Should We Bring It a Chair to Sit On and Offer It Meat?

• Woke up with that in my head, Serendipitously.
• Romney is Michael Dukakis, Fritz Mondale, Bob Dole, the sacrificial candidate. Pint bet that Obama's reelected stands. I wrote two fucking paragraphs saying what the first sentence says. Fucking POTUS 12. 
• Just ten months until the start of POTUS 16.
• Wetwork.
• On the above. 
• Actually, I wrote two more paragraphs for another post, which can be summed up, after viewing this, as jeebusfrackingcrisp, shoot me.
• Falguni Sheth versus motherfucking Digby liberals.
• Thinking person versus Obamabot.
• Twitter versus Google.
• Gingrich versus Occupy.
• Issahole versus Occupy.
• Editorial writers versus Citizens United.
• Krugman versus Chicago School.
• Bill Kristol versus crackers.
• NYT public editor versus NYT propagandists.
• Egyptian student versus Shitty Friedman.
• Shit Republican candidates say.
• The end of capitalism?
• Why banks back SOPA.
• Airport hearts Corporate.
• We are the hollow men.
• Things you might have missed.
• I haven't posted them all, but Stalin's Mustache continues his compilation of typology of scholars.
• Pynchon versus McCarthy.
• Be kind.
• Jay Farrar and Jim James cover Woody Guthrie.
• Snowed in at Wheeler Street.
• 50 Words for Snow gets better with every listen:

BEDTIME STORY

Charles Wright

The generator hums like a distant ding an sich.
It's early evening, and time, like the dog it is,
                                                                   is hungry for food,
And will be fed, don't doubt it, with be fed, my small one.
The forest begins to gather its silences in.
The meadow regroups and hunkers down
                                                               for its cleft feet.

Something is wringing the rag of sunlight
                                                            inexorably out and hanging.
Something is making the reeds bend and cover their heads.
Something is licking the shadows up,
And stringing the blank spaces along, filling them in.
Something is inching its way into our hearts,
                         scratching its blue nails against the wall there.

Should we let it in?
                                    Should we greet it as it deserves,
Hands on our ears, mouth open?
Or should we bring it a chair to sit on and offer it meat?
Should we turn on the radio,
                                     should we clap our hands and dance
The Something Dance, the welcoming Something Dance?
                           I think we should, love, I think we should.