I.

One night at the Troubadour I spotted this extraordinary girl.

So I asked who she was.

‘A professional,’

That was my introduction that on a scale of one to ten

there were women who were fifteens—beautiful, bright, witty, and

oh, by the way, they worked.

Once I became aware,

I saw these women everywhere.

And I came to learn that most of them were connected to Alex



II.

She had a printer engrave a calling card

that featured a bird of paradise

borrowed from a Tiffany silver pattern

and,
under it,

Alex’s Aviary,

Beautiful and Exotic birds.



A few were women you’d see lunching at Le Dôme:

pampered arm pieces with expensive tastes

and a hint of a delicious but remote sexuality.

Many more were fresh-faced, athletic, tanned, freckled

the quintessential California girl

That you’d take for sorority queens or future BMW owners.





III.

The mechanism of Alex’s sudden notoriety is byzantine,

as these things always are.

One of her girls took up with a rotter,

the couple had a fight,

he went to the police,

the police had an undercover detective visit

(who just happened to be an attractive woman)

and ask to work for her,

she all but embraced her

—and by April of 1988 the district attorney had enough evidence

to charge her with two counts of pandering

and one of pimping.

For Alex, who is fifty-six

and has a heart condition and diabetes,

the stakes may be high.

A conviction carries the guarantee of incarceration.

For the forces of law and order,

the stakes may be higher.

Alex has let it be known that she will subpoena

every cop she’s ever met to testify at her trial.

And the revelations this might produce

—perhaps that Alex compromised policemen

by making girls available to them,

—perhaps that Alex had a deal with the police to provide information

in exchange for their blind eye to her activities

—could be hugely embarrassing to the police and the district attorney.

For Alex’s socially correct clients and friends,

for the socially correct wives of her clients and friends

and for a handful of movie and television executives

who have no idea they are dating or

married to former Alex girls,

the stakes are highest of all.



IV.

Alex’s black book is said to be a catalogue of
Le Tout Los Angeles.

In her head are the ****** secrets

of many of the city’s most important men,

to say nothing of visiting businessmen and Arab princes.

If she decides to warble,

either at her trial or in a book,

her song will shatter more than glass.





V.

A decade ago, I went to lunch at Ma Maison,

There were supposed to have been ten people there,

but only four came.

One of them was a short woman

who called me a few days later and invited me to lunch.

When I arrived, the table was set for two.

I didn’t know who Alex was or what she did,

but she knew the important facts of my situation:

I was getting divorced from a very wealthy man

and doing the legal work myself

to avail lawyers who wanted to get a big settlement for me.


Occasionally, she said, I get a call for a tall, dark-haired,

slender, flat-chested woman

—and I don’t have any.

It wouldn’t be a frequent thing.

There’d be weekends away, sometimes in Palm Springs,

sometimes in Europe.

The men will be elegant,

you’ll have your own room

—there would be no outward signs of impropriety.

And you’d get $10,000 to $20,000 for a weekend.





VI.

The tall, slender, flat-chested brunette

didn’t think it was right for her.

Alex handed her a business card

and suggested that she think about it.

To her surprise, she did

—for an entire week.

This was 1978, and $20,000 then

was like $40,000 now,

I knew it was hooking,

but Alex had never mentioned ***.



Our whole conversation seemed to be about something else.



VII.

I was born in Manila

to a Spanish-Filipina mother and German father,

and when I was twelve

a Japanese soldier came into our house

with his bayonet pointed at us,

ready to do us in.

He locked us in and set the house on fire.

I haven’t been scared by much since that.



My mother always struck me as goofy,

so I jumped on a bus and ran away,

I got off in Oakland,

saw a help-wanted sign on a parish house,

and went in.

I got $200 a month for taking care of four priests.

I spent all the money on pastries for the parish house.

But I didn’t care.

It felt safe.

And the priests sparked my interest in the domestic arts

—in linen, in crystal.



A new priest arrived.

He was unpleasant,

so on a vacation in Los Angeles I took a pedestrian job,

still a teenager,

married a scientist.

We separated eight years later,

he took our two sons to another state

threatened to keep them if I didn’t agree to a divorce.

Keep them I said and hung up.

It’s not that I don’t have a maternal instinct

—though I don’t,

I just hate to be manipulated.



My second husband,

an alcoholic,

had Frank Sinatra blue eyes, and possibly

—I never knew for sure—

had a big career in the underworld

as a contract killer.

Years before we got serious,

he was going out with a famous L.A. ******,

She and her friends were so elegant

that I started spending time with them in beauty salons.

They were so fancy,

so smart

—and they knew incredible people,

like the millionaire who sat in his suite all day

just writing $5,000 checks to girls.



VIII.

I was a florist.

We got to talking.

She was a madam from England

who wanted to sell her book and go home.

I bought it for $5,000.

My husband thought it was cute.

Now you’re getting your feet wet.

Three months later,

he died.

After eleven years of marriage,

just like that.

And of the names in the book

it turned out

that half of the men were also dead.

When I began the men were old and the women were ugly.



IX.

It was like a lunch party you or I would give,

Great food Alex had cooked herself.

Major giggles with old pals.

And then,

instead of chocolate After Eight,

she served three women After Three



This man has seen a bit of life

beyond Los Angeles,

so I asked him how Alex’s stable

compared with that of Madam Claude,

the legendary Parisian procuress.

Oh, these aren’t at all like Claude’s girls,

A Claude girl was perfectly dressed and multilingual

—you could take her to the opera

and she’d understand it.





He told me that when she was 40

she looked at herself in the mirror

and said

Disgusting.

People over 40

should not have ***.

But She Was Clear That She Never Liked It

even when she was young.

Besides, she saw all the street business

go to the tall,

beautiful girls.

She thought that she never had a chance

competing against them.

Instead,

she would take their money by managing them.





X.

Going to a ****** was not looked down upon then.

It was before the pill;

Girls weren’t giving it away.

Claude specialized in

failed models and actresses,

ones who just missed the cut.

But just because they failed

in those impossible professions

didn’t mean they weren’t beautiful,

fabulous.



Like Avis

in those days,

those girls tried harder.

Her place was off the Champs,

just above a branch of the Rothschild bank, where I had an account.

Once I met her,

I was constantly making withdrawals and heading upstairs.





XI.

We took the lift

and Claude greeted us at the door.

My impression was that of the director

of an haute couture house,

very subdued,

beige and gray, very little makeup.

She took us into a lounge and made us drinks,

Whiskey,

Cognac.

There was no maid.

We made small talk for 15 minutes.

How was the weekend?

What’s the weather like in Deauville?

Then she made the segue. ‘I understand you’d like to see some jeunes filles?’

She always used ‘jeunes filles.’

This was Claude’s polite way of saying 18 to 25.

She left and soon returned

with two very tall

jeunes filles,

One was blonde.

This is Eva from Austria.

She’s here studying painting.

And a brunette,

very different,

but also very fine.

This is Claudia from Germany.

She’s a dancer.

She took the girls back into the apartment and returned by herself.

I gave my English guest first choice.

He picked the blonde.

And wasn’t disappointed.

Each bedroom had its own bidet.

There was some nice

polite conversation, and then



It was slightly formal,

but it was high-quality.

He paid Claude

200 francs,

not to the girls

In 1965, 200 francs was about $40.

Pretty girls on Rue Saint-Denis

could be had for 40 francs

so you can see the premium.

Still, it wasn’t out of reach for mere mortals.

You didn’t have to be J. Paul Getty.





XII.

A lot of them

were models at

Christian Dior

or other couture houses.

She liked Scandinavians.

That was the look then

—cold, tall, perfect.

It was cheap for the quality.

They all used her.

The best people wanted

the best women.

Elementary supply and demand.



XIII.

She had a camp number tattooed on her wrist. I saw it.

She showed it to me and Rubi.

She was proud she had survived.

We talked about the camp for hours.

It was even more fascinating than the girls.



She was Jewish

I’m certain of that.

She was horrified at the Jewish collaborators

at the camp who herded

their fellow Jews

into the gas chambers.

That was the greatest betrayal in her life.



XIV.

She was this sad,

lonely little woman.

Later, Patrick told me who she was.

I was bowled over.

It was like meeting Al Capone.

I met two of the girls

who worked for her.

One was what you would expect

Tall

Blonde

Model.

But the other looked like a Rat

Then one night

she came out

all dressed up,

I didn’t even recognize her.

She was even better than the first girl.

Claude liked to transform women like that.

That was her art.

It was very odd,

my cousin told me.

There was not much furniture

and an awful lot of telephones.

“Allô oui,”



XV.

I had so many lunches

with Claude at Ma Maison

She was vicious.

One day,

Margaux Hemingway,

at the height of her beauty, walked by.

Une bonne

—the French for maid

was how Claude cut her dead.

She reduced

the entire world

to rich men wanting *** and

poor women wanting money.

She’d love to page through Vogue and see someone

and say,

When I met her

she was called

Marlene

and she had a hideous nose

and now she’s a princess.

Or she’d see someone and say

Let’s see if she kisses me or not.

It was like

I made her,

and I can destroy her.

She was obsessed

with “fixing” people

—with Saint Laurent clothes,

with Cartier watches,

with Winston jewels,

with Vuitton luggage,

with plastic surgeons.



XVI.

Her prison number was

888

which was good luck in China

but not in California.

‘Ocho ocho ocho,’ she liked to repeat

Even in jail, she was always working,

always recruiting stunning women.

She had a beautiful Mexican cellmate

and gave her Robert Evans’s number

as the first person she should call

when she was released.



XVII.

Never have *** on the first date.



XVIII.

There will always be prostitution,

The prostitution of misery.

And the prostitution of bourgeois luxury.

They will both go on forever.



“Allô oui,”



It was so exciting to hear a millionaire

or a head of state ask,

in a little boy’s voice,

for the one thing

that only you could provide

It's not how beautiful you are, it's how you relate

--it's mostly dialogue.



She was tiny, blond, perfectly coiffed and Chanel-clad.

The French Woman: The Arab Prince, the Japanese Diplomat, the Greek Tycoon, the C.I.A. Bureau Chief — She Possessed Them All!



XIX.

She was like a slave driver in the American South

Once she took a *******,

the makeover put the girl in debt,

because Claude paid all the bills to

Dior,

Vuitton,

to the hairdressers,

to the doctors,

and the girls had to work to pay them off.

It was ****** indentured servitude.



My Swans.



It reached the point

where if you walked into a room

in London

or Rome

as much as Paris

because the girls were transportable,

and saw a girl who was

better-dressed,

better-looking,

and more distinguished than the others

you presumed

it was a girl from Claude.

It was, without doubt,

the finest *** operation ever run in the history of mankind.



**.

The girl had to be

exactly what was needed

so I had to teach her everything she didn’t know.

I played a little the role of Pygmalion.

There were basic things that absolutely had to be done.

It consisted

at the start

of the physical aspect

“surgical intervention”

to give this way of being

that was different from other girls.

Often they had to be transformed

into dream creatures

because at the start

they were not at all



Often I had to teach them how to dress.

Often they needed help

to repair

what nature had given them

which was not so beautiful.

At first they had to be tall,

with pretty gestures,

good manners.

I had lots of noses done,

chins,

teeth,

*******.

There was a lot to do.



Eight times out of ten

I had to teach them how to behave in society.

There were official dinners, suppers, weekends,

and they needed to have conversation.

I insisted they learn to speak English,

read

certain books.

I interrogated them on what they read.

It wasn’t easy.

Each time something wasn’t working,

I was obliged to say so.



You were very demanding?

I was ferocious.



It’s difficult

to teach a girl how to walk into Maxim’s

without looking

ill at ease

when they’ve never been there,

to go into an airport,

to go to the Ritz,

or the Crillon

or the Dorchester.

To find yourself

in front of a king,

three princes,

four ministers,

and five ambassadors at an official dinner.

There were the wives of those people!

Day after day

one had to explain,

explain again,

start again.

It took about two years.

There would always be a man

who would then say of her,

‘But she’s absolutely exceptional. What is that girl doing here?’ ”





XXI.

A New York publisher who visited

the Palace Hotel

in Saint Moritz

in the early seventies told me,

I met a whole bunch of them there.

They were lovely.

The johns wanted everyone to know who they were.

I remember it being said

Giovanni’s Madame Claude girl is going to be there.

You asked them where they came from and they all said

Neuilly.

Claude liked girls from good families.

More to the point she had invented their backgrounds.



I have known,

because of what I did,

some exceptional and fascinating men.

I’ve known some exceptional women too,

but that was less interesting

because I made them myself.



Ah, this question of the handbag.

You would be amazed by how much dust accumulates.

Or how often women’s shoe heels are scuffed.





XXII.

She would examine their teeth and finally she would make them undress.



That was a difficult moment

When they arrived they were very shy,

a bit frightened.

At the beginning when I take a look,

it’s a question of seeing if the silhouette

and the gestures are pretty.

Then there was a disagreeable moment.

I said,

I’m sorry about this unpleasantness,

but I have to ask you to get undressed,

because I can’t talk about you unless I see you.

Believe me, I was embarrassed,

just as they were,

but it had to be done,

not out of voyeurism, not at all

—I don’t like les dames horizontales.



It was very funny

because there were always two reactions.

A young girl,

very sure of herself,

very beautiful,

très bien,

would say

Yes,

Get up, and get undressed.

There was nothing to hide, everything was perfect.



There were those who

would start timidly

to take off their dress

and I would say

I knew already.

The rest is not sadism, but nearly.

I knew what I was going to find.

I would say,

Maybe you should take off your bra,

and I knew it wasn’t going to be

beautiful.

Because otherwise she would have taken it off easily.

No problem.

There were damages that could be mended.

There were some ******* that could be redone,

some not

Sometimes it can be deceptive,

you know,

you see a pretty girl,

a pretty face,

all elegant and slim,

well dressed,

and when you see her naked

it is a catastrophe.



I could judge their physical qualities,

I could judge if she was pretty, intelligent, and cultivated,

but I didn’t know how she was in bed.

So I had some boys,

good friends,

who told me exactly.

I would ring them up and say,

There’s a new one.

And afterwards they’d ring back and say,

Not bad,

Could be better, or

Nulle.



Or,

on the contrary,

She’s perfect.

And I would sometimes have to tell the girls

what they didn’t know.

A pleasant assignment?

No.

They paid.



XXIII.

Often at the beginning

they had an ami de coeur

in other words,

oh,

a journalist, a photographer, a type like that,

someone in the cinema,

an actor, not very well known.

As time went by

It became difficult

because they didn’t have a lot of time for him.

The fact of physically changing,

becoming prettier,

changing mentally to live with millionaires,

produced a certain imbalance

between them

and the little boyfriend

who had not evolved

and had stayed in his milieu.

At the end of a certain time

she would say,

I’m so much better than him. Why am I with this boy?

And they would break up by themselves.



Remember,

this was instant elevation.

For most of them it was a dream existence,

provided they liked the ***,

and those that didn’t never lasted long.

A lot of the clients were young,

and didn’t treat them like tarts but like someone from their own class.

They would buy you presents,

take you on trips.



XXIV.

For me, *** was something very accessoire

I think after a certain age

there are certain spectacles one should not give to others

Now I have a penchant for solitude.

Love, it’s a complete destroyer,

It’s impossible,

a horror,

l’angoisse.

It’s the only time in my life I was jealous.

I’m not a jealous person, but I was épouvantable.

He was jealous too.

We broke plates over each other’s heads;

we became jealous about each other’s pasts.

I said one day

It’s finished.

Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and say:

Break my legs,

give me scarlet fever,

an attack of TB, but never that.

Not that.



XXV.

I called her into my office

Let us not exaggerate,

I sent her away.

She came back looking for employment,

but was fired again, this time for drugs.

She made menacing phone calls.

Then she arrived at the Rue de Boulainvilliers with a gun.

She shot three bullets

I was dressed in the fashion of Courrèges at this moment

He did very padded things.

I had a padded dress with a little jacket on top.

The bullet

—merci, Monsieur Courrèges

—stuck in the padding.

I was thrown forward onto the telephone.

I had one thought which went through my head:

I will die like Kennedy.

I turned round and put my hand up in a reflex.

The second bullet went through my hand.

I have two dead fingers.

It’s most useful for removing bottle tops.

In the corridor I was saved from the third bullet

because she was very tall

and I am quite petite, so it passed over my head.



XXVI.

There were men

who could decapitate,

****, and bomb their rivals

who would be frightened of me.

I would ask them how was the girl,

and they’d say

Not bad

and then

But I’m not complaining.

I was a little sadistic to them sometimes.

Some women have known powerful men because they’re their lover.

But I’ve known them all.

I had them all

here.



She will take many state secrets with her.



XXVI.

I don’t like ugly people

probably because when I was young

I wasn’t beautiful at all.

I was ugly and I suffered for it,

although not to the point of obsession.

Now that I’m an old woman,

I’m not so bad.

And that’s why

I’ve always been surrounded by people

Who

were

beautiful.

And the best way to have beautiful people around me

was to make them.

I made them very pretty.





XXVII.

I wouldn’t call what Alex gives you

‘advice,’

She spares you Nothing.

She makes a list of what she wants done,

and she really gets into it

I mean, she wants you to get your arms waxed.

She gives you names of people who do good facials.

She tells you what to buy at Neiman Marcus.

She’s put off by anything flashy,

and if you don’t dress conservatively, she’s got no problem telling you,

in front of an audience,

You look like a cheap *****!

I used to wear what I wanted when I went out

then change in the car into a frumpy sweater

when I went to give her the money she’d always go,

Oh, you look beautiful!



Marry your boyfriend,

It’s better than going to prison.

When you go out with her,

she’ll buy you a present; she’s incredibly generous that way.

And she’ll always tell you to save money and get out.

It’s frustrating to her when girls call at the end of the month

and say they need rent money.

She wants to see you do well.





We had a schedule, with cards that indicated a client’s name,

what he liked,

the names of the girls he’d seen,

and how long he’d been with them.

And I only hired girls who had another career

—if my clients had a choice between drop-dead-gorgeous

and beautiful-and-interesting,

they’d tend to take beautiful-and-interesting.

These men wanted to talk.

If they spent two hours with a girl,

they usually spent only five or ten minutes in bed.



I get the feeling that in Los Angeles, men are more concerned with looks.



XXVIII.

That was my big idea

Not to expand the book by aggressive marketing

but to make sure that nobody

mistook my girls for run-of-the-mill hookers.

And I kept my roster fresh.

This was not a business where you peddle your ***,

get exploited,

and then are cast off.

I screen clients. I’ve never sent girls to weirdos.

I let the men know:

no violence,

no costumes,

no fudge-packing.

And I talked to my girls. I’d tell them:

Two and a half years and you’re burned out.

Save your money.

This is like a hangar

—you come in, refuel, and take off.

It’s not a vacation, it’s not a goof.

This buys the singing lessons,

the dancing lessons,

the glossies.

This is to help you pay for what your parents couldn’t provide.

It’s an honorable way station—a lot of stars did this.



XXIX.

To say someone was a Claude girl is an honour, not a slur.



Une femme terrible.

She despised men and women alike.

Men were wallets. Women were holes.



By the 80s,

if you were a brunette,

the sky was the limit.

The Saudis

They’d call for half a dozen of Alex’s finest,

ignore them all evening while they

chatted,

ate,

and played cards,

and then, around midnight,

take the women inside for a fast few minutes of ***.



They’d order women up like pizza.



Since my second husband died,

I only met one man who was right for me,

He was a sheikh.

I visited him in Europe

twenty-eight times

in the five years I knew him

and I never slept with him.

He’d say

I think you fly all the way here just to tease me,

but he introduced me

by phone

to all his powerful friends.

When I was in Los Angeles, he called me twice a day.

That’s why I never went out

he would have been disappointed.



***.

Listen to me

This is a woman’s business.

When a woman does it, it’s fun

there’s a giggle in it

when a man’s involved,

he’s ******,

he’s a ****.

He may know how to keep girls in line,

and he may make money,

but he doesn’t know what I do.

I tell guys: You’re getting a nice girl.

She’s young,

She’s pleasant,

She can do things

she can certainly make love.

She’s not a rocket scientist, but she’s everything else.



The world’s richest and most powerful men, the announcer teased.

An income “in the millions,” said the arresting officer.

Pina Colapinto

A petite call girl,

who once slid between the sheets of royalty,

a green-eyed blonde helped the police get the indictment.

They really dolled her up

She looks great.

Never!

What I told her was: ‘Wash that ******.’





XXXI.

Madam Alex died at 7 p.m.

Saturday at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center,

where she had been in intensive care after recent open heart surgery

We all held her hand when they took her off the life support

This was the passing of a legend.

Because she was the mother superior of prostitution.

She was one of the richest women on earth.

The world came to her.

She never had to leave the house.

She was like Hugh Hefner in that way.


It's like losing a friend

In all the years we played cat and mouse,

she never once tried to corrupt me.

We had a lot of fun.


To those who knew her

she was as constant

as she was colorful

always ready with a good tidbit of gossip

and a gourmet lunch for two.

She entertained, even after her conviction on pandering charges,

from the comfy depths of her blue four-poster bed at her home near Doheny Drive,

surrounded by knickknacks and meowing cats,

which she fed fresh shrimp from blue china plates.



XXXII.

She stole my business,

my books,

my girls,

my guys.

I had a good run.

My creatures.

Make Mommy happy

Oh! He is the most enchanting cat that I have ever known.



She was, how can I say it,

classy.

When she first hired me

she thought I was too young to take her case.

I was 43.

I'm going to give you some gray hairs by the time this is over.

She was right.





XXXIII.

I was fond of Heidi

But she has a streak that is so vindictive.



If there is pure evil, it is Madame Alex.





XXXIV.

I was born and raised in L.A.

My dad was a famous pediatrician.

When he died, they donated a bench to him at the Griffith Park Observatory.



I think that Heidi wanted to try her wings

pretty early,

and I think that she met some people

who sort of took all her potential

and gave it a sharp turn



She knew nothing.

She was like a little parrot who repeated what she was supposed to say.



Alex and I had a very intense relationship;

I was kind of like the daughter she loved and hated,

so she was abusive and loving at the same time.



Look, I know Madam Alex was great at what she did

but it's like this:

What took her years to build,

I built in one.

The high end is the high end,

and no one has a higher end than me.

In this business, no one steals clients.

There's just better service.



XXXV.

You were not allowed to have long hair

You were not allowed to be too pretty

You were not allowed to wear too much makeup or be too glamorous

Because someone would fall in love with you and take you away.

And then she loses the business



XXXVI.

I was pursued because

come on

in our lifetime,

we will never see another girl of my age

who lived the way I did,

who did what I did so quickly,

I made so many enemies.

Some people had been in this line of business

for their whole lives, 30 or 40 years,

and I came in and cornered the market.

Men don't like that.

Women don't like that.

No one liked it.



I had this spiritual awakening watching an Oprah Winfrey video.

I was doing this 500-hour drug class

and one day the teacher showed us this video,

called something like Make It Happen.

Usually in class I would bring a notebook

and write a letter to my brother or my journal,

but all of a sudden this grabbed my attention

and I understood everything she said.

It hit me and it changed me a lot.

It made me feel,

Accept yourself for who you are.

I saw a deeper meaning in it

but who knows, I might have just been getting my period that day!



XXXVII.

Hello, Gina!

You movie star!

Yes you are!

Gina G!

Hello my friend,

Hello my friend,

Hello my movie star,

Ruby! Ruby Boobie!

Braaawk!

Except so many women say,

Come on, Heidi

you gotta do the brothel for us; don't let us down.

It would be kind of fun opening up an exclusive resort,

and I'll make it really nice,

like the Beverly Hills Hotel

It'll feel private; you'll have your own bungalow.

The only problem out here is the climate—it's so brutal.

Charles Manson was captured a half hour from Pahrump.



I said, Joe! What are you doing?

You gotta get, like,

a garter belt and encase it in something

and write,

This belonged to Suzette Whatever,

who entertained the Flying Tigers during World War II.

Get, like, some weird tools and write,

These were the first abortion tools in the brothel,

you know what I mean?

Just make some **** up!

So I came out here to do some research

And then I realized,

What am I doing?

I'm Heidi Fleiss. I don't need anyone.

I can do this.

When I was doing my research, in three months

I saw land go from 30 thousand an acre

to 50 thousand an acre,

and then it was going for 70K!

It's urban sprawl

—we're only one hour from Las Vegas.

Out here the casinos are only going to get bigger,

prostitution is legal, it's only getting better.





XXXVIII.

The truth is

deep down inside,

I just can't do business with him

He's the type of guy who buys Cup o' Noodles soup for three cents

and makes his hookers buy it back from him for $5.

It's not my style at all.

Who wants to be 75 and facing federal charges?

It was different at my age when I

at least...come on, I lived really well.

I was 22,

25 at the time?

It was fun then, but now I wouldn't want

to deal with all that *******

—the girls and blah blah blah.

But the money was really good.



I would've told someone they were out of their ******* mind

if they'd said in five years I'd be living with all these animals like this.

It's hard-core; how I live;

It's totally a nonfunctional atmosphere for me

It's hard to get anything done because

It’s so time-consuming.

I feel like they're good luck though....

I do feel that if I ever get rid of them,

I will be jinxed and cursed the rest of my life

and nothing I do will ever work again.



Guys kind of are a hindrance to me

Certainly I have no problem getting laid or anything.

But a man is not a priority in my life.

I mean, it's crazy, but I really have fun with my parrots.



XXXIX.

I started a babysitting circle when I wasn't much older than 9

And soon all the parents in the neighborhood

wanted me to watch over their children.

Even then I had an innate business sense.

I started farming out my friends

to meet the demand.

My mother showered me with love and my father,

a pediatrician,

would ask me at the dinner table,

What did you learn today?

I ran my neighborhood.

I just pick up a hustle really easily,

I was a waitress and I met an older guy who looked like Santa Claus.



Alex was a 5' 3" bald-headed Filipina

in a transparent muu muu.

We hit it off.

I didn't know at the time that I was there to pay off the guy's gambling debt.

It's in and out,

over and out.

Do you think some big-time producer

or actor is going to go to the clubs and hustle?



Columbia Pictures executive says:

I haven’t done anything that should cause any concern.

Jeez, it's like the Nixon enemies list.

I hope I'm on it.

If I'm not, it means I must not be big enough

for people to gossip about me.



That's right ladies and gentlemen.

I am an alleged madam and that is a $25 *****!

If you live out here,

you've got to hate people.

You've got to be pretty antisocial

How you gonna come out here with only 86 people?

That's Fred.

He's digging to China.

You look good.

Yeah, you too.

It's coming along here.

Yeah, it is.

I wanted to buy that lot there, but I guess it's gone?

That's mine, man! That's all me.

Really?

I thought there was a lot between us.

No. We're neighbors.



He's a cute guy

He's entertaining.

See, I kind of did do something shady to him.

I thought my property went all the way back

and butted up against his.

But there was one lot between us right there.

He said he was buying it,

but I saw the 'For Sale' sign still up there,

So I went and called the broker and said,

I'm an all-cash buyer.

So I really bought it out from under him.

But he's got plenty of room, and I need the space for my parrots.

Pahrump will always be Pahrump, but Crystal is going to be nice

All you need are four or five fancy houses and it'll flush everyone out

and it'll be a nice area.

They're all kind of weird here, but these people will go.

Like this guy here,

someone needs to **** him.

I was just saying to my dad that these parrots are born to a really ******-up world

He goes, Heidi, no, no; the world is a beautiful garden.

It's just, people are destroying it.

I’m looking into green building options

I don't want anything polluting,

I want a huge auditorium,

but it'll be like a jungle where my birds can really fly!

Where they can really do what they're supposed to do.

There were over 300 birds in there!

That lady,

She ran the exotic-birds department for the Tropicana Hotel,

which is a huge job.

She called me once at 3:30 in the morning

Come over here and help me feed this baby!

Some baby parrot.

And I ran over there in my pajamas

—I knew there was something else wrong

and she was like

Get me my oxygen!

Get me this, get me that.

I called my dad; he was like,

I don't know, honey, you better call the paramedics.

They ended up getting a helicopter.

And they were taking her away

in the wind with her IV and blood and everything

and she goes, Heidi, you take care of my birds.

And she dies the next day.

She was just a super-duper person.



XL.

I relate to the lifestyle she had before,

Now, I'm just a citizen.

I'm clean,

I'm sober,

I'm married,

I work at Wal-Mart.

I'm proud to say I know her. I look into her eyes

and we relate.





I got out in 2000,

so I've been sending her money for seven years

She was…whatever.

Girlfriend?

Yeah, maybe.

But ***, I tried like two times,

and I'm just not gay.

She gets out in about eight or nine months

and I told her I would get her a house.

But nowhere near me.

I didn't touch her,

but I'd be, like...

a funny story:

I told her,

Don't you ever ******* think

about contacting me in the real world.

I'm not a lesbian.

Then about two years ago, I got an e-mail from her,

or she called me and said, 'Google my name.'

So I Googled her name,

and she has this huge company.

Huge!

She won, like, Woman of the Year awards.

So I called her and I go,

Not bad.

She goes, 'Well, I did all that because you called me a loser.'

I go, '****, I should've called you more names

you probably would've found the cure for cancer by now.



XLI.

No person shall be employed by the licensee

who has ever been convicted of

a felony involving moral turpitude

But I qualify,

I mean, big deal, so I'm a convicted felon.

Being in the *** industry, you can't be so squeaky-clean.

You've got to be hustling.

Nighttime is really enchanting here

It's like a whole 'nother world out here, it really is

I’m so far removed from my social life and old surroundings.

Who was it, Oscar Wilde, I think, who said

people can adjust to anything.

I was perfectly adjusted in the penitentiary,

and I was perfectly adjusted to living in a château in France.



We had done those drug addiction shows together

Dr. Drew.

Afterward we were friendly

and he'd call me every now and then.

He'd act like he had his stuff together.

But it was all a lie.

Everything is a lie.

I brought him to a Humane Society event at Paramount Studios last year.

He was just such a mess.

So out of it.

He stole money from my purse.

He's such a drug addict because he's so afraid of being fat.

He liked horse ****, though. He did like horse ****.

This one woman that would have *** with a horse on the internet,

He told me that’s his favorite actress.

Better than Meryl Streep.



XLII.

The cops could see

why these women were taking over trade.

Girls with these looks charged upwards of $500 an hour.

The Russians had undercut them with a bargain rate of $150 an hour.

One thing they are not is lazy.

In the USSR

they grew up with no religion, no morality.

Prostitution is not considered a bad thing.

In fact, it’s considered a great way to make money.

That’s why it’s exploding here.

What we saw was just a tip of the iceberg.

These girls didn’t come over here expecting to be nannies.

They knew exactly what they wanted and what they were getting into.

The madam who organized this raid

was making $4 million a year,

laundered through Russian-owned banks in New York City

These are brutal people.

They are all backstabbers.

They’re entrepreneurs.

They’re looking at $10,000 a month for turning tricks.

For them, that’s the American dream.



XLIII.

If you’re not into something,

don’t be into it

But,

if you want to take some whipped cream,

put it between your toes,

have your dog licking it up and,

at the same time,

have your girlfriend poke you in the eye,

then that’s fine.

That’s a little weird but we shouldn’t judge.



She was my best friend then

and I consider her one of my best friends now,

because when I was going through Riker’s

and everyone abandoned me,

including my boyfriend,

I was hysterical,

crying,

and she was the one that was there.

And, when somebody needed to step up to the plate,

that’s who did, and I have an immense amount of

loyalty, respect, and love for her.

And if she’s going to prison for eight years

—that’s what she’s sentenced for

—I’ll go there,

and I’ll go there every week,

for eight years.

That’s the type of person I am.

horror movie tactic: or the abrupt / concentrated
                                                                              crescendo -
                              the shrill -
the chalk on the blackboard -
                                  all there, horror prime is
not the images,
                       but the music,
                                                  horror is defined by
music - the the lack of -
                           as are epics, with humanity being
inspired rather than ****** -
                and i dare say, i made my first collage worthy of
the aged Matisse: exhibit (a) a newspaper,
(b) a packet of cigarettes,
                       (c) a bottle of whiskey
and finally (d) heidegger's pondering(s) ii - vi;
i told you i was mad enough to buy a copy instead of:
when books are concerned, it's hard to imitate a
taste for designer ware, for a:
        my great grandfather invented / founded so and so...
how easily you can become elitist with books,
a bargain at £30 when usually $60...
                                        and, honestly?
i do feel less snobbish and more powerful,
                 i wield a variation of Egyptology's term:
precious artefact, something from the Third *****,
an intellectual output that doesn't bother Schindler
and the cinematography of the kamiński
red, amongst all the obvious bloodshed -
here's me, some years from the devastation,
feeling insecure about the need to call them Jews
(when they were primarily Poles) to anti,
  to anti justify when the two labels are considered
with variation on the pristine assumed nature of
Israel's policy -
                      sounds different when you consider them
Poles rather than Jews -
                           and here i ventured into the complexity
of thesaurus rex stomping ground the dictionary
keeps reverent - i'm not an Catholic escapist artist,
you won't find any argument to suit my awareness there -
          Jesus can have my writ of concerned antisemitism -
i already said that the tight-rope event by a Frenchman
was and will forever be more spectacular than
the crucifixion -
                                             he was a prophet born
without a conscious involvement in the three magi
and the star of Bethlehem -
                                       i don't believe he was born to be
recipient of a pristine banking on the matter:
         that all depends on how we behaved later,
evidently the Romans respected Jewish c.v.
none were handed down to Roman authorities to
build the coliseum - they were left pristine in their
Pharisee guises, and then the supposed "god" (level
it with the existentialists, the ditto means ~, approx.
or ambiguity, passed down, like a neared concern with
mythology) usurped the religious movements
the Roman respected and never employed the rites
of passage prescribed by Ramses and Nebuchadnezzar;
          or as i continually say:
you rather hear the word ****, or your face being
punched by my fist?
                                       why not, why not talk
***** and keep the *** acts pristine in accordance with
the rule of life? you think that not talking *****
will keep your ****** ******* haloed?
                   for the case of life: i rather talk *******
and **** with effectiveness than
                 put my tongue into a ****** and talk
pretty pretty, and **** like an imbecile...
                                      because i need to become a fuhrer
when she's doing her bit, and i'm doing her bit...
                i equate censoring peasant cordiality with
the things that destroys us: famines, earthquakes etc.,
   with the rise of ****** perversity -
to not talk oath words is as much as talking ******* pretty
and engaging with paedophilia -
                    or something quiet similar to it.
          **** me, talk *****, you don't even have to eat
shellfish: the grand scavengers of the depths -
                      better talk ***** than throw punches
or engage in unspeakable blasphemies;
so why are they trying to make you talk pretty
when you're bound to stuff that **** in your mouth?
you think that will resolve the matter,
thinking *** is ***** thereby enforcing a pristine way
to say hello; really?
              because that's where it's heading -
and it won't do much good when you say:
i can't say akin with the lark what the hell i want,
because another force is rummaging in the same area
saying: i can do what the hell i want, with or without
****** annoying lark singing me onomatopoeia(s)!
              sure, a mind that feels caged will flutter into
ambivalent freedom with the tongue,
       as will a tongue that feels caged flutter into
ambivalent freedom of the tongue:
enter?           a Rothschild -
         have you noticed how things have changed since
Descartes equated the dualism of thought and doubt
as the medium of being?
         apart from Heidegger, the finite increment posit
of what's the centimetres of a person's lifetime?
i think
                1 centimetre
                                        i doubt
                                                       1 centimetre
           precipitates into
                                                i am
                                                                 also, 1 centimetre,
existentialism took the i doubt from the equation
and replaced it with: i deny -
                                                and so called it bad faith...
denial is a subtler version of lying, or perhaps: a more
eloquent expression of it:
       god, i acknowledge the fact that the thesaurus is
an enemy of logic - i.e. close proximity synonyms and
                                      extensively divergent synonyms:
the first tool of rhetoric exposed,
i.e. say red ten times... sure!
      crimson, burgundy, wine, rust,
                      ruby, dahlia, geranium, maroon,
              scarlet, titian
                                               (nouns are primarily synonyms,
their existential purpose is to be synonyms,
   to compensate the existential flaw in Darwinism in
terms of the high tier of variant evolutionary consideration
        and investing in / creating a manageable vocabulary,
kindred of agricultural expertise / -ease, not as suggested
       aesthetic; tee off, a variant wording: games aside,
    but truly a word game, or golf; mankind has staged
the greatest war with its communicative system:
politics v. crosswords: two games - and none are enjoyable,
better leave the games to the symbols 0 - 9);
oh right, d'uh, back to the Rothschild "problem",
                you confront someone like that,
you won't hear a word of doubt, you'll hear the words
of denial... the point is: stunted emotional withdrawal -
just put the whole dynamic into a school playground,
                     people like that can't doubt their actions,
they can only deny them, which is why existentialism
exposed an very emotional variation of cogito ergo sum,
       the sentio ergo sum, or what one calls the Cartesian
extension: c.c.t.v. - like any viral infection: mass paranoia
stemming from a dichotomy rather than a duality
imbued by thinking and acting according to a balance.
the worded confrontation is a summary of a delayed reflex
of the staged confrontation, hence the need for the status of
"the shadow people", to deny and then exert force is
to deny and then to later manipulate certain factors into
an equation: bomb a place, **** anonymous "a", etc.,
             the fact is: it's algebra incorporated into language,
the general concern being about: the nonsense of
a Mr. Smith class system incorporated into all the brickwork
layers of the pyramid...
       sure, a Rothschild will feel vulnerable when question,
and he'll deny rather than doubt, and he'll think his
***** is 1 centimetre tall when ***** and is protruding from
his forehead... but that same person will react with
the "doubt" part of the equation:
                           he'll invest in an arm's deal that will
slaughter ten thousand Colombians over a kilogram
of *******... and he'll then doubt whether those ten thousand
Colombians had social security numbers or passports
or whatever it is they actually had...
                     courtesy?      sure: doubt they ever did anything,
keeps you thinking...
                        deny them the idiotic lie of proxy?
oh sure: they're into higher powers too! don't you know
that evil also works miracles?
                          there are proxy miracles,
are there are immediate miracles of: well, why not be
a saint for the day?
                                 my advice is:
doubt propels thinking, it's an instigator of thinking
  which some call: non-being...
                                but i consider thinking to be a variation
of being:
                                 as in: an aversion to watch a football match
and join a herd...
                       negation? the existential alter to coupling
thinking that's to translate into being?
      &

i.

The governmental beast's
Plotteth right before thine sight;
As many art blinded
By the lies put in the night.

ii.

Making many believeth
Through their media puppet's;
Whilst big elite pulleth thy string's
Secret society member's push it.

iii.

Illuminati, Bilderberg's,
Skull and bones, some unknown;
Now spotlighted, being known
Martial law, to break thy home's.

iv.

All for greed, their new world order,
United Nations vehicles parked
In California; train's with guillotine's
Thirty-thousand that is,
Whilst the young protest
Ignorant bullsh....
Freedom's being taken
Before thy eye's,
It started by the taking
Of the natives land;
European suicide.
Blood shalt be spilt
In the land of the high
Because of the filth
Of rich men's ties;

v.

Rockefeller called it
Whilst Rothschild named it;
Henry Kissinger indugled it
Bush. Sr didst inflame it.
Training going on
Worldwide for this,
A complete takeover
An r.f.i.d chip.
A tracking device
For the forehead and hand;
Revelation thirteen dear poet, poetess, and man.
Revelation stated; (And he had power to give life unto the image of the beast, that the image of the beast should both speak, and cause that as many as would not worship the image of the beast should be killed.) Didst thou readeth that? Didst not get enough fill? Also goeth this. Revelation,
16And he causeth all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and bond, to receive a mark in their right hand, or in their foreheads: 17And that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark, or the name of the beast, or the number of his name. 18Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six.
Readeth this again, no man may buyeth nor sell without the mark of this devil tempted man;
Already into act into Mr. Obama's healthcare law,
Bilderberg's saidst by the year two-thousand and seventeen they want their chip Into all,
Signs art showing, were coming to a close,
Awaketh to Christ's truth and his love Utmost.
Christ spoke: I am the way, truth and the life, no man
Cometh to the father but by ( me) Jesus that is the Lord and the king,whilst other's art found in tomb's- Christ hath holes in his hand's and his feet, millions of near death experiences- with only jesus didst they meet. Awaketh mine poet's, get out of slumber, An Antichrist is upon us, the demon's knoweth their day's art numbered. Taketh a look around: demonic influence. Satan's got a short time to killeth, And surely he wilt do it. A prominent Jewish Rabbi is telling his people in Israel he believed their Messiah is here, so art the Muslim leader's, what's wrong? Not clear? Them telling other's they believeth their Messiah soon shalt appear, just means the antichrist wilt show, and a Tribulation's near. Awaketh from slumber I telleth once again, these book's of Christ weren't a play or a myth for pretend. The heaven's art moaning, the earth tis in travail, prophecies hath come true as more art daily neath the veil. Many by the million's art having dream's of his return, please no comment needed if it's for making fun of or scorn, tis I want none to mourn but to open their sight's to truth. Be aware, payeth attention to that thing we calleth the news. Find Christ, if thou hath not, if so cometh back to him, I sayeth this as a warning. Poetess, poet's, beautiful friends...... For God is a loving God, waiting for thee and me to return, a new age of the slave, is waiting for it's turn.......




©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

We were so different
It was amazing we even bothered with one another

He was solid gold & tailored
A Rothschild's son
Might as well have been -

I was romantic.
Somehow we found love
Like we stumbled into the lost library of Alexandria
"Not supposed to happen"
Read a disclaimer under us

We didn't read it.

But sometimes
One summer is fleeting
One summer is unplanned
And 'we' didn't fit into his / my future
I always forget finales anyway,

But it was real
I swear on my life it was

Andrew Gn

Probably the most prolific Singaporean designer, Gn graduated from the renowned Saint Martins School of Art and Design in London and the Domus Academy in Milan before joining Emanuel Ungaro in 1992. He launched his namesake label in 1996, establishing a fan base among the Parisian high society and A-list celebrities such as Jessica de Rothschild and Sarah Jessica Parker for his luxurious fabrics and exquisite embellishments. Gn was awarded the President’s Design Award in 2007 and is stocked in all the major continents, with his atelier based in the Le Marais district in Paris.

Ashley Isham

The other Singaporean high fashion designer to hit big time in the international circuit, Isham established his namesake label in London in 2000, and is a show fixture at London Fashion Week. The label is known for its sharp, contemporary tailoring and high-octane glamour, and is a hit among film, TV and music stars as well as British royalty.

Aijek

Self-taught designer Danelle Woo creates easy-breezy, ultra-feminine pieces in sustainable fabrics. Aijek is stocked at multi-label boutiques in China, Hong Kong, Malaysia, Indonesia, Latin America, the Middle East and the United States.

Depression

The neo-Gothic ready-to-wear label’s stark, minimalist designs are stocked in Hong Kong, Belgium, Japan and the U.S., and counts celebrities like Adam Lambert and The Black-Eyed Peas as fans.

Sabrina Goh

The feted Singaporean designer stocks her easy-to-wear pieces from her namesake label at multi-label boutiques in the United States, the Fred Segal store in Japan and a London-based online store Not Just A Label.

Max Tan

The avant-garde label features experimental silhouettes and a contemporary artistic flair, and is stocked in Europe, the Middle East, San Francisco and Taiwan.

Benjamin Barker

This stylish menswear brand founded by designer Nelson Yap in 2009 now has two stores in Melbourne and offers custom tailoring as well. It also offers shipping to Australia and New Zealand via its website BenjaminBarker.co. .

In Good Company

The well-loved minimalist label with unusual silhouettes fronted by designers Sven Tan and Kane Tan is stocked in Hong Kong at Kapok, at various departmental stores in Jakarta, Indonesia, including Sogo, Seibu and Galleries Lafayette Jakarta and in New York’s Saks Fifth Avenue.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane

We are a generation,
Indeed, a nation,
Raised upon foreign warring.
Scapegoat aggravation.
Bushes and *****
Clamoring for horror and hoarding.

Conspiring against a population,
I watch through youthful aging.
With my childlike eyes, I see
The target they're blaming:
Afghan families having more
in common with me,
Working class American,
Than those transparent heirs
With the world's wealth and arrogance,
Ordering for the villagers' obliteration
Through boys from our nation.

We are a generation raised
On media sensation
Of militarized devastation;
Animal exploitation;
Technological manifestations
Providing privacy infiltration.
Material attainments;
Mental frustrations;
Fiat debt enslavement;
A nation entranced by
Senseless parading.

Tempting decadence and
Announcements with no evidence.
The September bounty of edifice
That fell with no hesitance
Still echo its unfounded,
Preemptive pretenses.

This murderous reign;
this senseless parade;
Advertisement cyclical
in their game of charades;
Dog on a chain;
Famine causing no pain.
Permissible opinions
To be solely maintained.

The damage, the waste,
The heinous race and class chase.
Oppression remains thoughtlessly dangerous,
As moral responsibility brings no attainments.
Chowing down on maimed millions
Bellowing from enslavement.

Fortunately, elder,
Rothschild, Rockefeller, or
Those above them whom
Remain blackened, faceless:
Resistance shall come
From all places, all ages.
Such as this generation of mine
Inheriting increasing complications,
With the type of America
You wish to keep in rotation.

I'll carry the flag containing
Your mistakes as a symbol,
To remind those behind me
What not to rekindle.

To the Boomer who stews
In your white collar suit,
Still refusing to shake
Your destructive pursuit,
Still asking me to lick
Off authority's boot:

Growing up in this nation,
With childhood innocence,
I grew increasingly aware
Of the land of such ignorance.
I had such thoughts since
Early adolescence,
I was not blind to larger lessons.
Only since supported by
Actual, factual supported confessions.

To the Boomer tied to his convictions,
Now will you see-
That isn't going to work
For us or for me.
I'll bring to this world
Whatever I please.
Which so happens to be
Truth, justice, and peace.

When I dream at night
             which is usually, although
Not exclusively
             when I tend to dream

There is always a giraffe
              at my side
His name is Rothschild

I thought you should know.

Puppets and masters of thought,
the control of one mans torture another's sword.

Spare me, spare me a drop of blood,
and a loaded gun.

The end we see the bones collide,
or is it white lines with lies aside.

Contradiction
Let me start this crucifixion
****** living backwards
Back masking long lasting
Hidden Agenda
For Propaganda
My visions like the Colors of Panda
Black and white wrong to right
Still battling sable Can't hold the Fight
12 rounds Strong I can't give up
Looking down at the corrupt
Which jayz and ricky tell the truth
But they sticky?
riding with Guns following the Luminous One
Lucifer the bearer of the Light
Caught a ***** of the Spotlight
Foot was In inches In
To fortune and fame but enticed to Sin
How can I win? The game.that's designed
For them to Win to When no Pretend
No surrender I can attest
I'm for World Peace no Ron Artest
I might be arrested for telling the truth
Secretive fiber optics
Phone tapping to give the news Hot Topics
Lock a ***** up Pens making Profits
Politics I drop it knowledge
Hidden on the Plain
I'm tryna tare down the R and R domain
That's Rockefeller and Rothschild
Took many shots but still I smile
Lost in the wild young Ghetto Child
hell on Earth demons catching Mirth
The meek shall inherit
I ain't coming to be a Hero far from.Zero
Violent Hero all you haters can duck sick my Bicho *******
Now ya know I don't play **** the radio airplay
Now Radio stations whatcha got to say
Parlay
In the Streets is where sense my Heartbeat
I feed the Need hungerin for Change
Excursion Money never Splurgin
Game tight like a ******
The Devil is a lie that's why I'm urging
For ya to know the truth
The rap game done took a turn
Hells fire consuming Earth soon to Burn
Left to rubbles uh

Adolf ****** may have been an evil *******...
In fact he was without a doubt.
I don’t need to remind us all but the things he said and did is kinda what this is about.
I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s imagined....
What if ****** and the Nazis won?
What would the world we live in today be like?
cos the powers that be have still got us under their thumb.
Some say some Jew called Rothschild has taken over,
But like a 4 leaf clover,
I’m not going to let that conspiracy get to me
cos I already worry too much about my own life
as stress can sometimes cut me open
and feels just like a blunt knife.

So getting to the point....

I have no issues with America and her people,
I’ve been to Montana, Washington, New York and even Seattle,
It IS a little too big for my liking,
But that’s not the point in this rant that I’m writing,
I do wanna cite though that for the record I loved Obama,
Despite the air strikes upon Syria he ordered he didn’t cause too much drama,
Maybe certain Americans just love starting wars,
Who knows? maybe cos of their ridiculous gun laws
Every country has their own patriotic flaws,
and eyesores in the dilated pupils of foreigners.
I tell you what though....
Satsumas...
I look at those differently these days,
I used to love the taste of them but now they just remind me of a certain pig headed face,
Calling him a disgrace is an understatement,
it seems like everything he does is just for his own entertainment,
I can understand why the red necks voted for him,
cos he knew what to say to get his puppets on a string,
and the thing is
is that this all feels like a Hollywood movie,
Rudely perverted, ****** and *****,
with no happy ending,
bending their laws
Of what is right and what is wrong
we’re either longing for another saviour or the end of the world,
at least for now

(C)

War is profit full stop.
Let’s get it straight and start from the top.

Who are we fighting? What do they wear?
People who live in caves and don't have life fair
This is the enemy of us all, really?
Blowing up city buildings from mountains easily
Our soldiers searching rocks in a far off place
Looking for an enemy that has no face
Financial overlords from across the sea
Learning early that war is profit and a guarantee

An event, then a call to arms will be heard
As soon as the building’s in New York were disturbed
Terror spreading across our great nations
We’re under attack, we’ve been threatened, our families foundations
Fake reports painted to portray
Confusing leaders into mistakes of a massive way
Intelligence agencies with links with the banks
Just to raise funds for more missiles and tanks

Iraq, Afghanistan, pipelines through the Caspian Sea
Establish bases and destabilise the Middle East
Then the big one, there’ll be no choice
They refuse to reform claims a muffled CIA voice
That’s it, they’ve ignored our instruction
Time for democratic war, oil and destruction
Turning children into terrorists for decades to come
An eternal war, good for a few and profit for a hidden some.

Through media hysteria people will cry
‘We want blood, revenge, the enemy must die!’
Funding war by borrowing from the bank
As we pay for death through some awful tax prank
The evil distain of the cancer man must be reined in soon
Or the earth and the average man will all be doomed
They laugh at our boys searching in caves
As they sit back sipping whiskey at the Bohemia parade

South America, South-East Asia, now Arabia
Is there anywhere left?
The element across our shores will not quit
Their lifestyle too much to sustain fit
Their currency shrinking, the banks desperate
Robbing honest American homes to address it
Carving a war path for far too long now
****** and death acceptable as long as profits grow

*“Give me control of a nation’s money supply,
and I care not who makes its laws.”
Mayer Amschel Rothschild.

The skilled user of words, the wizard conjurer that provoke your thoughts.          
I ought to be  sentenced to death.    
For an enlightened mind such as mine for the crime of influencing young minds
You see the Government hate visionaries like me, so they call the disciplinary, to disrupt revolutionaries, COINTELPRO, look them up if you don’t know, for all you conspiracy theorist, I am the head of realist ****, shot calling
You might as well call me Shon the abolitionist.
When it comes to such a wicked being such as me, they call to question my thought for knowledge and I tell them
As the practitioner of hard knocks, my quest for power is almost pestilent; people say knowledge is power  
But what they don’t tell you, is power comes from applying the knowledge
To acknowledge the most dangerous man in the room isn’t the man with the gun nor the thirst for power
But the man in the shrouded darkness waiting to pounce, call me Rockefeller and Rothschild.
I am almost out of time but please forgive me, my mind sits in an higher dimension
My mentality is overpriced that’s why the naïve mind is as common as head lice
As I am the sole provider to the zeitgeist.

Le spectre que parfois je rencontre riait.
- Pourquoi ris-tu ? Lui dis-je. - Il dit : - Homme inquiet,
Regarde.
Il me montrait dans l'ombre un cimetière.

J'y vis une humble croix près d'une croix altière ;
L'une en bois, l'autre en marbre ; et le spectre reprit,
Tandis qu'au **** le vent passait comme un esprit
Et des arbres profonds courbait les sombres têtes :

- Jusque dans le cercueil vous êtes vains et bêtes.
Oui, gisants, vous laissez debout la vanité.
Vous la sculptez au seuil du tombeau redouté,
Et vous lui bâtissez des tours et des coupoles.
Et, morts, vous êtes fiers.

Oui, dans vos nécropoles,
Dans ces villes du deuil que vos brumeux Paris
Construisent à côté du tumulte et des cris,
On trouve tout, des bois où jasent les fauvettes,
Des jets d'eau jaillissant du jaspe des cuvettes,
Un paysage vert, voluptueux, profond,
Où le nuage avec la plaine se confond,
La calèche où souvent l'œil cherche la civière,
Des prêtres sous le frais lisant leur bréviaire,
Du soleil en hiver, de l'ombrage en été,
Des roses, des chansons, tout, hors l'égalité.
Vous avez des charniers et des Pères-Lachaises
Où Samuel Bernard seul peut prendre ses aises,
Dormir en paix, jouir d'un caveau bien muré,
Et se donner les airs d'être à jamais pleuré,
Et s'adjuger, derrière une grille solide,
Des fleurs que le Temps garde en habit d'invalide.
Quant aux morts indigents, on leur donne congé ;
On chasse d'auprès d'eux le sanglot prolongé ;
Et le pauvre n'a pas le droit de pourriture.
Un jour, on le déblaie. On prend sa sépulture
Pour grandir d'une toise un monument pompeux.
- Misérable, va-t'en. Deviens ce que tu peux.
Quoi ! Tu prétends moisir ici parmi ces marbres,
Faire boucher le nez aux passants sous ces arbres,
Te carrer sous cette herbe, être au fond de ton trou
Charogne comme un autre, et tu n'as pas le sou !
Qu'est-ce que ce mort-là qui n'a rien dans sa poche !
Décampe. - Et la brouette et la pelle et la pioche
Arrachent le dormeur à son dur traversin.
Sus ! Place à monseigneur le sépulcre voisin !
Ce n'est rien d'être mort, il faut avoir des rentes.
Les carcasses des gueux sont fort mal odorantes ;
Les morts bien nés font bande à part dans le trépas ;
Le sépulcre titré ne fraternise pas
Avec la populace anonyme des bières ;
La cendre tient son rang vis-à-vis des poussières ;
Et tel mort dit : pouah ! Devant tel autre mort.
Le gentleman, à l'heure où l'acarus le mord,
Se maintient délicat et dégoûté. C'est triste.
Et j'en ris. Le linceul peut être de batiste !
Chez vous, oui, sous la croix de l'humble Dieu Jésus,
Les trépassés à court d'argent sont mal reçus ;
L'abîme a son dépôt de mendicité ; l'ombre
Met d'un côté l'élite et de l'autre le nombre ;
On n'est jamais moins près qu'alors qu'on se rejoint ;
Dans la mort vague et blême on ne se mêle point ;
On reste différent même à ce clair de lune ;
Le peuple dans la tombe a nom fosse commune.
La tombe impartiale ! Allons donc ! Le ci-gît
Tantôt se rétrécit et tantôt s'élargit ;
Le péage, réglé par arrêté du maire,
Fait Beaujon immortel et Chodruc éphémère.
Pourrir gratis ! Jamais ! Le terrain est trop cher.
Tandis que, tripotant ce qui fut de la chair,
La chimie, en son antre où vole la phalène,
Fait de l'adipocire et du blanc de baleine
Avec le résidu des pâles meurt-de-faim,
Tel cadavre, vêtu d'un suaire en drap fin,
Regarde en souriant la mort aux yeux de tigre,
Jette au spectre sa bourse, et dit : Marquis d'Aligre.
Vos catacombes ont des perpétuités
Pour ceux-ci pour ceux-là des répits limités.
Votre tombe est un gouffre où le riche surnage.
Ce mort n'a pas payé son terme ; il déménage.
Le fantôme, branlant sur ses blancs tibias,
Portant tout avec lui, s'en va, comme Bias ;
Vivant, il fut sans pain, et, mort, il est sans terre.
L'ossuaire répugne aux os du prolétaire.
Seul Rothschild, dans l'oubli du caveau sans échos,
Est mangé par des rats et par des asticots
Qu'il paye et dont il est maître et propriétaire.
Oui, c'est l'étonnement de la pariétaire,
Du brin d'herbe, de l'if aussi noir que le jais,
Du froid cyprès, du saule en pleurs, de voir sujets
À des expulsions sommaires et subites
Des crânes qui n'ont plus leurs yeux dans leurs orbites.
Vos cimetières sont des lieux changeants, flottants,
Précaires, où les morts vont passer quelque temps,
À peine admis au seuil des ténébreux mystères,
Et l'éternité sombre y prend des locataires.
Quoi ! C'est là votre mort ! C'est avec de l'orgueil
Que vous doublez le bois lugubre du cercueil !
Vous gardez préséance, honneurs, grade, avantages !
Vous conservez au fond du néant des étages !
La chimère est bouffonne. Ah ! La prétention
Est rare, dans le lieu de disparition !

Quoi ! Privilégier ce qui n'est plus ! Quoi ! Faire
Des grands et des petits dans l'insondable sphère !
Traiter Jean comme peste et Paul comme parfum !
Être mort, et vouloir encore être quelqu'un !
Quoi ! Dans le pourrissoir emporter l'opulence !
Faire sonner son or dans l'éternel silence !
Avoir, de par cet or dont sur terre on brilla,
Droit de tomber en poudre ici plutôt que là !
Arriver dans la nuit ainsi que des lumières !
Prendre dans le tombeau des places de premières !
Ne pas entendre Dieu qui dit au riche : assez !
Je cesserai d'en rire, ô vivants insensés,
Le jour où j'apprendrai que c'est vrai, que, dans l'ombre
De l'incommensurable et ténébreux décombre,
L'archange à l'aile noire, assis à son bureau,
Toise les morts, leur donne à tous un numéro,
Discute leur obole, or ou plomb, vraie ou fausse,
Et la pèse, et marchande au squelette sa fosse !
Le jour où j'apprendrai que la chose est ainsi,
Que Lucullus sous terre est du fumier choisi,
Que le bouton d'or perd ou double sa richesse
S'il sort d'une grisette ou bien d'une duchesse,
Qu'un lys qui naît d'un pauvre est noir comme charbon,
Que, mort, Lazare infecte et qu'Aguado sent bon !
Le jour où j'apprendrai que dans l'azur terrible
L'éternel a des trous inégaux à son crible ;
Et que, dans le ciel sombre effroi de vos remords,
S'il voit passer, porté par quatre croque-morts,
Un cadavre fétide et hideux, le tonnerre
Demande à l'ouragan : - est-ce un millionnaire ?
Le jour où j'apprendrai que la tombe, en effet,
Que l'abîme, selon le tarif du préfet,
Trafique de sa nuit et de son épouvante,
Et que la mort a mis les vers de terre en vente !

Le 18 mars 1870.

What is it
that you have convinced yourself
that I have,
that you need so ****** deeply.
I have nothing worth tears,
nothing to give
worth a single sigh.
Nothing
that cannot be found
on the bargain rack,
three for five.
I am not a life preserver
crafted of verse.
I am not a panacea
distilled from words.
I am a fleeting shadow
easily snuffed by a sunbeam.
I am a songbird
frozen, and dying
on a cracked tree branch.
I am worth less
than the sum of my parts.
A bag of organs,
valuable only to the sick and rich.
Rothschild might want my heart,
but it is not as deep a vessel
as you make it out to be.
You can do so much better,
than pathetic old me.

“Who's been feeding my ***** ground meat?”
   “Not me. I'm a barbarian.”

coming out of orbit of the strangest planet,
i literally stumbled upon it by chance,
well, chance - by chance i mean:
avoiding an overdraft on the bank account.
the planet itself? not much to talk
about, other than the days and nights -
the days usually last 32 or 36 hours -
   (i'm still trying to explore whether a
48 hour days exists) -
  the nights? with careful planning -
   and that knockout punch of mixing
a **** decent painkiller (naproxen, 500g)
and some scotch -
   out for 10 to 12 hours...
                i'm currently snuggling to ms.
amber and asking her: sedate me,
sedate me, i'm feeling too lucid being
above for so long...
        my senses are sharpened -
          which explains why people on
planet 32:36-10:12 rarely dreams -
   their everyday days are like dreams -
given that in the winter months they
turn into nocturnal creatures -
scuttling their house and garden in solitude,
while people on planet 365 tend
to be sleeping in the lunar intervals of:
two nights + a day of inhabitants of
32:36-10:12.
                 which brings me to the topic
of fame...
             and this drama series dr. foster...
and this kid in one of the episodes
dancing to the foals' song my number...
current viewing? 16+ million...
     sure, that's pop... but i only found
about this pucka song from watching
       the drama dr. foster about infidelity
and divorce and what-not -
with that adorable quote from the mourning
bride by william congreve -
heaven has no rage, like love to hatred turned,
nor hell a fury, like a woman scorned.
anyway, fame, in the future: which
we are already in: who the hell has the resources
and stamina and egomania to
    bust a clog in the conveyor belt of fame?
about 15 people... for every commoner's
15 minutes, there are usually 15 people
given any time in a lifetime to attain fame -
a monarch, a pope,
                     a religious figure from a distant
past...
                 15 - 3 = 12.
         this might include 1 scientist,
4 footballers,
                          4 musicians -
              2 political leaders...
so what's that?
                                    12 - 1 - 8 - 2 = 1...
                obviously this is all very debatable,
there's fame in the public eye -
but there's also the shadow 15:
  famous for being the shady counter-culture
types... the people in the know-how:
e.g. a rothschild banker here,
           a george soros over there...
  like in the english parliament -
  for every cabinet - there's a shadow cabinet;
but at least the shadow 15 do not clog
of the machinery of "fame" -
               and in clogging a smoothed
out transition of allowing a multifacet perspective
for the public - the end result from
the public eye 15 is: reality t.v. personalities.
obviously the public eye 15 i took off
the top of my head...
actually: i was wrong about the first 3...
given that we're talking those alive -
  3 actors, 1 scientist, 4 footballers, 4 musicians,
             2 political leaders;
i could have included writers,
but then: all the ones that come immediately
into my head: are dead;
     but it's sometimes worth admiring
these public eye 15...
                          and why do the dead not
matter to the living? because the perception
of the living that the dead have is
a bit like watching sperms travel...
reap havoc, trample the lesser taddies
              in the polevault of ******* -
to the living the dead are solemn and brooding
like the grave -
  to the dead the living are as easily excitable
and unconsciously motivated by
    biological vectors as to qualify them
as nothing more than the dynamism of
                  a full sack of emptied testicles.

The Rothschilds control trillions of dollars. J.P. Morgan, whose insurance fraud scam sank the Olympic while it masqueraded as the Titanic, was a Rothschild minion. [David Bowie is following the left-hand path. His demerits will merit the shredding of his soul.]*
   *Nigerians have ruined Nigeria's public assistance programs for everybody! Dear President of Nigeria: Nigerian free food is delicioso! I could eat massive amounts of it all day everyday! Nigeria is so clean & sanitary! Why can't all law-worshiping Nigerians love & respect each other to lower the ******-rate for awhile?

The Rothschilds control trillions of dollars. J.P. Morgan, whose insurance fraud scam sank the Olympic while it masqueraded as the Titanic, was a Rothschild minion.

Fat Hermann Göring almost died from a gangrenously-green wart but was saved to be vindictively murdered by gay heart surgeons, assigned by Eddy de Rothschild's heartless war court.
   “Who's been feeding my ***** ground meat?”
   “Not me. I'm a barbarian.”