2011. Wall Street’s super-rich spend billions to control Washington.
2012. Super-Rich gain absolute power over Washington.
2013. Pentagon’s WWIII global commodity wars accelerate for 2020 peak.
2014. Global population bubble accelerating, wasting commodities.
2015. Gilded Age globalization implodes America’s Global Empire.
2016. Wall Street capitalism self-destructs, crashes, mass bankruptcies.
2017. Middle-class revolution: Buffett’s rich class loses, overthrown.
2018. Reaganomics capitalism collapses, Glass-Steagall reinstated.
2019. WWIII commodity wars spread, cost trillions, kill hundreds of millions.
2020. Patriarchy ends: male dominance declines, women leaders rise.
He had me right up until 2020. The Jeremiah, Paul B. Farrell, is penning his prophecies not on the digital pages of Some Left Review but on the Wall Street Journal's MarketWatch, which should cause pause, yes? He follows up the above with four time bombs:
1. Wealth gap: Super-Rich vs class wars, death of democracy.
2. Wall Street’s doomsday capitalism vs rule by anarchy.
3. Pentagon’s perpetual war machine vs America’s budget time bomb.
4. Global population explosion vs resources, jobs, better lifestyles.
Corporate is investing in advanced soft-kill solutions and purchasing politicians who will write laws undermining your civil liberties (and/or won't protest Executive orders undermining your civil liberties). Corporate will destroy the fucking world before it'd consider less profits. Do you know why Corporate's abusing Bradley Manning only 40 miles from a White House occupied by a Democratic president? To show you they fucking can. To remind you to sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up.
Bwarg! Good thing I'm done wringing the micro for the moment (though peace to all) so I can begin ringing the macro, with hyperventilation, again, cwcf.
- Any questions? President Obama signed an executive order Monday that will create a formal system of indefinite detention for those held at the U.S. military prison at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, who continue to pose a significant threat to national security. The administration also said it will start new military commission trials for detainees there. The announcements, coming more than two years after Obama vowed in another executive order to close the detention center, all but cements Guantanamo Bay's continuing role in U.S. counterterrorism policy.
- Collective yawn.
- He's in his reelection campaign war-room, that's where the fucker is.
- I'm asking: Manning could be imprisoned anywhere within the military penal system, yes? He doesn't have to be at Quantico by some military law, yes?
- Say it ain't so.
- Broke and blind.
- The empire strikes out.
- What the fuck is "ethnic understanding?"
- Fantasy politics.
- More establishment assholery.
- Realism, idealism, and social media.
- UPDATE! Krugman doesn't read this shitty blog either.
- Think like a fist.
- On copyright.
- An argument against unions in general and teachers' unions in particular.
- Zik zik zik.
- Activism 0, Capitalism 1.
- World gone oink.
- UPDATE! Oopsy! Commence pigstorm in 3, 2, 1....
- A trip to the mall.
- ICC! Heh.
- Poor tax.
- Wheaton! See that green, red, and white awning? Marchione's Italian Deli - best tuna salad sub in MOCO!
- Four managers on how Arsenal can eliminate Barcelona.
- I reread Dick Gibson Show half a year ago and am rereading Gravity's Rainbow now (it's an unofficial book club Kind of thing, you can play too if you want) and I just finished the Dodo scene - it's interesting in regards to this post that both Elkin and Pynchon thought to use the senseless slaughter of Dodos as tropes.
- New Coover short story.
- A nihilist's believe in truth.
- I haven't read James Purdy in two decades. Time to fix.
- I want to see the bright lights tonight.
- Motherfucking terrible news.
- Darkblack's Sunday Overnight.
- UPDATE! Holyfuck, I've no idea why this just popped in my head - it has to be 20 years since I'd heard it - but be in yours.
- Mickey Dolenz is sixty-six today.
After I've goosed up the fire in the stove with Starter Logg so that it burns like fire on amphetamines; after it's imprisoned, screaming and thrashing, behind the stove door; after I've listened to the dead composers and watched the brown-plus-gray deer compose into Cubism the trees whose name I don't know (pine, I think); after I've holed up in my loneliness staring at the young buck whose two new antlers are like a snail's stalked eyes and I've let this conceit lead me to the eyes-on-stems of the faces of Picasso and from there to my dead father; after I've chased the deer away (they were boring, streamlined machines for tearing up green things, deer are the cows-of-the-forest); then I bend down over the sea of keys to write this poem about my father in his grave. It isn't easy. It's dark in my room, the door is closed, all around is creaking and sighing, as though I were in the hold of a big ship, as though I were in the dark sleep of a huge freighter toiling across the landscape of the waves taking me to my father with whom I have struggled like Jacob with the angel and who heaves off, one final time, the muddy counterpane of the earth and lies panting beside his grave like a large dog who has run a long way. This is as far as he goes. I stand at the very end of myself holding a shovel. The blade is long and cool; It is an instrument for organizing the world; the blade is drenched in shine, the air is alive along it, as air is alive on the windshield of a car. Beside me my father droops as though he were under anesthesia. He is so thin, and he doesn't have a coat. My left hand grows cool and sedate under the influence of his flesh. It hesitates and then... My father drops in like baggage into a hold. In his hands, written on my stationery, a note I thought of xeroxing: Dad, I will be with you, through the cold, dark, closed places you hated. I close the hinged lid, and above him I heap a firmament of dirt. The body alone, in the dark, in the cold, without a coat. I would not wish that on my greatest enemy. Which, in a sense, my father was.