Total h/t. Guess what I'm listening to today.
Also, I'll be at Freedom Plaza noonish, guillotining Barbara, the woman who calls me from Sndy Sprng Bnk every time we're three minutes late with a monthly loan payment. Stop by before or after the beheading, say hi. I'll be in something(s) United, spattered with blood or not depending on when you show up.
Speaking of Occupy.
- The supply of demands.
- The war at home.
- Police state.
- What the crackdown signifies.
- Where the cruelty comes from.
- How the 99% lost.
- Brief guide to contemporary economics.
- Forced to read swill.
- Bleggalgazing. In comments, I don't make the cut again.
- YFWP hates Social Security.
- YFWP loves Zombie Gingrich.
- Rendering the crackers to irrelevance.
- WalMart in MOCO!
- Denis Donoghue on Beckett's letters.
- The answer is yes. I love John Cale, but I've never bowed at the altar of VU because of Lou Reed, who I've never got, viscerally.
- A playlist.
How dumb he was to wipe the blood from his eye
where he was sucker-punched and stagger out
onto the Plaza blind. He had been waiting
all night for the acorn moon and eating pineapple
topping over his ice cream and arguing
either physics or philosophy. He thinks,
at this late date, it was the cave again
throwing a shadow, although it may have been
only some way of reconciling the two
oblivious worlds, which was his mission anyhow—
if only there was a second moon. He had a
kind of beard and though he could practically lift
the front end of a car and was already
reading Blake, he had never yet tasted honey.