Sinners

Sinners is all the rage at the box office, and earned nearly universal sterling reviews. . .but it is a failed race movie full of stereotype characters of just about every ethnicity save Muslims and Jews.  On top of that, it's also a colossal bore.  Part musical, part vampire movie and all white guilt, it's hard to understand the popularity of this dreary smörgåsbord of racial resentment.

The plot, which takes forever to get started, is set in 1932 Mississippi, as twin WWI veterans Smoke and Stack (portrayed by failed race comic book movie Black Panther villain Michael B. Jordan) return to the cotton fields to open a music club for their Black brethren. Using money stolen from white Chicago gangsters, they purchase the building for their club from a Ku Klux Klanner. Their cousin Sammie, a wannabe bluesman, joins them, defying his preacher father's warnings that blues music is the devil's work. The club's opening night draws supernatural attention when Sammie's music is so gosh durn soulful some crossroads hocus pocus shit happens and spirits are summoned, one of them being an Irish vampire fleeing Choctaw hunters (?!?!) who arrives with his undead horde.  At this point the film's racial resentment gets a little murky.  It seems the Irish vampire is a promoter of racial unity, as, after all, the Irish were slaves in America before Blacks, and he tries to tell the bitter Blacks being undead is their only chance at freedom, or something like that, but the Blacks say no, they'll take their chances with their souls in the White man's world, or something like that, I might have the message wrong, by this point I was so bored I was only half paying attention.  Anyway, the usual vampire killing shit starts to happen, shit you've seen literally 100 times, garlic, wooden stakes, and dumb motherfucking vampires who have no sense of time, and once again get caught out in the sunlight.  The End.

You've seen all this before if you just add racial resentment to From Dusk To Dawn or Near Dark.  The acting is pretty poor, modern Blacks posing as cotton field Klan dodgers.  Josh Allen's girlfriend plays a mulatto or octoroon, don't quite remember which.  She doesn't light up the screen.  She looks like she could have been a decent Hee Haw girl, though.  

Apparenty Sinners was made by the same dope who did the failed race comic book movie Black Panther, another over-hyped flick that was horribly tedious.  Maybe movie critics are just scared to pan Black directors, who knows?

Finished The Monk

I finally finished reading Matthew Lewis' The Monk.  It was half-good.  The 1796 novel has two converging plot lines, the one detailing the downfall of the monk was excellent, the other, revolving around the melodramatic romantic intrigues of a couple of secondary characters, was extremely tedious.

The monk's downfall must have been shocking to the late 18th century reader with its for-the-time lurid depictions of lust, violence and supernatural horror.  The monk Ambrosio, revered for his piety, gradually descends into depravity. The novel is a powerful exploration of hypocrisy, religious repression, and the dangers of unchecked desire. Introduced as a virtuous and saintly figure, the monk is admired by the public and the monastic community for his apparent devotion to God. However, beneath this veneer of holiness lies a deeply flawed and arrogant man, whose self-righteousness blinds him to his own vulnerability to sin. Lewis uses Ambrosio to critique the idealization of religious figures, illustrating how institutionalized religion can breed both pride and repression.

Additionally, with the terrors of the French Revolution fresh in contemporary readers' minds, The Monk may have been understood as an allegory of the clash between the old order and the apocalypse.  Indeed, no less a luminary than the venerable Marquis de Sade commented:

Let us concur that this kind of fiction, whatever one may think of it, is assuredly not without merit: 'twas the inevitable result of the revolutionary shocks which all of Europe has suffered.  To compose works of interest, one had to call upon the aid of hell itself, and to find in the world of make-believe things wherewith one was fully familiar merely by delving into man's daily life in this age of iron.

The most fascinating character in the novel is Matilda, perhaps the first trans character in English Literature.  He/she initiates the monk's descent into the pit of Hell, and is both a homo/hetero fleshly and spiritual seductress, leading the monk into sexual sin and witchcraft.

Lewis was just 19 years old when he penned his Gothic shocker, and I am impressed with his grasp of human psychology. The monk's fall from grace is completely believable. The war between flesh and spirit is rendered with high skill.

So too was Lewis' understanding of the fleeting nature of human desire.  Here is one my favorite passages:

Even with its tedious second plot line, The Monk is still miles better than the garbage being published today, particularly in America.  A salacious testament of religion, politics, seduction, betrayal, sex, violence, blasphemy, the supernatural, witchcraft, torture and death, a dazzling catalog of sin and depravity.

THE END

Depleted Uranium Birth Defects In Gaza

We know the damage American weapons can cause, long after they explode.  The scientific literature is filled with medical horrors caused by the American munitions used in Iraq which contained depleted uranium.  Huge spikes in leukemia and lymphoma, birth defects, kidney and respiratory problems.  Now the same phenomena is seen in Gaza, as American-made weapons explode and cover the entire open-air prison with radioactive dust.

In the item above we see a gruesome case of anencephaly, a Palestinian baby in Gaza born without a brain.

In my lifetime I have not heard of a nightmare existence such as the one Palestinians must now endure.  Every form of death imaginable, from fire to starvation to birth defect, utter hopelessness, with no help from the one part of the world in a position to help, the West.  Only feeble assistance is offered by the weak country of Yemen.  Even Arab countries, which could lob a few missiles into Israel, refuse to help. When Western do-gooder organizations try to offer independent assistance, such as the recent Freedom Flotilla Coalition attempt to send a ship with humanitarian aid to Gaza, Israel bombed the ship and Western governments looked the other way.

Anyway, there's no point in trying to discuss the situation in political terms.  It's quite apparent the entire Western world, for whatever reason, is unwilling to confront Israel, even though it has the means to do so.

It is the misery of these poor people, the Palestinians, which is paramount.  We have two million people being tortured on a scale not seen in most of our lifetimes.  

What response does this affront to the miracle of life provoke?  

Every day of human history, people have suffered. It is usually on such a small scale, it does not attract our notice.  Somebody somewhere right now is being raped and tortured.  We will never know.  

Yet some people live easy lives.  They have all the material comforts, and live above life struggle.  Yes, they will die eventually, they will suffer moments of sadness or anger, but for the most part life is elegant.  They don't wander around in the rubble looking for scraps of food.

The current situation in Palestine has been in the making for over 100 years, at least since the Balfour Declaration in 1917 kick-started zionist Israel.  Decade after decade the Palestinians have been squeezed out of their humanity, until now we see the final solution to the zionist's problem.  Now the grand finale, the last furious explosion of death.  

Only God can save them. Only a supernatural act. But we can say the same of the anonymous person right now, somewhere, who is being raped and tortured. God maketh His sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.  What happens, happens.  Our turn will come.

The Greatest Polack Who Ever Lived

I saw this stuffed bear at Cabela's in Dundee, Michigan, and it reminded me of Poland's greatest hero, Wojtek.

Wojtek was a Syrian brown bear who became Poland's only hero of WWII. In 1942 Polish soldiers were evacuating from the Soviet Union through the Middle East, and the dimwitted Poles encountered a young bear cub in Iran. The orphaned cub was adopted by the soldiers of the 22nd Artillery Supply Company, who named him Wojtek, meaning Happy Warrior in Polish.

As Wojtek grew, he became more than a mascot—the polacks treated him like one of the men. Wojtek was forced to adopt the many bad habits of polacks, he drank beer, smoked cigarettes, and slept in the same-sex beds with the slovenly Polish soldiers. When the Polish II Corps was deployed to Italy, army regulations prohibited mascots or pets, so the polacks thought to themselves, well, Wojtek is smarter and stronger than the rest of us, he can surely enlist in the Polish army.  And that is exactly what happened.  Wojtek was officially enlisted as a private in the Polish Army, complete with a rank and serial number.

Wojtek’s greatest moment of fame came during the Battle of Monte Cassino in 1944. The bear helped move crates of ammunition, mimicking and then surpassing the actions of his fellow polack soldiers. His strength and calm under fire made him the most valuable member of the unit, and his bravery made him the only outstanding example of Polish resilience and spirit during the fabled Second World War.

After the war, Wojtek was demobilized and taken to Scotland with his unit. He lived out the rest of his life at the Edinburgh Zoo, where he was a popular attraction and visited often by his old drunken polack comrades. He died in 1963, but his legacy endures. Today, Wojtek is remembered with statues in Edinburgh, Kraków, and other cities. His story stands as a testament to the bonds of animal loyalty and courage, and to the general stupidity of Polish people.

Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum, II

I ended yesterday's entry on the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum with a picture of the Museum shitter.  Upon further reflection, that seems an uncharitable way to leave things (at least, things that are not urinary or fecal).  It really is a fine museum.  Pictured above is another of the artifacts from the SS Edmund Fitzgerald, which many are familiar with from the famous Gordon Lightfoot song.

The Museum itself is on Whitefish Point in the State of Michigan's beautiful and sparsely populated Upper Peninsula, right on the shores of the majestic Lake Superior.  Here is a photograph of the shoreline right outside the Museum:

The Museum features info on many Superior shipwrecks, not just the Edmund Fitzgerald. Here is the poignant story and a relic from the death of some old bag who met her death in the waters of Lake Superior:

Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum

The Great Lakes Shipwreck Historical Society was founded in 1978 by a group of divers, teachers, and educators to commence exploration of historic shipwrecks in eastern Lake Superior, near Whitefish Point in Michigan’s scenic Upper Peninsula. Today, this non-profit organization operates two museum sites on historic properties: The Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum, Whitefish Point Light Station, Whitefish Point; and the U.S. Weather Bureau Building, Soo Locks Park, Sault Sainte Marie, Michigan.

Visitors to the Museum will be able to see the artifact above and a few others from perhaps the most famous Great Lakes shipwreck of them all: the SS Edmund Fitzgerald, which sank in Lake Superior in November, 1975 and was immortalized in Gordon Lightfoot's hit song The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, which he released in 1976.

The SS Edmund Fitzgerald was a massive Great Lakes freighter that sank in Lake Superior during a severe storm. Built in 1958, it was once the largest ship on the Great Lakes, stretching 729 feet long. On its final voyage, the ship was carrying over 26,000 tons of taconite pellets from Superior, Wisconsin, to Detroit, Michigan. Caught in a powerful storm with hurricane-force winds and waves over 25 feet high, the Fitzgerald lost radar contact and sank suddenly without sending a distress signal. All 29 crew members perished. The exact cause of the sinking remains a mystery, though theories include structural failure, flooding, or being overwhelmed by massive waves. The wreck lies 530 feet beneath the lake's surface.

Here is a list of dead seamen that earned Gordon Lightfoot a lot of money:

Here is the museum shitter:

Fascinating Relics From The Henry Ford Museum, II

Without a doubt my favorite relic housed in The Henry Ford Museum is the Abraham Lincoln Death Chair. The rocking chair in which President Abraham Lincoln was assassinated on April 14, 1865, is a Renaissance Revival-style chair, upholstered in red fabric, and was placed in Lincoln's theater box at Ford's Theatre for his comfort during the play Our American Cousin. After the assassination, the chair was used as evidence in the trial of the conspirators. In 1929, Henry Ford acquired the chair for his museum, recognizing its historical significance.

I know what you are wondering: are those stains on the chair from Lincoln's blood, or was he just dirty?  While analysis has confirmed that two spots on the chair, one on the back and one on the front, tested positive for blood, The Henry Ford Museum has determined that the large, darker stain on the back is primarily hair oil. This oil was commonly used in men's hairstyles at the time and would have been absorbed into the fabric as people sat in the chair.  Lincoln was a greaser.