Getting Warmed up for Xmas! 

                       HIT IT MRS. S!!!!!

Bianco Natale Cha Cha

 

Chicks dig the wax, and a nice library doesn't hurt

 

The Rent is too Damn High!

 

 It Takes All Kinds

Likewise

Does He Even Have a License for This?

Happy Halloween

 

Jack Kirby does the Mob

 

Van Helsing testing his new phone

 

Do not waste a day, not a single hour!

 Do not waste a day, not a single hour! Assemble all forces and all resources and set them to work! Put every worker in his proper place! Every province, every uyezd, every volost must now work as though the burden of Kolchak’s invasion had to be born wholly by itself alone. These spring weeks will decide things for good and all. If Kolchak’s forces are scattered, then what remains of Krasnov’s and Denikin’s bands will disappear

In their wake, the British will withdraw their occupation forces, and Hindenburg will take himself off with his wretched ‘iron’ battalions.

Kolchak is the only serious danger threatening us. This danger will be overcome, eliminated, crushed. Workers’ and Peasants’ Russia wants to live, and will live.

Death and destruction to Kolchak!

Long live Workers’ and Peasants’ Russia!

Leon Trotsky, Russia or Kolchak?, 1919

Soviet Heartland

Red vs. White

Death and destruction to Kolchak!

 

Thrones

London and Tower Bridges from Millennium Bridge, 2010, Josephine Trotter

Charles, first of his name, was executed by Parliament in 1649. His unwilling sacrifice enacted the transfer of power, actually unfolding over centuries, from the feudal landed to capitalist industry. Perhaps because he was the first of his sort to be so removed his bloodline would soon be permitted to keep their throne, unlike his brethren Louis and Nicholas. But the English monarch would now be observed rather than obeyed.

Elizabeth's repose in Westminster is a final ritual of observation in a life dedicated to the role of being seen. The affection lavished on her has much to do with her workmanlike precision in playing that role. In Lennon's words "she doesn't have a lot to say". Her heir, the current Charles, will probably also not have much to say beyond mourning his dear mother as he previously mourned the mother of his heirs, who actually perished in the act of being observed.

Public attention has already shifted from the king to his two children. In their own lives they embody an ambiguity about the throne and, more, about public personality. The elder quietly abides while his younger brother publicly renounces.

Whatever the fate of a particular throne the idea of the nation has historically been bound to monarchy. Britain clings to its own throne as it clung by a narrow margin to its insular status. When it has buried its queen its mind will inevitably return to the many contradictions of nationalism. In this it is not unique among nations, whether republics or not.

The Tale of the Priest and Balda, his Hired Hand

 

The Tale of the Priest and Balda, his Hired Hand

Alexander Pushkin, 1931.  Translated from the Russian by Barry Link

There once was a priest,

An oatmeal noggin,

This priest went to market

To shop for something or other.

He bumps into Balda,

Not looking where he’s going.

“Why up so early, Pops?

What might you be collecting?”

Said the priest, “I could use a worker,

A cook, groom, and carpenter.

But where can I find an employee

Like that and not pay too much?”

Said Balda, “I’ll do fine work for you,

Eagerly, and oh so precisely,

For just three flicks to your brow per year

And boiled spelt for me to eat.”

The priest thought it over,

Scratched his noggin a bit.

Well, who’s to say that a flick is a flick.

He was counting on a little Russian luck.

The priest said to Balda, “Ok,

We’ll both get something from this,

Come stay a while at my farm,

Let’s see how eager you are.”

So Balda comes to live in the priest’s house,

He sleeps on straw,

He eats for four,

He works for seven,

Till dawn it all dances for him.

Harness the horse, till the field,

Light the stove, buy and store everything,

Bake and peel a little egg, all on his own.

The priest’s wife can’t say enough about Balda,

The priest’s daughter will be sad just for Balda,

The priest’s son calls him daddy.

He stirs the porridge, he nurses the baby,

Only the priest Balda doesn’t love.

Never is that one his little darling.

He thinks non-stop of the reckoning.

Time goes by, and the day is near.

The priest isn’t eating, isn’t drinking, isn’t sleeping,

His head is splitting, anticipating.

Now he blurts to his wife,

“What can we do, anyway?”

The old lady’s no fool,

She’s not short of tricks.

She says, “I know how to fix this,

To get us out of this mess.

Make Balda’s job unbearable,

And see he does it just so.

Then you and your forehead won’t pay the price,

And Balda will be off empty-handed.”

The priest was elated,

And gave Balda bolder looks.

Now he’s shouting, “Get over here,

Balda, my trusty employee.

Listen: for as long as I live

The devils have sworn to pay me rent.

Do I need the money, no.

But it’s three years now they owe. 

As you’ve been eating your fill of spelt

Collect me this rent from the devils in full.”

Balda, wasting no time arguing,

Goes and sits at the seashore,

And there begins to twist some rope,

Leaving the end to soak in the sea.

Out of the water crept an old demon.

“Balda, what brings you sneaking around here?”

–”Well, I want to furrow the sea with this rope

And all you damned lot twist up good.”

Here the old demon was stunned.

“What grievance is this?”

–“How can you even ask? You haven’t paid rent,

You’ve forgotten when it’s due.

I’m going to enjoy this,

Because you, curs, are stuck.”

–”Baldushka, hold up with this tossing,

The rent in full will soon be yours.

Just wait, I’ll send my grandson.”

Balda is thinking, “Not like this is a trick!”

The summoned imp popped up,

Meowing like a hungry kitten.

“Hello Balda, my man,

Which rent do you need?

A hundred years we haven’t heard about rent,

That wasn’t our problem, us devils.

Anyway, so be it, let’s settle

The matter like this, right here,

And, from now on, no troubles for anyone.

Whichever one of us is quicker round the sea

He will have all the rent.

Meantime we’ll put a sack together.”

Balda began to chuckle to himself,

“Really, this is your plan?

Where you go up against me,

Me, Blockhead himself?

What a scoundrel they’ve sent!

Wait just a minute for my little brother.”

Balda ducked into the woods nearby,

Grabbed two bunnies, put them in a sack.

Returning to the sea

On the shore he finds the imp.

He holds up a bunny by the ears,

“Now dance to our balalaika

You imp, still wet behind the ears,

A little too delicate to challenge me.

What a waste of time.

First outrun little brother.

Ready, set, go! Catch up.”

Off go the bunny and the imp,

Imp along the shore,

And the bunny home to the woods.

Now all round the sea,

His tongue sticking out, his mug upturned,

The imp has run gasping,

Dripping wet, wiping with his paw,

Thinking; that’s wrapped up.

But what’s this? Balda petting little brother 

As he says, “Little dear brother,

So tired, poor thing! Rest my pet”.

Imp rubbed his eyes,

Tucked his tail, and shut his mouth,

Glancing sidelong at the bunny.

“Wait”, he says, “I’ll fetch the rent.”

He went to grandpa, says “Trouble!

That little Balda outran me!”

Old devil stood lost in thought,

But Balda kicked up such a racket

The whole sea was upset

And waves burst open.

The imp climbs out, “Enough, man,

We’re giving you the rent, all of it –

Just listen. See this club?

Pick any target you like.

Whoever throws the club farthest,

Let him claim the rent.

So? Afraid to throw out your arm?

What are you waiting for?” “I’m watching this storm cloud,

That’s where I’m throwing this club,

Then, devils, I will fight you all.”

The imp, frightened, is off to grandpa

To tell him of Balda’s victory.

But Balda started back to making a racket

And threatening devils, again, with his rope.

Again the imp climbs out. “Why such fuss?

The rent is yours, whenever…”

–”No,” says Balda,--

“My turn now, 

On my terms,

I’m putting you, my foe, to the test.

We’ll see how strong you are.

You see that gray mare?

Go lift the mare,

Carry her half a verst.

You carry her, the rent is yours.

If you can’t, it’s mine.”

Poor devil,

Crawled under the mare,

He grunted,

He strained,

He lifted the mare and took two steps.

At the third he crumpled, toes pointed to the sky.

Said Balda, “You stupid devil,

Where were you going?

Can’t carry that with your arms,

Watch, I’ll carry it between my legs.”

Balda sat astride the mare

And galloped a verst in a cloud of dust.

Scared, the imp returns to grandpa

Another victory to admit.

Stood in a circle the devils.

Nothing else to do – put up the whole rent

And tossed the sack to Balda.

Balda goes, he squawks,

And the priest, catching sight, leaps up,

Hides himself behind his wife,

And squirms in fear.

Balda spotted him,

Handed over the rent, demanded his pay.

Poor priest,

He offered up his forehead.

With the first flick

He flew to the ceiling.

With the second flick

The priest lost his tongue.

And the third flick

Knocked the old man clean out of his mind.

Balda sentenced him reproaching:

“This is how it goes, priest, with cheapskates.”

Original Russian text here:  Сказка о попе и о работнике его Балде

Bang Bang

 

Collect 'em All

 

Bad Maps

 

A Lot of Work

As somebody who has helped plan coups d'etat -- not here, but, you know, other places -- it takes a lot of work. And that's not what he did. It was just stumbling around from one idea to another. John Bolton, CNN, July 12 2022

In comments on the Jan 6 hearings today Bolton applied his expertise on planning coups to argue against the idea that Trump had engaged in such planning, that he had attempted to overthrow the US government. He contends such planning is beyond his former boss's ability and that he is solely focused on reactive responses to threats to his personal fortunes. Point taken. But, as with anything from Bolton's mouth, we can assume it's wrong and that, when examined, can reveal more than intended about the imperial power that he has always served. 

Bolton was a late and unenthusiastic recruit. He, no doubt, perceived Trump as an unqualified and suspect ascendant to the throne. Which he was. Right up to his election in 2016 he possessed no more qualification for the office than his façade as a boss. Enough, together with the revenant faithful of the GOP, to elect him that year. To his own surprise.

That event did not change Trump. But it did open a political closet that is usually closed, at least when genteel company has been invited. Trump's father would have had no objection to its contents. And he likely passed on a sense of how to maintain a minimum of legal decorum regarding it in public. When we are told that plates are thrown and obscenities hurled we can assume that a disciplined distinction between public and private has been breached in ways that used to be covered by the payroll and non-disclosure agreements. 

What Bolton is misrepresenting is that, yes, Trump's personal interests are never overlooked, but that his personal interests now went beyond his teetering fortune and were entwined with the doninionist sainthood that had been conferred on him with his election. No longer just a real estate mogul he was now a savior to his devotees. And among those were everyone who believes that the democratically determined needs of the whole country as expressed in the last, or any, election could not be allowed to undo their salvation.

Trump's only defense against the charge of sedition is that he failed. He never objected and doesn't still. His plans were quite serious but did not gain the adherence of a single official, nothing more than a handful of the most deluded members of Congress, a few lackeys, and some very minor capitalists. He then twice stepped back from the precipice, trembling to expose himself irrevocably. He declined to appoint Jeffrey Clark as AG and he sent his legions across the Rubicon to the Capitol while he threw a tantrum and remained behind. Ultimately, more a Caligula than a Caesar.

But Bolton has more wool he would pull over us. He seemed to think that he has been a clever TV guest by confessing to something we all know was his job and then declining to go into details. However, his mouth is open for everyone to see. He takes for granted there is a distinction between planning a coup in the far provinces and political revolution in the heart of the empire but he has placed them side by side nevertheless. And, in this world, where we all live, the one is intimately connected to the other. 

 

Hoss is feeling low

 

And only 45¢

 

Five Lems

 

Your Mind

 

Are y'all in the Crusader Army?

 

Yup

Happy Birthday Sun Ra

 

Jack Noir - Hand it over