Can you hear the beat of the Bongo Drums yet?

I can. I'm living in it.

I'm a Lunatic!

I'm in a Knucklehead ocnsky Russ State of Mind

Here I am weeding my shady wild-flower glen filled with the rare white Alba form of the biannual Lunaria, commonly called "Silver Dollar Plant" for the seed pods which develop later. Of course, in the foreground, a few examples have reverted to the loud purple, which I allow, although I rip them out of the ground before they can even think of completing the sex act.

The birds and the bees, the flowers and the trees.

A thing called love.

Funniest thing I ever read on the BCO/Crewcial circuit is a play on an IP address:

cut.us.in

cut.me.in?


My idea for the next Google billionaire:

GooglePsychHistory!

Instead of an "I feel lucky" button

You'd press "Off His Meds?" for a quick search.

Stevenwarran Turns 50: The Pre-Party


Getting in between Mr & Mrs. Pink.

Tee-shirts and body English talking.

Cherche le femme.

Three of my favorite guys and a mother.

Parking like in a Pentagon photograph.

Color theory gone wrong!

Much more sophisticated theories at work.

The money shot.
Coming up next: The Slumber Party

Beaver Welch

I must really be feeling wounded to pull this out. Perhaps just a temporary malaise after seeing myblackass's contribution of a photograph of a bloated corpse on a related message board. Hopefully, his is judicial evidence, and not extra-judicial, and he posts it because he identifies with a fate in the electric chair, which is obviously his destiny. Everybody brings something different to the table and that's his gift.

I love the fact that I'm one-year old and I'm interested in the man with the camera.

What do you make of this copy?

The Welches spent their vacation in Wisconsin and Canada--and while there convinced a Canadian couple to come down to Rock Island on their vacation.

Mr. and Mrs. Robert Dixon of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, spent this week in Rock Island at the Welch home.

Convinced? Was it hard? Why?

The penultimate paragraph bears repeating:

"Steven is nicknamed 'Beaver,'" Mrs. Welch explained, :Partly because of the TV program and partly because he's 'busy as a beaver' all day."

I recall my report cards in the third grade were still issued to "Beaver Welch."

On edit: Feb. 11, 2009

The truth can be so elusive. That's why having good archives is important. On a recent dip into such I found the following two images from 1958:

In the first, where I thought I was so cute being intrigued by the strange man with the camera, in truth I was simply being purchased, bought off, with some sugary food substance. See the hand of the woman with the painted-on eyebrows, and the opened bag of mini-marshmallows ? Take THAT away, and then you can SCREW the man with the camera---give me more cookie! One in the hand and back em up on the tray, bar-maid!

And look at my hair. Do I seem to be the only one sweating? AT AGE ONE??! What's up with that?

Although, I must say, mother looks tastefully accessorized with that interesting bracelet and those clip earrings. And such humble, focused poses.

This leads me to another issue: We, the two of us---my mother and I---have agreed that our memories can sometimes be so divergent that we are both going to have to write independent history books of our shared experiences.

A case in point---I am convinced that somewhere along in my childhood I accessed knowledge held inside "my baby book" where a fascinating anecdote was recorded----my first word. According to my memory, my first word as recorded in that book was "fry-fries," said on the way to some of the beef-suet-soaked treats at the golden arches of McDonald's.

Now, this is a trick, because there weren't very many McDonald's around in 1958. However, if you do the research, you'll find that one of the first few was on 23rd Avenue in Moline, Illinois, "The Farm Implement Manufacturing Capital of the World"---Moline, that is. In 1900, the John Deere Company was the fifth largest corporation in America, and it has always been headquartered in Moline, since the 1960's in a beautiful Eero Saarinen-designed building, so don't go looking down your noses at Moline, mind you, because it's also home to Case and Caterpillar.

Now here's where it gets very tricky. On a recent trip back to the salt mine holding family material I could reasonably determine that my baby book is no more! Yes! It has been squashed! Suppressed! Not to cast aspersions loosely here, but Cui bono? Who might have an interest in seeing my early addiction training, um...altered? Ma-ma? Da-da? I say fry-fry.

Stevenwarran circa 1977:
Are You Man Enough To Straighten Him Out?

All He Ever Wanted Was to Learn Symmetrical Warfare

But No Man Ever Cared Enough to Teach His Sorry Ass

April 24, 2007

The Day my Juliette Balcony was Installed.
Erected. Raised. Whatever.

10am "Oh happy dagger....here is thy sheath!

Spring in Southampton!

My Berty, Reminding us: two fists for every asshole!
OK. It's up. What do you think?


We'll have to wait until tomorrow morning to take a proper picture in "the golden light."





Here's a fancy pair of wrought-iron gates from the Bradley-Martin house in Old Westbury: Knole by Carrier & Hastings. My fancy-pants lawyer friend who appreciates fine metal work can have them for a cool 12K. The original gilt is under the black paint. I'll have his initials crafted for the central cartouche, which are what again?


Chris is a hot 25-year-old who wants to come live out back at my place. I said sure, let's talk more tomorrow. I got him going.

THIS IS MY LIFE

THIS IS MY MIND

THIS IS MY CHRIST CONSCIOUSNESS

THIS IS THE AMERICAN MILITARY INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX AT
FULL FLOWER

WHO DO YOU THINK WILL WIN?

THIS IS WHAT I LIKE TO DO TO YOUNG MEN WHEN I GET THEM IN MY CLUTCHES

In honor of the arrival Wednesday of Bella Elizabeth Duque, a Taurus with a shock of dark hair like her father, Luis, who for three years was my live-in Hispanic (there needs to be a term for that.) Although Luis had lots of natural ability, I take some credit for classing up his act, and getting him married into a well-fixed local Catholic family. I had a wonderful experience standing up for him on the altar of our wildly overdecorated local church. The lighting was so superb I felt like I was in a movie.

Later, I crashed and burned giving the toast. Why did I think it was important to tell the gathered, "I want you to know! I never had sex with that boy! Luis. Luis Duque!"

As his "American father," I was forgiven. They are a very happy, growing family

Hillary Clinton and Steven WarRan: When We Were Young and Just Starting Out

Look what I found! Isn't this del.ic.ou.s fun! Except, I'm spotting a pattern here with me when it comes to women and cameras. Let's just call it deference, and stimulation. Making them feel pretty and ducking out of the way in the evidence.

At least I can get them going, unlike the moribund actors on the Pentagon stage. That comes from my taking a single (general) math and a single (general) science class in the ninth grade in total fulfillment of my public high school requirements, then taking 18 credits of theater and drama with the most sublime mentor and genius, a man who literally saved my life.

I can't remember, but I must have risked saying something borderline off-color here, but I do recall another picture of the two of us from that morning, which was published in the New York Post, where we both look saintly ahead, our eyes cast demurely down, attending to our work, so I must have made a quick amends.

Of course this won't do Hillary any good, and I don't care. I no longer support either side in our system of balanced corruption. I see the Republican fury during Bill's white house years for what it was: clear eyed, level headed envy, knowing what he was getting away with. Both parties must have ratcheted it down a couple of notches on the what-can-be-purloined - under-the-guise-of "public-good"-scale. Dubya is entirely a synthetic creation of recent vintage, and it should be easy to trace the guilty in his midst; his supporters only go back to Texas bundler days; corporate fatcats, crooks like MBNA, who beat out ENRON as top giver, and got to savage the bankruptcy laws as a result; then there's the Christo-Fascist terrorists, the fundamentalists who combined with neo-con seditiousness of the Zionists.

I never understood the enthusiasm for Bush until recently. What they were whispering amongst themselves at the beginning was: this man is a certified sociopath! We can do, or say, or take anything, and he'll still be able to keep a straight face and pull one over! We'll just back the truck right up to the treasury door, and load in! He is the most incredible actor in the world, you'd never know he was acting, because he's not--he doesn't know HOW to tell the truth! It's reflexive.

Now wait a minute--we're on my territory! And I say the opening number in this act is going to be By His Fruits We Shall Know Him, sung to the tune of the old white-cracker spiritual, The Old Rugged Cross.

Still believing blandly in the American Constitution and the rule of law, and really just dreading the alternative, like getting what we deserve, I say, show me. Let's see how honest leaders can get. Let them break down along the fault lines of their evil triumvirate where I can smell the sulfur emanating from the cracks, as the rapture-ready get in bed with the Zionists, claiming an end-times doctrinal necessity just discovered, as the country-club conservatives speak and snicker behind their palms.

We are of a different three kinds now. The foreknowledged, who are simply forsaken. The forensic, who must be forepassed, although foreborne will do nicely. And the force majeure, who gad about with foreplay--and that would be without foreskins, since the latest research finds circumcision reduces the rate of HIV transmission by 60%.
Hold Em

Warning! Code Alert! Secondary Meaning to "Daisy Chain"

All this talk about a "New Pearl Harbor," I thought I'd better get right with the old Pearl Harbor first. On a recent trip to Oahu for a family wedding, a group of us spent a day doing the military sights. The Arizona was a mixed bag for me. On the one hand, the sheeple watching couldn't have gotten any better than while waiting for a turn on the skiff (or would that be called a launch?) But hearing Ernest Borgnine over-emote on the audio tour nearly drove me mad, as he had some facts, and all of his emphasis, wrong, but hey, it's my problem if I find dumbed-down McHale's Navy television gloss unsuitable rather than reassuring, given the gravity of the tour, and the present, repetitive circumstance, just reinforcing it's me and a few others against a marching 250-million strong sleeping phalanx--so what the hell?

Nonetheless, water was forced from my eyes, even before imagining the fate of the drowned and burned--nearly half the dead that day were on that one vessel. Then, as the women went shopping, the men continued on to the museum and The Missouri. Here is a picture of me wearing my Special Researcher tin-foil hat, sure I'd find something intriguing below decks. I'm with my Scott County cousins: beefy Dan, who has 200 acres in sod; Terry, who does community college stuff with seeds, even travels to the Ukraine on weighty seed business; and dear octogenarian Uncle Fred: horseman, gentleman farmer and retired builder--successful enough to haul 27 of his personal offspring and their descendants to a destination wedding in Hawaii. Ian Meyer must come from such good root stock as well, I'm sure.


Unfortunately, touring the Missouri, this magnificent ship of peace, built too late for action, was spoiled by an overbearing Dyke docent who kept going on about its firepower and its role in the first Iraq war, all the while saying, "You have no idea," how it was in the old days, and "You can't imagine" blah, blah, blah. I can image the fatalities using the 50-centimeter bore guns for a turkey shoot, as Saddam's forces left Kuwait on the single highway to hell out.

At least she was doing her part in spreading gender non-conformity--big time, which felt balancing after all the heterosexual privilege dished out and regurgitated at the wedding. Our $28 guide must have been channeling Lucy Brewer, the first woman in the Marine Corps, who disguised herself as a gung-ho man serving in the Marine Detachment aboard the USS Constitution during the War of 1812. Life is so unfair when it comes to lesbians--they get to do everything. I could disguise myself as Diana Ross (Pick grapes....sow oats.....pull taffy....those are the moves for Ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no valley low enough, ain't no river wide enough, to keep me from you!) and serve on a USO resupply wig ship, like in the old days, the days when a drill Sargent could knock a raw recruit around a bit, unlike the hands-off present. Well, dykes can't decorate, and I am a curious yellow.

Hey--wait a minute!

There's no red square flag in the U.S. Navy signal flag code!
They're not using the chelsea hankie code, are they?


Quick! Run!

You know, you've got to keep propelling the propaganda. Hit em over the head.

Originally published on February 15, 2007 on stevenwarran.blogspot.com

Fisters! Bloggers!

Originally published March 15, 2007 on stevenwarran.blogspot.com
jstapula@gmail.com

Boy, can he fist!

Off to the Dillingham Ranch for a fortnight, to a family wedding.
In keeping with the enormous pattern of luck ruling my life these days, efforts at costuming the big day were very successful. At six-feet tall and 200lbs, I am fat--do you hear?--fat, but I'm also a perfect 44 regular. I went to our local toy Macy's where I found this light-weight, black velvet Claiborne jacket for $31. (I swear to God.)

So feeling able to afford extravagance, I grandly waltzed into what passes for Southampton's best men's shop these days, and announced I wanted to buy the best white dress shirt in the store, which tickled the elderly European clerk, who directed me to the most sublime cotton shirt I've seen since my days of wine and roses turned into calender tics of Tang and philodendron. Made by a designer unknown to me, Robert Graham, his discrete initials can be found riding the cuffs, while his name and a ducal coronet are beautifully embroidered at the neck, to the interior only, where my hot chakra blasts will destroy them in short order. Worn with an open collar, together with a fine-fitting pair of old raspberry Polo slacks and new espadrilles to be purchased last-minute on the island (the something new of tradition,) no one will ever guess the hard rows of BCO turnips I have only recently been hoeing.

I said hoeing.

But the most amazing aspect to the shirt is a gratuitous label hidden at the bottom of the embroidered placket, itself a hiding device for the buttons in the front. Reading Knowledge Wisdom Truth and riding my dangerous base energy sector, I think I'll be safely covered. Tis grace that will get me through.... Not bad for $175 bucks.


To any BCO regulars who stumble this way, tis grace that will get us all through.

My Board Crewcial.Org Enthronement



knucklehead posted this on Mar 12th, 2007 at 03:21:25 am This is one sexy killing machine...


Goodnight sweet prince.

stevenwarran posted this on Mar 12th, 2007 at 05:06:30 am You know Knucklehead, you really are a ruffian, as proved by your rejection of my considerate apology and entreaty of peace. I hope you check up your food chain before you launch any attacks on me. I have powdered the pretty pink bottom of the likes of Nathaniel Philip Victor James Rothschild, on occasion, while he enjoyed spats of mushroom eating such as with the young Tamsin Greenhill, for instance, and I don't think one could go much higher up on the international oligarchic menu plan than that. I just might march down to Saint Luke's Place and pound on his door and wake his servants and implore their protection from your rough low faction of domestic spookdom. You know, servants have as extensive a network as anything you CIA/Blackwater people have come up with, and I can promise a major scandal where heads will roll!

Buttered roll, my dear!

And having failed to assist me in my attempts to post gay porn on your web site (I could take you places you've never been before, let me assure you) you shall gain no advantages devolving from your brief, now concluded, intercourse with me. Pray, avoid any disadvantages.

Good day to you, sir.