The 58th Street Manifesto

The 58th Street Manifesto: Thoughts, articles, crafted words and miscellaneous expressions. Exploring the symbolism of the eight-pointed star, and recontextualising cultural appreciation.

Friday, June 15, 2007

This just in...

The Full Version 9000(tm) of David Hasslehoff's drunken hamburger eating escapade will not copy and paste in Shiira, the MacOS X Internet Browser popularized by the late Neon Ballz.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

The Adventures of Neon Ballz

Episode 4: A Place in Time

Neon pulls up to location X. He gets out and finds the mayor checking his mail. “Whatsup, neon. I’m glad you could make it. We have made the breakthrough we have been waiting for. Come upstairs and we’ll talk about it.” This sounds good. ‘Perhaps the mayor has found a way to send me home’ neon thinks to himself. They walk inside and up the old wooden stairwell. The smells of fresh flowers and old wicker baskets permeate the air. Upstairs, the mayor ushers neon in and hands him a cigarette. “We analyzed your pod again using the newer dark time algorithm, and we think we know how to send you back.” Neon smiled, noting that in this case back was actually forward. “Who else knows about this?” neon asked. “No one but you, me, agent 23, and beppo. I have to admit, neon, I still don’t know that it’s a good idea for you to go back there.” Neon can see the concern on the mayor’s face. “I know . . . I know. But Fuck, I have to do this. We just stick to the plan, and when I get back make sure you have the seaweed.” A moment of silence passes. “Where’s my pod now?” “We’ve got it down at the yard. They are just putting a new shielding on it. It should be ready to go in no time.” Neon reflects for a moment, walks in to the bathroom and gets a piece of toilet paper, blows his nose, lights up a cigarette, stretches, yawns, and says “Then I’m ready to go in no time.”

Captain Hiram was driving with Rob Dobbs in a blue 1988 Buick regal down a river front stretch of the hot Florida highway. “So your friend has our man this time.” “He’s down at the restaurant now captain. Everything is going according to plan; and I wouldn’t worry about Neon Ballz either. That fool doesn’t know which way is up! The only thing we have to worry about is what to do with all that money.” Captain Hiram sneers at rob. “You’re the fool. You sound exactly like your brother bob. Neon Ballz should be our number one concern. He is the only man who can stand in the way of our plan. He won’t stop me this time though.” Captain Hiram reflexively reached for the gun in his crotch. “I’ve got a place in time to put Neon Ballz in his place.” Silence falls on the car. They pull in to the parking lot of a busy restaurant. Inside, the captain is approached by the host. “You have a visitor captain.” The host leads them to a table in the corner where a businessman and an anorexic blond are sitting, sipping on obnoxiously boisterous mixed drinks reminiscent of a tiki bar in Salt Lake City where the disproportionate enthusiasm for alien symbols of culture are matched only by the disproportionate shape of the residences’ heads. The captain introduces himself. The blonde stands up and excuses herself to the bar. “We understand that you have him.” The businessman stands up and smiles. “He’s in the office.” The businessman leads the group to the back of the restaurant. They go in to the kitchen and work through the bustle of the employees, until they reach a back hallway that leads to two cramped offices. The businessman opens one of the doors, and all three walk in. The captain and rob look down at a small Asian man tied to a chair with a gag in his mouth and a blue towel tucked into his front pocket.

Alive and well in the armpit of America

Monday, June 04, 2007

Disappointing debates lead internet bloggers to speculate.

nother flaccid and lifeless political debate helped to fill the air waves with styro-foam on Sunday, leaving the internet community equally flaccid. Although a couple of token reviews were compiled, the underwhelming response to the pointless debates reverberates like the ringing of perfect silence; deafening to the ears, and chilling to the soul.

The kindergarden-esq feel of the debate left some bloggers to contemplate more objective themes of this election, such as gender and race gaps. Although these are compelling topics for discussion, it leaves other questions unaddressed. For example, what can be done about the disappearing middle class in America? Why does our education remain poor, when we claim that we are aiming for ever increasingly technical and information based jobs? Why won’t Simon lighten up and, for once, side with Ms. Abdul on this one? Questions like these will continue to plague our nation until we, as a nation, can come together and fight the evil powers of the reptile gods who spawned us on this freakish and lowly lump of nickel, rock, and water. We will only have answers once we demand to speak to the giant ants who tell those reptile gods what to do!

Calling forth a latin-named Demon, Phase 1

Summon rotoscoped eye that has no respect for table size.

Sunday, June 03, 2007

Leftist Politics! The Democratic Presidential Debate

Since his eviction from the Sirius binary star system due to certain corporate copyright infringement motions brought against him by the sattelite radio industry, editor-in-chief BigAlDente has been keeping watch over the media stratum of earth culture from his new location in the STP friendly Castor Binary Star system from where he also broadcasts pictures and reassembled information blocks for the earth masses.

Amongst all the civil upheavals, revolutions taking place at this moment, conquests, and eradication of entire civilization that is concurrently taking place on the blue planet, one event came to the forefront of awareness of the deep space entity that publishes this very media medium: Today's Democratic National Debate.

After attempting to electronically track all uses of the word "Terror" and its derivatives, and the word "Suicide", the tracking instruments returned inconclusive readings as disruptive jamming signals made themselves present on the Style Transfer Protocol® device readout.

It only took a quick adjustment of the feed knobs to clarify that Senators Kucinich, Clinton, Obama, Biden,Edwards, The Professor, Mary Ann, Green Ranger, and Blue Ranger were all just foam injected molds of the same spongy substance. There was no debate. The media news talking head simply made political statements, and asked the participants to raise their hands if they agree or disagree. The political process has eaten itself. The political science of circle time in Kindergarten has now flopped itself on top of the national stage, for all to see. The utter uselesness of our process has been laid bare before the eyes of a public that does not care, nor should it. Not like this. So, the BigAlDente pick a winner pick of the week goes to: Senator Hillary Clinton! The goal here is change. Not change in rhetoric or political ideal, but actual, biological change. The America of Earth can push for a Black President in Senator Barack Obama, and that would be just fine. However, the advanced science of AlDente labs had discovered in 325 B.C. that the genetic distinctions between the races are so miniscule as to be dismissable. Senator Obama has a very high chance of having a higher genetic similarity to Senator Edwards rather than, say, Rev. Al Sharpton. This is fact. So, since on the genetic level to change the race of the president would really not be that much of a change, let's change the gender, shall we? This is where the revolution lies. Not in rhretoric or ideals, not in intangible thoughts and expressions. It lies in actual, real, physical metamorphosis of the position. A female president. So let me leave you with this one: In the words of the great C. Eliott Friday, "A bird has a left wing and a right wing, but they're just for flapping. The bird brain is in the middle."