- Well, I knew today was going to have a Sun Kil Moon cascade because Serendipitously a new song yesterday, because Serendipitously I always resort to Sun Kil Moon cascades at kaboom clusterfucks.
- Oiling the propagandists.
- Motherfucking Obama.
- Dystopian secrecy.
- Capitalism in a surveillance state.
- Bless the ACLU.
- In praise of mess, chaos, panic.
- Al Franken, motherfucking load.
- Josh Marshall, motherfucking load.
- A profound lack of imagination.
- The vain media cynics of the NSA story.
- David Brooks and the mind of Edward Snowden.
- David Brooks, the last Stalinist.
- Let the character assassinations begin.
- Confronting Edward Snowden's comments on Bradley Manning.
- Charley reminds you: When you call a friend on the phone, you're calling every friend they have ever called too.
- Oh yeah, drones.
- For the record, I've no idea what Edward Snowden's motives were, so without knowing his motives I can't unreservedly call him a hero though I can say I'm pleased he did it, not because it will slow the advance of the surveillance state (I keep yodeling, whoever, whatever, whyever this now, this is a MAJOR PLUS for the surveillance state for all the short-term pain-in-the-ass Snowden may or not cause panopticon operators), but because it reveals the motherfucking loads I was stupid enough once to think smart and .06% less-motherfuckeringly loadish, because it flash-gauges everyone's current state of loadishness.
- Let me hasten to add: this is always about my complicit loadishness, my fascination with these solipsistic watersheds, he types into his blogger edit page and pushes Publish.
- For instance, me and Planet and Ari and Hamster and Laudru and Ilse and DataBoy and Whispers (?) are going to Germanboyds tonight to watch a US Open Cup game between my sucky soccer team and Chester. Despite my dire concerns over the surveillance state, I will use a debit card to purchase gas that can be tracked, will drive on MOCO roads that are fully videoed at stop lights, and during the game a Park Police cruiser will record all the license plate numbers of cars parked at SoccerPlex. It'll be a blast, and there will be Stanchion Porn on Thursday.
- Gaddis, for those of you who do.
- Cover of Pynchon's Bleeding Edge, out in three months.
- Life story.
- Prunella's latest playlist.
- Today's David Thomas song, one song at least a day through June, Thomas' birthday the day after tomorrow people, REQUESTS PLEASE, or not. This one you'll hear at least twice this month, probably more:
THE HEAVY BEAR THAT GOES WITH ME
The heavy bear who goes with me,
A manifold honey to smear his face,
Clumsy and lumbering here and there,
The central ton of every place,
The hungry beating brutish one
In love with candy, anger, and sleep,
Crazy factotum, dishevelling all,
Climbs the building, kicks the football,
Boxes his brother in the hate-ridden city.
Breathing at my side, that heavy animal,
That heavy bear who sleeps with me,
Howls in his sleep for a world of sugar,
A sweetness intimate as the water’s clasp,
Howls in his sleep because the tight-rope
Trembles and shows the darkness beneath.
—The strutting show-off is terrified,
Dressed in his dress-suit, bulging his pants,
Trembles to think that his quivering meat
Must finally wince to nothing at all.
That inescapable animal walks with me,
Has followed me since the black womb held,
Moves where I move, distorting my gesture,
A caricature, a swollen shadow,
A stupid clown of the spirit’s motive,
Perplexes and affronts with his own darkness,
The secret life of belly and bone,
Opaque, too near, my private, yet unknown,
Stretches to embrace the very dear
With whom I would walk without him near,
Touches her grossly, although a word
Would bare my heart and make me clear,
Stumbles, flounders, and strives to be fed
Dragging me with him in his mouthing care,
Amid the hundred million of his kind,
The scrimmage of appetite everywhere.