Omerta means Fairies?

Omerta means Fairies?

Gil Scott-Heron - The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

fuck me fuck me

get the kink out my revolution

The Kinks - Sunny Afternoon

Eminem - Stan (vinyl)

The Great Society Father Bruce(Live)

"Deserves Got Nothin To Do With It"

sorry Clint but Snoop owns it.
and when I walked outta my roach infested rodent overrun cesspool stinkin diner job today know this-that story is over.
who am I? not the dinergrrl, not the grease smelling dirty apron complaining bitch I had to be for the last 4 years of my life I'm better than that now, tired hell ya.
Eminem listening Mother, John Lennon's Brother, I'd ruther be born a southern cracker, yo
fuckin zombies and shit break bad talk to me now
not afraid why should I be?

I Think I May Be Losing My Mind

Is it boredom or stress? Frustration with dead end mind numbing jobs? The oncoming holidays and the certain disappointment that this empty season means?
I am so fucking tired, tired of slogging back and forth to my shit job and all the filth and moronic people involved:
I hate my sneaking lying landlady.
I am bored with Facebook, YouTube and cable television, I refuse to read and wish I could smoke pot without endangering any meaningful employment.
I can't even give myself a manicure and be satisfied.
I dread the winter, as a non-driver I'm worried about bone chilling cold, numbing wind, snow, late buses, missed buses, getting the bus at night in bone chilling wind numbing snowy weather. I'm getting too old for this shit.
And there is nothing on television I want to watch because everything I want to watch involves paying ridiculous fees to degenerate cable companies outsourcing jobs to Bombay.
And I'm really pissed off that John Lennon died 30 years ago and nobody, anywhere, really gave a shit.And don't even get me started on Obama.
I talk to myself. When I go t the bustop to catch the bus that will surely be late. When I drag my laundry cart to the laundry, When I go to the back of the kitchen to smoke a cigarette at work for a moments peace. When I come home from work pissed off about how little money I made and how hard I worked, and sometimes I answer myself,
Nothing really makes me happy anymore. I am really fed up with life. No wonder The Walking Dead is my favorite show.

King Tim III (Personality Jock) - First Rap/Hip Hop Song on wax

11/22/10 Irvin

shocking fact

I love Eminem. almost too late to say it but i love to play it late at night when the beatles aint right and the niggas is tight not my generation dont hurt me no more. beautiful.

goodbye gentleman

last November my brother died. We were not close over our adulthood, but still, he was my brother. Last year, the day before Thanksgiving, I said goodbye to his cold hard body. 

He was a good brother. Kind, always happy to see me. Why didn't I understand the connection he held out to me? My first memory, him dragging his MAD magazines across our ugly living carpet, so I could crawl after them. He taught me to crawl, and to pursue satirical cartoons at the height of an era. He loved Elvis. He loved our father. Our Mom and he battled like hell, bitch that she could be, but he knew. He loved her. Me too.

I remember, Irvin. wishes don't count anymore, do they, brother? 

The Ghost of Christmas Past

10 years after the Christmas of 1999, I believe my life may be irrepairably broken
and worse, that my very own spirit is broken,
10 years ago, on a Christmas Eve, my family was gathered in my home, together for a very different kind of Christmas. Because in the previous summer, our Mother had died, and so 2 generations came to my home, to be together and find a way to celebrate the season without her.
Tonight, I am alone. It is not Christmas Eve, but The Ghost of Christmas Past has appeared to me these past 4 nights, and I am being haunted indeed, by Ghosts and Memories bearing light, while The Present appears relentlessy grim. The season eludes me now. Is the problem within me, (which I entirely believe?), or is the World Truly A Mess?
Because I do think about my death now. I am 54. Both my parents have left this Earth, I have given two children and one of them has given a daughter to life.
I am 54. Suddenly that isn't such a bad number. Maybe its been a bunch of bad juju these last couple days, or past 10 years. could it be catastrophobia? really bad feng shu? could it be helped by seeing "my doctor" and getting on the right antidepressant? or maybe its just simple constipation?
on the other hand, its probably the stench of approaching death. cycle of life, cycle of death. its easy to be all philosophical about the subject until realizing you are 54 years old, both parents died of diseases which were a direct result of their personal life choices(ie smoking drinking eating high fat animal foods and ingestin copious amounts of white sugar/white flour products resulting in hardening of the arteries, high blood pressure, heart disease, lung disease, diabetes, cancers of various sorts, depression, insomnia, and here am I , drinking wine and smoking cigarettes till the cows come home.

now we know how many holes..........

i was reading ken kesey last night, demon box. i couldn't sleep, despite the bike ride to the pool, the laps swum(swam?). despite mad men season 1, episodes 1 and 2. despite the fact my alarm would ring at 4 a.m. for my grind shift at the diner. so i tossed and turned, finally, after so any years, reached over to my bookshelf and grabbed kesey, deciding some words from my hero would turn me to dreamland, alas.
i decided 2 of my favorites from this particular book would drift me to sleep, so i read "Now we know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall", then i read "The day after Superman died". I cried myself into in nightmare filled 3 hour sleep.
Then I went to work, where the morons told pedophile jokes about MJ. I told them it does not behove the living to speak ill of the dead.
I still believe, in spite of everything I've lived through, seen, smoked, ingested, given birth to, read, watched, that we can be heroes. what i write does border on plagarism, but i know its memory, threads, once in a while an entire quilt. I still believe in supermen the supreme being, the mother of God.
I believe in angels. And demons. In life and death. The two great gates we all walk between, unable to choose wither we come and when we go.
So i am happy to hear my neighbors playing the music of a musical genius of a man who did give joy to our poor planet, in spite of his demons.
I know I need to get back to my roots, in spite of living in the town I grew up in.
I know I miss her.
I know I am getting old when I think Michael Jackson died, he was just a kid..........then I remember to remember. And if you are reading this, and remember to remember that Henry Miller wrote a book called Remember to Remember. If you are reading this and remember Ken Kesey(come back), if you are reading this and remember Dean Moriarity(alias Neil Cassidy),if you are reading this and remember how many holes it takes to fill the albert hall, I hope you sleep well tonight.
because tommorow I have to sling chip over white, short stacks, listen to cheap shots and jokes about a soul I hope may rest in Peace, all the while remembering PEACE. Come back, go away, come back, go away. attendance mandetory, but not required.
RIP-EAP;JWOL;KK;JG;MJ.RMHP&ICPjr.angels aquired, AIS,AFS,GJB.tito.

i can't find moony after all

and so we rode around, finally down the street, so shrunken
the future was in the backseat, locked in, i looked and could not beliee
the house i grew up in. just about prisoners in niggatown,no knocking in that door
memories are bettered served,fresh.
the waitress was speechless, la nieta unsuspecting that this was the end

10 years after 1999

i count. i count drinks of water in the middle of the night. i count to 4 when i cannot sleep. i count my lucky stars.
i count decades, faces, names, silverware, straws, and love.
i count myself amongst the lucky ones.
1 time gianna sleep over.
1 time i gave a son to the world.
1 time i gloried in a little girl.
i time i was beloved..safe, warm and
you know, gloried in.
my name is susan lorraine.
i am the daughter or irv and ruth
hold my hand, go around the corner with me
lets see.............what happens next.
maybe i will find moony moony boy after all.

after the day harry kalas was laid to rest

`sjdinergrrl has this news update from southjersey, yo!
yesterday was a nice day, i wouldn't know because i was behind the counter.
i know its gonna blow weatherly speaking, during my 3 days off.

sjdinergrrl hates florida, but maybe i should relocate.after all, adaptation count
horatio cain is wrong.

sjdinergrrl was very proud of the Phil's for the sendoff that gave HK.

sjdinergrrl says "we're in the basement, learning to print, all of it hot,all counterfeit bills..................we;re int the basement

RIP' Harry Callas

The voice of The Phillies left the world today. His voice was the heart and soul of every Phil's game. An old school gentleman, a loyal fan, an astute intelligent man. So glad I heard him call that last play in October 2008. I am watching the game now, hoping maybe, our boys can do it again next October.
30 years his voice called the plays, nuanced, subtle, excited, disappointed. A soundtrack and distinct sound--and its outta here!
Thanks Harry, for everything, for coloring my childhood summers, for the way my father listened to you, and finally, a perfect finish.
and he's outta here!

witch came first, the egg or easter?

or the witch? every holiday was stolen from the pagans. in western culture anyway. eggs, eggs, eggs, no fish on fridays, fish on fridays, celibate priests sublimating desire,ruined lives, cultures at war, no pork, mass in latin, diners crowded with patrons eating ham and drinking diet "coke".i never did find that egg.