Category Archives: INSIDE THE BOOK

Inside the book, Vermeer: Portraits of A Lifetime. Analysis of all the paintings of Johannes Vermeer. The book reveals for the first time that the women featured in the paintings of Johannes Vermeer were members of his own family, his daughters, his wife and mother-in-law, Maria Thins.

...and other stuff, FREE ADVICE, INSIDE THE BOOK, LIVES, READING MATTER, SHERLOCK HOLMES, SHERLOCK HOLMES: MY LIFE, UNIVERSES

PARASITICAL INSANITY

Republished by Blog Post Promoter

“Count Dracula, and his kindred spirits, may be considered to be “evil” from the point of view of mankind.  However, apart from the prejudice of the human victims who do not desire to serve as food for others who drink their blood, the vampire can not be considered to be anything other than an immortal spiritual being, attempting to persist and survive in a quasi-corporeal form.

I esteem that there is only one principle difference between a human being who eats a roasted chicken or pork or beef, and a vampire who drinks the living blood of a human being.  That is, that the vampire, by consuming the living blood, derives a more sustainable form of energy than the man who eats the dead flesh of an animal.

The man who eats dead meat lives 65 years, his own spirit is confined inside a fragile piece of flesh, with little or no self-awareness regarding his potential capabilities as a spiritual entity. Whereas, the vampire, consuming only the living blood of its victim, maintains an extreme spiritual power and ability, as well as physical strength and longevity which borders upon immortality!

Who is to say which condition is more or less desirable? There seems to me to be absolutely no limit to the inanity and credulity of the human race. Homo Sapiens! Homo idioticus!

Yet, it is entirely understandable that men do not trouble themselves with grotesque speculations as to the nature of life beyond the grave.  They have enough to do in this world. Life is a beautiful thing. The man who appreciates its beauties enjoys a sufficient understanding of life without dabbling in religions or spiritualism.

Religion is a fraud which have been exposed a hundred times and yet priests continue to find fresh crowds of foolish devotees whose insane credulity and superstitious prejudice make them impervious to all rational arguments.  One can only leave them to seek destinations of their singular Fates, which they have been predetermined for them.

Unless we practice eternal vigilance against these vampires, we will continue to be afflicted and effected by the contagion of their parasitical insanity.  The vitality of every civilization which has crumbled into disrepair and dust was drained of life by these diabolical beings!”

_________________________________________

— Excerpt from SHERLOCK HOLMES: MY LIFE, by Lawrence R. Spencer

 

...and other stuff, BULLSHIT, FREE ADVICE, INSIDE THE BOOK, LIVES, MOVING PICTURES, READING MATTER, SOUNDS, UNIVERSES

WAR NEVER ENDS UNTIL SOLDIERS REFUSE TO KILL FOR MADMEN

Republished by Blog Post Promoter

1984 has come and gone. The prophecy of George Orwell have been fulfilled.  Now we know, without any doubt, that wars are started by bankers and politicians to make a financial profit and to gain personal power for themselves.  In the United States there are no more wars of “defending oneself”.   (False Flags propaganda notwithstanding).  Since WW II  the ONLY reason any war was ever fought — and factually, during the last 5,000 years human history — was for the profit of private banks and corporations.  Don’t take my word for it.  Study the history of warfare.  Actually, there has always been a  “Big Brother” in every period of history from the Egyptians to the Rockefellers.  “Big Brother” is  the bankers and politicians — with the blessing of the priests.

However, they are NOT the people who load the shells, fly the planes, drop the bombs and pull the triggers that kill people.  They are spineless cowards who hide behind curtains and desks and rhetoric and secret police. It is each individual soldier who “is just doing his duty” that does the killing for the despicable slime we call our “leaders”.  Until soldiers refuse to become soldiers there will be perpetual wars. I refused to be inducted into the military in 1969, during the Vietnam War.  So can you now. All it takes is the balls to say the words: “HELL NO! I WON’T GO!” 

So what can “Big Brother” do to you?  Put you in prison? Shoot you in the head?  So what?!  Sacrificing your life is a small price to pay compared to relinquishing your personal responsibility to the whims of a pack of psychopathic power-brokers. It’s just a matter of time before the next person they’ll order you to kill is your own mother, brother and sister — in this lifetime or the next.  What goes around, comes around.

 Every time you “volunteer” to go out and kill people, or support the parasites who tell you it is your “duty” to murder the “enemy” they created for you,  you — not anyone else — are the killer.  I have heard a million reasons why it is OK to be a soldier.  As a way to earn a living, almost any job is less destructive, and more honest, than helping a Gang of War Profiteers to invade entire countries so Wall Street bankers and Corporate Arms manufacturers can make another billion dollars on selling guns to your “enemies”.  How many reasons can you think of to help “Big Brother” continue to slaughter millions and millions of people for their personal financial profit for the next 5,000 years? — Lawrence R. Spencer. 2012.

__________________________________________

Watch the following video with footage from the Vietnam war:  notice who’s doing the killing and who’s safe back home in their offices: you guessed it, “Big Brother”.

Here is a quick less on how BIG BROTHER (“The Party”) keeps getting away with murder, theft and mayhem for their personal power and profit, at our expense:

“The Party seeks power entirely for its own sake. We are not interested in the good of others; we are interested solely in power, pure power. What pure power means you will understand presently. We are different from the oligarchies of the past in that we know what we are doing. All the others, even those who resembled ourselves, were cowards and hypocrites. The German Nazis and the Russian Communists came very close to us in their methods, but they never had the courage to recognize their own motives. They pretended, perhaps they even believed, that they had seized power unwillingly and for a limited time, and that just around the corner there lay a paradise where human beings would be free and equal. We are not like that. We know what no one ever seizes power with the intention of relinquishing it. Power is not a means; it is an end. One does not establish a dictatorship in order to safeguard a revolution; one makes the revolution in order to establish the dictatorship. The object of persecution is persecution. The object of torture is torture. The object of power is power.” ― George Orwell, 1984  — published in 1949.

HERE IS A FREE ON-LINE COPY OF THE COMIC BOOK VERSION OF THE BOOK 1984

HERE IS A FREE ON-LINE E-BOOK VERSION OF THE BOOK 1984

HERE IS THE FULL LENGTH FILM VERSION OF THE BOOK 1984

INSIDE THE BOOK, SHERLOCK HOLMES: MY LIFE, UNIVERSES

WE’RE ALL MAD HERE

Republished by Blog Post Promoter

“”‘What sort of people live about here?’

‘In THAT direction,’ the Cat said, waving its right paw round, ‘lives

a Hatter: and in THAT direction,’ waving the other paw, ‘lives a March

Hare. Visit either you like: they’re both mad.’

‘But I don’t want to go among mad people,’ Alice remarked.

‘Oh, you can’t help that,’ said the Cat: ‘we’re all mad here. I’m mad.

You’re mad.’

‘How do you know I’m mad?’ said Alice.

‘You must be,’ said the Cat, ‘or you wouldn’t have come here.’

Alice didn’t think that proved it at all; however, she went on ‘And how

do you know that you’re mad?'”

“So, Mr. Dodgson, let me pose the same question to you that young Alice asked of the chimerical cat in your own story: how do you know whether you are mad or not mad? How would you satisfy yourself that I am not mad? How do we know that everyone is mad or not mad?”, I said, rising from my chair to place the manuscript upon the sideboard. 

I refilled my pipe once again, in anticipation of the protracted debate that was sure to follow on the heels of these profoundly absurd, yet existential queries and arguments.

Mr. Dodgson did not seem the least bit nonplused by my insinuation  regarding his sanity, or the sanity of all. Rather, he thanked us very cordially for our hospitality, rose from his chair and reached the door to exit the apartment. As he reached the door he turned back to me. 

“Mr. Holmes, I will leave the resolution of this mystery entirely in your very capable hands. If anyone were able to solve the questions you pose to me, I assure you that I am not that man. Neither are any of the mentors whom I have studied, including Sir Isaac himself. I trust that you will be kind enough to inform me of your eventual success, if such is possible. Good day to you, gentlemen”.

With that, he departed, clomped down the stairs. Through the window we saw him walk briskly away through a light drizzle of rain in the direction of the train station.

“What do you make of it Holmes?”, asked Watson, who seemed to have been disquieted by our visitor. “I must admit that our meeting with this  gentleman is the most perplexing I have ever had,” he said, resuming his seat in front of the fire.

“Yes. Most perplexing, indeed”, I agreed, taking my own seat and refilling my pipe. “Most perplexing.””

— Excerpt from SHERLOCK HOLMES: MY LIFE, by Lawrence R. Spencer

Support independent publishing: Buy this book on Lulu.

INSIDE THE BOOK, THE BIG BLEEP

BUBBLE BATH ROMANCE

Republished by Blog Post Promoter

“The world will always welcome lovers….. As Time Goes By …..”.  (click to play the song while you read the story)

A  sad and sensuous melody wafts in from the Really Old Oldies Station playing on the radio in the bedroom.  The classic melody melts into the candlelight and steam above my sunken penthouse bathtub hidden in the clouds of a Big City Skyline.

Amber tendrils of her dripping hair draw arabesques on golden skin along the supple curves of her torso.  Eyes half-closed, pouting mouth, she tosses her head toward me with a gaze that would light wet firewood. There is nothing in the world but her and me.

Lifting a leg above the water, she rests her foot on my shoulder, stroking my hair and neck, tickling my ear with her pinkly painted toes.  She makes me smile idiotically, yes, please-do-it-ically. I tilt my head to meet her foot with a submissive animal twitch that lets her know she’s my master.

Her leg bends slightly.  A rivulet runs down her leg, melting into the canyon between her thighs.  Her heel nestles next to my throat as she massages my temple with her toe. I lift my hand out of the suds to blow her a bubbly kiss. My eyes follow the ruffled waves as they ripple on the shores of her ample, island breasts. Tiny bubbles swirl and burst beneath her nipples like a tiny, iridescent fireworks show.

Slowly her caresses shift, her slick skin slithers on mine, the tip of her toe traces my chin, the contour of my lips.  My eyes loose focus as I submerge myself in sensuousness.  I nibble at her perfect toes, tickling with my tongue. She giggles, then laughs out loud. That sound!  If it was food, I’d gain a hundred pounds!

“Oh, baby…” My voice is a horse whisper. She whinnies and lets her arching foot slide down my pecs.  Her toes dig into my skin, her sole rests on the wild pounding in my chest — she can feel it!  Very still, she listens to my heart with her delicious toes. It’s pumping!  Out of control, like some menacing machine!  We both know where the blood is going now…Shadow, I love you.

She bites her lower lip. Her breathing quickens.  Like a female Captain Ahab, she lowers her boat urgently into the bubble bath scented waves to hunt for the great, white sperm whale.

“Oh yeah, baby. Lower away!”, I say, urging her on.

As the keel of Shadow’s boat rides on the waves of our passion, I hear, in the back of my mind, the voice of Gregory Peck intoning Herman Melville’s immortal words:

“The whale, the whale! Up helm, up helm! Oh, all ye sweet powers of air, now hug me close!  Steady! helmsman, steady. Nay, nay! Up helm again! He turns to meet us! Oh, his unappeasable brow drives on towards one, whose duty tells him he cannot depart. My God, stand by me now!”

The perfumed waves mount into a frothing tempest and splash onto the bathroom floor.  My Moby Dick rams and hoists the shuddering bow of her sensuous ship until her timbers creak and moan, and then explode, giving way to screams!…the same, impassioned screams that have summoned the wandering souls of humanity into the next generation of baby bodies since the Omniscient Creator orchestrated the first primordial conception of homo sapiens in the dim mists of…

“Bbrrrrriiiing!  Bbrrrrriiiing!”

I opened one eye slowly and carefully lurched my aching head up off my desk.  Oh, (Bleep)! I was dreaming again!  A very moist dream.  For the third time this week I’d fallen asleep in front of my computer monitor. I felt like “Johnny Dollar, PI”, in the old radio program I used to listen to when I was a kid, except for the fact that he had an expense account because he worked as a claims investigator for some big insurance company.

I have a lot of expenses, but I didn’t have any accounts.  Every time Johnny walked around a corner somebody hit him on the back of the head and knocked him out.  He spent all of his time trying to figure out who did it and why.  Usually, it was because of some women he was mixed up with. You think he would have learned to stay away from corners.

“Bbrrrrriiiing!  Bbrrrrriiiing!”

The (bleeping) phone was still ringing!  My answering machine picked up the call.  I heard my cleverly conceived marketing message start to play as I looked foggily at the sign painted on the opaque glass of my office door:

The Un-existential Detective Agency of America  (T.U.D.A.A.) !

“We dig up the truth for you”

SAM SHOVEL – Proprietor and Public Dick”

____________________________

Excerpt from Chapter One of  THE BIG BLEEP, a novel by Lawrence R. Spencer