The Kindest Cuts.

For about the last twenty years, and accelerating each year, I've been liberating myself from popular culture in all its effluent influence. At this point, I watch no TV. Listen to no contemporary radio. Block all digital ads. And I'm off all social-media except for LinkedIn. 

I also watch no sports. I don't think I've been to the movies since I saw On Golden Pond. (It turns out, it's superfund site.)

The amerrykaka diseases are almost all out of my system. I feel much better for it. I don't even believe anymore the constant onslaught of lies about the power, intelligence and perfection of AI. 

I also have more time to read. 

Even if some of my reading is of fascist Wall Street Journal, despite its fascism, the WSJ has an amazing book section. About ten times a week I am compelled to go to the bookstore owned by another fascist, bezoss, and buy books published by fascists for the non-taxable profit of fascists.

This week the Journal reviewed the republication of an edition of Moby Dick from 1930, with dozens and dozens of illustrations by the great Rockwell Kent.

You can buy a swindle edition of this Moby Dick for less than the price of faux-italian cup of monopoly-chain-store coffee.  I'm too smart to encourage you to actually read the greatest of all novels of even watch the 1956 John Huston movie of the novel--which starred Orson Welles, Gregory Peck and Richard Basehart with Ray Bradbury sharing writing credits. 

I will encourage you to at least look at the Rockwell Kent etchings I've posted below. I restrained myself. And only uploaded about 50 of the 270 or so.

Sorry impecunious mofos who run the world now and believe AI can do everything and the millions of complicit willing executioners buying into their lies and drivel:

AI can't Kent.

God rays.

TL/DR for 99.7898% of all people.

The most famous opening in all of American literature.

Sitting by the dock of the bay.

With ever-watchful eyes and bearing scars, he headed forth.

Very Lincoln Duncan. 

Whale, whale, whale.

Two-star Yelp review.

Sharing a bunk with Queequeg.

If you've never shaved with a harpoon blade, you haven't lived.

The sort of nudity that gets blogs blocked.

Headed for Cannes?

It is not down in any map; true places never are.

Three cheers for cannibals.

I've had interviews like this.

Mom was always ready to welcome me home, harpoon in hand.

The city and Queequeg never sleep.

A two-ladder whale.

Heavy-lifting.

A view from the top.

A leg made of whalebone.

Big.

White.

in marketing, we also put things in buckets.

Do you swear to tell the whole tooth?

Ahab, like Achilles, was immoderate.

Let's get us a whale. A white whale.

Never a good sign. Just ask Coleridge.

I hate when that happens.

A good harpooner is worth his weight in gold.

Was it Heidegger who wrote about ‘thrown-ness.’?

All kinds of OSHA violations here.

Making waves.

Dock that man for swimming on the job.

Omnicom buys IPG.

Ouch.

It's not the cough that carries you off.

Not a still from Mad Men.

A watry view.

I'd turn back if I were you.

That sucks.

Getting the bird.