Wednesday, May 27, 2015

Five Moral Men Went Into The Desert


After a while, one tires of having one's morality questioned. These men of high standing and high conviction - saviors all - set out to prove their worthiness of the worship they craved. For them to prove this would be salvation, forever silencing any criticism. They would travel into the desert alone and without water, only to return by virtue of their superior virtue. Opinion among onlookers, however, was divided.

"They ain't takin' no water with 'em? They's must knows sumpthin I don't. That's just nuts!" wondered the Old Fool.

"Shut up, you old fool. These are men of great faith, not like us," mocked the saviors' supporters.

"That means they don't be needin' water?"

"It means they will find a way to get water if they do need it. It's so inspiring! I do so admire them."

"I dunno. It just seems kinda dum to me."

"It seems dumb to you because you are dumb. Now be quiet before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. And learn some fucking grammar!"

Having reached the point of no return - a point where souls must find water or perish - the five men beamed with pride and self-pleasure.

"Praise be to the Lord!" sayeth the Priest, pointing to the sky like a home run hitting ball player.

"Just look at our power!" declared the General.

"How obvious it is my views should prevail!" ruled the Politician.

"Who can deny the system that got us here!" demanded the Moneyist.

"Mind over matter!" sold the Positivity Peddler.


But who would make it back alive? Too many days would pass before their bodies would end up as corpses in the sand. Still, the very idea of returning to endless glory thrilled these men out of their minds.

"I'll be declared holiest of the holy!" rejoiced the Priest.

"I'll be able to wage war without opposition!" conquered the General.

"I'll be able to pass every law I see fit!" authored the Politician.

"I'll have the world at my feet!" consumed the Moneyist.

"I'll be able to declare paradise found!" deemed the Positivity Peddler.

But even with these noble declarations, Nature refused to cooperate. Bitter panic seeped in to the camp as parched lips cracked under the relentless sun.

"God, don't let a good man die in vain!" prayed the Priest.

"The world dies if I can't wage war!" ordered the General.

"Chaos will rule if I cannot rule!" proffered the Politician.

"We'll live as enslaved savages if the system fails!" borrowed the Moneyist.

"Life will be a series of pointless pursuits if paradise lost!" assumed the Positivity Peddler.

I save you. You save me.

None of the arguments persuaded Nature to change Her course. In the past these arguments had received wild applause, gratifying awards and a certainty of outcome craved by a populace hungry for palatable answers they did not get from within. This was a time for solutions!

"Bring rain to Your true believer, God!" lorded the Priest.

"I'm seizing control of this ground to behave as I say!" marshaled the General.

"I'm passing a law declaring water is not needed!" elected the Politician.

"I'll give the highest price for every drop of water!" bribed the Moneyist.

"The will shall triumph!" goosestepped the Positivity Peddler.

But in the end only five dead bodies were found. There's faith in God and then there's faith in fraud. There's hope in peace and then there's hope in war. There's real world politics and then there's the real world. There's serving Nature and then there's serving illusion. There's trust in truth and then there's trust in lying.

The disillusioned populace spit upon the dead men's hubris and folly. The saviors' Icarus wings exposed them and revealed their true legacy. A new paradigm emerged in the village as the answers from within gained acceptance. But some savior supporters clung hopelessly to save face.

"It doesn't mean anything. Everyone has to die sometime. It's how you live that counts. These men stood for something! They died in the name of greatness. We should honor them absolutely!"

The Old Fool - now named the Old Wise Man - then surmised, "If you's don't care about dyin' then lets kill ya now!"

Those who refused to repent ran off to the desert having no place else to go, hoping to die as their idols and find praise without penance. Those who remained, saved themselves.


Sunday, May 24, 2015

Agent Gary Seven: Report, Planet Earth


Agent: Gary Seven
Planet: Earth, Star Date 5928
Mission: Determination of survival of final incarnation

This orb spins around its star in a whirling sad tragedy. She lives in the ever shortening shadow of a moral eclipse they believe makes safe their sin. The truth is known, of course, but not openly admitted. The coming of the light is displayed only in dystopian terms. I see no evidence yet of awareness that if they believe it brings doom then doom will come or that if they believe it brings bliss bliss will come. Judging by what I see they do in the dark it's understandable of their foreboding dread of a coming mass despair as their final outcome.

I brought two fruits to an earthling. One covered in poison, another not, and asked him to choose. He chose the poisoned fruit. I asked him why. His poisoned mind replied that he made the responsible choice based on cost. I pointed out his choice costs him his health. He said this was the only way to "make the numbers work." I asked him which numbers and he said 666. This is as the prophets had seen in their ancient sorrow.

Number worship spreads ruin on a daily basis. If left to run its course the planet will become uninhabitable. Often, they will admit of their evil, factually claiming it as a necessity to maintain the number worship. Any act committed to further number worship, however, is desperately proclaimed as good and worthy. To explain how they plan to live with evil, they say evil has been done in the past so why not continue since they are not dead. To explain the suffering from the number worship, they say any other path spells a certain demise as they still see number worship as an uncertain demise.

False profits

The vast overwhelming majority endure great distress from the number worship. The basic tenet of this religion is that mutual cooperation and trust is an impossibility. Yet even the worst victims of this falsehood still cling to it despite the destruction of everything they love, including their own offspring. This prevents insurrection by even the hungriest because they fear being portrayed as betrayers to their brethren even as they commit that very act by failing to insurrect. They find glory in dying for a lie and foolhardiness in living for truth.

What they call civilization has been built on a foundation of sanctioned evil. Such is their deception on this matter they bet their entire existence on it, creating a monumental unsustainable wave of global proportions. A great uneasiness stirs within them over this even as the struggle to deny their predicament weighs heavier each passing day. Their arts are dark and lifeless, not daring to offend the cult of death mandated by the number worship. As their worry grows, so does any rebuke of their religion.

Unsanctioned evil is treated with great brutality. The amount of brutality determines the amount of morality of the judge. If the taking of one eye for an eye is good, the taking of two is better according to their reasoning. To show love or compassion to someone who has committed an act of unsanctioned evil is considered to be yet another path of certain doom, even having not traveled down that road. They claim to know where love will take them with equal fervor to the claim they know not where evil will take them. I'm hearing not even a debate on this point in the mad frenzy to prevent religious dissent.

Choose the poisoned fruit like I did!

In short, this is a planet in chains, tethered to a rock at the bottom of her seas. Intervention will be required for the humanoids to remain and begin the time of Love. My time here has been unbearable as I've witnessed the staggering atrocities done to their children; forced to march over land mine fields as war machines roll in great cheer, starved and raped in open society by their caretakers. Ask most any of the humans and they will tell you their world is going to a hell. And yet they insist this is happening despite having chosen life.


Saturday, May 23, 2015

"He Cheated," She Tweeted

But can you cheat on a lie?

This most certainly was not her normal behavior. Admit nothing. Always keep up appearances at all costs. Play the role of a happy, successful wife. These were the rules by which she lived her life and they had served her well as she gloried in her multi-million dollar home north of the San Francisco bay. Truth be told, these were not only her rules, but her morality, her justification of God's love that made her opulent lifestyle OK while others starved. The moral, you see, need not take a vow of poverty.
"Watch therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But know this, that if the householder had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have watched and would not have let his house be broken into. Therefore you also must be ready; for the Son of man is coming at an hour you do not expect."
This was the scripture she most took to heart, strident in her diligence and vowing no surprises for her! Relentless to a fault she made sure to praise her Creator for her blessed life. She made the church the center of her spoken words, a security blanket to heaven. At times this was grueling in its drudgery, pressing herself to the limits of possession, forcing her energy down a path she did not desire. But it was "what God wants." She would have her cake and eat it too just as only the very special may do.

But now, in the twinkling of an eye, gone.


Her husband too had been forcing himself down a repressed road to fabled morality. But being the weaker sex could not keep his dick lie inside. Their mutual bond was selfishness and greed. With great and humble pride she "confessed" to her preacher this fault in her and her marriage. She'd had no intention, however, of admitting this as fatal to their union! So they went on the run, eternally trying to escape themselves. Her husband's true confession in the late night office as he ripped off his pants in furious freedom had ruined the illusion forever.

This brought many hard realities.

"Like a thief in the night." Over and over the phrase haunted her haunts. You're not supposed to be living with the thief! This isn't fair! But no slick arguments could save her this time. She'd sacrificed so much of herself over the years, this woman scorned could no longer contain her terrorist rage. Why is it I can never do what I want? What's wrong with me? It's all over. I hope everything dies!

To be plucked from the earth at this moment would be pure mercy. But Jesus did not come from the sky as expected. She was going to die this way, naked and exposed as a liar. How foolish to have trusted her lies! Never again! This was like being buried alive, suffocating to death while no human on earth knew of her travails. Every escape route was blocked, every door barred, nowhere to go.


She was too old, too ugly, too crippled to start over. She'd never lived alone in her life and the idea of facing that had grown to be her greatest fear in the dark of the night. In this her hour of need, she found out just how truly impossible it was to leave. Yet it was just as impossible to stay. For the rest of her life she'd be known as a deceived woman, too pathetic to go her own way, a moral coward sick in the soul. Nothing could ever be the same again.

Her only option was to throw herself on the mercy of the court of public opinion. Like everyone, she painted others with a brush of her own making. She expected self-righteous indignation, judgmental scorn and high-handed rebuke. Instead, her fellow liars expressed great sympathy for her plight, a holy woman betrayed by her dastardly husband, she faultless and pure. How futile the facts.

At her lowest ebb she'd managed to stitch together a new myth to be sold. But she knew till the end of days she'd live in chains, unsaved in the eyes of God, a prisoner of her own device. She faced in the mirror a Judas to her dreams. Just who had she been in this life? She'd convinced herself her material rewards were for her moral successes. As she stared into the fireplace watching wood turn to ash she asked herself, "How can it be wood ever again?"


Friday, May 22, 2015

A Letter To The Wind


Maybe you were right. Maybe I didn't need you. Maybe the elation and joy I felt was false. Maybe wanting you was a sin. Maybe I was betting on a mirage.

Maybe no house is left unbuilt. Maybe no flower is left in the dark. Maybe dreams are for fools. Maybe no gift is lost in the wind. Maybe there's nothing to believe in.

Maybe I think of you for no reason. Maybe I'm making you up. Maybe you don't exist. Maybe you aren't who I hope you are. Maybe it's just my imagination.

Maybe I need someone else. Maybe the future is without you. Maybe what's real is waiting on me still. Maybe the past is an illusion. Maybe I chase the end of the rainbow.

Maybe not.


Friday, May 15, 2015

Holy Corruption, Batman! A Whore Phone!


Texas Lt. Gov. Dan "Pimp Me!" Patrick has sunk to a new low even for the Republic of Texastan. Blessed with a servant's heart, he has found his way in this world by being the world's bitch. Abandoning any pretense of concern for general welfare or even the tiniest bit of self-respect, Princess Patrick has become the latest Texas laughingstock to hit the stage in our sad parade of buffoons and anti-Christs.
Oil tycoon T. Boone Pickens has never been shy about buttonholing elected officials, but it's seldom been easier since Texas' new lieutenant governor set up regular conference calls for select business leaders and donors to advise him on issues before the Legislature.
In Texas, where the wall between big money and government is like the low cattle fencing that pens the state's ranchland, new Republican Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick's new invitation-only calls have provided an especially direct connection between the state's business elite and the Legislature's agenda.
"Advise" meaning Puppet Patrick sits with pen in hand on how he's to eat, sleep, shit and think. Don't be surprised if one day you see him wearing the emperor's new clothes at the state capitol. It won't be his own idea, though. His empty little head would have been "advised" to do so, never suspecting he'd been pranked by frat boy Bush. When asked why he's a blatant whore, Pickpocket Patrick gave this petulant reply:
"Why wouldn't I want to learn from and communicate with the job creators? Why would we want to pass legislation that might impact our economy in a negative way?" said Patrick, who schedules bills for action, explaining the calls.
Though many politicians have kitchen cabinets of advisers or issue task forces, Patrick's private call-ins are considered unusual.
Conferring with the job creators

We in the real world know that consumers are the job creators. But for a man looking to pick your pocket the last thing he wants is customer input! Corporate fascism is gripping Texas in a high fever even as its victims complain when squeezed by its ever reaching tentacles. Bad actors and rip off artists in the business community are protected from having to make restitution and as more and more of the fascist overlords realize this they too have become as brazen as Danny Boy. God help the victims of corporate rapists in Texas.
A bill giving state and local governments financial incentives to switch their fleets to natural gas — an idea pitched by Pickens — has passed Patrick's Senate.
...But to Pickens and others on the panels, real work is getting done.
"I'm not trying to get anything from the state. We like to help out," said Pickens, who originally supported one of Patrick's primary opponents last year.
...Patrick dismissed the idea that undue influence could be applied on bills. "I'm smart enough to filter that out," he told The Associated Press.
Yup, he's a smart one! It's smart to be a whore! Billionaire Pickens with his extensive natural gas interests will do anything to line his pockets at the expense of state consumers. Electricity prices here have been deregulated (Thanks Enron!) and any spike in the price of natural gas causes electric bills to skyrocket. A doubling of the light bill can cause serious harm to a family on a tight budget. But our parliament of whores could care less.


A former conservative talk show host and state legislator from Houston who was elected last November, Patrick picked 56 prominent Texans at the outset of the session to give their thoughts on what the Legislature should be doing.
No notes or memos from the sessions, which are held every couple weeks, are subject to Texas' open record laws. Even some of Patrick's other political advisers and conservative colleagues say they don't know what's being said.
Wonder how many of those "56 prominent Texans" are working class? Funny how "prominent" money can make you! So full of wisdom and insight and love for your fellow man. Yup, them's the folks I want deciding my fate. Where's God's vengeance when you need it? I sure as goddam hell have not been spared. Of course, one must also ask oneself how we ended up with this parliament of whores. Who supports scoundrels like these? But we all know the answer of who puts whores in office: other whores.


Wednesday, May 13, 2015

A Conservative Stand


He was a martyr and a hero, a farter and a zero. He relished his principles above all, a man lauded for his iron integrity. While others wavered, he remained steadfast and true to his position. Many found great comfort in this, feeling pulled into his gravitational field of influence. "He's so sure of himself! Who can resist?"

In a confused world of cloudy greys fogging the mind, his clarity cut through and dissolved the mist. Hesitation was nonexistent. His eyes sparkled with a secret knowledge. His resoluteness caused even his most ardent critics to question their questioning of him. "Is it true he knows something I do not?" He called out his foes as delusional fools who will one day be wiped clean from the face of the earth by their own destructive nature. This was a man who came to divide, a man who knew without a doubt as to his fate.

"Our enemies are many and our friends few - but together we suffering few stand strong!" Wild applause erupted from his surrounding supporters in the street. "You have heard the outrageous slander heaped upon me, how I've been called an idiot, a deluded dreamer, a man who knows not what he does. They say I must change my position. But I say they speak only of themselves!" More enthusiastic cheers and applause. "I shall suffer these slings and arrows for what I know is right and true. I speak from the heart while they speak from a place of bitterness. It will not end well for those demons!"

The crowd buzzed with excitement, intoxicated by the public justification of their lives. To be released from the ever-present gnawing inner doubt that hampered and hindered their lives with a constant agony was a relief beyond compare. Tears streamed with ecstasy. Onlookers marveled at the display of faith. Surely, these were a blessed people favored by God. The showman continued.


"I'm doing what they say can't be done!" A derisive laughter was had at the expense of the non-believers. "They said I would die. Do I look dead to you? They thought they could defeat me with their negativity and fear-mongering. But I stayed the course! Who's laughing now, my friends? Answer me that!" The crowd was reaching a state of near delirium. After a lifetime of being told they were wrong, here was a man proving them right! To at last be in the right, to be out from under the fascist liberal thumb that dominates their lives, was a release beyond compare.

"I have a dream! A dream that came true! A dream that shows we have the answer. We are the seekers of truth, daring to believe even when derided by our fellow man! There are those who lay down their version of reality with dogmatic demagoguery, ears stuffed, eyes closed, and a stiff neck. But today, our light shines through!" The roar from the crowd was deafening. The kingdom of heaven was within their sight promising everlasting life. They had not chosen the path of death, after all.

"The rope has finally broken and they said my death would come of it. Yet it is life I have! And all of you who believe as I will have life too!" A lusty cheer showed the crowd's joy. "Like our Savior said, it is good news I bring you! Tell everyone you are saved! Shout it from the mountaintops! Witness to every soul you meet how you have found The Way. Let them know how you received God's justice!"


And that's when the piano from a hundred stories up finally fell on him. For years he enjoyed rebuking the "negativity" of those who told him he stood in a unsustainable position. They told how the rope will break and he would meet his doom. But the more they spoke, the more he stiffened his neck, refusing to admit any error. He railed without compunction against all criticism in a furious backlash. He swore up and down that to  move would deliver unto him a humiliating fate and his foes sought to engineer his demise.

But his "treacherous enemies" were his friends - and his "loyal friends" his worst enemies, telling him he did well following this path to ultimate ruin. Those who had viciously chastised the truth-tellers for "callously hurting that man's feelings" were exposed as callous offspring of Judas. In the end, despite who won or lost impassioned arguments, Nature served her own justice. As always in a world turned upside down, those furthest from God most needed to claim to be nearest.


Sunday, May 10, 2015

Part 8: Waiting On Oblivion

Is check endorsement a marketable skill?

I'm not sure I'll ever buy another place where to live. New York, Miami, London - I've got pads all over the world but for visitation only. I just can't generate an interest in having a "home" anymore. Having a home implies so many things that don't apply to me. I can't stay in my circle of friends either, not with what I know now so why let them be able to track me down. Frankly, I can't believe there's one person in the world with whom I can relate. How many 900 hundred million dollar self-aware losers do you know?

I snapped that pic of one of my cash transfers from my phone while staring at these 666 numbers that rule the world. I used to think it was enough to be able to pretend to be somebody. Christ, what was I thinking? That lie got my foot in the door, sure, like with the Woman Of Fabric, but then what? Shit, if only I hadn't tried to be somebody or something I wouldn't be in this goddam predicament. She made me want more. She made me need more. I broke my cardinal rule of never trying to step out of my shallow life. Now even that life is gone forever as I try to slither back in. Shit, shit, shit!

Staying at this hotel is no longer an option. You have to face someone every time you want to eat! Man, does that get old. I took a six month lease at the Mondrian bringing only a bean bag, an air mattress and a couple of electronics. From what I saw a bunch of SMU brats stay there living in their detached bubble world. I doubt our paths will cross much, however. I've got no time for that anymore either.

What do I have time for?


My money is like a weight. None of it is earned. And because I have no wealth of my own - nothing to offer - my money in essence owns me. Motherfucker. It's why you read about so many lottery winners pissing away all their cash. They can't wait to drop that weight. It's not even a matter of "deserving". It's a matter of being able to get because you have something to give. The Woman Of Fabric has that - and that's what truly keeps her alive, not the paycheck she so proudly manages with great fastidiousness.

But just as merely having money gives no purpose to one's life neither does not having money. Rich or poor I'm equally lost. It's true, I've felt so bad about my frivolous lifestyle that I've not let anyone in the door to my life. Perhaps if I had I would be in a different place now. The underlying guilt has been sabotaging my life. So that's what I've been running away from. Everything I tried to prevent from happening to my life by not exposing myself is exactly what did happen. Nature can't be bought.

So now I wait. The scam on which my crippled life depends will one day end as we turn our back on the money illusion. I intimated the Woman Of Fabric was a fraud and she actually took that to heart. Truth is, not one particle of my being believes that. In fact, to even suggest it is an absurdity and I expected her to call me out on my outrageous behavior and see it as a plea for help. It was simply my jealous attack to hide my own fraudulence. Fuck, who would ever think someone like her could value my opinion on anything? I'm just a check endorser, lady.


So now I sit inside my prison, dark hollow thoughts running through my head. "Lying Pete always said you would hang." Well, I sure do feel like a criminal. This is how people end up joining ISIS or the Railroad Commission (the Texas ISIS) or the dead army. Lots of organizations looking for lives with no direction of whom they can take advantage. I'm tired of trying. I'm way fucking tired of guessing. I have no idea where the Woman Of Fabric might have led me and now I'll never know.

I'm just waiting to die. Oblivion is my name.


"Lambert And Stamp" And Moonie (Double Review!)




The Who were a fractured band. But that fracturing liberated them, taking them right to the edge, unleashing a creative anarchy that made them one of - if not the - most explosive performing bands in the world. Life on the edge is never easy, though, and ultimately in the end if one does not pull back the end most certainly will come - as it did for Keith Moon.

I'm experiencing a serendipity of Who mania lately. First I read Tony Fletcher's outstanding Keith Moon bio followed by the just released documentary "Lambert and Stamp" about The Who's management team. When it comes to rock and roll antics, there's Kieth Moon and then there's everyone else. The story of his life was everything I expected it to be. What I hadn't realized was the deeper story of The Who.

The Who were not a rock band, but rather a rock compendium. Roger Daltrey, Pete Townshend, John Entwistle had their own raucous band going in the mid-sixties mod movement. The fact they were going nowhere was just part of the loose, anarchic deal of the road they had chosen. They were driven to write (or explain) but could not complete the sentence within. "Fuck it! Hope I die before I get old."



Keith Moon joked many years into his time with The Who that he really was not part of the band as they'd never asked him to join - which was true! In the chaotic spirit of the group Moon filled in at one point and since he wasn't asked to leave stayed on until they decided to kick him out. That never happened, of course, though Moon's hair raising devilment certainly strained and wearied the band. Like the Beatles, a last minute drummer change sealed the deal - almost.

Even with their outrageously creative new drummer, The Who were frustratingly stuck on the brink of success. Not that I believe they had any interest in doing the structured things success requires. Something was missing to complete the compendium. That's where Kit Lambert and Chris Stamp (brother of actor Terrence Stamp) come into the picture. Talk about souls meant to find one another. Homosexual Kit and creatively repressed Chris were outsiders also in search of a direction. Their connection was on planning to make a film together to give their lives an outlet. The movie would be a documentary on the making of a rock band. Guess who they found?

Lambert and Stamp searched for months before discovering The Who, knowing instantly they had struck gold. They offered to manage the band but they were much more than that. The two searching souls were collaborators with the band as well, nurturing Pete's songwriting and shifting the leadership of the group away from Roger (which was one of many shifts needed over the years to keep them progressing). In the end, everyone was looking for a creative outlet. None more so than Moonie.

Keith had a lifelong love for California sun and surf music


I smile and cry every time I see Keith Moon. No one represented the fractured state - or had greater liberation - than he. Just as part of him sought to live out every second of his life to the maximum another part was equally hellbent on a death trip. Never able to resolve this dilemma, (creating a Jekyll and Hyde personality), he died in 1978 of an overdose. Moonie was the classic funny man hiding a frown. That's not to say he didn't have his moments!

In the "Lambert and Stamp" film Pete describes Keith Moon as someone who was never a drummer! Had I not read his bio that would have seemed a nonsensical statement. How could my favorite drummer of all time not be called a drummer? What Pete meant was that Moonie was not a drummer in the classical sense and probably would not have made the cut in a college marching band. Of course, no college marching band drummer could make the cut in The Who. Moon's creativity and drumming around the beat and explosiveness were forces that lived on the edge of harnessing - and sometimes not. In fact, after a long layoff, Moon had to relearn how to play!

Their manager/collaborators were as equally seat-of-the-pants as their charges. In a brilliant move to win over the boys' parents, they promised a salary in the contract - a salary of which they had no way of paying! They made many promises in the beginning just to get the ball rolling in the unwavering belief that providence would provide as they traveled on down the road. It took many years for that ultimately to happen and at one point the group had reached a standstill. Then came Tommy.



Kit was Pete's sounding board and creative rock that kept Pete from weaving off the road. Kit came from a classical background and the idea of an opera had always intrigued him. Pete too found himself wanting to write songs that had a connection. Thus, the rock opera was born. Tommy took the group to a new level, giving them money (at last!) and fame as more than just writers of hit songs. The Who had something to say. But the burdens of success would be many.

Chris Stamp turned to cocaine. Pete started his heavy boozing. Keith was wreaking havoc on the English countryside appearing in Nazi uniforms or in drag or driving around with his car rigged with a loudspeaker frightening whomever he came across - and never met a pill he didn't like. And Kit sank into a pit of self-excess that effectively ended his collaborating with Pete. By the time the mid 70's rolled around the die was cast: straighten up or pay the ultimate price.


It's hard to recommend the "Lambert and Stamp" film as it's a bit murky as to what's what and who's who, expecting you to walk in with that knowledge already. Had I not read the Moon bio I might have been severely lost trying to make heads or tails of the story. As it was, I got a kick out of it and I'm always fascinated by the creative process and how the stars align to make it work (or fail). The Moon bio, however, I absolutely recommend. It gives a sense of Moon's infectious insanity and dark side as well as the many moments of pure comic genius Kieth displayed.

To leave a creative mark on this planet is to become immortal. The Who will never die before they get old. All those involved, no matter how tragic their end, should be proud of their acts of faith, their personal growth and drive, and most of all, of the love they created. After the apocalypse we will sing once again but how can it ever be as special as when done in our darkest hour?