GROWL @ AMERICAN DIGEST

June 7, 2017

GROWL

by Gerard Allen Van der Ginsberg

For Karl Rove Solomon

I SAW the second-best minds of my not-so-Great Generation destroyed by Trump Derangement Syndrome, pasty, paunchy, tenured, and not looking too sharp naked,

bullshitting themselves through the African-American streets at cocktail hour lusting for a Cialis refill and one black friend on the down-low,

aging hair-plugged hipsters burning for their ancient political connection to the White House through the machinations of monied moonbats,

who warred on poverty and Blackwater's Wal-Mart and bulbous-eyed and still high from some bad acid in 1968 set up no-smoking zones on tobacco farms in the unnatural darkness of Darwinistic delusions floating a few more half-baked secular notions like "Let's all worship Zero!",

who on the Burly Bears float of gay pride bared their man-breasts and, he she or it, bleated their vaginas' mawkish monologues to John Kennedy's ghost under the Capitol Dome and french-kissed Mohammedan agents in the gore-drenched redrum rooms of Guantanamo,

who passed gas in grad school and on into universities with radiant meth eyes hallucinating President Hillary and Vice-President What Was His Name Anyway?, envisioning world peace among the masters of war and stayed on and stayed on and stayed on sucking off the great teat of academe in unpaid student loans and over-paid professorial positions the better to molest the minds and bodies of children for decades with every third year off in Provence for bad behavior,

who were embraced by the academies and hired by the New York Times for crazy & publishing obscene odes or anything else that trashed Republicans or non-Unitarian Christians without regard for truth since there were no consequences for these posturing poseurs of puke,

who cowered in their marble-countered plasma-screened media rooms in smegma crusted underwear which was no longer Victoria's Secret, burning their money by donating it in carloads to every half-assed Democratic POL that promised re-erections in Two-Ten without the losing proposition of actually holding an election, and listening to Rush Limbaugh through the wall,

who got bombed at public wine-tastings by chugging the slops bin and referencing Sideways, returning to their summer house in the Hamptons where they ate smoked salmon and each other, smoked $400-a-bud marijuana, wore $250 denims, paid the maid $200 a week before taxes, and bitched about how the economy was a mess but did not really, as they claimed, send their $36,000 tax cut back to the government, and continued to suffer the secret shame of Affluenza,

who breathed fire and bile about ungrateful "Democrat plantation negroes" among their cooler college comrades, and shut up around the one black friend they all shared, and drank turpentine to get through "A Night with Gloria Steinem", claimed bogus ego-death, blended health shakes from Cherry Garcia, seaweed, and the dried dung of Deepak Chopra, and Ab-Busted their torsos night after night that their butts might spread on the Le Corbusier sofa eternally after,

with dreams of Two-Ten re-erection victory without elections, with seven different mood-soothing drugs in the Ikea medicine cabinet, with waking Birkenstock nightmares of Trump, Trump, still of Trump, alcohol Jello shots and the soon to be sanctified Holy Matrimony of gay cock and deballings by their now not-so-significant others,

who blathered continuously about the Florida "theft" for decades after the two Trump terms while the One put one, two, maybe three or even four justices on the Supreme Court, but still not nine!, causing a million fatal air-embolisms during consenting acts of mutual Manhattan humm-jobs,

a lost battalion of a multi-million man and mom marching platonic conversationalists jumping to conclusions about WMD off fire escapes off windowsills off World Trade Center out of the moon, yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering "Trump LIEEEEEEEEED!" forever after into deepest eternity, and moonbat memories and false anecdotes and eyeball kicks and yearning for the electro-shocks of hospitals and the briefness of jails and bring back the endless Trump wars that we may hate into our drool-cups again .... oh my sorry little schmos.... ,

who wandered around and around at midnight at the White House wondering where O smoked and Michelle hid her dildos, got the address of Obama's birthplace in Hawaii at 1776 Kenya Street and went there with fresh batteries, and found Barbra Streisand muffdiving in the lanai with Whoopi Goldberg and Goldie Hawn, all set on leaving no child's behind,

who had double-standard visions of fashionable footwear while their baby seals died, turned inside-out into a pair of fur-lined muck-lucks by Halliburton, Halliburton, Halliburton, Halliburton

who thought they were only mad when the second coming of TrumpHitler appeared in the clouds above their White House like the mother ship in Independence day proclaiming "Neener, neener, neener,"

who in humorless protest turned Hillary Clinton into their personal hand-puppet, which she enjoyed, and then complained that she looked far too much like the devil spawn of Howdy Doody and Alfred E. Newman, and that the fit was too loose,

who scribbled celebrity porn from scuffed kneepads in the offices of Vanity Fair and collected and shaved stray cats far into their barren Pecksniffian nights until that bleak Upper West Side dawn when, waking from their stupor, rolled over in bed and discovered they had slept, not with their sixth spouse, but with Barney Frank, and thought, "Well, that's an upgrade,"

who dreamt O-Ba-Ma! O-Ba-Ma! hectoring and bloviating in the White House until in galactic luminosity Nancy Pelosi stood knock-kneed and naked on "Fleece the Nation" clad only in her San Francisco penis-gourd of flaccid played-out policies, while being frisked by a thousand agents of I-Am-the-President Obama, super avenging angel of the SortaSocialist Party, now and forever recreating the syntax and measure of polluted human prose, "Oh Hope!, Oh Change!, O Timor!, O Mortis!, Oh Yes We Can't!," and then all of them in their faded glory standing before America past, present, and to come, speechless and pseudo-intelligent and shaking with unshamed shame, a whole once proud party now doomed to decorate pikes and lamp-posts,

who were reduced in desperation after aborting their next generation to bribing the fervently fertile illegal constituents of wise Latina judges with appointments, with dinner parties, with caviar burritos, with $50 a shot artisan tequila, with cash for Cuernavaca clunkers, and invitations to bi-lingual and tri-sexual Hollywood "events," rejected yet confessing to the guttering sparks of thought in its treppaned Democrat skull as it proclaimed its new positive program for "Mourning in America," "Yes, yes, yes, like our patron saint Michelle-O-LaBelle that deep driving dominatrix of The Won, we too have a two-inch political penis, give us alllll your money, give us alllll your votes, give us ALLLLL THE POWER!, we and we alone can give you the golden gifts of our youth -- appeasement, defeatism, pacifism, penury, poverty and death!",

and rose reincarnate in the tattered rags of bluster and blabber in the tinhorn shadow of the ballot box and blew the the suffering of America's lumbering liberals' lust for unearned power into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone bleat still pandering for the Jewish vote after erasing Israel, as the American people, at long last no fools they, shived the elite in their entrails and blew them off again and again right past the last bus stop of democracy

with the absolute loss of political significance butchered out of their own body politic good to lose a thousand years.

Posted by Vanderleun at June 7, 2017 10:57 AM

"Summer 2017, if not sooner."
=============================

Welp, it's almost Summer 2017 and it appears Trump may have goat kicked the can down the gravel road a bit but make no mistake that luxurious 200+ year old fake freedom paved highway is indeed now a pit gravel rutted roadway littered with corpses of every size, shape, 47 genders, and some unidentifiable.

You know in your heart of hearts this can't go on forever but you haven't a clue as to what comes next except that it will be worse than it is now but only if you fail to consider the content of the ride from here to then.

Some of us won't make it til then but those that do will live things they never imagined and only seen hinted at in late night weekend PBS documentary's from the imaginations of 10,000 Ken Burns. It will be bumpy and outright drop-offs and even cliffs though at the time they will be hardships they are but chapters in the history book that is being written in real time right now, til then, and on.

The long view is the arrangement of a peoples and their trials and tribulations and their learning experiences and their memories or lack there of. We've been here before, many times, but our short term memories always cause us to drift back to our nature rather than our discipline and as always we will punish ourselves more than we need for we are but only people not unfailing gods as we sometimes luxuriously and erroneously think.

Yes we have failed again, but failure too is cooked into the recipe and as long as all of the eaters are not self consumed there will be a continuation of the long history and for those of us that are lucky we will be there....

Posted by: ghostsniper at June 6, 2017 2:02 PM

Comments:

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"It is impossible to speak in such a way that you cannot be misunderstood." -- Karl Popper N.B.: Comments are moderated and may not appear immediately. Comments that exceed the obscenity or stupidity limits will be either edited or expunged.

I just called my husband on the tugboat and told him "You've got to read this!".

That was amazing, Gerard. How do you do it? It's like you are channeling someone. Kinda scary even.

Posted by: teresa at August 9, 2009 6:21 AM

Just read this on my tugboat in NYC after my lovely wife Teresa called me!

The Upper W Side, Upper E Side & Brooklyn Hgts trustafarians would see themselves in this were they not trapped in their hallucinations.

Your site is at the top of our favorites list, Gerard.

Thank You.

Vim Toot!

Posted by: Mica Vim Toot at August 9, 2009 6:45 AM

(continuation)
Yes, O, Yes
The Communist party puppet
Emerges from an East German Chicago home
Humming the seed syllables:
O bah, O bah on Am Air Ah Kah,
Bah!

Posted by: Gloria at August 9, 2009 9:58 AM

"Yes, yes, yes, like our patron saint Michelle-O-LaBelle that deep driving dominatrix of The Won, we too have a two-inch political penis, give us alllll your money, give us alllll your votes, give us ALLLLL THE POWER!, we and we alone can give you the golden gifts of our youth -- appeasement, defeatism, pacifism, penury, poverty and death!",

And very, very bad hygiene, such that we scratch and squirm with pests and louses that our Ancestors - who we curse with our fetid breath -
Those hapless peasants who never knew
A non-fat soy latte, or would drink it -
Rid themselves of years before our glorious coming.

Posted by: Mikey NTH at August 9, 2009 2:44 PM

My paternal grandfather was a very taciturn man. He would not eaily display emotion.

He was born on a farm in Ontario, he tried homesteading in Saskatchewan but gave it up so he didn't 'freeze to death'. He shoveled out barns on 'spring break'. He went RFC, and saved his flight pay. He became a dentist and worked long hours - there were evening office hours back then. He ceased his practice when he was about eighty (and that was when being eighty was a real thing). A tough - fair - Man, was my paternal grandfather.

In his prime, Frederick Russell Orris, Sr., would have beaten these little pretentious twits by himself, and not dropped his pipe while doing it.

Posted by: Mikey NTH at August 9, 2009 2:55 PM

To give an idea of taciturn - my grandfather had a property in West Branch, Mich., that Standard Oil leased for a service station. My dad was driving with my grandfather to check in on it. The hood latch failed and the hood slammed against the windshield, causing each to say 'God Damn Jesus Christ!' before the hood ripped off and flew into the road behind the car.

My dad said it was one of the few times he heard his dad swear. (This was about 1947-48.)

Posted by: Mikey NTH at August 9, 2009 3:01 PM

Dear Mr. VanDerLeun,

Quite good actually. It hints at being an impromptu work. Perhaps with a serious amount of work polishing the edges it might approach the lesser efforts of Ginsberg or Ferlinghetti.

I quite appreciate you restraint in not being overly sarcastic but expressing a restrained, witty sardonic satire.

I, myself, once contemplated such a piece but, tragically, I lost touch with my Maui Wowie supplier. You wouldn't know a trustworthy provider would you? Strictly between friends if you understand what mean.

Regards,
Roy

p.s., Thai Weed, if still available, would be acceptable.

Posted by: Roy Lofquist at August 9, 2009 4:49 PM

So in Brooklyn when the sun goes down and I sit on the old broken down couch in my rent-controlled apartment watching the long, long skies over the East River and sense all that raw land that rolls in one unbelievable huge hernia over to Berkeley, and all that road going, and all the people hallucinating in the immensity of it, and in Flyover Country I know by now the little bastards must be whining in the land where they let the proles have children, and tonight the stars are out though I've never seen one, and don't you know that God is Malibu Barbie? the evening star must be sagging like my unfortunate manhood and dripping its syphilitic excrescences on the prairie, which is just before the coming of complete senility that blesses everybody that reads this crap, cups the balls and folds the final chancre in, and nobody, nobody knows whats going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of becoming inconsequential and feckless, I think of Peter Orlovsky, I even think of Old Peter Orlovsky the father we never found, I think of Peter Orlovsky.

Posted by: Rob De Witt at August 9, 2009 7:26 PM

Gerard? Does being constantly enraged ever become tiring? Or worrisome?

Also, what do you do for money these days? What normal-human stuff are you giving up to spend so much time and energy on all this crazy-frother stuff? Money? Love? Friends? Sleep?

Posted by: gg at August 9, 2009 10:16 PM

Ah, proof positive that you've scored an out-of-the-park home run -- being questioned as to what you do for money these days. Take note, gg: he's doing what the hell he wants to do for money, love, friends and sleep these days.

That was a hellacious piece, my man. And I couldn't truly read it all. I could only brief it because of time constraints but kept thinking to myself, "Damn!"

You wrote about Brain Jazz in January 2006 and complimented me in June 2006 with doing something similar but -- no way. I'm guessing this piece of yours is the real deal.

Keep bringing the fire!

Posted by: RattlerGator at August 10, 2009 3:55 AM

Dearest Rob Dewitt said:

"senility that blesses everybody that reads this crap"

Why don't you and Orlovsky go troll the websites of perverts where only faries are unafraid of the miserable consequences? This is as if we didn't know already that you like the "pictures" there.

Denny

Posted by: Denny at August 10, 2009 7:13 AM

>Take note, gg: he's doing what the hell he wants to do for money, love, friends and sleep these days.

OK, now that you're done shamelessly blowing the dude in public, maybe somebody will answer the questions.

Posted by: gg at August 10, 2009 7:37 AM

Well, on Earth, my people like to know something about their opinion-slingers, especially when they're all bellicose, nasty, self-righteous and blindly, simplemindedly ideological, and when they favor yelling and provocation over thoughtful analysis or formed arguments. For instance, I think it's helpful, when considering his opinions and whether to listen to them, to know that Rush Limbaugh got himself hooked on hillbilly heroin and that his personal life is mysteriously creepy. Puts things in perspective, you know.

So I think it would be helpful to know more about Gerard here. What basis -- other than his body of lunatic (if sometimes spottily well-written) screeds and his long tenure posting to the web pictures of naked women who look like they were made from polystyrene -- do we have for judging him? I mean, that might be enough for some folks. If there's more, I'd like to know. Just how severe a set of pathologies are we dealing with here, and what precisely is their nature? Was his post-911 total freakout mostly a sign of his fundamental weakness, or is there a little legitimate PTSD operant there as well? (And if the latter, is it covered by his non-socialist insurance plan?)

It can't simply come down to "he's just a dime-a-dozen Internet crank," can it? Can it?

Posted by: gg at August 10, 2009 8:26 PM

gg,

Your assignment:

(a) Read Ginsberg's Howl. Illustrated versions don't qualify.

(b) Since the lives of the "nasty, self-righteous and blindly simplemindedly ideological" seem to be a particular interest of yours, do a little research on the life and times of Allen Ginsberg.

(c) Research the history and concept of the term "satire." Your current literature professor may be able to help you with some of the big words.

(d) Get back to us.

We're concerned. It may not be too late.

Posted by: Rob De Witt at August 10, 2009 9:00 PM

For those who desire to know more, there are available at this site and on the sideblog over 7,200 items.

At the top of the page there's a tab called "Archives" that will take you there.

Posted by: Vanderleun at August 10, 2009 9:47 PM

"Well, on Earth, my people like to know something about their opinion-slingers, especially when they're all bellicose, nasty, self-righteous and blindly, simplemindedly ideological, and when they favor yelling and provocation over thoughtful analysis or formed arguments."

But what does Keith Olbermann, Chris Matthews, and the elected Democratic Party leadership have to do with our host here?

Posted by: Mikey NTH at August 11, 2009 7:26 AM

No offense, Arthurstone, but you need a floor mirror? All I need are the dark watches of the night and my own conscience, and I can see my own inadequacies. Lord help me, I see them.

Posted by: Mikey NTH at August 11, 2009 6:13 PM

They did whatever it took to get a negro into the whitehouse because he couldn't be as bad as the previous white Hitlers and guess what?

He turned out to be exactly like what everyone already knew about negroes.

Was there ever any doubt?

So now they double down and try a woman, and will get even worse results.

2024?

A fag multi-felon negro woman of course.

Fortunately I will have left the building by then, unless everything blows apart first, which is more likely.

Summer 2017, if not sooner.

Posted by: ghostsniper at April 6, 2016 7:42 AM

That is really quite good and entertaining. Aside, I had a connected friend in Washington,DC and when I needed a dentist he sent me to his, who would sometimes perform services for the production of his clients. He claimed one of his clients was Ginsberg (had other art from Ginsberg on the walls). Did Ginsberg live in DC ?

That dentist offered nitrous and he turned it up. when the dental assistant said "how do you feel" I said "high." I mean I really felt high, never felt that in a doctor's office.

Posted by: scrivener at June 6, 2017 6:11 PM

OK, I was laughing far to hard by the tine I hit 'aging hair plugged hipsters' to read any farther but after I finish my coffee (well away from the computer) I'll come back and read the rest, I promise.

Posted by: Jim in Alaska at June 7, 2017 10:31 AM

Quite nicely done - parody is, to my view, a much, MUCH more useful (if not exactly "sincere") form of "flattery" - or, is it "flattening"?

Always though "Howl" went on MUCH too long; (original) Ginsberg was, indeed, an over-wordy sucker...good you saw fit to "shorten it up" a bit...makes it rather-more useful.

Posted by: J. S. Bridges at June 7, 2017 3:14 PM