Monday, April 18, 2011

All Day: Arid Hairsplitting, Cheese-Paring

I can always tell when we apostates feel especially impotent; the contests over who's our team's most clear-eyed and clever eunuch turn nastier than normal. I for one still can't decide whether Amy Goodman is a dangerously naive and cancerous cyst who is blithely unaware of the repercussions of the actions she advocates or a bloodthirsty cruise-missile liberal cancerous cyst blithely indifferent to the suffering she knows the actions she advocates will cause. I'm told these are my only two choices. I... I... irresponsibly, I choose irresponsibility, refuse to participate in this particular fucking ladder match. There'll be another one soon enough anyway.


Thomas Lux

I don't feel anything today, my country-
men and - women, I'm numbed by 21 liters
of Novacain, I feel nothing
from my cowlick to the final ridge of my big toe's nail; my tear
ducts dry-walled, not a sob
or the sigh of an ant left in me this autumn,
another autumn
in which the world hates itself so much.
Man ties the severed head of another man
to the tail of a dog.
One frog eats a smaller frog.
Wisdom teeth, instead of being yanked,
evolve to wisdom fangs.
All day: arid hairsplitting, cheese-paring.
One bank buys another bank
and the little rubber thimble
on the teller's thumb - that stays the same.
Certainly my god
can rip the heart from your god's chest
and will, god willing, with my help.
A trillion-milligram hammer,
the arc of its swing
wide as a ring
of Saturn, hits us first
on the right temple,
then on the left. Good night, good night,
lights out!
bark the stars.


  1. That Macarthur essay in the first link is pretty good. Thanks.

  2. Yeah, it wasn't the catalyst for the post, but did encourage me to plunge publish.