Like I keep reiterating, the debate over Wikileaks is as if not more important than what Wikileaks reveals. And while many of you (including me) will disagree with some if not most of what Elric says, he and I agree on this: Wikileaks, regardless of motive, regardless of good, hastens the implementation of the digital panopticon that was already inevitable.
- Crux.
- Twelve theses on Wikileaks.
- Questions of legitimacy.
- UPDATE! Assange is not Wikileaks.
- Mastercard wasn't patriotic, it was covering its ass.
- War on whistleblowers.
- UPDATE! One other thing.
- Scrambling.
- Failure to imaginate.
- Methodological kool-aid.
- UPDATE! Giftmas at Corporate!
- Subtle like an anvil.
- Grandpa Tool hearts Obama. He's no doubt right.
- Obama, all on his own.
- UPDATE! The Eighteenth-Brumaire of Sarah Palin?
- Lame lameness.
- Lame lameness.
- Have the terrorists won?
- Who is Coach Outlet?
- UPDATE! My future hell.
- On Ngwenya.
- UPDATE! It's probably been ten years since I've been there, but I used to be in Brickskeller all the time, so fuck.
- Watch Matt Damon recite BLCKDGRD! From here.
- UPDATE! Provincialism and the intellectual as social type.
- Zappadan!
- Zappadan!
- Obscure Sounds' Best of November, w/MP3.
- Favorite Lefty tunes of 2010.
- Cotton Jones.
- Gold day.
- Love fade.
- Joan Armatrading is sixty today.
A REACTIONARY TALE
Linh Dinh
I was a caring husband. I bought socks for my family. My swarthy wife liked to wear these thick woolen socks that came up to her milky thighs. I had a lover also. People could see me walking around each evening carrying a walking stick. My most vivid memory, looking back, is of a pink froth bubbling out of my infant's mouth. Not everything was going so well: one morning, malnourished soldiers marched down our tiny street, bringing good news. When good news arrives by mail, the cuckoo sang, tear up the envelope. When good news arrives by e-mail, destroy the computer. When an old friend came by to reclaim an old wound, I said to my oldest son: Go dump daddy's ammo boxes into the fragrant river. To reduce drag, some of my neighbors were diving headfirst into a shallow lake. We were rich and then we were poor. A small dog or maybe a cat now pulls our family wagon.
he and I agree on this: Wikileaks, regardless of motive, regardless of good, hastens the implementation of the digital panopticon that was already inevitable.
ReplyDeleteIt also makes clear (as if cheerleading the war on Iraq did not already) which 'journalists' are mere government/corporate mouthpieces and which are the very few who are not.
~
Once the omnipresent they figure out they can make money off of something, they'll make money off of something, may not happen today or tomorrow or next year, but it'll happen. That's kind of a given, like how the sun will rise and set and I'll get paid to not work all that hard.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the link.
ReplyDeleteThe only thing I really want to say about your brother is that I always think it's weird when people who write things on the internet and also do things in the real world assume that everyone else who writes things on the internet doesn't.
Ethan,
ReplyDeleteThe 101st Fighting Keyboarders are the only people who have meat bodies too. Gawd.
I've spread my pheromones elsewhere in our neighborhoods on the Elric thing, so I'm not going to contribute here, not even to...well, no. That would be contributing, so never mind.
ReplyDeleteNo link, dood...what happened to the Brick? It gone? I've done some of the happiest and most fun and stupidest things I've ever done either while drinking there or shortly after drinking there. Write your own narrative however you'd like--too many people who see this blog know who I am.
In fact, now I think on it, I'd have to say that the Brick ranks as one of the top five reasons I no longer have more than about two drinks a month. Which makes it very sad that (I looked it up, because honestly, people on all sides of an issue? This is WAY the fuck more important than Assange or Leakyleaks or Elric, and I'd bet he'd agree) it may move to...RFD? Yecch.
ReplyDelete/localsnot
My bad; link fixed, but yeah it's closing. Haven't been in years - and I'm guessing 95% of the local American beer they had shipped in from all over the country isn't brewed anymore - but too bad.
ReplyDeleteOrdering Pearl and drunkenly trying to solve the rebuses on the inside of the bottle lids. Good times.
Scotch. Lots of it. People I shouldn't have been drinking with. Or hanging with. Or from, or onto. Good times indeed, at least when viewed through a lens of years and antibiotics. Speaking only for myself, of course.
ReplyDeleteAs always, thanks for the link. I still wonder how you keep up with so much stuff. I pretty much have to avoid blog reading if I want to get anything of my own posted. More power to you.
ReplyDeleteThe man is an electron sponge. He reads at the speed of any fifteen of us, comprehends all, and processes it with astonishing clarity. If not for his fatal flaw, he'd be legendary beyond the four walls of our computer screens.
ReplyDeleteNo, I'm not joking, and no, I'm not going to detail his fatal flaw.
I hope his fatal flaw isn't actually fatal.
ReplyDeleteI thought I was the only one mourning the Brickskeller, from the ancient of times. It is sad when touchstones disappear.
It's not fatal but it is terminal.
ReplyDelete