Dr. Guy Standard

REMORA? BLENNY, ANYONE? Okay, take blenny first if you want to, &, blenny is said to be an unpleasant, a decidedly un-pleasant fish. Promises in a wheedling way to rid a tongue of parasites and nips off and, variously, away with a mini-gobbet of gill. Nice fish, you say? The hell you do — you like it blenny-style. Okay, then you get to graduate to the intermediate class of the more remora-kind: go ahead, lose your head, don’t use your head when, clearly, you don’t have to, it’s all made of jello, anyway, brain, that is, brain’s like jello, strictly, as un-noticed as un-needed… like that remora attachment, do you see it?

I see — you’d rather be one of them frisky Koch boys instead of just any old run of an Adelson. Interesting, perhaps, and, perhaps not, it depends. Blenny-remora, remora-blenny, chips are down, ladies, and you men, you gents: Show-Time for that oceanic feeling… closing-time in the gardens of the west.

Or not: Maybe the figure I use (fish symbolizing the foul ones whose heads stink first of all) is a wrong figure, maybe it’s like a sty of pigs. Perhaps. Senator Hogshead, Congressman Cufflink, snouting out remaining pockets of truffles, swilling.

Maybe it’s more like that, a grunting and a squealing at a trough. Take yr pick, Fellow-Yank, free country, y’know that? What is a metaphor, anyway? What is not a figure of speech? Got etymologies. ?. Might one suggest a word, or two, is in-order? Requiring a privileged motion. That there be some language under-fucking-stood. “Influence is no government.” Who said that?

A COOL MILLION? As big as a Ritz? Is that big, yet? How about a hundred million — that start to be big-enough? Big-enough for what? Buy what? BUY who? Who? No kidding. Who!? I’ll be horn-swoggled. I’ll be goldurn’d. Somebody — gambling kind of a guy — put out how much? One hundred young American million sawbucks & shin-plasters & etc., bottom-line got tot’d & still lacks another nine hundred million to get you to where you had you a middle-aged billion buckies — uh — then you find out there’s 38 more at the home of the golden toilet — we’re talking some major fucking numbers here, folks, what can you buy for a hundred million, how much more with a billion and you still have, left-over, 38 billion stashed. Louie Gohmert’s happy, tell you what, playing what he thinks is Texas hold-em, clueless he ain’t the house, and meanwhile there’s those frisky Koch boyos of oily arroyos and they’re like the metastasizing of the steroidally-enhanced progression of the latest plutocracy, global-style. And? And I don’t mean maybe. All (or part, one can be modest — it is not actively discouraged, at least not yet) of which is to say: you may assume these people are (distinctly) not your friends. Proof? There’s only one, or two, of them, the rest? The rest are you — the rest is us, pal, don’t forget what you forgot: we ARE the bottom-line Americans. “Influence is no government.”

WIGS AND “REAL” NAMES: The person writing what follows signs off as Dr. Guy Standard which is not a name I was born with. I wish understood what I have, always, understood, that if one purports to address some public, that way of speaking has to be formal, and, further, never so formal as when purporting to appear friend-to-the-court. One is, at those time, supposed to be expressing one’s sense-of–the-meeting on-going, just then, and perhaps compelled to make a motion, which, being privileged, requires no second. It is, simply, assumed that one is aware of sensibilities other than one’s own, which nonetheless one works to be speaking through. there is the best of reasons why robes are worn to court, and wigs, and one might be excused for taking another name, as if it were a title recognizing one’s existence. Holmes himself (a self not terribly attractive_ admitted as he admonished Learned Hand that it was not his job to “do justice” — it was, rather, to apply the law.

There is a very real sense, then, in which a judge sitting to a case, or a lawyer arguing before that judge “are not themselves,” but are instead, or purport to be something more inclusive, whether it includes their private self, or not. One need only remember that when Madison, Jay, and Hamilton wrote The Federalist Papers they signed themselves “Publius,” that is, an abstraction requiring them to put aside self and speak to a generally defensible notion of governance which would take into the account, ultimately, all that conditioned and informed all that was best about the 18th century’s British and American political sensibility: “Publius.”

We get to see that best come through in the once-famous Letter of Josiah Quincy to his father; we see it in the ruling of Judge Jesse Carter in the Rochin case, and that best could come through only as some self was set aside.

In compressed fashion that purports to inform the abstraction that is here called Dr. Guy Standard and which would lead the abstraction to ask of Mr. Gohmert that he go to his copy of Black’s Law Dictionary and give us his understanding of the term laches, and which would lead Dr. Standard to ask courteously of Ms. Bachmann that she go to her Robert or Sturgis and tell us all what it means to Rise to a Question of Privilege that one might make a motion requiring no second, namely, that as good order has been tainted, it must be set aright again. As Mr. Clay asked, at a memorable tipping-point: “What’s my name?”

“INFLUENCE IS NO GOVERNMENT.” ALEC can boast that not so much as a comma is changed in legislation it writes up for Congress to pass. Understand, there is nothing symbiotic about ALEC, not accidentally, certainly not incidentally. ALEC is wholly parasitical, therefore suicidal. In short, what goes by that name is ruining everything for everyone: suicide by murder, murder by suicide. What goes by the name of ALEC, or by a Koch and a Koch, by Bradley and Coors and DeVos and a TPP,  devours what rightly belongs to our kind as we are animals and animate. These boys are truly fucking up the Old Place and… speeding up.