Fucked Up! The Band, the Show, the World

• MSADI5G, I'm seeing Fucked Up on June 29, thanks Mr Alarum. I hope you - as in Mr Alarum, as in YOU! - join me.
• Fucked up:
• The most dangerous Secretary of Defense since Rumsfeld?
• The economics of wealth and finance.
• Gaza: Killing Gets Easier.
• John Oliver isn't Mad Max.
• On fighting the fucked up: I am not a pseudo-radical. I’m a radical, which is a political orientation that has absolutely nothing to do with whether or not I’ve stolen government files or whether or not a whistleblower ever made me rich. I’m a radical because I oppose all forms of domination and exploitation, including capitalism and imperialism. I think radical change, not fetishized secrets, better cryptography or beneficent oligarchs is the answer to the world’s woes. I’m a radical because I critique pros like Oliver and Greenwald through a radical lens — which amounts to no more really, than lifting Chomsky’s exemption from his own analysis — and conclude that they’re really not left at all. If you think that’s pseudo-radical, you’re probably a liberal.
• And now, for the not fucked up:
• Wallace Stevens: Thinking of a Relation between the Images of Metaphors.
• Sylvia Plath, for those of you who do.
• John and Elizabeth's excellent adventure.
• Tomorrow! Other than Planet's birthday and my wedding anniversary MY FAVORITE POST OF THE EGOSLAVIAN CALENDAR! A hint.
• Feeling Fucked Up.

PANTOUM OF THE GREAT DEPRESSION

Donald Justice

Our lives avoided tragedy

Simply by going on and on,

Without end and with little apparent meaning.

Oh, there were storms and small catastrophes.

Simply by going on and on

We managed. No need for the heroic.

Oh, there were storms and small catastrophes.

I don't remember all the particulars.

We managed. No need for the heroic.

There were the usual celebrations, the usual sorrows.

I don't remember all the particulars.

Across the fence, the neighbors were our chorus.

There were the usual celebrations, the usual sorrows.

Thank god no one said anything in verse.

The neighbors were our only chorus,

And if we suffered we kept quiet about it.

At no time did anyone say anything in verse.

It was the ordinary pities and fears consumed us,

And if we suffered we kept quiet about it.

No audience would ever know our story.

It was the ordinary pities and fears consumed us.

We gathered on porches; the moon rose; we were poor.

What audience would ever know our story?

Beyond our windows shone the actual world.

We gathered on porches; the moon rose; we were poor.

And time went by, drawn by slow horses.

Somewhere beyond our windows shone the world.

The Great Depression had entered our souls like fog.

And time went by, drawn by slow horses.

We did not ourselves know what the end was.

The Great Depression had entered our souls like fog.

We had our flaws, perhaps a few private virtues.

But we did not ourselves know what the end was.

People like us simply go on.

We have our flaws, perhaps a few private virtues,

But it is by blind chance only that we escape tragedy.

And there is no plot in that; it is devoid of poetry.