. Controlling people to get what they want. It’s not even hard to imagine anymore. It’s been being used on me for years. They deny me a living (creating the need) and expect that I’ll create some digital form of art which can be sold on the dark net or alter net which I can’t see online. How can a book get 5 Stars and not sell? How can a band go to number one on the most popular music website in the world and not sell one album? You see these greedy fuckers are so stupid they didn’t even allow for me to make a little something to inspire me to continue. Instead they’ve laid an ever-intensifying siege to my life thinking the harder they pinch the more likely I am to create.

Only a fucking idiot would continue to create shit with no return. They’re so full of hubris and greed they forgot to use common fucking sense. They’re so fucking divorced from reality that they think a 47-year-old man will enjoy playing the starving fucking artist game his whole life. Sorry fuckwads, I’m not a kid anymore. Poverty sucks. Fuck fame, I want my money back.

I learned half of this shit from CIA people themselves. Their fucking brains don’t function properly. They give you inside information and still expect you to work for them. It’s the worst kind of insanity I’ve ever seen. Manson was nothing compared with these people. They betray themselves constantly. Thinking they’re clever, they give it up all the time. Facial ticks, nervous laughter, key words (used over and over by their fellow agents) etc., etc., etc.

They actually think I’m the guy in my book. They constantly refer to my book as if that’s my life. Talk about not doing your fucking homework. These fuckers are so lazy about doing background work they must just cross their fingers and hope everyone is as stupid and lazy as they are. They’re like little kids who’ve never been disciplined. They want someone to give them boundaries. They crave structure and seem to WANT to get caught to get these things.

A piece of advice: Don’t mess with the government, they’ll try to kill you with the alphabet. hahahahahahahahahaha, seriously, to them letters are lethal. These people are so far beyond stupid, there isn’t even a word for it. It’s like the last Paranormal Activity. Nothing Happens. Day # 60,000, flatline.

You just have to laugh. It’s like if Sesame Street went to war. You have one battalion sending up random numbers, another, random letters, and yet another, colors. It’s this non-sensical nambi pambi childish joke. Like trying to take out a tank with a firecracker. That’ll work!ll

Announcement to all of you closeted perv monkeys: I realize you guys are all having a fucking blast with all of your “sign” bullshit but the only sign I’m interested in is a “now hiring” sign. Unlike you fucking derelicts I actually need to work for a living. I don’t drive my “L mobile” for ten minutes a day and then go home and jerk off to Fox News.

Save it retards. I’m done with the bullshit. Cops, the CIA walk-by. The CIA “stand near Phil,” fire up the jets, the sirens, whatever retards, you’re all done. We’re just waiting for you to realize it.

hC4023343

My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!

dcnuked

Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

Percy-Bysshe-Shelley-Quotes-5

You don’t really hate anyone…

signs-no-hateYou don’t really hate anyone. It’s all them. They’re in your computer, your TV, your phone, your rearview mirror and they’re even in your head. Sound like science fiction? Yeah, I thought so too until I remembered what a mild-mannered person I had been most of my life and couldn’t understand why I was suddenly so angry at ridiculous things and not focusing my energy on the real problem. It’s honest to goodness voodoo folks. Struggle with yourself to overcome it. Remember what great and good things you wanted to do and be as a child.

You don’t really hate anyone. Hatred is a learned behavior that can be unlearned if you can unpack the baggage of your subconscious and get rid of everything non-essential. They thrive on hatred because it’s all they know. No one ever truly loved these people and they are incapable of feeling love or feeling loved, of giving love and receiving love. These monsters are bent and broken, disfigured demons so possessed of hate and lust and desire and avarice they can’t possibly ever understand what you and I know to be true: It all comes down to love.
Think about what kind of person would want to do the work of the NSA or the CIA.
Pity them and move on, it’s all they really deserve. They’re pathetic in the real sense of the word pathetic, defined as deserving of your pathos or pity.

The Mouse, A Children’s Story That Sums It All Up

mouse-damage-wiring-chemtec-pest-control copythe mouse: a “children’s” story

philip scott wikel ©2002

1. Once upon a time there was a beautiful neighborhood full of green trees and flowers and butterflies of every color. Children would play freely as their parents and grandparents sat on the porches of their homes and told stories of wonderous faraway lands and magical Christmases and days filled with adventure.

2. Then one day the people stopped going outside and the children sat in front of the television as soon as they came home from school.

3. The neighborhood had a blue glow at night created by the light of televisions, which made it impossible to see the stars.

4. A mouse named “Augustus” lived at the “Small World” Pet Store on the Corner of Main Street & Madison Avenue.

5. Most of the mice here would eventually become food for the two boa constrictors (Fox & CNN) if not for the help of, of all things, the neighborhood cat named “rainbow.”

6. The mouse heard through the neighborhood grapevine, an actual dormant grapevine that runs along the back fences of the whole block (which served as an information highway between pets who’d found homes and pets still in the store), that there was room for a pet in a cottage down the way and that there was a nice little boy who lived there who’s daddy couldn’t afford to buy him one.

7. This particular night Rainbow scratched a hole in the rotted window pane and liberated the mouse.

8. He rode on rainbow’s back to the outside of the house, passing above “Satellite’s” yard. Satellite jumped and clawed at Rainbow. But rainbow was cool and just kept moving slowly with a smile on her face. Satellite’s owner is named Aidem. He owns the local satellite network and most of the houses on the street. His house is the biggest and sits in the center of the block.

9. “Here you go little guy,” says Rainbow, “you’ll be safe here, Dylan’s a good kid and his dad’s nice too.”

10. He appears through the vent of the wall heater and runs around the base of the kitchen cabinets and into the den where the father is reading a book to his son.

11. He is somewhat frightened of these strangers but is courageous enough to decide on getting a better look at them.

12. He climbs the magazine rack, perches on top of a copy of the New Yorker to spy across the room. They looked awfully big from there.

13. He climbs a computer cord to the top of the desk. Then scales a lamp that was made in the shape of a lighthouse. From there he looked around nervously. He was at eye level with the father now. He looked pleasant enough.

14. Just below him and beyond a wind-up robot was the half-eaten cup of Instant Macaroni & Cheese. The mouse was hungry so he risked being spotted. He jumped into the cup and finished its contents.

15. Then the father shifted in his seat and the mouse ran to hide behind a picture of Dylan’s grandparents.

16. He went back down the cord, behind the magazine rack, then scurried behind the videotapes, stopping briefly to admire a copy of The Rescuers, and moved on to hide in the trunk of a black toy ’58 Corvette.

17. The boy saw him jump in and he moved slowly to grab the car.

18. Don’t be afraid little mouse, he said, why don’t you get in the front seat, the steering wheel works and I’ll turn on the power. The boy was very happy and began making plans for adventures with his new friend.

19. Outside through the window the landlord Aidem passed by. He saw the boy with the mouse.

20. He went back to the main house.

21. Then he came back and knocked on the door.

22. The boy’s father answered the door.

23. I saw your boy with a mouse and I must presume that since you can’t afford Aidem TV that you can’t afford a pet. Here are some mousetraps. Put them out and kill that thing or I’ll report you to the Pet Store. I don’t want mice around here. Mice get into the wiring of things.

24. What did he want daddy?

25. He gave us these things.

26. Mousetraps, what are we going to do with them?, asked Dylan.

27. Well they’re for killing mice.

28.  I have a better idea, says Augustus.  We can use them to catapult playdough at Aidem’s pitbull, satellite.

29. Your mouse can stay “sport.” We’ll give him the birdhouse to live in.

30. The boy jumped up and down and hugged his father.

31. The mouse, who’d overheard the conversation, smiled.

32. The next morning they set up the two mousetraps with a generous helping of extra slimy playdough. They whistled to satellite and he came charging at their fence. On the count of three they launched the playdough. It landed on satellite’s eyes and he couldn’t see and crashed into the fence and was never able to bark again.

33. That night there was no blue glow to disturb the stars and in the starlight you could see new buds on the grapevine. Everyone loved it but no one could explain the change. No one, except perhaps Aidem who, since no one was interested in staying inside and watching TV anymore, lost all his money and had to take a job cleaning the cages at the Pet Store.

34. The neighborhood was beautiful again full of green trees and flowers and butterflies of every color. Children played freely again and their parents and grandparents sat on the porches of their homes and told stories of wonderous faraway lands and magical Christmases and days filled with adventure.

[The only change to this story now would be that Dylan’s dad had to do it all by himself cuz Dylan turned out to be a bad guy. Thinking he might come to his senses is what kept Dylan’s dad from seeing things for what they really were. His dad had known for a very long time but what parent wants to believe the worst of his kid until it becomes glaringly obvious the kid is rotten].

The moral of the story? Believe nothing you see on TV or in the newspapers in America and love your children as long as they’re not criminals.

Schematic of all Things – All Things Being Equal?

Worth a second time around…

activistThis poem came to me a few days after 9/11. It was originally part of a short story called “Love Among the Anthrax.” It’s now part of Ticket to Ride. It’s about coming together to achieve common goals. Which goals are up to you.

schematic of all things

by philip scott wikel

I think myself not superior,
but apart,
or better,
and at the same time,
a part.
I think of the things I do as not greater,
but lesser,
at least,
of less apparent impact.
I will not shine in your eyes erudition
on the subject
but instead give you a dim view.
And it’s the you of this that must be figured,
you figure,
and I’ll do the same and am doing the same.
because the definitions are that grey;
the sea joins the sky on a day heavy with fog,
that we must do so together.

Inspirational Youtube Videos

The sun in myself on you and the apparent them,

What first they are not,
what you are not,
and then what I most certainly am;
the I being you as you become the eye in this and not superior,
but apart,
or better,
and at the same time
a part.
And then as a part of the greater,
or the higher,
reaching down to perform the lesser,
or less apparent,
the minute,
the trivial task that strikes like flint,
the power fed feeds.
I,
or now you,
won’t speak in specifics.
I,
or you,
and finally we,
will not give logistics or diagramatic signs of the specific.
Specificity dims the impact of the metaphor,
(the intellectuospiritual machine)
in which to plug the act,
the response,
the thought,
or the feeling,
and then push “play.”

An Artist's Journey

activist This poem came to me a few days after 9/11. It was originally part of a short story called “Love Among the Anthrax.” It’s now part of Ticket to Ride. It’s about coming together to achieve common goals. Which goals are up to you.

schematic of all things

by philip scott wikel

I think myself not superior,
but apart,
or better,
and at the same time,
a part.
I think of the things I do as not greater,
but lesser,
at least,
of less apparent impact.
I will not shine in your eyes erudition
on the subject
but instead give you a dim view.
And it’s the you of this that must be figured,
you figure,
and I’ll do the same and am doing the same.
because the definitions are that grey;
the sea joins the sky on a day heavy with fog,
that we must do so together.

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Malcolm X and the Plymouth Myth

Malcolm-X-Adversity-QuoteMalcolm X and the Plymouth Myth with music by The Julian Day

Note: Sometimes only the tactics change and what was overt becomes covert.

Malcolm X: “We didn’t land on Plymouth Rock. Plymouth Rock landed on us!”

“I must emphasize at the outstart that the Honorable Elijah Muhammad is not a politician. So I’m not here this afternoon as a Republican, nor as a Democrat; not as a Mason, nor as an Elk; not as a Protestant, nor a Catholic; not as a Christian, nor a Jew; not as a Baptist, nor a Methodist. In fact, not even as an American, because if I was an American, the problem that confronts our people today wouldn’t even exist. So I have to stand here today as what I was when I was born: a black man. Before there was any such thing as a Republican or a Democrat, we were black. Before there was any such thing as a Mason or an Elk, we were black. Before there was any such thing as a Jew or a Christian, we were black people! In fact, before there was any such place as America, we were black! And after America has long passed from the scene, there will still be black people. I’m gonna tell you like it really is. Every election year these politicians are sent up here to pacify us! They’re sent here and setup here by the White Man! This is what they do!

They send drugs in Harlem down here to pacify us! They send alcohol down here to pacify us! They send prostitution down here to pacify us! Why you can’t even get drugs in Harlem without the White Man’s permission! You can’t get prostitution in Harlem without the White Man’s permission! You can’t get gambling in Harlem without the White Man’s permission! Every time you break the seal on that liquor bottle, that’s a Government seal that you’re breaking! Oh, I say and I say it again, ya been had! Ya been took! Ya been hoodwinked! Bamboozled! Led astray! Run amok! This is what He does.

Continue reading “Malcolm X and the Plymouth Myth”

Notes on The Julian Day – Like Who Cares Right? (Haha)

Gateway to Elysian Fields
Gateway to Elysian Fields

Midnight 12am: It’s that time of night when one can be convinced that his quiet, mindful wanderings might have some relevance to other wanderers of the Elysian Fields. Sleeping people don’t talk back and folks like me with grand delusions find this time suited to their wayward, wanderlusting minds.

For those of you wondering why we chose the name “The Julian Day.” To the best of our knowledge the “actual” julian day is the day inserted into the month of February every leap year. This is the day that balances the calendar and literally balances time. In a world where everyone and everything seems hell-bent on throwing us and the entire world out of sync:

“We like the idea of achieving balance and evening things out to create a harmonious wholeness.”

Even if achieving that means first, throwing everything out of whack. It’s only when we experience chaos that we define our truest foundations.

Our first EP is called Sohei.

Sohei in Japanese means literally “monk warriors” or enlightened soldiers. Lofty title right? We’re doing our best.

With Sohei we’ve created what we believe is a powerful musical document that underlines the struggle for a higher spiritual and emotional connection to humanity that is musically and thematically coherent. We’re not interested in singles. We want all of the songs to contribute to a homogenous, and sonically courageous whole; each song contributing to a unified statement. We’re hoping you all will enjoy it as much as we’ve enjoyed, and are enjoying creating it.

The new EP (if we ever finish it) will be called “A Place Called Everywhere.” 

It’s our belief that as the world grows smaller and smaller with each passing day through our interconnectedness via the internet, skype, cell phones, and all the other techno stuff, soon wherever we are will be a place called everywhere. What will that world be like? We’d like to explore that with this next round of songs.

Preview of “A Place Called Everywhere:” https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/thejulianday/508010318?token=792d5193

Talkin’ About A Revolution

crossroads-tracyI saw Tracy Chapman a while back at a small venue in Ventura, California and she literally lit the place up with a voice like a diamond cutting glass. I remember when her first album came out and I couldn’t figure whether she was way behind the times or way ahead.

I can now see she was way ahead but no one else was willing to pick up the ball with her and make things happen. By the time the album came out (late 80s) America was already falling back to sleep and into a “status quo” slumber of profit, greed and apathy not unlike the 50s generation whom the 60s and 70s generations had so vehemently protested.

So here we are now and Tracy is more relevant now than ever; as are all of the protest songs of the Age of Aquarius. Here’s one from her second album that means a lot to me at the moment:

Crossroads by Tracy Chapman

All you folks think you own my life
But you never made any sacrifice
Demons they are on my trail
I’m standing at the crossroads of the hell
I look to the left I look to the right
There’re hands that grab me on every side

All you folks think I got my price
At which I’ll sell all that is mine
You think money rules and all else fails
Go sell your soul and keep your shell
I’m trying to protect what I keep inside
All the reasons why I live my life

Some say the devil be a mystical thing
I say the devil he a walking man
He a fool he a liar conjurer and a thief
He try to tell you what you want
Try to tell you what you need

Standing at the point
The road it cross you down
What is at your back
Which way do you turn
Who will come to find you first
Your devils or your gods

All you folks think you run my life
Say I should be willing to compromise
I say all you demons go back to hell
I’ll save my soul save myself

Black Boys on Mopeds by Sinéad O’Connor

41g93ABZ+dLOn a lighter note:

There have been a few people since the 60s and 70s who’ve tried to wake us up. It’s too bad they’re so few and far between.

Black Boys on Mopeds by Sinéad O’Connor

Margaret Thatcher on TV
Shocked by the deaths that took place in Beijing
It seems strange that she should be offended
The same orders are given by her

I’ve said this before now
You said I was childish and you’ll say it now
“Remember what I told you
If they hated me they will hate you”

[America’s] not the mythical land of Madame George and roses
It’s the home of police who kill black boys on mopeds
And I love my boy and that’s why I’m leaving
I don’t want him to be aware that there’s
Any such thing as grieving

Young mother down at Smithfield
5 am, looking for food for her kids
In her arms she holds three cold babies
And the first word that they learned was “please”

These are dangerous days
To say what you feel is to dig your own grave
“Remember what I told you
If you were of the world they would love you”

[America’s] not the mythical land of Madame George and roses
It’s the home of police who kill blacks boys on mopeds
And I love my boy and that’s why I’m leaving
I don’t want him to be aware that there’s
Any such thing as grieving.