6:30 pm CDT


A rare example of contemporary book cover art that meets the high standards of yesteryear ...

2:03 pm CDT
Update on the 11-Year-Old Girl's Rock-Throwing Trial

The trial was cancelled. Instead of being tried for felony assault, the girl has been ordered to attend a mediation program with her "victim."

Mediation? What's to mediate? The way I hear it, the dispute between these two children has already been mediated. By a well-aimed rock.

The boy was bullying the girl. The girl responded appropriately. The boy (it is hoped) learned an important life lesson. That should have ended the matter. It is ridiculous that police and prosecutors ever got involved in the first place--and equally ridiculous that professional mediators are now involved.

Calif. Girl, 11, Spared Felony Trial

12:26 pm CDT
Was the Brazilian Murdered Because of What He Knew?

London Bombings: Electrical Surge Connected to Menezes Shooting?

11:38 am CDT
Head for the Hills, it's a Drill!

Given that the attacks of 9/11 and 7/7 were both false flag operations masked by simultaneous "terror drills," it behooves those of use seeking to halt the cycle of synthetic terror and expanding police state to note upcoming drills that could be used as a cover for another inside job terrorist attack. The United States Army's NORTHCOM command has announced one such drill for an indeterminate date next August ...

Nuke-Attack Drill Planned in South Carolina

Also:

Strategic National Stockpile Exercise to be Conducted August 9 in Texas

10:42 am CDT
Trial of the Century

The 11-year-old girl threw a rock at some bullies who were tormenting her with water balloons. One of the boys received a (dare I say it, well-deserved?) gash in the head. She ran to tell his parents what happened. The boy was taken to the hospital and stitched up. End of story? Hell no. The police showed up, wrestled the little girl to the ground, handcuffed her, threw her in the slammer for five days, then released her wearing an electronic monitoring device. And now, today she stands trial for felony assault.

10:16 am CDT
Taser Report

The cops claim she was confrontational. Witnesses to the incident say she was not:
Police Taser 67-Year-Old Grandmother

6:56 pm CDT
This Just In

Tom Flocco is reporting that Bush and Cheney have been indicted.

Is it too good to be true? I don't know, but for what it's worth, Sherman Skolnick has confirmed the story.

1:36 pm CDT
Be Afraid

WorldNetDaily has been publishing some awfully alarming stories lately. Last month it was this:

Al-Qaida nukes already in U.S.

And yesterday it was this:

Chertoff warns of nuclear terror

Today WorldNetDaily pinpointed the actual day it could happen:

Nuke terrorists' favorite dates: Numbers, calendars important to bin Laden include Aug. 6

(August 6th?! Yikes! That's this Saturday!)

As it happens, August was mentioned last week by Lyndon Larouche as the possible date of a Dick Cheney-orchestrated terrorist event--an event previously predicted in an American Conservative article.

Either such an event will actually happen, or someone wants us to be uneasy thinking it could happen.

11:34 am CDT
London Bombings

Alex Jones Bullhorns Downing Street, British Parliament

London Bombings Mastermind is MI6 Asset

Former MI5 Agent David Shayler: 'Many Similarities' between London Bombings and 9/11

9:26 am CDT
Dixon Coulbourn (1962-2005)

A friend is gone.

Dixon Coulbourn, a familiar face at many a party, art opening, and musical happening in Austin, died in an apartment swimming pool last Sunday.

The medical examiner has not confirmed the cause of death, but it is suspected that it was electrocution. A pool inspector reported that electrical wiring was dangling in the pool and an underwater light fixture was missing.

Dixon was 43 years old. In the 1980s he published Idle Time, a punk rock fanzine notable for its live-action photos. Check them out at Dixon's website: Idle Time Archive

Later, Dixon became interested in electronica, and performed in the bands Lupe and Fly-Over.

It was Fly-Over that performed at the opening of mine and Jasun Huerta's art show "Two Zombie Hands for Sister Sarah" in 1999. The music was a delightful mix of spaghetti western soundtracks.

My friend Scott Stevens, who knew Dixon longer than I did, first encountered him in 1980 at a Psychedelic Furs concert.

On that occasion, Dixon jumped onto the stage and began singing with the band. Scott says: "He didn't know all the words, but nobody in the band made fun of him. He was just an unassuming personality who would jump into everything."

3:45 pm CDT


3:38 pm CDT
More on the Murdered Brazilian

As more information has come to light on the circumstances surrounding the assassination of the unfortunate Brazilian, it is abundantly clear that from the moment he stepped out of his apartment building in Tulse Hill to go to his job as an electrician, Menazes was a dead man ...

Death of a Brazilian or How to Massage the Facts to Fit the Crime

2:02 pm CDT
Frosty in the Mirror

DREAM: Looking through a comic book-Nazi Comix, it's called. Funny stuff, I think, well written-but the art is clumsy. Reminds me of my early work. I recognize certain artistic problems I solved long ago ...

With each turn of the page, the comic strip panels grow larger; until finally they are too large to fit on the page but are mounted on the wall of a long white hallway. I walk past the panels, critiquing the artwork. The artist has drawn a tv studio, but the execution is poor. What he needs is good reference material. I tell him this, for he is now walking beside me down the hallway ...

The drawing begins to improve; the depiction of the tv studio becoming more convincing, and soon is no longer a drawing at all but an actual tv studio. I have arrived to be the guest on a talk show. Someone says, "You're on," and I step onto a brightly-lit stage in front of cameras and audience. The interview begins, but a few seconds later I wake up and look at the clock. It's 4:33 am. I close my eyes to go back to sleep, but my mind is too active. I start thinking about the comic story I'm trying to write-"trying," I say, because it's not coming easy. I remember some visual reference material that might be good for the story, but recall that it was lost in a computer crash months ago. Then it occurs to me it might be on a backup CD. I turn on the light, get up, go to the studio, find the CD, and put it in the computer. But, after several minutes, I cannot find the image, so give up. I'm feeling sleepy again; it's after 5 now, but lucky for me it's Sunday morning so I don't have to get up in 30 minutes. I crawl back into bed, sink comfortably onto mattress and pillow, wrap myself in my covers, close my eyes and begin flying over a coastal village as dawn breaks in the sky. The scenery is beautiful and the flying sensation euphoric. I feel as if I have left my body, and wonder if in fact I have actually done so. This might not be a dream at all, I think ...

Later, after a long series of incidents now forgotten, voices begin jabbering inside my head; the voices are guttural and malevolent, accompanied by hissing and electrical pops; they are impossible to silence and inescapable, and nothing they say makes any sense; it is noise for its own sake, made by demons purely to torment as they race up and down inside my spine, short-circuiting my central nervous system and causing me terrible convulsions as I try to fight the bastards off. I feel as if I'm being pulled into a dark, snaky pit; my only hope, I realize, is to force myself to wake up from this horrible dream ...

Which I do, and pulling the blanket off my face turn to see a white dog sitting beside my bed. At first I am concerned that he might be an evil presence, a visual manifestation of the demonic voices that were tormenting me, but his friendly tail-wagging demeanor tells me otherwise. He reminds me of Frosty, the fun-loving but foolish white Collie mix who chased cars when we lived in the country. Nothing could break him of the habit. Also, he started bothering the chickens. It was just a matter of time before he killed one, my father realized, or got killed chasing cars, so we gave him to some people in town who had a fenced-in yard to keep him in ...

But now Frosty has come back into my life again! He has found me, all these many miles and years later, and is dancing around happily beside my bed. I sit up ...

Then, while I watch, he trots across the room to a mirror leaning against the wall and jumps right through it, disappearing into his own image. The mirror is dark for a few seconds, then Frosty reappears and jumps out of it; he dances back and forth, beckoning me to follow him on his next trip through the mirror ...

I get up and go to the mirror. But, as I am unwilling to leap without first looking, I poke my head through the mirror to see what's on the other side. I find myself staring into nothing less than the star-blazing immensity of the Entire Universe ...

I pull my head out of the mirror-or inter-dimensional gateway, or whatever it is-somewhat dizzy from the spectacle, and look at Frosty. He has brought me clean white socks for the trip. I change socks, handing him the dirty ones; he takes them away to bury them ...

While I am waiting for his return, a wagon pulls up behind me. It is not pulled by horses, or by anything, but is self propelled. Lying in the back of the wagon is a woman with short brown hair; she has been injured and is bleeding. Two people lift her out of the wagon and carry her to a shed where her injuries are treated and her hair is dyed blonde. She is quite beautiful; she smiles at me. I understand that she is supposed to accompany me on the trip through the mirror. For this is a trip that cannot be accomplished by man alone, or woman alone, but by both halves of the creative force, traveling together through the immensity ...

3:36 am CDT


In some ways she was far more acute than Winston, and far less susceptible to Party propaganda. Once when he happened in some connection to mention the war against Eurasia, she startled him by saying casually that in her opinion the war was not happening. The rocket bombs which fell daily on London were probably fired by the Government of Oceania itself, "just to keep the people frightened." -- George Orwell, 1984

Burden of Dreams: Cut-outs, moles, patsies and provocateurs

3:34 am CDT
More on the Shooting of the Brazilian

London Terror: Did Mossad Hit Team Kill Brazilian?

Michel Chossudovsky: British Cops Trained in Israel

Brazilians Demand Arrest Over Killing