Tuesday, June 4, 2013

If We Don't Move We Can't Be Missed




This story flew by twitter yesterday that Obama's pure progressive heart was trumped by Obama's fear of CIA assassins:

Which leads to the question, why would he do all these things? Why would he be afraid for example, to take the drones away from the CIA? Well, I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s afraid. Number one, he’s afraid of what happened to Martin Luther King Jr. And I know from a good friend who was there when it happened, that at a small dinner with progressive supporters – after these progressive supporters were banging on Obama before the election, "Why don’t you do the things we thought you stood for?" Obama turned sharply and said, "Don’t you remember what happened to Martin Luther King Jr.?" That’s a quote, and that’s a very revealing quote.

First, common lore holds that J Edgar killed MLK, yes? I asked at a special Monday night edition of Thursday night pints, and second, we all fear CIA assassins, more now under Obama than ever before in fact. K said, no one thinks that true, do they, that Obama would actually say that in front of witnesses? My and others' bullshit meters hyper-geigered, I said, we immediately sought motives: have Obama's supporters resorted to a Obama's heart is pure but he's a pussy defense? L said, you didn't debate this for long, I hope, not whether Obama's a pussy or whether Obama's supporters would resort to the Obama's heart is pure but he's a pussy strategy but whether this story is true. Nope, I said, five, ten minutes. Everyone thought the story certainly improbable - it's a friend was at a dinner and told me story at a site that pretends to journalism for one thing. Still, no one dismissed it - it being Obama's supporters resorting to Obama's heart is pure but he's a pussy defense as entirely plausible, if grossly sloppy in this case.











GLASS HOUSE

Heather McHugh

Everything obeyed our laws and
we just went on self-improving
till a window gave us pause and
there the outside world was, moving.

Five apartment blocks swept by,
the trees and ironwork and headstones
of the next town's cemetery.
Auto lots. Golf courses. Rest homes.
Blue-green fields and perishable vistas
wars had underscored in red
were sweeping past,
with cloudscapes, just

as if the living room were dead.
Which way to look? Nonnegative?
Nonplussed? (Unkilled? Unkissed?)
Look out, you said; the sight's on us:

If we don't move, we can't be missed.


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