A Jade Dagger

The 2008 film The Forbidden Kingdom is a lavish coming of age film, and although one doesn't forget that Jackie Chan takes up the composite drunken kung fu master where the B movies from Hong Kong left off, to my mind this is an attempted blockbuster homage to Jet Li, because his time as the warrior moralist heir to Bruce Lee was drawing to a close, and why am I thinking of this boys will be boys flick? Because its violence is ornate, fantastical, even if it allows for the tributaries of outcry for daughters who are determined to seek retribution, and I am somewhat infuriated with a handful of progressive Libertarians on Twitter, namely a husband and father of a five year old who mastered the smart phone camera to take a plethora of doggie photos. Laughable moment. I am pissed off at Curt for flashing a gif of starving Africans, the motif of the public service pleas of television broadcast for as long as any of us can remember, given that humans of the radio age are dying out. Curt says sorry you have to see this, but both Biden and Trump are to blame,

No, neither Biden nor Trump, especially Trump, are to blame for the suffering in the underdeveloped world in the sense that Curt means it, and I am not sure where the conservative right exists in the American scene anymore. I lost my temper with Curt for pandering, barely restrained myself from launching into a micro Tweet tirade for which I might have been suspended. I have wanted to write something about the condition of libertarian minorities for a long time, and we'll pick it up as soon as I can. I am dearly trying to salvage the remnants of my strength, and it's very difficult, not the least of which because of the nigger skulking about my studio with his frustrations. Terminating the working relationship with him wouldn't be easy on me right now.

Waking Dream in Shaolin Pallor

"How do I look?"-- David Carradine

It does not matter to my bowels, in this humidity, barely eating enough for two meals in 72 hours, I am skid marked, no matter what care I take, jock cripple or not, however long I have lived with incontinence, whatever methods Dr. Sloane attempted, and he fed me a cartel's envy, I now have nearly continuous pain in my gut, and how much more can I continue to rise above it with stoicism? I hate Niume.com, and I know it is an unfair emotion, but they shouldn't have courted me in an attempt to save themselves. Yet my eulogy to David through his father bore fruit out of it, and I'm writing myself to death, because I know it's over, and it isn't that complex that I'm haunted by a man whose heyday was forged in my impressionable years, that he and I both would become antagonistic to Kwai Chang Caine.

This man is the ghost of a love waylaid, and I have to relearn how to embed video, arching and tossing on a mattress long delayed for the incinerator, we will the dead back to life. No one is putting me away, no one. Let's take five. 

John Carradine in Milan

John Carradine didn't need special effects prosthetics when guest starring opposite his grandson David in Kung Fu. His hands are gnarled, and he looks the part of a blind elderly cripple. Perhaps, despite his crepe wrinkled face, he did not have his grandson's range. This might have something to do with his training in theater as a Shakespearean, or perhaps vaunted legacy Jewish liberals like Ed Spielman, who created the cult classic martial arts serial for Burbank, weren't around to apply their intellect to give this Don Juan something better to do than lose a battle of wits against Greek goddesses, but Spielman's writers take us through the inevitable paces of rehabilitation law which existed in my childhood days, days when David Carradine was still an on going New Age concern. Kung Fu is a paean for the counter culture of my era. Disillusioned hippies get to see one of their own defeat monopolistic tyrants, whether in China-- Burbank's version-- which isn't all that more stereotypical than Beijing's version in the 21st century where Michelle Yech, for all intents and purposes, is the Asiatic supergirl, linear abstract fairytale heroine skillfully merged into the Chinese tradition, which bears some relation to conventions taught in Egyptology.

John Carradine's con artist may be blind, but the holy priest shows him what he's still capable of discerning, taking grand daddy through the liberal ideology of no pity, which collapses in the condensed span of serial time as John senior marginalizes himself, a frail old man, clearing the path for David's superstardom, which David radicalizes in his seventies, in turn. His last performance, on Mental, was nothing short of a fait accompli, a near virtuoso rebellion completed in a silent 50 minute arc, with a creative genius rivaling Verlaine's operatic intricacy, as if to pre-stage his ironic, speculative, death in Thailand, an auto-erotic exercise mishandled, taking a life long capitalization of body art a bridge too far; perhaps seemingly preferable to his grandfather's multiple organ failure, but David never sold his audiences short. Caine might as well have been the living embodiment of the Jesus Prayer as he was an adherent of the Tao, and in more neo-realism applications, if David was going to be a ruthless bastard, he lived that murderous abandon to the point of enthrall. What woman wouldn't want to make love to this projection of apex masculinity?

This liberalism, in its apogee, foretells the doom of its own exhaustion, even if a palsied quadriplegic removes the personal experience from the equation, and the level of expectation. For example, taking a downgrade of 250 per commission to 15 dollars for Examiner posts was a resentment generating exercise, but Clarity Media promoted her to an AXS writer, doing original articles, 5 to 10 USD. Had she persevered, rather than giving the automated snags the finger, it would have generated more revenue than these exercises. Impulse control only aggrandizes how the deck is stacked, but is no less countermanded by the evidence that it is. Burbank's idealism hasn't altered the social realities on our ground game, whatever our nostalgia for its morality plays. It represents another reason to solidly remain in Toomey's camp, the relatively invisible tea party heir who bestowed mercy on Stony Brook, to little avail. Do I expect to get past the gateway to utilize his legislative agenda for my own?