Yes, kids, somewhere on the old TVAW blog we had something about understanding life and which did not require that the two friendly X-men, the big powers
Magneto! and Dr. Strangelove! or Patrick Stewart and Sir Somebody Much Better Actor Ian McKellan! should have to be sweeping up for William Shatner somehow, so
that Professor Sylvain couldn't get a laugh here too, eh boys? Well, if we remember Stewart as Sejanus, and Ian McKellan as a Richard III barreling threw
a wall in his tank, then why shouldn't I remember William Shatner as a man with the guts to come to BJC after Robby Larkin had been checking out
attendings, and Robby Larkin would say, 'What, Mayo?'
And if Lew Alcindor or however you spell that goddamned name should come into the conversation, then Brother, we remember Wilt and we remember Bill Russell as our man, and we remember also that ol' Whitey got to play sixth man, on our favorite Celtics team, even post-Auerbach, because an Indiana Byrd was on it, and he didn't have to be born in Deadcherokee, but strange things happen, even the notion that somehow William Shatner could act, and work for a living, and have the good grace not to acknowledge me as I would have acknowledged him if the Hiroshima Precision Drill Team and Old Actor Squad didn't need him to stand in for some shadows upon a wall that should bring us sadness always ...
So kids, do understand that when in the third film and which appears to be a comeon for a fourth, that when the beautiful child is cutting off his wings to please his father, that somehow it is a testament to great men in theater understanding that when a great image is given to you, that Lord Blakeney in Master and Commander losing his right arm, and needing his nail clean of shit after he'd wiped his ass, means that privilege and money are not the same things, that is a privilege to work for a living and to command and that some men are born to it, and not borne to it, like some Xerxes carried to pretend he was a God, not even should he ride a horse and pretend he was the Sun God Hirohito when even he could have been a spent emission on an old drunk's lawn, if he not understand the Buddha and Sun Wukong, and 'Oh fuck off. And that was piss in your hand.' Somehow religion and 'scientific understanding' have joined in perversity such that only only only! Sir Alec Guinness could tell a kid essentially, and in a very sweet way, to get a life! And so not be required to be that poor sod Obiwan Larkinobi, nor need TVAW or even the Tennessee Valley Authority to tell him 'bout Taum Sauk, these recent days, and Johnson Shut-ins, and Lyndon Johnson being the greatest President since Franklin and throw in Eleonard and Winston Churchill, if you like, just keep out Ronald Reagan and Maggie 'Moron' Thatcher.
And for Robert Larkin, and which is to say for myself, and knowing Vajrayana-Mahayana-Hinayana:Theravada, rather than entirely too much to ever lose to a man who lispeth but that he should be a young woman who could herself by my better, because she has the better heart, and never mind that she be black on Hindooooooo! or an Indian knowing whackwhackwhat whackwhackthrakattack he knows he reached that hand in time ...
And for the St. Louis Police Department and the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, and when wen and when dow meant things my family could always understand if given the time to find the right Williams, and even if Robert it seems has his own version of the Williams memory, and even the squirrels remember the right hand toss of bread so that all of us could eat.
Robert Larkin/Robbydharma
Edited on the fly's eye, so to speak.
And if Lew Alcindor or however you spell that goddamned name should come into the conversation, then Brother, we remember Wilt and we remember Bill Russell as our man, and we remember also that ol' Whitey got to play sixth man, on our favorite Celtics team, even post-Auerbach, because an Indiana Byrd was on it, and he didn't have to be born in Deadcherokee, but strange things happen, even the notion that somehow William Shatner could act, and work for a living, and have the good grace not to acknowledge me as I would have acknowledged him if the Hiroshima Precision Drill Team and Old Actor Squad didn't need him to stand in for some shadows upon a wall that should bring us sadness always ...
So kids, do understand that when in the third film and which appears to be a comeon for a fourth, that when the beautiful child is cutting off his wings to please his father, that somehow it is a testament to great men in theater understanding that when a great image is given to you, that Lord Blakeney in Master and Commander losing his right arm, and needing his nail clean of shit after he'd wiped his ass, means that privilege and money are not the same things, that is a privilege to work for a living and to command and that some men are born to it, and not borne to it, like some Xerxes carried to pretend he was a God, not even should he ride a horse and pretend he was the Sun God Hirohito when even he could have been a spent emission on an old drunk's lawn, if he not understand the Buddha and Sun Wukong, and 'Oh fuck off. And that was piss in your hand.' Somehow religion and 'scientific understanding' have joined in perversity such that only only only! Sir Alec Guinness could tell a kid essentially, and in a very sweet way, to get a life! And so not be required to be that poor sod Obiwan Larkinobi, nor need TVAW or even the Tennessee Valley Authority to tell him 'bout Taum Sauk, these recent days, and Johnson Shut-ins, and Lyndon Johnson being the greatest President since Franklin and throw in Eleonard and Winston Churchill, if you like, just keep out Ronald Reagan and Maggie 'Moron' Thatcher.
And for Robert Larkin, and which is to say for myself, and knowing Vajrayana-Mahayana-Hinayana:Theravada, rather than entirely too much to ever lose to a man who lispeth but that he should be a young woman who could herself by my better, because she has the better heart, and never mind that she be black on Hindooooooo! or an Indian knowing whackwhackwhat whackwhackthrakattack he knows he reached that hand in time ...
And for the St. Louis Police Department and the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, and when wen and when dow meant things my family could always understand if given the time to find the right Williams, and even if Robert it seems has his own version of the Williams memory, and even the squirrels remember the right hand toss of bread so that all of us could eat.
Robert Larkin/Robbydharma
Edited on the fly's eye, so to speak.
