Last minute crib notes for O’s sixth State of the Union speech (uh, still Bush’s fault)

She's an MSNBC anchor and her husband's Obama's personal chef.

She’s an MSNBC anchor and her hubby’s Obama’s personal chef. Conflict of interest? Noooooo. It’s all in the family of the First Estate.

Yesterday I highlighted three areas relevant to analysis of Obama’s newest state of the union address.

I gave you three links from my own past writings to guide you.

Today I’ll give you three links to current essays that address exactly the same topics in contemporary terms.

The Perversion of Political Language

Erupting at Huckabee. And for dessert a confection from young Andrew Stiles.

The Incestuous New Political Class

Love in the Time of Obama.

The Destruction of Education

Liberal vs Liberalist Education.

Get busy. You don’t have much time before you have to pick which Netflix show you’ll be watching instead of what Limbaugh is correctly calling “the State of the Coup” speech.

Also, say a prayer for Jonah Goldberg’s daughter’s sick puppy. Not good. Parvo. (Read the whole ‘Wendy’ piece anyway. I think there’s an embedded unintended lesson.)

Can’t offer much help on what to watch on Netflix. Unless you’re prepared to watch the Swedish version of Wallander, which is vastly superior to the BBC Kenneth Branagh version but depressing in its own right. Only with less whimpering and whining.

Maybe that’s the best we can do right now. Get well, ZoĆ«.

More to Offer


No, I’m not done. Wanted you to have the opportunity to read more of what I’ve already written, so the new stuff will seem new when you read it. Not much sense that’s happening.

We’re coming up on the State of the Union pile of alternate universe lefty propaganda. Where none of our real concerns and issues are mentioned. So here are the three best homework assignments you can perform before the president misdirects us with shiny trifles and more dreadful misrepresentations and lies.

The Glossary.

House of Lords. (Extra credit for Part Deux.)

TBB, Book of Psayings, Chapter 5Y.

I also have a long list of recent Op-Ed columns that restate what I’ve been writing for years. Won’t share those yet.

People don’t understand how the language of our politics has been distorted and destroyed.

And they don’t understand anything about the 21st century political ruling class.

They also don’t know anything about history, the timeline of our journey from the past till today.

An experiment: seek out youngsters, even your own, and ask them to identify the events in Psayings.5Y. Hell. Ask yourself to identify them.

This is how and why we die. We don’t understand language and its misuses, we don’t understand the incestuous new caste that will say anything to stay in charge, and we don’t know where we come from. Why we have no idea where we’re we going.

I’ll be back soon.

P.S. Have to admit I’m thinking of taking Shuteye Town down for repairs. Approximately half the links are broken. You don’t always get arrested going to the stores and there’s another level, sometimes five or more when you try to go upstairs at individual stations on the subway line. Not working. My apologies. In the meantime, amuse yourselves at Moon Books and Toot Video. You get into Moon Books by clicking on crime scene tape.

A Personal Milestone

I used to pretend I was alone. I'm not. Never have been.

I used to pretend I was alone. I’m not. Never have been.

I am overcome. You can’t possibly understand what it’s like to have your life’s work available to everyone in a handful of headers on a web page. Yes, there are still missing pieces, but they’re not as missing as they might seem to be. A good chunk of the text that’s not available at Shuteye Town 1999 (excepting the infamous ‘Zeezer Bible’) is available at Instapunk. You have to do an advanced search at the IP site for “punk writing,” “Pangloss,” and “the naked woman.” And the old Boomer Bible website is still sitting in the limbo of the Wayback Machine, along with links to the old Delphi Forum, where lightning struck me onto the Internet. Still. What’s here is the lion’s share of my writing career.

What I feel most of all is gratitude. To Lake, to Guy, to Brizoni, to Rob Davey, to George, to my wife, to countless others who believed enough in what I was doing to make it translatable to the Internet generation. (Null, Winston, Malechai, Kajeshell, you know who you are.) The online Boomer Bible is, to me, a miracle. I wrote the Intercolumn Reference before there was a technology to make it as instantaneous as it was in my head. Now, thanks to more hours of hard labor than I can imagine, by more people than I can ever hope to meet and thank, the impossible is a pulsing computer simulation of my mind.

How could anyone be justified in hoping for such an outcome? When I succumb, as I often do, to despair about my country or my fellow men, I am yanked out of it by the extraordinary good fortune I have had in this life. There have been many bad moments in that life, but the truth is that the bad times were always fuel for my writing. And now I feel the warmth of being surrounded physically and electronically by good people who continue to inspire me with their courage and vitality. Sue, Marge, John, Jay, Sandy, Robby, Elle, Don, Peg, Shelby, Matt, Mel, Dave, Stephanie, Linda (both of them), Rita, Janet, Michael, Genevieve, Emily, Sarah, Josh, and of course James, Sarah, Austin, Mary, Emily, and Anna. And always and transcendently Pat. Plus all the others whose names will become headlines in my consciousness after I post this. (Eddie, Helk, FA, Barbara, Peregrine John, Suds46, DRV, and on and on…)

I look up to all these people. Writers always exist on the sidelines to some degree. We are watching and making notes while everyone else is getting on with the substance of life. Raising kids, turning houses into homes, teaching the ones who can be taught, striving in their individual ways, providing the living example of what goodness is in fact, not theory.

All these years in, I am experiencing a sense of humility that did not come naturally to me. Because I’m so late to the party, I feel now my multitudinous flaws with a sense of shame. All I have to throw into the balance is the set of headers at Deerhound Diary.

Elation mixed with disappointment. I wanted to be Doctor Dream. What I am is an old man whose best days are now and seem wildly undeserved.

What a writer does. He makes things up.

What a writer does. He makes things up.

A long long way of saying I value your responses. Let me know, good, bad or indifferent, what you think. I promise I will be listening.

The New Wurld Order

The first graphic I created for Shuteye Town 1999. I got better. Not much, but some.

The first graphic I created for Shuteye Town 1999. I got better. Not much, but some.

Okay. Raebert says I can’t go on the way I have been. Why I’m putting my ‘body of work’ online in a very accessible mode, for free.

In days to come you’ll have an opportunity to see even the Great White Whale of Shuteye Town 1999, absent its 350,000 words of text and its sound files. It’s huge nonetheless. You’ll also be able to peruse the ten years of Instapunk archives, although maybe you should look at this first. And you’ll have a link to the online version of The Boomer Bible, with a live Intercolumn reference but absent the Book of Brayer and the Hymnal. For those you still need to buy the physical book.

We’re still very much about physical books and physical DVDs. Why we’re just softening you up for publication of at least two and maybe as many as ten Instapunk books, the first of which is ‘A Slice of Instapunk’ and the second a more personal memoir called ‘Below the Turnpike,’ which will have some new material not available online. (My wife reminds me I should mention this one, which is brilliant and physically exists already.)

If you’re a writer, all your works are like your children. You love them all, not uncritically, but you love them anyway and you want them to live far beyond your own span of time. All I’m asking of the people who come to this site is that you browse, take the time to see my different take on what writing is, what believing is.

If your journey produces any insight or fun, I’d love to hear about it. Fair deal?

Raebert thinks the Laird coat of arms is just a pillow. He hasn't read the 'Spero Meliora' motto. "I hope for better things." But he's just a dour Scot

Raebert thinks the Laird coat of arms is just a pillow. He hasn’t read the ‘Spero Meliora’ motto. “I hope for better things.” But he’s just a dour Scot. Me? I’m just a dead man still talking. He sniffs but no one’s there. He’s convinced I’m a goner.

Who are you?

Quad Leap

Someday you’ll tell people you read Deerhound Diary when R.F. Laird was still alive. You were part of the largely silent army that sustained him while he was fading away. You’ll tell everyone that you always knew there was a secret punk writing movement in Philadelphia, even when everyone else thought that was a joke. You’ll tell them you saw the photographic evidence.

Rumours of the Metalkort

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Click the pic and see memories of the magic time.

Then you’ll tell them Laird invented the Internet years before Al Gore did. And you’ll be able to prove it. He had a whole huge book in his head in one moment and he connected it all.

There Isn’t Any God
. There Isn't Any God thumbnail

He also understood why he was connecting it all. A few outliers saw what he did but mostly no one else did. They were happy to think they were as smart as he was. They were, of course. Everybody’s always smarter than Leonardo.

Quantum Punks

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Hey. People who don’t take him for granted.

To wit:

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Well, you know. We always knew about quantum physics. What’s the deal with the new Spock?


Except. He wasn’t just lucky. Or slightly smarter than someone else. He predicted 9/11 almost exactly 10 years before it happened. Laird conceived of Henry Elders, who somehow understood what might happen.

Predicting 9/11

Predicting 9/11

Yeah. Falling towers and everything.

Because Raebert expects nothing less than the best.

My boss rules.

My boss rules.

Seven Sisters

The Pleiades. AKA The Seven Sisters of Heaven.

The Pleiades. AKA The Seven Sisters of Heaven.

Courtesy of Lake’s telescopic camera.

Well, that’s the classical, academic version anyway. Now here’s the one-woman show as performed by a single greyhound. You tell me which is more cosmic.

Thought so. One greyhound equals more than seven goddesses. Why we are so privileged to be here on earth.

Snowed in.

Past the cheminee to the arbor is eternity when it snows.

Past the cheminee to the arbor is eternity when it snows.

I’d give you moonlight if I could. But in the country when it’s dark it’s dark. One of the great beautiful things about the country. Sometimes the winter night is a clamp. No light allowed.

No need for fear. Time for deep, hibernating sleep. The hard thing is waking up. Comes a time when the sun returns and you groan and roll over because the dark is easier. But then, if you’re lucky, the deerhound pounces oh so gently on you to insist that it’s time for breakfast and another day.

Time to get up, boss.

Time to get up, boss.

But when it’s really dark, Raebert sleeps in too. We’re snowed in. And we’ll sleep in to enjoy it.

Hidden Shuteye Nation

Adjustments will be made, but Shuteye Nation is not yet complete. I’ll leave the gurus to do their thing, but you need to know there’s more. Always more. One example. This from an SN column you haven’t seen yet.

December 15, 2001


At last, a welfare system for old actresses

Show business isn’t kind to actresses who reach middle age and beyond. For every new starlet who bounces into the spotlight, there’s a fading flower in the corner whose petals droop another inch lower. Over the years not much has been done to mitigate this built-in unkindness, but now our friends the Brits seem to have come up with a remedy. It’s called The Carnal Graduate, a stage version of the movie that made stars of Dustin Hopeless and Katherine Cross way back in the sixties. Of course, in keeping with the times, the coveted role in this production is that of Mrs. Robinson, the ‘older woman’ with whom the young male protagonist has a somewhat cold-blooded affair. Why is the part of Mrs. Robinson so intensely sought after, you ask? Because in the stage production Mrs. Robinson makes her entrance with a 20-second full-frontal nude scene. When this fact became known, the producer couldn’t beat off the auditioners with a stick.

The first to win the prize was Kathleen Tourner, who opened the show with a sizzling portrayal of a nude older woman that captivated audiences throughout the Yukay, where it is widely rumored that most men have never seen a breast, let alone all that other stuff. As the ticket lines got longer, so did the list of aging actresses who wanted to streak into the spotlight for another go at the big time. So far, Ms. Tourner has been replaced by an aging supermodel, an aging Brit TV actress, and an aging Amerian TV actress.

Where will it all end? Nobody knows. It could be that the show will run forever, or at least until every sagging actress who wants it has had her chance to glow in the limelight one more time. Come to think of it, that’s just another way of saying the show will run forever. Think of it as a welfare system for over-the-hill screen sirens.

The only possible log in the water is the ominous trend of casting older and older actresses in the lead role. Could it be that Mrs. Robinson will eventually reach an age at which men won’t ante up to see her stark naked anymore? Come to think of it, that’s just another way of saying the show will run forever.

Opportunity to pay attention to what I said before about looking for links. If you click on Kathleen Tourner, you can go five levels deep. You’ll know when you get to the end. (Which isn’t the end, of course.) Pretty much how Shuteye Nation and all works by me work.

And, yes, I am and have always been a salacious bastard.

Strange Days Have Found Us*

You know that scene in the disaster movies where the big structure is slowly but then more and more quickly coming apart? And the stars are still dueling over ancient marital grudges and who’s responsible for their rotten slacker kids?

How today feels. LA wildfires, another school shooting, this time by a 12 year old, the MSM still obsessively piling on ‘ChristieGate’ while the entire Obama administration is imploding in a morass of corruption, incompetence, and dictatorial aggression. Not that any of that is a real story. Not the president’s naked threat to rule by edict in defiance of the congress and the constitution. Not the DOJ’s new initiative to punish schools for punishing minorities more than, er, non-minorities for truancy, violence, disruptive classroom behavior, and deliberate academic failure. Not the frank derision of Brit, Israeli, and Iranian diplomats about the gullible cluelessness of our president. Not the senate report on Benghazi which commits the heresy of faulting the state department, DOD, the CIA, and by subtle inference the president for American deaths that could and should have been prevented. Not the FBI mildly announcing there’s no illegality involved in IRS targeting of conservative groups, even though not one of the victims has ever been interviewed by the so-called investigation. Not the concurrence today of three congressional hearings on the accelerating severity of security breaches in Not the $600 million the Feds have spent advertising ObamaCare while they failed to organize or build it in the first place. Because, hey, how about that Christie and his traffic jam, and also maybe $2 million in Sandy funds that were spent advertising the Jersey shore prior to the summer season.

So, we take our consolations and our yucks where we can. The Daily Show thought this was the perfect time to lampoon The Five on Fox News Channel. News judgment aside, the piece is genuinely funny.

As is Ann Coulter’s contribution from the right hand side of the aisle. MSNBC’s Ed Schultz boasted that Republicans were afraid to debate him. Coulter tweeted him, “Invite me on your show, you lying pussy.” She’s been after Maddow and the MSNBC toads generally to bring her on air for a couple of years. Guess who the scaredy cats are.

It feels like something truly dire is about to happen. I get these feelings from time to time. I was going to title this post ‘Dread.’ But I didn’t.

Best I can do.

*For those too young to remember, this: