The Greigh Area…

..seems to be a silly banner for an extremist’s platform.  I’m not really all that much into ethical nuance, and am best described as logistically flexible yet ideologically rigid.  What follows is a matter of opinion and conjecture, couched artistically in third person pretense, and is all plausibly deniable.

Mild-mannered Gene Greigh, polymath, mad genius, and idiot savant, is a failure as a husband (two former arch nemeses to testify), a failure as a scientist, a failure as an engineer, and a failure as an actor.

Before toying with literary failure, he has previously fought and continues to fight evil, injustice, and ennui as the mighty Lethargy Lad, editor and publisher of Piracy Press.  He has come to save the world, and to destroy the F’eral Reserve, as Rector of Matthew 6:6 Ministries, and as the General Cashier of The Confederate Mint.

He is the author of the counter-factual historical novel West of ’89, and is presently working on a hard science fiction piece masquerading as a horror-fantasy;  a political pot-boiler featuring Lady MacBubba and RomneyCare 3.0;  an outer space adventure ranging from the slopes of Mauna Kea to Nix Olympica;  plus a soul-searing, senses-shattering, silver-plated historio-economic treatise starring the Mercury Dime and the Swiss Franc.  Watch for:

Strangler Spruce, Premium Control Team, Higher Aina,
and Strictly Minimum


for a detailed peek at the world of West of ’89 see my display case at

or, in  other words,

<meta name=“description” content=“Being a Homely Naomi description of this web site and what one might expect to find here.”/>

An “About page”

This site features the work of Gene Greigh.

It consists of:
Excerpts from works of fiction (published and in progress).
Commentary on matters personal, cultural, political, and historical.
(Much of it is intended to be humorous. It is all sincere.)

The point of view is empirical and libertarian.

Gene Greigh is an anarchist and an atheist,
with many friends of archist and/or theist persuasions.

Gene Greigh is a writer and an actor and therefore considers the English language to be both his tool kit and his toy box. He does not censor himself, but as an artist, he edits his work and disdains the gratuitous.

Reader caution is advised.

Adventures in Bad Lyrics, volume two

So, by “bad lyrics”, I mean (in addition to my own work) poorly or sloppily executed, as in (sometimes unnecessarily) forced rhymes (“…she twist and turn that thang…like a puppet on a strang…”) or extending a single syllable over several beats (“Eight Six Seven Five Three Oh Nigh Eee Ayn!”).

Also bad as in wicked, cruel, or evil.

I love The Beatles but I am a little creeped out by Maxwell’s Silver Hammer (“…came down upon his head…”), and even more disturbed by Run for Your Life (“I’d rather see you dead little girl…?” Please Paul, help John with his lyrics.)

Pop lyrics tell us that we are slaves to our impulses ( “The girl can‘t help it!”) and that free lunches are real. “Somebody hit the lights, so we can rock it day and night” leaves out too many steps. What I hear is, “Somebody [else forego consumption, and accumulate the capital reserves, to finance research and development, and build the infrastructure, to generate and distribute power, so some spoiled child can] hit the lights!

They also tell us that women love to be dismissed, diminished, and denigrated. If it’s not true how could a popular song boast such beautiful sentiments as, “Hey, [insignificant object], let me [take care of the technical stuff. Due to my mother issues], I’m [difficult to deal with.]” Or, if you prefer the original Klingon: “Hey little thing let me light your candle. ‘Cause o’ Mama, I’m hard to handle.” …171114..–

Adventures in Bad Lyricsis sponsored by The Confederate Mint (purveyors of metallic securities in gold, silver, copper, and lead).  For sample sheets of Metallic Certificates (total face value One Tenth Silver Dollar) send One Silver Dime plus a self-addressed stamped envelope; or Three United States Legal Tender Federal Reserve “Dollars” in scrip, check, or money order, to Greigh Area Associates, c/o Gene Greigh //  843 Carson Drive;  Lebanon, Ohio;  45036

Oldie, the Round-Heeled Spice Girl

w/ Robi Jo &al (000301)

Well you know
Ginger, and Baby, and Sporty, and Scary,
Cinnamon, Nutmeg, Posh and Rosemary!
But do you recall,
The most ancient Spice Girl of all!

Hello my name is Old Spice,
And I wear the lamest clothes.
My legs are veined and wrinkly,
And I don’t wear pantyhose.
All of the other Spice Girls
Put out for the football team.
They just will not believe that
I was once their Pops’ wet dream.

When Versace hosts a ball,
We’ll show up to play!
When that party starts to stall
Then we’ll go away!
If you wanna be my lover,
Ya gotta get up with my friends.
But if you think it’s too much bother,
Then you can just kiss our rear ends!

“Slapped Down” (early February 1986, GT)

Our outstretched hand was slapped down on January 28th by a merciless fate. To be sure, there are those who will take the shuttle explosion as an omen to scurry back to our caves lest a vengeful nature seek us out and inflict more ill upon a presumptuous mankind. The weak of heart and the short of sight will admonish us to take our swollen, stinging hand and relish the pain as a lesson not to think so highly of ourselves that we would yearn for the universe.

They are wrong, of course, just as they have been wrong for all of history. It is not to the faint of heart that nature reveals herself. It is to the daring and the bold. Without this drive for knowledge, man is no more than a great ape.

The lesson of the catastrophe is not just that exploration is a risky business. It is part of an even greater truth: Life itself is dangerous. Those who condemn the proponents of space exploration will no doubt continue to drive automobiles, fly in airplanes, and purchase electrical appliances for their homes. There is no safe technology, there is only the acceptance of minor risks — that can prove to be killers — to be balanced against benefits to our physical, intellectual, and moral well-being.

For a moment, Challenger was our outstretched hand toward the cosmos, and then it was slapped down. But, if sometime in the future the manifests of Discovery, Columbia, or Atlantis find themselves short by about seventy kilograms of warm protein, I would be happy to oblige.

update 181115: once again correspondent TM exercises his editorial prerogative and “corrects” my work. For some reason (human error? conflation? caprice?), upon publication, the word “manifests” was replaced with “destinies” and the elegant and poetic expression “short of sight” was truncated to the blunter and cruder “short-sighted.”
Upon additional reflection, it occurs to me that The Daring and the Bold would be a great title for an anthology comic book series, except that DC beat me to it long ago with The Brave and the Bold.  Besides, Lethargy Lad already has his hands full with Daring Love and Daring Features.

“It’s been a fun life.” ( September 1984, Legion of Super-Heroes vol3 #2 )

setup 181114: Paul Levitz was a perfectly adequate editor in his own right, but I think it may have been DC’s policy that writers not edit their own work. I don’t know. At any rate the Legion at that time was edited by Karen Berger, to whom I addressed the following remarks. Nevertheless, Levitz himself handled the “Letters to the Editor” column because, well, I suspect because he liked to.
Herewith are my remarks from 1984 regarding Levitz’ and his collaborators’ super-heroic confabulation, The Legion of Super-Heroes, and in particular, their character, Dream Girl.


Brilliant. Just brilliant. I couldn’t have said it better myself. In LSH vol 2 number 310, Nura Nal coins her own best epitaph (and I hope she never needs it as such.)

Preparing for an action which, at best, will neatly suck Omen out of her universe and, at worst, kill her, her compatriots, and possibly all of Khundia, she succinctly sums up her existence and completely crystallizes her character.

“It’s been a fun life.”

Not, “It’s been a useful life,” nor “…a productive life,” nor “…a meaningful life,” nor any other of the abundant clichés of individual subordination. “It’s been a fun life.” Nura knows. I know. Paul Levitz apparently knows.   (Whether or not he believes it himself.  Steve Ditko obviously knows — see AVENGiNG WORLD.) If human existence has any purpose at all, it is the pursuit of pleasure. Whether we derive pleasure from a job well done, from helping others, or from helping ourselves, fundamentally we’re in the game for number one. It’s the human thing, we must depend first on ourselves for our own happiness. Aside from contractual obligations, nobody owes us anything, and we owe nobody our lives. Not our church, not our party, not our race, nor tribe, nor “society,” and certainly not the state.

Thank you Nura. Thank you Paul. Keep up the good word.

Levitz responds:
“Whew! One of the best parts of writing the Legion is seeing what depths of character readers can analyze out of brief sentences. While we’d agree with your analysis (largely) with respect to Nura, Lawrence, we’d hate to be accused of believing as our various characters do. — pl.”

update 181114: I don’t condemn Levitz’ hesitation to commit to radical individualism; Nura Nal and Steve Ditko and I represent the narrow end of that particular bell curve and I know how awkward it gets out here.

In spite of that, Paul Levitz remains a great personal hero of mine. In the mid to late 1970s he and Neal Adams led the charge to help Jerry Seigel and Joe Shuster reclaim their interests in Superman. Going up for decades against the metastasizing goliath that had become Warner Communications, Seigel and Shuster had all but given up hope.

Adams gets a great deal of the credit for their eventual triumph, and he deserves it, but people often neglect this very impressive difference. At the time Neal Adams was a powerhouse in the industry. Just about every publisher in town was courting him and he was writing his own golden ticket. To speak of Adams as Adams himself might, “The son of a bitch carried some goddamned weight and the corporate suits dared not fuck with him.” If Warner held a grudge Adams could stroll across the street.

Paul Levitz, however, carried no such weight. He was admittedly a tyro writer and a rising star with an MBA on the way and Earth-Two’s Bat-Daughter in his portfolio, but still, he knew the history of DC AND Donenfeld’s toxic legacy. He knew what had happened to writers before him who had pushed too hard.
He pushed anyway.
For the Fathers of the Man of Steel, he couldn’t not push.

Paul Levitz and Neal Adams may disagree with me on matters of art or food or politics, but I still hold them both in the highest of esteem,
both as artists, and as men.

in re advertisement above:  Hawkman, Triplicate Girl, Lightning Lad, Cosmic Boy, Saturn Girl, Supergirl, Phantom Girl, Stone Boy, Flame Lad, Polar Boy, Chlorophyll Kid, Night Girl, Superboy, the Legion of Super-Heroes, the Legion of Substitute Heroes, & the Army of Living Kryptonite Men are all properties of Detective Comics and Warner Communications.  Their images are reproduced by Piracy Press for purposes of analysis and scholarship.  If anything, their use here constitutes free advertisement for DC‘s properties at the considerable expense of Piracy Press and Greigh Area Associates.

Stealth antiFA assassin adjusts white supremacist demographic?

Heroic lefties strike at the heart of Henry Ford’s legacy?
Country music is steeped in white privilege.

For days since the horrific attack in Thousand Oaks, the main stream speculation mill seems to have been uncharacteristically quiet.
Usually by now there would have been lectures about…
Racism… militant Islam… gun culture… mental disease…
This time, so far, not so much. What has been reported has been —
“black clad… masked assailant… smoke bombs… blitz attack…”
The tactics of sucker-punchin’ punks.

Similarities abound and questions remain.

What I do believe is that it is NOT the fault of Bernie Sanders, Donald Trump, Heavy Metal, Reefer, or the NRA.


Saudi Crimes

There has been a great deal of breast-beating and tooth-gnashing lately over the killing of Jamal Khashoggi –admittedly a despicable crime — yet nary a peep over the regular murders of homosexuals, atheists, and apostates by that same House of Saud, nor their continuing holocaust in Yemen.

Are the “outrage-o-meters” of most Americans miscalibrated?
Or is it that Saudi Arabia is “America’s friend?”

But “America” has no friends, because “America,” as a cognitive actor, does not exist. Our occupation government has an agenda, and they have interests, and often the House of Saud and the Israeli Knesset and the British Parliament are aligned with those interests. Often the governments of Iran and Russia and Syria are not aligned with those interests; therefore they are “America’s enemies.”

The previous governments of Iraq and Lybia were not aligned with those interests, and paid heavily for their impudence. Unlike Hussein and Qadafi however, “Pecs” Putin has nukes, which gives our bankster owners pause.

Weights and Measures

Correspondent KM shows astonishing insight into the hearts of her adversaries as she writes that “the goal of English only advocates… [is] to create grounds for discrimination, based on racism,” rather than to promote clarity and cultural comity. Charges of racism have become all too common and all too tedious and all too meaningless of late, yet somehow they retain their pungent arrogant condescension. Or maybe she’s right. Anything to stop the hordes of Danes and Czechs and Letts and Swedes from diluting the rich caramel macchiato that is America today.

While the united States en masse have no official language, many of the individual States exercise their legislative prerogative and recognize English. Hawaii (at least) is officially bilingual. I wouldn’t put a lot of effort into promoting any sort of official action myself. I’d rather have the market cater to my whims than have the state push me around.

As a monolingual Anglophone, I’m naturally more comfortable with and adept at English, but irrespective of that, or of KM’s demerit for playing the race card, there does seem to be Constitutional authority for an official tongue. Congress has authority to establish uniform weights and measures, and language, at its base, is a measure of meaning.

They’re Leftists

First of all, I put quotation marks around “conservatives” and “libertarians” because, while I don’t necessarily agree that every so-called thus-and-so is actually practicing the philosophy he espouses, I generally get where they’re coming from.

Unless you’re following the thread that runs through John Locke and Thomas Jefferson and Calvin Coolidge, or if you’re comparing Vermont’s gun laws to Oregon’s drug laws, or New Hampshire’s income tax to Texas’ zoning laws, or you’re applauding Mohammed Ali’s and Ronald Reagan’s position on conscription, then you maybe don’t actually mean “liberal.” Liberals are generous, open-minded, and predisposed to liberty.

If, on the other hand, you’re complaining about the hectoring scolds in the media, the interfering buttinskies at your local Department of Thumbtacks and Paperclips, or Californian collectivists now mandating the arrangement of genitalia under the big table in the board room, then you really mean “Leftist.”

It’s not precise, but Leftist has weight and history, and the advantage of being a close abbreviation (‘le’t’vist) of “collectivist” which, of course, is what they are.

Is “Soy Boy” a slur?

Would it be more polite perhaps to refer to “man-bun” bitches or the femineutered in general as Acosta-farians or The Ansarian Section?

It’s so hard to keep up.

update 181006: correspondent DE suggests that I might wish to be more careful about insulting people. She’s right, of course; the more people dislike the messenger the less receptive they are to the message. I do wish to get the message through, so I must remember how powerful this phenomenon is (id est, a jerk like me can’t possibly have anything interesting to say.)

I’m not very good at backing down or back-pedaling.
I am sorry, and I am also eager to clarify.

Any of the terms I’ve used above have the potential of ruffling the feathers of those committed to seizing offense from out of the hands of teasing fun, but the greatest danger appears to be Acosta-farian.”

It is not my intention to besmirch the gentle Rasta whose sexuality remains unambiguous, nor to impugn those whose kinship to “Gallant Jim” Acosta is strictly accidental. (“In my heart, I know I’m funny.”)

update 181113: “Gentleman Jim” Acosta continues to cover himself in — well… let’s call it “glory” though it smells rather earthier than that. Upon reflection it is clear that at the center of every Acosta story is “Generous Jim“, politely expressing his enquiries and humbly entreating his inquisitees to call upon the fairer sex after his plurality of attention is consumed.