oh i'm a trash talking miserable junkyard cur for sure and i've been feeling guilty these last two days for riding my momma for playing the slots but damn if i don't fuss at her who's gonna? it wasn't me who aimed my little boy ass at the pulpit and prophecy. i would've rather stayed home and watch t.v. granny warned you. it's been in the family mythology i do believe (and here i include pulkinghams and sundrie communitarians) that i took my shit off of poppa, but truly i am a matriarchal child. poppa, and jim paget for that matter, interesting to me because momma chose to marry them. them slots ain't juju machines? them spinning wheels ain't prayers? whoa. me i know i've gone over the edge but i see every one of them damn machines tied up straight through murder incoporated and right to that poindexter motherfucker and his assasination brokerage schemes. oh every single commodity you buy ends in dead babies so maybe it doesn't matter but altar boying left me with enough anglo-catholicism that i'll be damned if i don't think personal style don't send a message. have carter build you a spinning light machine and do your gambling with byron. don't give them houses rake. fuck them.
momma the wheel has spun back to revolution. that bush family is scheming to kill your grandchildren. your church is an accessory, for their message is always not paying attention. the opium of the people. momma, we need you. anyway, and here's my gift, mom, you gonna find revolution a better buzz than gambling. you should trust me on this, for you know i'm a doctor of buzz.
//\ this is the empire of dr, bienke //\/ :
prohibition is sort of an accident because the rich don't really figure how it's gonna work and of course they love the idea of keeping things from poor people. then all of a sudden prohibition makes all this new money and new money pumps the market through the roof, making more new money and the one thing that makes old money really nervous is new money, so they throw a depression. course it's like one them fires the parks people set intentionally and then completely lose control of.
meanwhile mob money has realized it needs a place to do its banking outside new york where things have got a little testy what with machine gun battles up and down broadway. even steely new yorkers getting embarrassed by the obviousness of the corruption. the mob needs a new banking town. havana? las vegas? dos passos?
...what if? and i'm just thinking aloud.... i have adolf hitler make a secret zeppelin trip to dos passos to meet with prescott bush and newell withey (am i spelling newell right?). carter tells me newell likely worked with prescott..... and i can tie newell to the mob because grandmother did that parisian girl dancing mural for joe ianni's place that was somewhere over there by highland park i think..... h'm.
notes for letter to a young clergyman wannabee/ fragment of the empire of dr. bienke....
11:11:15 AM 
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