I've got wood like you wouldn't believe.....

It was a cord of maple, cut and split
And piled -- and measured, four by four by eight.
And not another like it could I see.
No runner tracks in this year's snow looped near it.
And it was older sure than this year's cutting,
Or even last year's or the year's before.
The wood was gray and the bark warping off it
And the pile somewhat sunken. Clematis

Had wound strings round and round it like a bundle.
What held it though on one side was a tree
Still growing, and on one a stake and prop,
These latter about to fall. I thought that only
Someone who lived in turning to fresh tasks
Could so forget his handiwork on which
He spent himself, the labor of his ax,
And leave it there far from a useful fireplace
To warm the frozen swamp as best it could
With the slow smokeless burning of decay.


-- Robert Frost, "The Wood-Pile"

Oh, yeah, baby. I got wood, alrighty! Mostly cherry, with some ash and locust all harvested from the wooded hilltop that is the Roxtar Compound. Good Appalachian hardwood, stored solar energy waiting to be released as fire and glowing coals, radiant warmth to battle the worst winter has to offer.

Cost of wood: $0.00
Splitter rental: $47.70
Cost of fuel oil: $0.00
Wood heat in winter: Priceless

Christians! They're grrrrrrrrreat!

It's always been conventional wisdom that the appreciation of art is subjective. ("I may not know Art, but I know what I like.") Well, you can kick that old-fashioned, pre-Web 2.0 thinking to the curb where it belongs. Because Dick Detzner is simply the best artist ever. Now, I can hear you asking, "Hey, what about Picasso? What about Botticelli? What about Neil Shakespeare? What about that guy who paints all those fucking snow-clad cottages with candles in the windows?

Worthies all, and among the finest paint-slingers and gesso-wranglers ever to render a rendering. But none can compare to Dick Detzner. Consider the image above, entitled, "Christians...They're grrrreat!" Observe the juxtaposition of two great iconic images. Marvel at the clever title. Shiver with awe at the delicate interplay of color and light!


And consider this stirring portait, entitled "Breakfast of Saviors." What would Jesus do? He'd start his day with the fiber-rich goodness of a processed breakfast food that closes the self-referential loop by coming that close to the unleavened, pre-transsubstantiated Body of Christ! If only they had served milk instead of wine at the Last Supper....eating breakfast would be like celebrating Mass! But I can't claim credit for that brilliant insight. That's right.....Dick Detzner beat me to it.
















How many of your favorites can you identify in this worshipful depiction of "The Last Pancake Breakfast?"

And as if the ol' Ars gratia artis wasn't enough, all of Mr. Detzner's sacred designs are available as prints, or even on t-shirts, just in time for the holy Christmas shopping season. You'll find something for every light-hearted free-thinker on your Winter Solstice gift list. Or, you might just want to piss off your pointedly pious inlaws. Either way, Dick Detzner's your man!

Editor's note: Black Sky Theory is in no way associated with Dick Detzner. I figure I'm as likely to get a cease and desist letter as a free t-shirt or art print for my den.

Avast, me hearties....

Yarrgh! It's time, me buccaneers and buccanettes, to hoist th' mains'l on th' good ship Sixth Amendment and set sail in search of booty and justice on th' highest o' th' high seas. There be a legion o' scurvy dogs wearin' th' mark of the Crown, wreakin' injustice on me mateys, who want nothin' more than the comp'ny of a foine wench, a noggin o' rum, and a pinch o' smokin terbaccy in their bowls. They're a foine crew, if a bit motley, but they've done nothin to deserve th' sting o' th' lash and th' dank o' th' dungeon.

This Tuesday, when the sun climbs out of Davy Jones' Locker, we'll turn th' tides on those scalawags, because although the Sheriff's men may have th' warrants and th' guns, we've got the lingo.

We'll blow The Man down, or my name isn't Cap'n Roxtarrrrgh, Defender O' Th' Public and Scourge O' Th' Second Circuit!

For an encore, he'll wipe his ass with it.....

It's one thing to stage a photo-op, even a dishonest photo-op.

But to pose for what is obviously intended to be an archival photograph while wiping ones feet on the American flag is just eye-poppingly, knee-bucklingly wrong.




And then, to re-pose for more of the same? On 9/11? You've got to be fucking kidding me!!!!







Look, I've got a vocabulary on an exact par with Mary Baker Eddy*, but I can't even begin to assemble the words necessary to address this. I am, at long last, speechless. And can you imagine the reaction in the Muslim world, where even showing the soles of ones feet is considered to be offensive? I am absolutely, utterly, comprehensively gobsmacked. Hey George, here's an idea. Why don't you drop trou, squat and strain, and lay down a nice big Cleveland Steamer right between the Stars and Stripes? And then your boyfriend-killing wife can wipe your ass with the Constitution.



*A free add (blog of your choice) to my blogroll for the first to identify the source of this quote.

UPDATE: Although Reuters apparently included the above photos among official photos of the 9/11 observance, there is now evidence that these pictures were created months ago by an artist named Ray Caesar. So a lot of people got p@wn3d. What's remarkable is the fact that nobody was particularly surprised to think that Chimpy and Pickles would do such a thing. The surprise arose from the pictures being released, not their existence. Their truthiness was never in doubt. Hey, maybe Disney/ABC can make a movie about it!

A staggering waste of electrons.

(Pictured above, the legendary MiniMoog.)
Not to overdo it, but music is the only thing that eases the nausea precipitated by the Chimp-in-Chief. Anyway, here's a tidbit from the Synthmuseum:

Starbuck - toured nationally in 1976 supporting their mega-hit "Moonlight Feels Right" and had SIX!!! minimoogs on stage to reproduce the overdubbed, stacked Moog chords on the record.

Six Minis to create that abominable piece of dreck. ("I'll take you on a trip beside the ocean, And drop the top at Chesapeake Bay"). When I think of poor Bobby Lightfoot limping from gig to gig, dragging his Fender Rhodes behind him, why, it just makes me angry at the injustice of it all.....

You say it's your birthday!

Happy Birthday to You.

Happy Birthday to You.

Happy 20th Birthday dear 1986 Gibson SG Special in Antique Ivory manufactured August 31, 1986 in Nashville, TN which I received autogaphed by Carlos Santana via Bill Graham for a charity auction, but which arrived too late to be auctioned off so, oh well, I'll give it a good home.......

Happy Birthday to You.

It's a hit!

You, too, can be a Roxtar! The Cassette Generator lets you list the name of your band, the artist, producer credit, and save it for your personal enjoyment. You can also order stickers and magnets of your finished masterpiece.

Enjoy!

UPDATE: It's even more fun than advertised! Check this out!


And this!


Go here for tons of fun.