The Billiken's Bluff

To sum it all up, in closing...

Gold teeth and a curse for this town were all in my mouth.
Only, i don't know how they got out, dear!!!

And now on to the great new wonderful (post)...

Freedarko put me onto the t-shirt stylings of Lemar and Dauley. I want to purchase colorful icons like this:



Jordan demi-god of all that is hip and urban and upwardly mobile and full of gravity and levitation.



Or the likeness of Ghostface (Killa):



But riddle me this, would the man emblazoned on one of the smoothest-looking t-shirts I've ever come across, even wear something as pedestrian-simple as a black t-shirt?



Would Tony Starks, known for stately velvet robes, golden eagle idols of bracelets and Wallabies dyed in Martian Moonscape dream technicolors be able to transmutate this style into an American Apparel undershirt?



Urbana's Paper Magazine party last year that featured characters like this:




free love like this:



free yay like this (two turntables and a mic, MIC!):




and some random out of place youngsters like this:




had a soundtrack that nearly exclusively featuring Ghostface. It was the only music artsy enough for this crowd. His lyrics are obscure. His narrative bordering on James_Joyce's_Ulysses-like_genius. His manner of dress fanciful and formal. His Daytona 500 video, a pre-supposed post-modern Warhol factory video screen in Williamsburg, BK 50 years in the future, at all points extending out from here.



Needless to say the only way to capture this type of virtuoso is in a t-shirt. I mean how else, where else? in a bottle?



This would be the cornerstone of any average joe's outfit. For Ghostface himself, I imagine it would be functional a matter of need, not style. Something to wear to sleep, or to the gym.



The only way to capture this style or emulate it, is to wear a simple t-shirt. This is how people convert, via water-down what they respect, strive to be, into what they ultimately wear on their sleeve.

Of course this is really a critique or discussion, as per the usual, of the 600 lb gorilla/elephant in the corner of the room. Your political party of choice is no different. Your belief in all that is cool and righteous in the world screen-printed on the t-shirt that fits most properly (political analogies fail under the weight of the fact that I tire writing about them as soon as the sentence begins...Ghostface is easy, Mid-term elections, damn hard!).







People turn their ignorance into virtue. Simple-mindedness into a strive towards simplicity of thought. Ethnocentricity into clarity. Lack of awareness of other cultures and countries into Nationalism, into My Country Tis' of Thee. "US #1, Greatest Country in World." "Kazakhstan, Best Prostitutes in all of Central Asia," and so forth and son on.



Biting yes, an indictment, maybe. But watch Borat, it can be funny too.



And maybe one fine day after we win the war on terror you can wear that mustache, but until then you should probably shave it so you don't look like one of them and that way you can fit in.

Ok?



that's the spirit, clean shaven like the NY Yankees.

What are you?

I have so many names.

There is so much to say about this and I'm just distilling it down to some easily critiqued jabs. But here I go...


(don't hit)

Something along the lines of...

But you like yourself. You believe you live the right way. That others, the others are out to get you.



To make you live a different way to teach strange things like the union between a man a woman can also involve another man, or two women, or a Congressman and his intern, or a president and young woman.

This makes you angry, but not because you can't understand it, but because you can. It's not political double-talk, it's simple. It's straight forward. Black and White even.



You know these things and know right from wrong.

Or how about babies and abortion or stem cells and even Evolution. This is straight forward too. There is natural and unnatural. Cloned sheep are certainly not natural. Agreed all around?



The missing link of course between big business interest and lower-class virtue.





But let's not be hasty.



This is not an indictment of the idol - Ghostface, Bush. This is an exploration of how their bases, t-shirt purchasers or voting public, feel a connection to their fearless leaders.

1) Ghostface's style is beyond you middle-American_teenager or you big_city_blog-writing_free-magazine_party-going_twenty-something. A t-shirt is a far approximation.

2) G.W.B may look like you and talk like you and have been an alcoholic like you and loves Jesus like you but he is not like you. He is being used like you are being used. But he is wealthy. He fits an image and and his Party crowned him their leader. They threw the more qualified McCain under the bus in 2000. They'd do the same to you if they didn't need your vote.


So likes and dislikes turn out not to be issue based,

WMDs, stem cell research, war of terror

or even logical,

Voice be metal like Von Harper radio bubble
Murder sleep away camp, the fly lady champ
The arsonist, who burn with his pen regardless
Slaying all these earthlings and fake foreigners
In the Philippines, pick herbal beans, bubbling strings
Body chemical CREAM, we burn kerosene
The conviction of my tape is rape, wicked like Nixon
Long-heads inscriptions with three sixes in
Kiss the pyramid experiment with high explosive
I slapbox with Jesus, lick shots at Joseph
Zoomin like binoculars, the rap blacksmith
Money's Rolex, with sparkles, Chef ragtop is spotless
I'm Iron Man no cheap cash metal I'm steel alloy
True identity hidden inside secret tabloids

it's more of a feeling.



===============================================================

Junior year of high school I joined the debate team for a minute. I needed extra-curricular activities to appeal to the admissions boards, that sort of thing. Went to some practices and brain-storming sessions and stormed my way through two debates.



The third was derailed by someone's mother turned debate official. I made my points, rebutted the opponent,



it could not have been more clear, I thought



but the mother/officiator/moderator couldn't see me point



I like Bill the Butcher's character in Gangs of New York.

Newly-elected Irish Police Commissioner:

Mr. Cutting is attempting to draw me...into an argument... that would no doubt end in bloodshed...and the compromising of my office...What do you think? Shall I engage in silence, this relic of the ancient law...or, shall I be your chosen voice...in a new testament, in a new world? There you are, Bill. The people have spoken. The very notion of violent reprisal benumbs them. Come on up. Let's see if we can resolve our...grievances the democratic way.

Bill the Butcher, aptly responds by throwing a hatchet at the Commissioner:

That my friends, is the minority vote.

Later...

Tammany Hall:

You killed an elected official? Who elected him? You don't know what you've done to yourself.

Bill the Butcher:

I know your works. You're neither cold nor hot. So because you are luke warm...I will spew you out of my mouth. You can build your filthy world without me. I took the father, now I'll take the son. You tell young Vallon, I'm going to paint...Paradise square with his blood. Two coats!

I feel this futility in argument, this fury at being unable to get my point across, verbally (or bludgeon-ly) to convince anyone and everyone of just how correct I am, and I feel like, maybe I'm not the only one.





And that's pretty much the way I feel about it.

I want to end every one of my arguments, my debates and tirades with a fiery explosion. A pyrotechnic exclamation point, so as to leave no doubt that my argument has been tattooed across the skyline (and your forehead if necessary). No challenges, just a loud whistle and boom and some bright colors.