Monday, October 24, 2011

All Ardent and Catastrophic and Counter

Occupy DC. My confession, my complicity: yesterday we went on one of our favorite hikes to cliffs over the Potomac instead of going Downtown, and even worse, it wasn't until I was three miles into the hike that I remembered I wanted to think about going Downtown yesterday instead of hiking in the woods.

Though it's still vital to remember: Fuck NPR and anyone who gives them a motherfucking penny:

NPR will no longer distribute the member station-produced program "World of Opera" to about 60 stations across the country because the show host helped organize an ongoing Washington protest, a network official said Friday evening.

NPR spokeswoman Dana Davis Rehm said the network disagrees with the station on the role of program hosts but respects its position.

"Our view is it's a potential conflict of interest for any journalist or any individual who plays a public role on behalf of NPR to take an active part in a political movement or advocacy campaign," she told The Associated Press. "Doing so has the potential to compromise our reputation as an organization that strives to be impartial and unbiased."

Dana Rehm? Really? As in nepotism? I don't know, I'm asking.

Also, it is vital to remember: Fuck Man Utd, and fine fucking metaphors abound:

The Glazers found little to cheer their spirits at Wembley. Private helicopters swept the Manchester United owners away from Old Trafford in the wake of Sunday's derby defeat and down to London in time to see their other team, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, lose to the Chicago Bears 24-18 in the latest instalment of the NFL's International Series. This defeat may not have been quite so emphatic but when your regular season is only 16 games long, every loss is that little bit more significant.

I watched City demolish United on Fox Soccer yesterday morning (and Mario Balotelli can be the next great football player if he decides he wants to be, holyfuck - and holyfuck is Carlos Tevez a moron, but that's another story) and the British announcer and color commented on the traffic jam caused by the Glazers shutting down parking spaces for their private helicopters, the American fuckers, fucking with Man Utd true local supporters.

  • Is Occupy changing the discourse?
  • The image that marks the end?
  • Occupy is not difficult to understand.
  • Occupy Prague
  • Occupy everything, but you make it so hard.
  • Crackers: The self-hating 99%.
  • Job-killers.
  • Why Credit Unions?
  • The epileptic economy
  • Liberal bias of American media?
  • When bad presidents happen to good Democrats.
  • It is vital to remember: Fuck Chelsea.
  • A thoughtful afternoon.
  • My future hell.
  • Hilltop v DC. Hilltop should have bought Mt Vernon College when it had the chance.
  • Defending MFAs. Fuckers.
  • I remember loving Norman Rush's Mating when it came out, but so much had my tastes changed I don't think I gave Mortals a fair chance.
  • Speaking of reading, I'm not, not because I don't want to.
  • Could this break the slump?
  • Darkblack's Sunday Overnight.
  • Woke up with this in my head, one of dozens of my five favorite Guided by Voices songs, even if runs forever by GbV clocks (and Universal Truths and Cycles is way underrated):


    Bruce Smith

    Late fall in the villages of Pompey, Preble, Oran, Delphi Falls,   
    river and woods. In Homer and Ovid, the localities   
          and principalities
    of central New York, the hollows and corners of the   
          burnt-over districts
    visited by angels in the 1800's who led us to greatness: awakenings,
    gold, portents and lies, heaven, women's suffrage, and bundling
    with the other in the love beds while we waited for the lamb,   
    the dove, the velvet of the ten-point buck grunting through   
          the underbrush
    to rut. We learned in divine time a year's a day.   
          We learned obedience
    and had charismatic children. And now the boy's an angelic
    eighteen days or six thousand years, as he leaves to serve.
    He did what we told him: blocked for punts—no one likes to   
          block for punts—
    and when his friends crashed the truck in a ditch, he waited   
          for the cops
    and took the rap, nice kid, because he did the act of deliverance   
          one does
    in central New York and made the vows, pledged, testified,   
          and swore
    and participated in the sport greater than the coming of the dead,
    and escorted the exaggerated girl to the prom where he   
          was befuddled
    with organza and tulle and he did not forget the corsage, an orchid
    in a box he stared into: the white outer whorl and the inner whorl
    and pouted purple lip. He butterflied the pollen with the lashes   
          of his eyes.
    The flower was his terror. He was not meant to be the   
          indwelling beauty
    of things and surely he was not meant to be the wind in Iraq   
          with three others
    in his division and become the abstract shape of a god formed from a blood clot.
    I've seen the pictures, the vague shapes that ripple in the heat
    until I was terrified. It looked like he still moved. Remember fall
    in Delphi? All ardent and catastrophic and counter, elbows flailing,
    he ran in the flat places scraped from the gold hills and valleys.


  1. I stopped by Occupy Columbus Saturday and took some pictures. I'd have a post up with same already if I didn't try to drag so much stuff into it.

    P.S. I don't pass up hikes in the woods for anything!

  2. Your attendance could have changed the world, man, though darkthroning should take precedent over all, except maybe watching ManU getting nuked. I'd really hate to choose between Mario becoming Super and more mellow and Mario becoming Pretty Damn Good and remaining a loon.

    Go Newcastle.

  3. Here's a site that mentions your trail.

    I guess they want to be (one of?) the Yelps of hiking. There's a couple on there near me (the one 50 miles away looks interesting, he ahemmed).