Daddy Freddy is a musical treasure and unstoppable force, he’s a foundational part of the narrative. Underground. Speaking truth to power.
Bless up
–Steve fly
Daddy Freddy is a musical treasure and unstoppable force, he’s a foundational part of the narrative. Underground. Speaking truth to power.
Bless up
–Steve fly
Let it flow let it flow let it flow
Something about opening up
And spilt ink
Johnson Farage Trump Three Wanketeers
About psychology and votes
The glint in your eye
The wind in your hair
The sun bouncing about you
So many things, so little time to…
Back to breathing living survival
Back to the word, the global village
Back to the world
Colour does matter
Johnson Farage Trump Three Wanketeers
Identity, sex, music taste matters
Show me a hierarchy of your values
Otherwise the conversation’s in tatters
So many things to say, so little ear space
Where can I write and speak this exotica
Pursue the air music
The paper bag on a branch
The cat sneaking over the fence
Um’s and R’s and “Oh my god’s”
Hidden gems in every family loom
Each Kitchen, bathroom, bedroom
Hides a genius of that space
A magician to any outsider
Knows the stairs like the back of his hand
Could walk the path blindfolded
Everything in its right place
No space for change
Johnson Farage Trump Three Wanketeers
NO machine to rage against
Rage against the information
Truth and Lie
Up up up up
The bit of pavement outside your front door
The handle of your tea cup
The hole in your sock
These are the things missing
Under the torrent of geo-political deep state shades
Light in the pantry
Wisdom in your Grandma’s biscuit tin
Dew drops and flower tops
Once forgotten memories
Here now this is it
Shit or bust
Do or die
Funny or not funny
Choice is yours, future up for grabs
And for your children,and grandchildren
A day out in Devon fishing for crabs
The postman tripping up the step
Your first bike ride
Wet dinners at school
Meeting new friends saying goodbye to old
Think you muppets, think
God damn it read into the stuff
And when you see lies kick up a stink
Whatever you do in life
Do it easy and to the best of your ability
Tolerate my manias and I’ll tolerate yours
Special effects are not the cause
Special defects and special ways of hiding shit
Ask me anything and I’ll give you my answers
I want conversation
A truly democratic vote would be
Johnson Farage Trump Three Wanketeers
On an individual basis
Tick the box for getting out of the E.U
Tick the box for staying in
Each and every vote is treated with respect
Get rid of this system where a bunch of
Half witted peeps, Oasis!
drag the rest of the country
Off a cliff
WHO speaks if direct democracy
Each person can decide to remain in or leave?
Why does a country have such control of its subjects
And hold them to ransom based on its political climate
Johnson Farage Trump Three Wanketeers
Leave us the fuck alone and get out of my business
Vote for your own laws for your own family and friends
Leave my decisions up to me and my community
All talk of national and/or foreign policy is bunk
Represent yourself
Encourage others to do the same
Be the change you wish to see
Doctor: Hi, can I help you with something?
Me: Yes, I’m unsure about having a vasectomy, tell me more.
Doctor: Just get on with it!
Me: I beg your pardon.
Doctor: Vasectomy means vasectomy
Me: what?
Doctor: Trust me, I’m a doctor. Next!
#Brexit
#Vasectomy
Doctor: Hi, you again. Can I help?
Me: Yeah, I’m considering euthanasia, can you explain my options, please.
Doctor: Euthanasia means euthanasia.
Me: Oh, that simple eh, well….
Doctor (interrupting me): Just get on with it
Me: my groin hurts…
Doctor: Next!
#Brexit
#Euthanasia

In
Out the dirty bin, like Flynn, trippin’
Sin of Johnsin, Jonesin for deregs
Suckin’ the last dregs of capital
From a burst bubble
In, in with them, in it together
With Europe to weather the weather
You choose Trump or Tusk?
In with your kin
Folks in mass who be from working kingdom class
In for the workers rights
In for fair and decent opportunity for all
In for one and one for all in
In good we trust
In over your head with the out gang
In the thick of it and getting thicker by the Wetherspoon full
Think McFly, think quicker
Sicker and licker shot to shoot the big dipper dobber
In, like cucumber in Gin
Like a holiday abroad on a whim
For consumer rights
For human and animal rights
Stay in, come unity
Not separatism
No schism
Ready up for the fight, for the flight, the blindsight roulette zit
In like a hole in one
Like a slam dunk, a corner kick, a prick
Inn like a stable for Jayzeus
In without Tory heist
In without Brexit Party hallucinations
In like Quintin Tarantino movies
In your face Ian Turncoat Austin
In the pool of commerce the largest market
In the mood
In the future of international learning with European cultures
In the market place of market places
In your own skin
In place in positive spin
Shedding Camerons pigskin and Johnson’s sheepskin
Leaving deadley sin, Dudley sin by Ian Busted Austin
In with the strong, in to underpin your rights
In and ready to take it on the chin
Begin trackin’ thin lines that lead to lies and Gove coke puffin’
Boris de Pfeffel huffin’ lies and elitist disregard
For everybody but them, the Bullingdongers
In like the loony bin Boris should be confined within
In like the firing pin
In the cross hairs of hate I relogate to the trash bin
Reason, fairness, openness and up-to date information
In memory of Heathcote Williams
In time
In like Huckleberry Finn.
In like a drawing pin to the shin of Boris Johnsin.
In
In
In
The future prophesy reported to surround the highly weird book, Finnegans Wake (1939) can be evidenced here: Chapter 23, page 337. Sounds a lot like Boris Johnson to me, and my sentiment asking for buds, and order. John Bercow anyone. I am incorrigible too. Boris the LOONER, and Boris Johnson the loner. Spot on jim.
We want Bud. We want Bud Budderly. We want Bud Budderly
boddily. There he is in his Borrisalooner. The man that shunned
the rucks on Gereland. The man thut won the bettlle of the
bawll. Order, order, order, order!
p.s Joyce wore a Borsalino hat.

On hearing the sad news I have rushed this post. More memories will follow. I hope this goes some way to paying my respects. Much love, and my condolences to his closest family and friends.

Paul Krassner (11th April 1932–July 21st, 2019) passed the final acid test yesterday. After 87 years inside of his flesh puppet, the Zen Bastard has flown free into the infinite flux of non-beingness. Paul was one of my favourite American authors, activists and human beings, partly due to him publishing my first short story in 2003. I hung out with Paul and his wife Nancy, and Robert Anton Wilson in Palm Springs in 2000, and met him in San Francisco at the launch of “Murder At The Conspiracy Convention” and caught him in NYC at the Knitting Factory.
Paul was a great American, to mean somebody who consistently challenged authority, and themselves in equal measure, and held a high spirited optimistic outlook on life, love, art, war, and peace. In the Realist, 1959, Paul published Robert Anton Wilson’s first piece: Joyce and Taoism.
In December 2000 the DJ flew to Palm Springs to attend the Prophets Conference, and act as Robert Anton Wilson’s volunteer caretaker. Paul and Nancy showed up to see old Bob, who was in a wheelchair at that time. I was invited to join them and treated to an hour or so of a fly on the wall hallucination, it was pure comedy combined with some concerns about G.W Bush and the Butterly ballot. I bought a round of drinks and Bob had a Manhatten, which later, I regret may have led to a few more “fucks” in his presentation than usual. Paul and Nancy sat right at the front for his “Universe Contain’s A Maybe” performance, and I felt that Bob was really performing for Paul, who was roaring with laughter at Bob’s chorus of “Cocksucker” and “Motherfucker,” when describing fundamentalist faith-based organizations and individuals. You can watch the whole thing here:
An example of Paul’s kindness and attention to detail is reflected by his effort to find me the following day to give me an article he had read in the New York Times about the emergence of multi-linguistic hip hop, something I had rambled on about the previous day. Paul also handed me “The Final Issue” of the Realist“. Wow, I was cheesing hard, and full of gratitude for the guy.
Shortly after moving to San Francisco the writer got an email from Paul saying that he was collecting stories, or tales of altered states, for his book: Magic Mushrooms And Other Highs: From Toad Slime To Ecstacy. Later that year the writer recieved the delightful news that my story “As If True” would be published in 2003! What a beautiful cat. Man. He reminds me, great movements in art and literature are often self-fueled and stem from a voluntary will to push forward, regardless, not always driven by profit. Here’s paragraph from Paul introduction to Magic Mushrooms. Bless up.
“Meanwhile, psilocybin has made its way into mythology. Dr. Ian Edwards, head of education at the Royal Botanic Gardens in Edinburgh, claims not only that the bright color of magic mushrooms may have inspired the traditional red coat worn by Santa Claus, but they may also help Santa Claus to fly. He told the Daily Telegraph about a story originating in Lapland, where the people used to feed the hallucinogenic fungi to their herd of reindeer. They used to feed red and white fly-agaric mushrooms to their raindeer, then drink the animals¹ urine. Drinking the urine would give them a high similar to taking LSD. One of the results was that they thought they and their reindeer were flying through space, looking down on the world. speaking of which, you might want to lick the bottom right-hand corner of page 23. Go ahead, it¹s all right. No one will ever know. And you won¹t be indirectly providing any drug money for weapons to the terrorists, either. ”
When interviewing Bob at his home, I asked him about the Zen Bastard dedication to Paul at the beginning of the book: TSOG The Thing That Ate The Constitution. Bob replied.
RAW:… Paul Krassner – he dedicated the book to me, he sent me an e-mail along with the dedication long before the book was published and asked me if I found it satisfactory and wanted to change anything to make sure I’d be pleased by it. I was so delighted I dedicated my next book to him which is due out any day now, it’s called TSOG: The thing that ate the constitution and its dedicated to Paul Krassner – Zen Bastard. I originally wrote “Paul Krassner – “Zen bastard and all-around good guy” or something like that, and sent it to Paul, and Paul said “Zen Bastard is just what I want,” so some people might think I’m insulting him but that’s what he wants that’s his sense of humour so I let it stand, the book says – “To Paul Krassner – Zen Bastard.”
Audio Interpretation: https://ironmanrecords.bandcamp.com/track/zen-bastard
Paul featured in the documentary Maybe Logic: The Lives And Ideas Of Robert Anton Wilson. With his full interview on Bob included in the DVD extras. I caught up with him in San Francisco, at the top of Haight street, at a bookshop I forget the name of, which hosted his book release performance and readings from “Murder At The Conspiracy Convention” the book dedicated to Bob. After the rather poorly attended show I stepped up for a book signing, and he signed it “To fly agaric 23, from Paul Krassner, whose body was found washed up on a beach”. Alas, I lost this book on my travels, somebody has it somewhere. I inspired a laugh from Paul with my signing request.
The last time I saw Paul Krassner was at the Knitting Factory in New York, where he was not promoting a book but doing a straight-up, or to the left, stand-up set, once again to a rather small crowd. I caught Paul on his way to the toilet to tell him about my world piss project, he laughed again but not so hard, probably as he really needed to go and this weird Brit was in his way. I was alone at the gig, and so I was bowled over when this dude in a hat came over and asked me how I was doing, made polite conversation as he saw that I was surely from out of town. This turned out to be the late great Steve Ben Israel, of the legendary Living Theater and hundreds of other art, poetry, activism and Krassner-like, and inspired activities. I mentioned I was a DJ and Steve told me about his son, beatboxer and lyricist Baba Ben Isreal, who I crisscrossed pathways with in Amsterdam, years later.
I kept in touch with Paul by email on and off, and he always responded in the positive. He gave me permission to republish his interview with Terence McKenna, for example, in our Maybe Logic Quarterly Magazine. Cheers Paul.
I cannot comment on his health condition, but I am sure he lost the ability to type at some point which he more recently gained back. 2 years ago he sent me a very moving article, that I think reflected his own situation, or feelings. “Bringing The Invisible To Life” May 3rd, 2017.
http://nowiknow.com/bringing-the-invisible-to-life/
I wrote back:
“may the ink flow plenty and pages
scroll on… to infinity
and the pen swerve
as you tease it
keep up the good work’
love and love”
Another recent article sent from Paul, dated March 29th, was about Sara Silverman, and her “Last Laugh” podcast interview. And here’s one of his last published pieces, from Variety, 2018:
“The current FBI has swung a pendulum from 50 years ago, when the FBI was an enemy of progressive activists. An agent’s poison-pen memo attempted to smear Tom Hayden with the worst possible label they could invoke with fliers: Yep, an FBI informer. Others distributed a caricature depicting Black Panther leader Huey Newton “as a homosexual,” and ran a fake “Pick the Fag” contest, referring to Dave McReynolds as “Chief White Fag of the lily-white War Resisters League” and “the usual Queer Cats — like Sweet Dave Dellinger and Fruity Rennie Davis.” I was described as “a raving, unconfined nut.” I thanked the FBI for that title of my autobiography.
I recall Paul once landing on Facebook briefly, and leaving again pretty quick, he posted the same sentence over and over again if I remember correctly. A genius, who will be missed. Read him.
Love, fly.
Um, now that I see so many English Eton educated critters lying so obviously in public, I thought to myself, man, maybe the Duke Of Hamilton was lying all along, and in 1936, at the Nazi Olympic Games in Berlin, he did meet with Rudolf Hess, as Hamilton dined with most the other top Nazi brassholes.
“In Berlin, he attended numerous functions, including a grand dinner for the British contingent hosted by Joachim von Ribbentrop, the German ambassador to Britain and later foreign minister, where he was introduced to Hitler and other leading members of the National Socialist government. Hamilton had previously met Ribbentrop in London as the Ambassador to the Court of St. James’s. Hamilton was invited by Hermann Göring to inspect the newly reinstated Luftwaffe, for his professional interest in aviation. It has been suggested that Hamilton either through his own initiative or under instruction indulged in some minor espionage during these occasions. He claimed not to have met the deputy Führer Rudolf Hess while in Germany, although did attend a dinner party in Berlin also attended by the deputy Führer.”
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Douglas_Douglas-Hamilton,_14th_Duke_of_Hamilton#World_War_II.2C_the_Hess_Affair.2C_and_after