A Forum for Vigorous Debate, Cornerstone of Democracy

[For the journal (guidelines, focus, etc.), go to www.theamericandissident.org ].
Encouraged censorship and self-censorship seem to have become popular in America today. Those who censor others, not just self, tend to favor the term "moderate," as opposed to "censor" and "moderation" to "censorship." But that doesn't change what they do. They still act as Little Caesars or Big Brother protectors of the thin-skinned. Democracy, however, demands a tough populace, not so easily offended. On this blog, and to buck the trend of censorship, banning, and ostracizing, comments are NEVER "moderated." Rarely (almost NEVER) do the targets of these blog entries respond in an effort to defend themselves with cogent counter-argumentation. This blog is testimony to how little academics, poets, critics, newspaper editors, cartoonists, political hacks, cultural council apparatchiks, librarians et al appreciate VIGOROUS DEBATE, cornerstone of democracy. Clearly, far too many of them could likely prosper just fine in places like communist China and Cuba or Saudi Arabia, Qatar, and Russia.

More P. Maudit cartoons (and essays) at Global Free Press: http://www.globalfreepress.org

Saturday, October 15, 2016

Wednesday, October 5, 2016

Mark Jenkins

EDITORIAL--Issue #32
Torment people with the truth.  I know I do.  It feels good!  Because truth is the new hate speech. Truth is the new hate.
—Pamela Geller

Censored and Banned
The front cover of this issue was inspired by an article in the Washington Post by Mark Jenkins and depicts a couple of local DC arts regulators: Touchstone Gallery Director Ksenia Grishkova and Judge, uh, Juror-Curator Jayme McLellan.
   Jenkins is also depicted, though as a lapdog arts hagiographer. He would not provide his photo, and I could not find one on the internet. His article concerned Touchstone Gallery, based in Washington, D.C., which held an “Art as Politics” exhibit, though seemed really to have been “Art as PC-Propaganda.”  
   Every region and state in the country has its cultural council, art associations, art galleries, art museums, and art blablabla manned and womaned by art apparatchiks, usually with lofty titles. These organizations are usually well-funded with taxpayer money and usually represent fine arts examples of cooptation by business (i.e., chambers of commerce), which also control government.  And of course they usually broadcast their hypocrisy, as in “All the Arts for All of Us” (Cultural Center of Cape Cod) and “We abhor censorship of any kind” (Touchstone Gallery blogger Rosemary Luckett).  As for the latter, my comments were eliminated, uh, censored. Luckett, however, didn’t eliminate, uh, censor, Arielle K. Masters’ comment:  “Love that circus tent quilt!” For the brief correspondence I had with Luckett and Jenkins, see the Literary Letters rubric.  
   America seems to have a paucity of courageous artists willing to stand up and speak rude truth to art apparatchiks. Instead, most beggar for funding and seek to climb up the careerist see-no-evil, speak-no-evil art ladder.  They don’t care about free speech.  They don’t need free speech.  They’re content with PC-speech.  What they want is limelight, invitations, grants, and awards.  For my counter-essay vis-a-vis Jenkins, see Art in PC-landia. 
   On another note, The American Dissident was banned by the Texas Department of Criminal Justice… with no mention of the reason for the action. Those in power, from the little Lucy Loomis library directors on up to the faceless correctional institution review committee members, are not obligated to explain their totatitarian actions.  Inmate Steven Hostottle was published in the last two issues of The American Dissident, so I’d sent him a few copies.    Sadly, the faceless committee members refused to give them to him.  Clearly, they’d leafed through the copies, didn’t like what they saw, so decided to ban the magazine.  Hostottle’s poems did not praise life in one of their Texas jail cells.  See his letter at the end of the Literary Letters rubric.

Sunday, August 14, 2016

Fogo Island

Ah, the beauty of Newfoundland!  I took this photo on Fogo Island, not far from the town of Fogo on a hiking trail at twilight... all alone twas I...   

Friday, August 5, 2016

Eileen Myles

Dyke Poet, Schmyke Poet, Who Gives a Damn!!!

I keep getting called a punk poet in the press, because they can’t say dyke. —Eileen Myles 

Contrary to the lame press Myles denigrates, while she gets more coverage than deserved, I can say dyke… and so what?  Dyke poet, smyke poet, latino poet, black-lives-matter poet, or toilet-controversial tranny poet.  Who gives a goddamn?  Where is the anti-establishment poet???  And I don’t mean Ginsberg or Bukowski, both of whom beggared to be part of the establishment… and succeeded in that sell-out endeavor.  Where are the poets who speak rude truth to the hands apt to feed them and put them under the stinkin’ limelight of the local university, state cultural councils, NEA, NPR, Poetry magazine, Poets&Writers, Library of Congress, Guggenheim, MacArthur Foundation, Poetaster Foundation, and Poetry House?

Emily Wittapril’s mindnumbing New York Times hagiography (total absence of questioning and challenging), “The Poet Idolized by a New Generation of Feminists,” assures that self-proclaimed dyke poet Eileen Myles, who endorsed Congenital Liar Hillary because she has a vagina, is certainly not one of those poets!  And if she were, she wouldn’t have been praised in the New York Times, which is in the business of praising see-no-evil, hear-no-evil establishment poetasters.  Wittapril begins her laudanum-infused laudation with a hook, of course:  “For decades, it seemed as though Eileen Myles and her unflinching depictions of New York misfits and creatives would forever be relegated to the margins of the American canon. And then last year happened.”  Oh my, no longer on the edge of the canon!  Now, I’ll have to read on to see what the hell happened!  Ah, her old novel Chelsea Girls (1994) is getting new wind.  That’s what happened.   In the hagiograpy, the poetesse, uh, poet reminisces about the East Village, which felt to her like the center of anti-establishment American poetry.  “The romance was that you had to be poor, you had to live in this neighborhood, you had to hang out and read all the books that everybody was reading, stay up all night, have an amazing life and write poetry.”  Sounds like in-vogue copycat mimicry!  How does that horseshit jive with the photo of Myles dressed as a proud one-percenter in a “Comme des Garçons Homme Plus” $1,390 jacket and $400 “Comme des Garçons Shirt”?  What happened to her romance of poet poverty?  Sounds a bit like Dicaprio flouncing about in his private jet with his global warming and small-carbon footprint romance.   So today Myles, now ordained establishment poet gets to publish poems in The New Yorker and The New York Review of Books.  “In the ’70s it was cool to be a poet,” she noted. “In the ’80s it was a joke.”  Yeah, and today thanks to her and others of her pompous ilk, it’s become a downright tragedy.  Myles states at the end of Wittapril’s hagiography:  “If a fool will persist in their [sic] folly, he [sic] will be wise, right?”  Wittapril notes that Myles was “smiling, because she knew she already was.”  Myles evidently could use a dose of humility and a course in Grammar 101.  The “sic”s are mine, not Wittapril’s.  If Myles had been honest, her statement would have been “if a fool persists in her folly, she will be anointed by other fools.”  You know, like Wittapril…

PS:  Myles responded to this post via two very brief emails:
1.  "Ha boy are you ever pathetic. Good luck."
2.  "Go away troll."

My lengthy experience dealing with establishment poets, some actually believing they're anti-establishment, as in the Outlaw poets, underscores the latter to be as thin-skinned as it gets and utterly incapable of cogent response to my critique.   Pathetically unoriginal ad hominem is all I've ever received from them.

Wednesday, August 3, 2016

La Scie

What beauty I find up in Newfoundland!  Here's a photo I took a month ago at twilight in an outport called La Scie (the saw) on the Baie Verte peninsula, one of my favorite areas. Many towns have French names because the French had settled there before the English and Irish.