- Motherfucking Obama, that's who.
- Found the dog buried in a folder. Haven't used it at this site, must be at least a couple of years. What a fucking rube I was and am and will be, not there anymore by grace of constant self-scourging, but surely someplace else; I'm the type who poisons asceticism with self.
- The shit that will be flung at you the next ten months.
- Motherfucking Digby liberals.
- Liberal failure.
- The Santorum taint.
- Swallowing their santorum, rooting for Romney.
- Ken Starr says it's OK to vote for a Mormon.
- Jackhole Diehl says kill more Muslims.
- Occupy Bus.
- How Occupy benefits Corporate.
- Dance of the Marionettes.
- Living feminism. Welcome back, JR.
- University of Maryland priorities!
- Yes, I've posted the below Tate poem at least twice before.
- On Ishmael Reed.
- International repository of regrets.
- The Complete Works of Ennio Morricone.
IT HAPPENS LIKE THIS
I was outside St. Cecelia's Rectory smoking a cigarette when a goat appeared beside me. It was mostly black and white, with a little reddish brown here and there. When I started to walk away, it followed. I was amused and delighted, but wondered what the laws were on this kind of thing. There's a leash law for dogs, but what about goats? People smiled at me and admired the goat. "It's not my goat," I explained. "It's the town's goat. I'm just taking my turn caring for it." "I didn't know we had a goat," one of them said. "I wonder when my turn is." "Soon," I said. "Be patient. Your time is coming." The goat stayed by my side. It stopped when I stopped. It looked up at me and I stared into its eyes. I felt he knew everything essential about me. We walked on. A police- man on his beat looked us over. "That's a mighty fine goat you got there," he said, stopping to admire. "It's the town's goat," I said. "His family goes back three-hundred years with us," I said, "from the beginning." The officer leaned forward to touch him, then stopped and looked up at me. "Mind if I pat him?" he asked. "Touching this goat will change your life," I said. "It's your decision." He thought real hard for a minute, and then stood up and said, "What's his name?" "He's called the Prince of Peace," I said. "God! This town is like a fairy tale. Everywhere you turn there's mystery and wonder. And I'm just a child playing cops and robbers forever. Please forgive me if I cry." "We forgive you, Officer," I said. "And we understand why you, more than anybody, should never touch the Prince." The goat and I walked on. It was getting dark and we were beginning to wonder where we would spend the night.