Yes, this was theme song for some month in the past year, but a line from George Carlen's bit posted yesterday (sneakers w/lights) put this song in my head and it's not going away, which is a good thing because it's a great song.
Blaming Obama for my complicity in a system Obama devoutly believes in (and I do OK too) is easy, fun, cynical. If it's true Obama is just a tool following orders or has some autonomy and chooses policies to the right of my stupid expectations or he's a cynical politician reading the poll numbers or he actually believes his bullshit about compromise and reconciliation, all and more could be true and we're all equally fucked and we're all equally responsible.
We like being herded. It's entirely possible we're not coded to be herded and are easily and happily broken to be herded and we are totally coded to like being herded and our shepherds give us constant reinforcements and rewards.
There are few more attractive rewards than getting to play subject object subject object subject object object subject. We can subject object subject object subject object object subject until we're all complicit pedantic fucks competing in whose subject object subject object subject object object subject is awesomest. Maybe we're not complicitous and pedantic by nature but are trained to be and we are naturally complicitous and pedantic fucks demanding our just recompense for our complicity and pedantic fuckery.
I pretend I don't like that game that much anymore until I'm twitched by jones and it clicks that motherfucking soulsucker one ratchet notch more, that death march to Fuckit I sign up for fully aware I'll never get there, both by intent and design.
- Sat on a short wall at the above corner for an hour or so with Jim of Wisdom of the West this past Saturday. He brought his kid to the Stewart/Colbert rally as a 21st birthday present. Freaky how much he'd look like me if I hadn't lost the face mullet. Good time. Thanks.
- Got me bleggalgazing, as this post's main part proves.
- UPDATE! The hoped-for defeat.
- UPDATE! On the above.
- UPDATE!You are not obliged to vote Democrat.
- Nurembore Rally.
- UPDATE! Concilience.
- Moderation in all things, especially moderation.
- UPDATE! Nausea and rationalization.
- Laid off? But Obama's working on a narrative.
- UPDATE! The current Democratic suckitude.
- The cruel irony of political libertarianism.
- Maryland, still blue.
- How many Dems will vote for Ehrlich?
- Ambulance fees!
- Frederick's most-wanted!
- Aurorarama? OK, I'll try - ordered Saturday.
- Joy Division. (h/t - lots of good lit/music links)
- Darkblack's Sunday Overnight.
- Converging in the noise.
- The Shins cover Magnetic Fields.
- UPDATE! Somehow to keep it going.
- Keep Shelly in Athens.
- UPDATE! Paul Westerberg is Mr. F.
- Excellent news!
- Fascination Street is in my head. Be in yours.
The whole point was getting rid of glut
for which I starved myself and lived with the heat down
and only shaved oh every five days and used
a blunt razor for months so that my cheek
was not only red but the hair was bent not cut
for which I then would be ready for the bicycle
and the broken wrist, for which-oh God-I would be
ready to climb the steps and fight the boxes
with only nothing, a pair of shoes, and once
inside to open the window and let the snow in
and when the fire was over climb down the icy
fire escape and drop the last twenty
feet with notebooks against my chest, bruises
down one side of my body, fresh blood down the other.
Once upon a time, I learned how to play Fascination St. on the bass.ReplyDelete
Also, thanks for the linkage the other day.
Indeed. Ditto. A good time was had by both!ReplyDelete
Again, thanks for "the Kind".
And, yes, that herding thing.
Thanks very much to Jack for exposing the roots in such a way that I finally get it. I had been more than a bit troubled by all of this.ReplyDelete
I have enough respect for my fellow humans down here Below the Dog that I won't lie to you--what I think is still not kind. But now that I understand, unkind is almost totally unnecessary. And I'll take it up privately with Mister Almost.
Aiwwap, his arms folded.ReplyDelete