No Static At All

Being a child of
the 1950’s and 1960’s,
I got the opportunity
to see some marvelous
technological changes
come into play
right in front of
my very nose.

I mean,
my very ears.

Frequency Modulation,
for one.

don’t go all
he’s going too technical for me …”

— that’s simply the
real name of what
everybody today calls F.M.

And I have to tell you,
despite all the other
interesting and cool
innovations of the day,
my favorite was
always F.M.

I guess you had to
make a long road trip,
like I often did with
my family, from Florida
to the Northeast
to see relatives,
armed only with a
funky, clunky, junky
A.M. transistor radio,
to really understand.

The A.M.
(or, Amplitude Modulation)
Band not only represents
major suckage today,
but sucked just as bad,
(and maybe even worse)
back in the 1960’s.

Nothing but fast talking,
over-emoted DJ’s babbling
a vapid stream
of un-conciousness,
playing the same 10 damn
records over and over,
not to mention the
commercials every 3 minutes —
— which really put
the ‘AD’ in AD Nauseam.

And the static —-
man, everytime you rode
into outlying metro areas,
under an overpass,
or a plane flew over,
or even turned onto
a route with high grass
on the shoulder-
the static made the
radio unlistenable.

You had no choice
but to take your
mono-earphone out
and tolerate your
brothers and sisters
whining and whingeing.

You could only hope
that one of those
BIG POWER 50,000 watt
stations would fade
in once in a while —

— like WLS in Chicago,
or WSM in Nashville.

Of course, country ain’t
exactly my thing,
but compared to listening
to my brother grousing
4000 times in that special
staccato-falsetto he saved
for such occasions,
it was sweet music to
my ears for sure.

Then, one special day,
the girl down the street
got a new fangled
AM-FM stereo —
and I couldn’t get enough
of messing with that thing.

“F-M” you say?
Experimental, you say?
No commercials, you say?
No static, you say ?
You Don’t Say !

Of course,
I’d love to tell you
that this story had
some kinda romantic
ending, like me and
Susie ran off together
and started our own
million watt FM station
playing nothing but
album-cuts off classic
rock and roll albums
and a nightly show
featuring China Valles
and some really
cool jazz, man.

But sad to say,
Susie soon took up
with the co-captain of
the JV Lacrosse team,
and I had to get
my own FM receiver.

Still, I do kinda have
my own version of a
1960’s FM station
to this day —
it’s called my IPOD.

just sometimes,
mind you,
you have to say
“Thank Heaven”
for technology.

That’s my story,
and I’m sticking with it.

!!!! HOY !!!!

Can’t Figure What You Mean

figuresThis post will probably
strike my readers
as a bit out of
the ordinary —

come to think of it,
— probably not.

It certainly is a weird
ass blog, anyway–
so no.

Ah well.

Bad News:

If you’re planning on spending any timetv
with Phyllis Jefferson of Akron, Ohio,

—- be sure to bring plenty of chips and dip.

I mean, she takes these things
extremely seriously, apparently…

— as her last love interest
found out the hard way.

She was accused of stabbing her boyfriend
multiple times because he was:23
“… eating all the salsa.”

The bastard.

Felonious ” is spelled thusly .

— this isn’t just some bad trip , right?


Keep telling yourself that.burroughswithpattismith


In 1967,

William S. Burroughs wrote an article
for the underground magazine
“The Evergreen Review” called:

23 Skidoo — Eristic Elite “.

In it, he tries to explain
how the language of mass media
(and particularly cults) works, skidoo
in his own imitable, nebulous style.

I thought an excerpt of it might make
for an interesting post one day,

and have been trying to put into
some kind of frame of context
that would be relevant
for the Muscleheaded Blog.

And finally,
I just said….

Fuck it.

Let the man speak for himself.

I can surely find
23-skidoo postcards

And I did.

So, here’s a piece of William Burrough’s mind:


” Anything they can do,
you can do better.

Pick up the Concise Oxford Dictionary ,

— and mix your own linguistic virus —

concentrates fire burn and cauldron bubble

— return confluently the compliment:

eristic elite impacted banal limitrophic

imposture impotently flailing effluvial grout

mud incumbent ME grume intervolving

abrassively affricative incubus interpositional

inconsumate lubricious investiture decommissioned

externalized incondite amastrophe incrassate

misinformed ME palatogram’s epidemic

anfractuousity eschatological obscurant retiary

disaffected lumper uxorious urubu

anarchronic prologist consentual nevermore ……

….. blind man’s bluff any number can play …..

blind prose but it has direction and purpose.

One purpose is to protect a camouflaged
thesis from the embarrassment of factual testing.

If I say “England is an island’,
I can produce evidence to support
my statement should any call it into question.

If they write an article attacking the
Olympia Press as sexualizing congruent
accessibility to it’s heart of pulp fecundate
with orifaces perspectives in the name
of human privacy, they have placed
their thesis beyond the realm of fact,
since the words used refer to nothing
that can be tested.

The words used refer to nothing.

The words used have no referent. ”