- Olive, last night.
- The FBI's Seven Types of Protesters.
- I'm not out in the streets yet, no. All I have is the same ineffectual bark. I neither rule out protest nor look particularly forward to it since I can't envision ever protesting for, only protesting against. I'll be damned if I'll protest for a Corporate, Democratic Party Division, restoration, a return to the norms of Hillarium less-shittism.
- A time for treason: a reading list (w lots of links).
- Mr Death.
- The true terror of a Trump presidency.
- The List. On the ▲.
- Thanks, Comrade.
- A poem for the cruel minority.
- Art in a post-truth world.
- Smear-mongering: a mea culpa for the age of McCarthyism 2.0.
- Blatant socialism: This dynamic is one of many simple reasons why the liberal capitalist technocracy that Paul Krugman is so fond of can't get no respect among the general public. On one hand, Democrats want voters to appreciate all of the benefits they get from the government - but on the other hand, Democrats are terrified of doing anything in our economy that might look like a government intervention into capitalism. The result is what Cornell government professor Suzanne Mettler calls The Submerged State.
- Words aren't what they used to be.
- On not buying books.
- Planet redesigned Earthgirl's website.
- And fuck, news that Pauline Oliveros has died.
[rain frog thorn bug tent bat]
rain frog thorn bug tent bat
along a broken mosaic a spongy ever-dwindling path
soaring trees woody buttresses their massive twisted fins
lofty crowns shoulder to shoulder climbing lime-green
vines restless palms one strangling plant clinging to
choking another a discontinuous canopy of branches and leaves
impenetrable alive and teeming tangled underbrush
the deeply shaded soil lumpy roots writhing
across the forest floor low-growing ferns seedlings
struggling for light jewel-colored hummingbirds
insects sizzling and clicking and the dripping water
trickling into the tiniest crevices steamy
claustrophobic air a dazzling bellbird lost
in a shaft of sunlight a golden eyelash viper
sinuous as a vein on a broad-leafed frond flat worms
land leeches walnut-sized spiders goliath beetles
camouflaged butterflies on dead leaves parasites bees
leaf-cutting ants atop glorious white lilies everywhere
gripping climbing twisting floating through the trees
stilt-like aerial roots the mouth-amazed pitcher plant
buried larvae fruit-eating fish the perpetual battle to adapt
the ruthless drive to survive under a punishing sun
what grows bursts forth at astonishing speed then decomposes
to be reabsorbed so much unknown unfamiliar
unnamed but before long the trees seem the same
the rocks every bird track who would dare think of such a place
who would dare construct one of his own imagining
and be utterly abandoned in the middle of it all
if to be lost is to be fully present if confusion becomes
the only boundary and then the decision [to divide space
until a direction is created] only a madman would begin
thought is its own cage the mind already anticipating
the first step deciding every turn will be coupled
by disaster and perhaps some bestial creature
crouched at the center crying waitingfor our hero our everyman our Elijah wandering the earth in rags