The Disunited States of America

I’ve wondered, once personally settling on the analogy that LA is the mouth piece of America,  what then, is the equivalent body part for New York?

Is it the brains, or the sphincter? Maybe it’s the pineal, but with a bad blockage? I ain’t figured it. New Yorkers see it, in their number plates, as the Empire State.

So how fares the Empire?

I didn’t quite know what to expect after two days and 1600k, on the road in Mexico, when driving to return my hire car, and jump a jet from Mexico to NYC, in the midst’s of the world’s paranoia about swine flu. The viral source was blamed on Mexico, to deflect heat from the real source in the US,  where, with aid of some toxic US export pig farming techniques across the border, (after the offending US pig farmer had been fined out of his fat soaked profits in the States) the US exported the new strain south. The most dangerous bug was being propagated by CNN, and the rest of the brain dead, colon fermented US media, with is easy to deliver, paranoid news exports to the poor Mexicans.

Anyone who got flu in Mexico, was deemed a swine flu victim…500,000 die each year of regular flu.  It generally leads to death by pneumonia’s drowning.  At one point, the toxic media claimed had 145 Mexicans had died of swine flu . The media barely bothered to apologise when it ended up only 7 of the 145 were swine flu.

But by this stage, getting to Cancun airports saw me pass through more roadblocks than the road to truth. Firstly, there were the ridiculous army manned blockades, with soldiers wearing masks, apparently, with US funding, trying to stem the flow of drugs to the US, whilst the US did nothing to stem the arms flows for Mexicans, who could buy cheap assault weapons, in the US redneck states with impunity. Meanwhile, the fully corrupt Mexican police made sure it was business as usual, at about 20 mutilated and often tortured, and dumped bodies a day. And the idiots were worried about one pig flu death a day?  And all the while, the US consumed its way to a wired or stoned existence, by the Mexican delivered truckload.

Then there were the impromptu medico blockades…often 400m up the road from the army blockades, and 500m short of the Federali’s blockades. All were a useless waste of time. I passed through dozens of them. One, and only one, scanned my body temperature. This they also did entering Cancun airport, but nothing was done at the US end. Hey, with Iluminati guys like Gore and Cheney standing to reap millions in profits from their scam on flu drug sales, why slow business? And surprise, surprise, the last big sale of anti flue drugs was 3 years ago. And all of a sudden, its pandemic flu time again. And you guessed it, the last massive dose sold, has a use by date.  It’s now. Time for nose in the trough again, eh Cheney? And all you liberal greenies out there, like me, don’t be fooled by Gore’s Nobel Prize, he has been in on the dark side for years. I remind you, they gave mass murdered Kissinger a Nobel Peace Prize.

And I quickly add, Gore’s carbon crusade was planned 30 years back, and is packed with purposeful fraud. But that is another long story.

So it was a long drive through Mexico, from the pot-in-public, chilled out Zipolite,  the filter trap for the world’s insane intelligentsia…to NYC, filter trap for the world’s wired intelligentsia. After 5 months in the next best thing to the third world, a gear shift from 5^th to 1^st was going to stress the syncro. But NYC has a lot going for it, and my mind takes but a nano second wind its tachometer to NYC pace, and stay there, redlined, all day.

So I was pretty happy to get out of the fast dying American Airlines, the airline the is indeed the AA of air travel. Too many years on the piss, and AA can’t even manage to cook its guests an onboard meal these days. But the moment you strike up ya’ first conversation in New York, its heaven. Besides, they speak English here, a great luxury after lumbering with Spanish for 5 months.

I was expecting more flu clearance paranoia in the US, after several countries had already closed their borders to us Mexican’s, some, like China, incarcerating us. But nothing. Into the shuttle, and through the dark, wet, James Dean poster streets we drove.

Accommodation in NYC is exorbitant at best, so I had already resigned myself to a dorm bunk, which, in NYC, can be trying, given the hours travellers keep around here. 28 years ago, when I last lived here, we were usually just heading out to breakfast at sundown. That was when they reopened Studio 54, and my travelling companion girlfriends had roped me into their elite circle friends around the 18 head work team, who were the door staff at Studio. And being that everyone in NYC needed to know someone, to get back into their newly reopened Studio 54, we were treated like rock stars. From dusk, to well, dusk.

But at 53, my agenda was not about after midnight, this time around. Back in the late 70′s NYC was a pretty tough city. Tourists never went into the caves below know as the Underground, as not all came back up intact. There were more parts of town that were off-limits than on. You needed exceptional eye control in the street, to insure you never made eye contact, if you were brave enough not to wear shades. But despite the tough side, NYC 1979, had plenty of soul, spunk and eccentricity. The film Taxi Driver captured New York in 1970s, just perfectly.

So it was with considerable surprise to find New York, now totally different, beyond friendly, and seemingly quite consciously alive.  This well being consciousness had grown out of the pavement like unstoppable weeds.  It was a low fat, gluten free, no-car-horns-allowed, potpourri of eccentricity. On speed.

Every post 911, vain, would-be super hero had joined the NY Fire Department, so they could ride the big red trucks, usually pointlessly, but with wild, sirens blaring, escapes though a town,  a town seemingly  either made of match wood, or faulty smoke detectors.

People still bought impossibly large and hairy dogs, and winced as they pooper-scoopered their doggy’s do.

My task was to equip myself to be fully independent of everything that was NYC, by procuring enough light weight camping gear to enable me to live on an Adriatic headland until 2012.  It was an expensive exercise, self justified by leaving the actual purchase to the day of my 54th birthday.  As well as camping gear, I stocked up on a bunch of new books about the acceleration of consciousness , towards 2012, (my pet interest), along with some books to slow me down on the subject of the heart and stillness.  The later, not to be read whilst in NYC.

To mix it up a bit, I took a dreamy morning off, to glide by push bike through the fresh spring growth, of a sunny day in Central Park, followed abrubtly by Not Rays Pizza in the hardened Brooklyn. Noticing that in Brooklyn, I was also in Muslim Central,  so I thought I would have some shit stirring fun, and bought myself a $12, Mohamed perfect, Yasser Arafat scarf,  and promptly caught the underground back to the heart of darkness, Wall Street, for Friday ‘arvo, knock off drinks with the beleaguered traders.

Sitting there in the throng of yuppies and ‘greeders’, the beer conversation went something like this, ‘Ah, so, where are you from?”….as they looked nervously at my Bin Laden attire, where of course I took delight in coughing bit, and replying, ‘Who me?…Oh…I just flu in from Mexico’.

Catching the train back from Wall St, just sitting, waiting on the platform, buried deep inside my high volume Ipod world, I noticed an older Afro American being helped, stumblingly along the platform.

Clearing some bench space to seat the man who was obviously in great pain, we struck up a conversation sparked by his plea for a quarter, to eat. I suppose most New Yorkers are so jaded by the begging in the midst of such opulence, that requests for a $quarter rarely get air. But I wanted to know what was going on here, was this real?

Real? ….. well, it was indeed a tragedy on broken legs. Harry, as was the withered 57 year old man’s name, had been shot,(in the head I add), after getting in the way of thieves in his 20′s. Since then, his wounds had destroyed his balance, and he was perpetually falling, breaking things, and his last fall, after a hit by a taxi, had left him in a big mess.

The disgrace of America, is that it abandons its own, in the Iluminati’s presidential pursuit of funding the world’s biggest army, and it’s evil foreign interventions. America second biggest disgrace, is its people’s ignorance of where their money is spent.

Harry was entered into the US social security net, but that did not mean he was able to eat, or cover medical expenses. In his shaking hand he held a single white bread sandwich. He asked me for a hand, in simply buying drink, and he experienced his very first Gatorade, via me. Then the train arrived. Harry reckoned he would be fine, but he was so crippled that I had to drag, then carry him into the car, swearing at the guards for closing the doors on us, whilst Harry’s crippled foot dragged behind, jammed in the closing hiss. On board, heading for Harlem, Harry insisted he would be OK. He wouldn’t be. So I pumped his hand with my greenbacks, and rallied around the black commuters, to find a helper to get Harry off the train at 93^rd.

I teared up as I climbed the stairs out of the tube. What kind of fucking cruel insanity allows a government to wage war on the world, whilst turning their backs on their own? For fucks sake, even Mexico has some sort of public heath for all.  But not the US. The US sends $1600 PA to every Israeli just to insure war is forever. The US, The Fourth Reich in jeans?

It was the same again the next day, just shopping for some laundry detergent, in the hip, gay, Chelsea district. This time, it was seemingly healthy young black guy, but with a face so beset with pain and tears, you could not walk past him, as he begged, maybe for the first time in his life, for 50c to make a phone call. He had been robbed, and was destitute. New York can still be a tough place to live. There are 30,000 homeless people trying to survive in New York, as the limos line up, their drivers waiting onboard all day, simply to drive their pig wealthy owners home. It’s a disgrace.

But whist it’s a disgrace, it is also graceful, and it could be fairly said, that New York contains both the very best, and the very worst of humanity. It is an exact replica of the world’s consciousness. It is an exact replica of my own consciousness. And yours. Everyone’s, infact. It’s the reptilian wrapped around the ying and the yang. The duality of good and evil. Its Earth, 2009.

Moseying down town to price some camping gear, I stumbled across a big hole. No one too seems determined to fill it in, given that is been there since 911, 2001. There on the hoarding was a graphic of what was proposed. Where the twin tower’s foundations first underground explosions went off, (with enough thermite to melt down a steel works), were to be two giant underground waterfalls, sort of like the Hudson was following through to China, in some perfect perverse symbol of US’s current financial reality.

There was construction underway, where the tower containing the embarrassing Enron files, and the Mayor’s emergency response office, once contained in 42 levels that  just decided to fall over, from the inside columns out, in perfect choreographed demolition. No one really noticed that this building was neither hit, nor was seriously  on fire, nor had suffered any serious damage. It’s just collapsed as a sympathy vote.  Yeah, right.

Then off course, the 10 second fireball that was reduced to a mild suffocated smokey residue, managed miraculously to melt basement steel to red hot puddles that stayed  red hot for weeks, dozens of stories below the fire. The fireball was a mere odd 1000 degrees cooler than what was needed to melt steel, let alone explode it. It was just coincidence that George W’s cousin was in charge of security at both the ‘hijackers’ departure point, and the security that ‘rewired’ both towers ‘security’  in secret, weekend work before the miraculous collapse. Being that the Bush family had been 40 year partners of the Bin Ladens, is was sure a good idea that the only plane in US skies, after 911, was the one removing the prime suspects family.

But books, films, documentaries and dozens of eye witness accounts tell a much clearer story of the most outrageous case of treachery against the American people by the American people, in modern history.

To my mind, the unquestionably most mind blowing aspect of 911, is the intensity of the cover up, the criminality of the media compliance, and US societal ignorance up of the single most, outrageous, conspiratorial act, of the last 100 years …the fact that most of the world still thinks that the tower demolition was an act instigated by Bin and his Arabs, is to me, gobsmacking. The evidence undermining the official story is so extensive, so well circulated, and so blaringly obvious, that I am left wondering, how deep is the shit, that this planet is really in?

The king has no clothes. His balls are dangling away on parade, yet the crowd still admires the sparkle of his nonexistent, imaginary clothes.

Anyway, things worked out just fine for the 911 planners. The building owner, who was facing an asbestos clean-up bill of more than the tower’s sale value, doubled his doe on the insurance scam.
George and Dick got the wars their handlers needed.  New Patriot Acts advanced the Sum of the Aryans’ agenda. The world is now attuned to the guns, detectors  and surveillance being pointed at us,  Joe the plumber. Overall, from the Black Hands viewpoint, 911 was an outstanding success.

Buying some camping gear seemed somehow appropriate, alongside the big hole. When I entered the Tent and Trail shop, a lightning bolt hit next door, at ground zero, that sounded identical to a bomb exploding. Everyone in the shop winced then ducked, reassuring me that Zeus, if no one else, agreed with me, and was sending his compliments.

The disgrace that saw even progressive, inquisitive media, like our ABC and SBS, toe the official US government line unquestioningly, to my mind, remains a journalistic disgrace, lain at their feet, tantamount to Colin Powell’s career wrecking WMD bullshit, to the UN  and us, the world. Lucky my radio show was not on air at 911, as I was a cynic from the moment I watched the non prestressed building, made of bend-before-explode steel, explode live on my late night Australian TV. Having designed chaired, and then project managed the construction of a 30 storey prestressed building, I knew a bit more about these matters than most. So had I hit the radio waves with my cynicism from day 1, 911, I would have been lynched. Now at least, I suppose we can talk freely about this matter, but still the truth eludes the masses.

When walking to my appointment with Zeus, I came across a scrum of some 100 journalists crowded outside a police station, a few hundred metres from ground zero. What was this fuss all about, I wondered, wandering up to the most mis-fitting print jouno I could spot, attired in an immaculate suit. Here we had the press of the best and brightest city on earth, mere meters away from where the biggest piece of journalistic subterfuge, remains an open wound, and what could it be, I wondered, that had the whole pack on alert, here in downtown NYC? What mindless piece of public distraction was today’s hot story all about?

It wasn’t about how the President and All His Men had destroyed the towers.

That’s not a story.

No, today all the headlines were about Keiffer Sutherland’s annual act of insignificant mischief, (he had head butted someone), and was about to turn himself  in. World headlines found this demanding viewing. You can deceive the entire world with bullshit about 911, but when there is a little bloodied nose in a night club, it’s HUGE NEWS. The well attired Vanity Fair jouno waiting around, explained the days press pack agenda to me, and from there, I went on the raise the 911 media conspiracy audacity, and with some mutual reassurance, we both went into long, head nodding debate, about the perversity of a world media that averts its eyes from the 911 truth, whilst zooming in, with 500mm lens, on socially sick trivia.

New York for beginners is all about walking. Mile and miles of intensively interesting life keeps the feet busy, and the head agaze. Where locals always jump the walk by scampering underground,  by comparison, newbies walk.

NYC. It’s huge, it’s fascinating, and it’s all laid out with street numbers that reassuringly track your progress and location.

I wana feel a part of it, New York> New York. I wana wake up> in a city> that never sleeps,( but I don’t want to do in on uppers).

Giant WHOLEFOOD stores flood the city, where checking out punters, cue to pay at one of 30 pumping cash registers, holding seemingly fresh food in their hand , deluded into believing that the WHOLEFOOD brand assures them that they won’t be the one in two, who now gets cancer. The food seems fresh, big,  and bold….but it’s just as toxic, and packaged as ever. There is a about a teaspoon a day of hard to remove toxins in everyone’s urban diet these days. 3 of 4 apples  now need to be eaten, here in 2009, to provide the same nutrition as one apple in 1959.  Such is the ruin we have wrought on Gaia’s soil.

I met up with a beautiful friend, and Australian mother who had lived in NYC for over 20 years, and we did lunch across the road from her families Tribeca home, one of the 1000 rare NYC homes with garage. I quietly smiled as she unfolded happy story after happy story, one of which caught my attention. She, like half the world, have faced one of the dozens of recently arrived diseases, brought on in large part, by the  toxic modern world, and the last time we had met, I had suggested she try using a product, that her naturopath had subsequently encouraged, called Zeolite.  Zeolite is a simple volcanic mineral, with a honeycomb molecular structure, in which there is a small positive charge that has a way of attracting, caging, then expelling toxins and heavy metals, from inside the cells,to out, via the waste removal paths. The drug cartels are desperate to kill it off. But my friend, much to the seeming horror of her doctors, had got well. The same doctor, asked, what protein was my friend using, and was confused when her answer included the simple and well known Spiralina.  Its 2009, and he has never heard of Spiralina? And he swore the Hippocratic oath, from Hippocrates, who said all cures can be found in  food? The doctor thought a nice fat steak it what was needed. What hope is there, with Dr Ignorant idiots like this for healers? But in NYC, there are many in the know,  who are wise up about survival in the toxic wasteland, that are the centre aisles of urban shopping, and the bathroom products we adrons ourselves with.

Poor old NYC is going the way of the Fourth Reich itself….its aging and, arguably going under. It won’t be too many decades hence when Americans kids will be working in sweat shops making Nikes’ for Chinese wrappers.

I look out my hotel window, a Last-minute.com, $50 a night escape from the dorm,  located here, around the corner from the Empire State building, and a bit further away from the more elegant, and glorious tribute to the steel building mastery of  NYC city, and there it is>>> the Chrysler building. Along with the Brooklyn Bridge, the underground system, even the 70′s post modern ghost, the twin towers, NYC is the city of steel, where the US’s greed for cheap energy,  forging steel from iron, to create the world’s most powerful industrial nation. Cars weighed in by the ton, and the energy they burnt, said fuc you to the places the US oil was raped from. So looking out to the star of the show, the all steel Chrysler building, it was to me, and interesting moment in the rise and fall of the  Fourth Reich,  the USA, to read that the industrial giant Chrysler had gone into bankruptcy last week. The world biggest car builder, GM, is hard on its heels.

Across the road the Rothchild’s controlled Bank Of America is busy plundering the last survival $stash of the debt buried US, and the nations ‘savoir’, the great deceiver, Obama is doing his masters work, by raiding the till, the piggy bank, and borrowing  trillions to ‘bail out’ the US.

Bail out?

Its no bail out…it’s to  bury the US, in my view.

The latest  Obama, ‘stress tests’ suggest arch criminals like Bank of America and Citibank need yet another $750 billion. If you blew a million dollars a day, from the day Jesus was born, you still would not have spent a trillion dollars. And the US owes many trillions, mostly to  Asia, mainly China. The writing is on the Wall St.

The plan, in my view, is to get the western economies that weakened, that they will be willing to write any legislation that the Iluminati banking cartel wants…and the banking cartel wants a one world, centralised banking system that it can easily control…and with the aid of puppets like Gordon Brown, and Obama the Wonder Boy, the banking cartels are getting what they ordered, as I write. The irony of the filthy deal is that the western governments are borrowing the trillions to enact the bail-out, from the same banking cartels that they are giving the money to save. Unbelievable, if you stop and look at it. The banking cartels lends the State, money it does not have, to bury the State in debt, so the same banking cartel can pocket the bail out funds through the back door. And it’s not the End of Daze?

Streets are lined with desperate and dateless beggars, as the black limos await their master’s call.

Meanwhile the artists, prophets, healers and musicians do their thing. The city is alive with culture, and counter culture, across the counter. Parks are full of music. Posters and T shirts decrying the filthy conspiracy of  911 and its bullshit oil wars… ‘dying for the lie’, are on the streets everywhere, as the voice of people tries to make its way through the pavement, like a Spanish Rose in Harlem.

Last election, Obama and  Hilary Clinton were crawling all over each other, to claim the mantle of the biggest peacenik. Now in power, they are busier than ever, ramping up the Smack Dealers War in Afghanistan, in readiness for a blocking move on China and Russia, to take the Central Asian riches, of the last places the US is yet to rape, where energy riches abound. Pakistan teeters on the edge on implosion, just as planned.  The US is busy next door.  As per usual US  policy, whislt the US populace is kept in the dark, the covert ops in Pakistan to trigger the next Nam are well underway as I write.

The military industrial cartels, the same ones as running the designer bankruptcy games, are licking their lips, as the US populace blindly adores its new president… the one who offered CHANGE, but who pursues Bush’s same game with different spin, the president candidate who offered HOPE,  as hope is intangible, and cost free, and, in short, is hopeless. Has anyone stopped to read the book written by Obama’s chief foreign policy adviser, Brzezinski? The book is a perfect foundation for the Project for a New America, a document that would put a smile of Hitler’s face. Wake up liberal greenies, you are being conned by Obama, just as you were by George W’ seniors successor elect, Billy Clinton. Father Bush had Clinton picked out years ago, just as the black guy president was picked out years ago. Noticed who are the current best bosom buddies of bullshit world peace talkfests…you guessed it….the Bill Clinton and George Senior partnership. Hillary is next, making it 30 years of the designer, Bush-Clintonocracy. Bill was the best Republican President the US has had. Meanwhile, the US, long the work tool of the Bavarian wing of the Iluminati, is  being used, as one writer put it, like this…’America is being used to destroy America.’ How true.

I still love New York, because it’s full of New Yorkers. It’s the Government that worries me. For example. I wandered down into the underground, with $2 to feed the slot machine for my last ride of the week. The first two machines I tried, failed. The next one was being attended by a technician. So I walked around to the fourth option, but before I got there, 120kg and 190cm of black US security guard had Sumo hit me at grid iron speed, no explanation, nothing, just whamo.

As I recomposed myself, with a, “What the hell mate?” I was again manhandled by this US security guy, as it dawned on me that the technician was emptying the cash. A quick, ‘stand back’ would have done, but violence suited the US Govt attitude faster. The next bit stunned me. From the govt thug, “Want me to get a cop”..and make up some false charge and have you taken away in cuffs…

Who’s worried about the crims, it’s the Govt who worries me. I open the paper, and there’s a picture of boy scouts in SWAT team gear, complete with real assault weapons, training up on ‘how to raid a pot plantation”. What the fuc?  Obama the fraud, has just welched on his promise to stop military tribunals ex Guantanamo, and is doubling troops into Afghanistan.

If some civic shit went down in the US, now with its ready to roll concentration camps, Joe the Plumber would be fucked.

In the fluster, with designer same-colour-all-notes, US currency, the ticket machine gobbled my $20 note, instead of an intended $1, and so some deserving , money-for-the-homeless volunteer worker got $18 worth of free rides to work, from my exiting donation. These vollunteers, in NYC, are now on every second corner, as Black and Hispanic neighbourhoods get repossessed at a rate of 8 in 50 homes, as of today’s New York Times.

All this fuss’n a mess’n makes for good entertainment, but life in NYC has a used by date, and as much as I love arriving in the Big Apple, it’s also equally as satisfying to leave.  The big apple was the reward for the horse that one the big race, and these days, NYC isn’t winning every event So, ‘darling sweetie’, where better to depart NYC for, than the traditional, posh summer escape plan, Newport Rhode Island. As a yachty, with little or no addiction to sport other than a penchant for yacht racing, Newport seemed a logical personal Mecca for Rod Bin Sailing. As an Australian yachty, there is some sick and macabre pleasure in walking the turf of the cheating, lying and scheming New York Yacht Club, to relish the historical glee in Australia’s removal of the Auld Mug from the pompous glass box that once housed the America cup. It sat in that box for over 100 years, till Bondy, Ben and Bertrand levered the cup off its bolts with their now, 25 year old, winged keel. The New York Yacht Club still has acres or waterfront lawn mowed at the end of the street called America’s Cup Avenue, just there’s no America Cup races there anymore. I attended the Aussie version of the America Cup in Free’o, where we put on a smashing event, and sportingly gave the Cup back to yet more Americans, who continued their practise of cheating and deception, racing monster cats against inherently slower monohulls.

After the Aussie event, I lived in Free’o for a few months, before sailing over towards Africa, and in the gloom of the Cup hangover, during which time  I had a glimpse of the depression that must have settled over Newport in the last 25 years.

But Newport has survived with considerable grace, and yachting, albeit with a retro flavour, rocks on regardless. With a harbour full of gracious old 12m yachts, and a seasonal  flurry of the world’s most gracious mega yachts visiting as a part of the escape-the-hurricane season, to enjoy the Maine Coast season, an American tradition going back the Vanderbilt glory days, still keeps Newport alive.

We found the only cheap hostel in town, in all its 100 year old, all American timber plank glory, and set about exploration by pushbike. I have never seen anything like this place. The all American dream is so beautifully defined in New England’s timber cottages, in spring time, green, fence-free gardens, with the beautiful American flags fluttering from the poles above the front door. Spring was in the air, and buds were at every limb end, tulip bed and Budweiser bar. Clam chowder, $12 Maine lobsters, fries and buns made a blocked sewer of my well stuffed digestion. Is that with a Coke?

Yacht restoration was everywhere, infact, a school of old timber yacht building was my neighbour, and the students weren’t just restoring old 6 and 12m yachts, they were building new ones, to 1930′s, Olin Stephens plans. If, like me, you had spent 5 years building an opening quaint hotel called the Boathouse, and who had sailed on timber boats since the 50′s, Newport was my sort of  idea of design style heaven.

And it was quite good fun at the bars too. A day trip to Boston saw me drop in on a pack of Volvo 70 yachts, on their around the world race, the biggest thing, I would add, I sailing terms, for the 2008-9 racing calendar. Boston being half Irish, (as well as Boston Legal), was a spot where our tour of the Freedom Trial led us into an Irish Pub, where Volvo competitor Green Dragon was all the talk. Later that night, after too many beers, Billy Burke, the Irish sail master of the Newport Sailing and Athletic Club (where the main athletic sport is raising beers to the gob), had me convinced that I should go to Ireland, where in Galway, I could greet the same Volvo boats after they cross the Atlantic, in all of about 6 days, a trip that would take me 2 or 3 weeks in a regular yacht. A day later, I was on flight to the UK.

But not before a visit to the mansions of Newport. Many unbelievably posh mansions are open to the public, presumably because the posh owners had such twats for kids, that they gave the home to the Newport Preservation Society, before the kids got a look in.

They have this theory in Boston, that some guy called Revere and Adams, and their mates, dumped some tea into the harbour, gave the Brits shit for a while, and theoretically America got independence from Europe and England. I personally think the “Revolution” was just a PR war, where the Brits and Euros never gave anything away. And proof on my theory can be seen in the gilded glory of the European and English mansions that the industrial rulers of the USA have on display in Newport.

Take the Vanderbilt’s mansion known as Breakers. I have done the Palace of Versailles, and a few other pompous gigs, but the Breakers, considering it was mere beach house, shits on any European Palace when it comes to The Lives of the Rich and Famous. Every square inch of the Breakers is a budget, ball breaker.

I was amazed. And in Bellevue Avenue, along the Newport cliff tops, its mile after mile of opulence, and magnificent estates. Servants dishing up grand breakfast, down to the beach with the guests, then some golf and tennis coaching, and maybe some afternoon sailing, all with 7 outfit changes before another grand debutant ball, with presidents, kings of industry, all sliding down the banisters on the servants trays. But that was in the past.

Some, like dear Doris Duke, didn’t know what to do with all her money. She was the richest woman on earth in the 60′s. Daddy had died, like hundreds of thousands of his clients, after he had convinced the world to take up smoking his cigarettes, and dear Doris, she inherited the lot, had no kids, so had camels grace her lawn instead. The lawn, in all its perfection, is now mown by a keen surfer, who looks longingly out to sea, dreaming of waves, who  is trapped by his two kids and a mortgage. But at least he has a job.

I love a good boat bookshop, and so I can only dream of being published on the shelves of the best boat bookshops on earth, in Newport. Not that this story has much to do with boats at the moment, but hey, I’m sure they will renter the story, but as for now, I’m not writing my script. Some other lunatic is doing that.

All that wealth in Newport, and all that energy in New York, tells a tale of capitalisms finest hour. But somehow or other, I get the feeling the clock has just struck one, and America ain’t one anymore. Reporters looking for hope that there is a green sprout of regrowth in the western economy, cited Porches’ success is introductory sales of its latest opulent machine this week. What they didn’t mention, was that the all sales were all in Shanghai.

But much more important changes are underway in America, than mere economic or political changes. All the Alfa male models of politics and industry are crumbling in the States, as a new, more subtle feminie consciousness is being brewed below the headlines. The gnashing of teeth, the exposure of deceptive politics, and a world financial system that turned in world gambling den, are all on display for Joe the Plumber to see, and as he loses his job, his home, and is forced to contemplate what is really important:  hanging on to things, or hanging onto relationships?

The whole Western world’s consciousness is being forced through a process that is indeed both tough, and wonderful. And it’s all tracking exactly as had been predicted and mapped by the Mayans and others, thousands of years ago. And to me, watching it all unfold, and with it, contemplating what is implied in an extension of the calendar, is a treat that sends shivers privately down my spine, as I walk alone, but fully connected to every man and woman on the streets of NYC.

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