Do not eat at Jimmy Johns - the owner kills elephants and rhinos for fun. Nothing - nothing - Darkens me with Dark more than these fuckers. I daydream of hunting them down, shooting them in the kneecaps and, as they writhe in pain, beg for their lives, I smash their cheeks with an aluminum baseball bat before plunging their heads into a turned-to-the-highest temperature deep-fryer. Dark? I hate these fuckers, yes, mostly for who they are, but I hate these fuckers for what they reveal to me about me, both what I'm capable of daydreaming and my cowardice I will never live it out. I printed out that photo from the tweet and taped it this morning at 630 to the front door of the Jimmy Johns in Glover Park on Wisconsin. Brave me. These fuckers are the distillation of all that is shitty about humans. I am the distillation of all that is shitty about humans.
- Whatever happened to the motherfucking dentist? Funny how that story evaporated like it never was.
- I had never eaten at Jimmy Johns, now will never eat at Jimmy Johns (not that I was likely to).
- Today in motherfucking cops.
- Biden's only positive is he isn't Hillary. Plus it's a work.
- The Fearful and Frustrated: In New Hampshire, where voters pride themselves on being unimpressed, Fred Rice, a Republican state representative, arrived at a Trump rally in the beach town of Hampton on an August evening, and found people waiting patiently in a two-hour line that stretched a quarter of a mile down the street. “Never seen that at a political event before,” he said. Other Republicans offer “canned bullshit,” Rice went on. “People have got so terribly annoyed and disenchanted and disenfranchised, really, by candidates who get up there, and all their stump speeches promise everything to everyone.” By the night’s end, Rice was sold. “I heard echoes of Ronald Reagan,” he told me, adding, “If I had to vote today, I would vote for Trump.”
- Random early morning barking.
- Danger along the border.
- There goes the neighborhood.
- Tiptree, for those of you who do (and those like me who should).
- More SciFi, for those of you who do (not those like me who can't).
- Yo La Tengo is playing live this morning on NPR's Morning Edition, and this changes for the worse my feelings for Yo La Tengo. Not fair, I know, but.
- Here's that live at WFMU Mekons set.
- Charles Wright is eighty today.
Clear night, thumb-top of a moon, a back-lit sky.
Moon-fingers lay down their same routine
On the side deck and the threshold, the white keys and the black keys.
Bird hush and bird song. A cassia flower falls.
I want to be bruised by God.
I want to be strung up in a strong light and singled out.
I want to be stretched, like music wrung from a dropped seed.
I want to be entered and picked clean.
And the wind says “What?” to me.
And the castor beans, with their little earrings of death, say “What?” to me.
And the stars start out on their cold slide through the dark.
And the gears notch and the engines wheel.