Although Still Trapped in the Millennium I Knew I Had Still Time to Blow Some Kisses

Lookit, I like the trap whose tripped latch I voluntarily spring on my complicitous ass each night before I go to sleep. I am a happy fat white middle-aged monogamously married heterosexual making an lower-upper middle class income with three years left on my mortgage and five years left before my pension is fully vested.





How's that for gratuitous! I like playing at apocalyptic poet in Necropolis, Blegsylvania (I'm going to be unable to resist writing about the ghost-towning of Blegsylvania, yo), but my genuine aargh is that the trap whose tripped latch I voluntary spring on my complicitous ass each night before I go to sleep will not be offered as standard for my daughter's and her kids' generations, and one aim of this shitty blog is documenting the deliberate and calculated dismantlement of that trap.

Jeebus, touch me in the right place at the right time. That would be nice.

• I'm number one.
• Talking with Hobsbawm. One project I hope to begin (if not finish) in 2011 is rereading Hobsbawm's four Ages.
• Pettiness in academia. There's irony here.
• Anticommunism, white supremacy, southern capital accumulation. 
• Mobamafucker. 
• Mobamafucker has stomach parasites!
• Why does Roger Ailes hate America?
• Hoax.
• Just a speech away.
• Joe Blows. 
• Wouldn't bet against it. 
• Jack, what's up?
• Suicide invoice. 
• Blogging advice!
• Fuck-me-jig.
• On the above.
• O'Malley 2016? 
• CCT! And fuck King Farm.
• Whatever you do, don't raise property taxes on fucking mcmansionists.  
• We're #1.
• We're #1.
• Silliman's awesome litlinks.
• Berryman.

NO PALMS

Dorothea Tanning

No palms dolled up the tedium, no breathing wind.
No problem was the buzzword then, their way to go.

In truth, my case was black as sin, a thing to hide,
In that they feigned to find me sane, so not to know.

Someone brought in a medium. Anathema!
Some clown sewed up my eyes, he said it wouldn't show.

Confusing hands with craze, they howled, "Let's cut them off."
Confusing, too, their spies, my lies without an echo.

Time and again they stitched my mind with warp and woof.
Time pounded in my ruby heart, doing a slow,

Slow dim-out in that lupanar, slow take, slow fade,
Slow yawning like a door. "Hello," I said. "HELLO."

There, flung across the room between inside and out,
There must have shown itself to me. . .an afterglow.

With such a blaze to celebrate where centuries meet 
With time itself, how could I hesitate? Although

Still trapped in the millennium I knew I had 
Still time to blow some kisses. Look up, there they go!