Friday, July 31, 2009

Michael, We Hardly Knew Ye

In the ongoing rush to find meaning in Michael Jackson’s death, it’s easy to forget that his life was worth something. He was a pop powerhouse, a moneymaking machine that overshadowed even the nasty rumors that circulated about him. That was probably his triumph. He transcended his own weirdness. It was a stupendous achievement, given his unproductive proclivity for secrecy and indecipherable erotica. He only produced one really great recording in his adult life: “Thriller,” the killer-diller multimillion-selling album that drew the world’s spotlight to him.

But what did all the hoopla “Thriller” generated amount to in the end? A lot of airplay and enough bucks to build his infantile Xanadu, “Never-never-land,” where the happenings conjured up his own private hoodoo, hanky-pankied by the media into strange doings that were based on precious little evidence … except for his choice of verifiable roommates and his curious appearance.

The surgical carving of his skull … the white tint of his skin … the single white glove. The Peter Pan presence.

Now drugs have come into the picture. Doctors were involved in unsavory ways. Or, so it is being suggested. Like Elvis and Hank Williams and John Lennon and an angelic choir of others, Michael Jackson is now just another statistic in the archive of fabulousness, a king without a crown.

So what?

So his passing was, in a way that is only now fully unfolding, a good career move. As one CBS Records executive said: “Frankly speaking, he was worth more dead than alive.”
Let the selling of sensationalism begin a new chapter. Everybody knew it would come to this eventually.

“History is not my story.
“History is not your story.
“History is
“His story.”

-- Sun Ra (a.k.a. Sonny Blount),
Visionary leader of the Intergalactic Omniverse Jet Arkestra

Thursday, July 30, 2009

"The Ballad of Pretty Boy Floyd"

Woody says, "Some men rob you with a six-gun, some with a fountain pen."

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Grandpa's Happy Marriage Tips

Grandpa sezs it don't matter where you get your appetite, son, just eat at home.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Jim Kelton will be posting what Orliz says on this blog in coming days!

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Orlis sez...I'us a talkin' to Larry Davis (the Arkansas Blues Man that wrote Texas Flood, the song that started Stevie Ray Vaughn's career).
And he said, "that when he was a kid he never missed the Grand Ole Opry and sometimes he'd get whupped for runnin' the car battery down, cuz they didn't have no 'lectricity.
And that when Howlin Wolf and them dudes said oooooooouh! they us a tryin to sound like Jimmy Rogers, the singin' brakeman.

Orlis sez...yankees think black people invented rap music. The first time I heard rap music was when I was at a sqiare damce when I was about 3 years old when I went to an auction and heard a hillbilly auction and heard a great hillbilly auction and heard a great hillbillly rapper, but it goes back a lot further than that. Doc Watspm and his family give a good rendition.
Here tiis...
Doc and family sez...
Doc Watson and Fanily Tradition track three, title Childre Songs

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Woody sez...Christ for president

Let's have Christ our president. Let's have him for king. Cast your vote for the carpenter that they call the Nazarene. The only way we can ever beat these crooked politician men is to run the money-changers out of the temple and let the carpenter in.
Oh, its Jesus Christ for president, God above our king with a job and position for young and old we will make hallelujah ring.
Every year we waste enough to feed the men who starve. We build our civilization up and we shoot it down with wars. But the carpenter on the seat away up in the capital town the USA would be on the way, prosperity bound.

Friday, July 3, 2009

Old man needs medical help

Orlis sez, I'us talkin to this ol' gal and I'us a tellin her the thing about the old man and foreplay, and she us a talkin about what offended her about them viagra commercials is talkin about them four-hour erections to call the doctor immediately. Hell, if my old man ever got one of them four-hour erections, he would need medical attention because I'd beat him to death with his own blunt instrument. If he didn't need an ambulance, I'd take him out to dinner.