STUNNING PETRAEUS HANDJOB or IS IT?


STUNNING PETRAEUS HANDJOB or IS IT

“This is a very personal matter, not a matter of intelligence,” the senior U.S. intelligence official said. (credit Horowitz & Miller, Washington Post, 10/10/12)

Hoo boy they got that one right. No intelligence required.

Because we’ve gone through the looking glass, pal. One hot fireball of corruption after another has been nonstop hurtling through the sky at the American population for years. None of your breaking news is news.

We all know what we’re seeing without the usual falsified investigations, made-up timelines, pretend guilty parties, pretend innocent politicians, who picked the fall guy or why ~ all of which are no doubt on their way ad nauseum. Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Congress. Nobody cares.

No one in any governing body in this country is ever going to hold anyone of their kind accountable for anything, evermore. The American population may be properly exhausted by lies, but see all politicians for what they have become. We know what you’re doing to us.

One of the officials said Justice Department officials were unclear on what steps to take after they concluded that there would be no charges against the CIA director (Petraeus) or Broadwell and that there had been no breach of national security. “What was our responsibility?”   said one of the officials. “We were in an area where we’d never been before.” (credit Horowitz & Miller, Washington Post, 10/10/12)

Of course he doesn’t have a clue. National judgement based on constitutional reference or plain logic no longer exists. Our systems of highest security are fallen to the sea. The population is the first to figure it out and the last to be officially notified. Still, it’s a rare conclusion. I mean, who’s he talking to? A country of amnesiacs?

We made the bed we lie in from histrionic celebration of power/money-mad politicians who profit from corrupting their sacred trust instead of being put in jail. Who unequivocally malign or murder their inconvenient mistresses and never stand trial. Who fail their duty to disclose flaws of candidates giving them authority great and small over the governance of 350 million people…yet still hold office. Morality is now speculative. Truth, now subjective.  2 + 2 now = whatever you like.

Mitt Romney was the wrong opponent in a 2 party system because he surrendered with only 10 percent of the vote counted. If he’s not a fighter, he’s no good to anyone. I think we’re going to see state-wide secession big time, and a population that picks where to live for the political climate not the purple mountain majesties or shining seas. Then we’ll either have a civil war or avoid one.

As for the press, your capital has been spent. WE DON’T NEED YOU. WE DON’T HEED YOU. WE DON’T READ YOU. Where’s Bob Dylan when he could be doing some good again. Oh right, he’s just another old white guy.

(Note: Barbara Sparhawk is a former speechwriter for Congresswoman Geraldine Ferraro; news writer, producer, & researcher for New York’s WCBS, WABC, FOX TV, and ABC and WOR Radio, and reporter for The NY Post. She currently has an art gallery on California’s central coast where she happily produces and sells her own paintings and drawings.)

Johnny Depp & Hunter S Thompson in Big Sur


Johnny Depp in Big Sur, buying paintings at the Hawks Perch Gallery. Anything’s possible as Lord Whimsy said.  And Depp is making The Rum Diaries, a Hunter S. Thompson book becomes film. And Thompson was a wild and violent eccentric in these parts. Big Sur remembers him with fear and loathing. 

This is an obvious progression of events. The movie’s done, Depp wasn’t around picking up local flavor except it’s all about Puerto Rico but what the hell. Maybe in pirate gear but we’d have noticed. Maybe. And of course Hunter S. Thompson isn’t around either. A lot of people are not saddened by that. I ran into a fairly young guy who caretook the writer’s property here and gardened for him. His first dramatic encounter with a drunk to the tits Thompson bearing and aiming a loaded shotgun, and insisting the intruder he’d hired and given housing explain himself. The kid quit. Prudent move. Thompson liked killing things.

Okay, back to Depp in my gallery (The Hawk’s Perch right off Highway One), a little bit of pradisical geography that’s drawn the likes of Steve McQueen (just finishing his portrait, come have a look) and Orson Welles (next in line) in the past so why not. I’d tell him I hadn’t seen every movie,  but I loved the Scissorhands one and the Don Juan with Marlon Brando, the Chocolate thing disappointed because it was such a blatant bad steal of Babette’s Feast. And Ed Woods is probably my favorite movie ever. Generally, I like how strange Depp is. Wouldn’t he like to commission me to paint his portrait. I’m good at reaching character in my painting, great with eyes. With actors it’s not easy to find that, the appeal of the stage and screen being the chameleon effect, so it’d take some long hard looking to find the brilliant machinery behind the flesh. But wouldn’t it be fine cool fun. Then too, art for art’s sake is okay, but life is more than sunshine, romance, Jack Daniels, and pigment. I’d want to get paid.

Surprise visit. Depp and his posse buy up every fabulous painting I’ve ever done that hangs (minus the sold ones) on my gallery walls. I spring for coffee. Dinner of salmon fish and chips at the Maiden Pub next door and their best Arrogant Bastard Ale. Or maybe cook them up some terrific Chateau Briand with Portobello mushrooms, garlic & fried onions. Wild rice. Mashed yams with coconut milk. Some green stuff. Pernod. Nice glass of port, Cointreau, Key Lime for a taste of the Caribbean, that sort of thing. Ready when you are, Depp and Thompson’s ghost. Welcome home. Turn a little more this way, that’s good, light’s good like that. Stop posing and sit still a sec. Expressionist painter paints Expressionist Actor.