That was taped to our front door yesterday. Earthgirl planted wild grass along the steep hill from front yard down to sidewalk along the brick wall of the neighbors yard, late in summer some of the stalks, reaching for direct sunlight, reach out over the sidewalk. Earthgirl wonders if some neighborhood dogwalker or jogger complained, I think MOCO hires people who drive through neighborhoods and write citations. I'm not outraged - but Earthgirl?
Reminder: Fleabus (taken last night when she refused to let me read):
Me: Why (I said yesterday to a Hillaryite Colleague in full outraged meltdown over the fallout from The Great Pneumonia Fuckup): would HRC say she didn't reveal she had pneumonia because she didn't think it was a big deal?
HC: But if she'd called in sick the fuss and speculation would have been overboard.
Me: I agree, but why would HRC say she didn't reveal she had pneumonia because she didn't think it was a big deal?
HC: HRC decided the risk of trying to trooper it through the ceremony and not making it were greater than the risk of admitting she was sick and missing the ceremony.
Me: I agree, I have zero issue with her trying to soldier through the 911 ceremony and keep her pneumonia private but once caught why would she say she didn't reveal she had pneumonia because she didn't think it was a big deal?
Me: Why would HRC say she didn't reveal she had pneumonia because she didn't think it was a big deal? Why the brazenly toss-away unnecessary lie? Of course she knew it'd be a big deal.
HC: There's nothing she can say or do that won't strike you as cynical and sinister.
Me: I agree, but why would HRC say she didn't reveal she had pneumonia because she didn't think it was a big deal? Why not say, I didn't reveal I had pneumonia because I knew it'd be blown out of all reasonable proportion. I thought it a mild illness and a private matter, I thought if I didn't show up folk would say I had cancer so I judged it a slam dunk to risk fainting then explaining over inevitable SHE'S DYING OF CANCER, and I'd do it again.
HC: Trump Trump Trump Trump Trump.
Me: Sure, but why would HRC say she didn't reveal she had pneumonia because she didn't think it was a big deal? Change the fucking narrative, like a New Hillary Clinton Honesty Offensive? Our panel of experts debate.
HC: Fuck you.
Me: Where is that fucking Kissinger endorsement, anyway?
- Drawing of imaginary dog given chocolate chip cookie and flowers drawn for Planet by four year old in Baltimore yesterday.
- Forgive me, when a Hillaryite Colleague seeks me out to be trolled....
- Which doesn't mean I can't be trolled by motherfucking professional Liberals.
- Today's Sillyass Star Trek allusion: HRC as Commander Sela. Sela/HRC, if fit of brilliance, leaves the captured Picard, Data, and Spock alone and unguarded in her office, the nerve center of the entire Romulan/Democratic Party military. They access her secret databases and computers, escape, but not before Data nerve-pinces HRC.
- Why so few American economists study inequality. This is anecdotal, but the two most self-entitled grad student fucks I deal with at work are Econ and MBA, the fucking fucks. Their enthusiasm to service Oligarchs is demonstrated by how shitty they treat their littles. The fucking fucks.
- The indolence of (British) capitalism.
- Santa Fe water protectors and North Dakota pipeline protesters.
- Heads in the Sand/The Spell.
- The political economy of the headphone jack.
- How morality changes in a foreign language.
- Legacy music then (and now with missing original band members).
- National Book Awards longlist. For the novels, the only one I've heard of - the Whitehead - I read on vacation and it was meh. As for poetry, I own and love the Borzutzky. Love. My Donald Hall story - Donald Hall is my brother-in-laws godfather, Hall and my father-in-law (I've met Hall, my father-in-law died before I met Earthgirl) best friends in college. I don't like his poetry, it's me, not his poetry, yes it's both. It's been 20 years since I've seen him, we'll never meet again, he was Kind to me.
- UPDATE! See. I'm trying.
- A Marxist interpretation of rivers.
- Page 105 of Gravity's Rainbow annotated. Dear Baal, I finished my xth reading last January, too much to read before x + 1. Finished rereading Mason & Dixon just before vacation. It's Against the Day reading next. Oh dear.
- I didn't dig M&D this time as before, perhaps its reading to close to GR's.
- Lordy, I haven't thought of the Boo Radley's in years. They had some songs I liked, but overall, meh. I remember there was hate directed against them but can't remember the reason. Plagiarism? I could look it up, but that would be research.
THE EMPIRE OF THE CORPSE FOLDS INWARD
Because the dead felt ashamed of dying in the walls
Because the dead felt ashamed of the flowers that covered their graves
Because there was a war in my skin
My skin blemished with the guts that dripped from the rotten chickens hanging above me
Because we were trapped underground absorbing the silent fucking of the dead
Because the living felt ashamed of the dead trapped in the walls
Because the sky was so full of gas and we could not see the moon
There were pictures of naked bodies drawn on the chalkboards of the rooms they buried us in
Every once in awhile, they poured milk through the hole in the wall and we cupped our hands and drank it even though it was sour and made us vomit
We were rotting under the florescent lights that covered our bodies
Because X had no chest they filled her legs with honey and set her outside on the lawn
We watched the ants devour her
We watched foam come out of her skin and the room grew so humid
Slippery bodies we fell over ourselves and got hungrier as we watched the ants nibble her flesh
Y told the story of how X had an orgasm in the pond
She let the water rush in between her legs and rubbed her pelvis against the rocks
Her hair went out to sea
Her tingly skin her pulsating skin the wavering beat of her heart
They watched this and when she came out of the water they put her in a room to examine what beast had bitten her
They determined she had been bitten by crustaceans that had lodged themselves into her thigh and abdomen
There was no choice but to penetrate her more deeply
Funnels of foam
Funnels of ants
Squeezed into her orifices from multiple angles while the computer systems analyzed her pulse, her blood, her metabolism
They forced the minions to reproduce her body
Twenty six reproductions of her body placed in a holding cell multiplied in a systematic fashion
We were commanded not to speak while there were bodies rowing through the excrement of the flooded streets of our neighborhood
We were commanded to be silent while there were comrades choking on flesh sobbing on blood puking greenish bacon
The autopsy revealed the systematic fabrication of the clitoris
The names of our wounds were displayed on banners or painted on our bodies
The names of the corpse-emperors and their vampiry poems were pasted to our bodies
Soil on our lips raw meat on our tongues jars of mayonnaise to aliment to lubricate to bluster
It wasn’t the fault of the warden when he got an erection
A scabby finger accidentally patted his crotch
He didn’t mean to force the scabby finger onto his crotch
With a dark sheet he covered the face and body to whom the scabby finger belonged and he helped the scabby finger undo his zipper
What were the scabs on the finger from
He thought about the scabs on her finger
He thought about the blood trapped in her finger and it was not his fault he kept his erection
He thought: ejaculate and stuff her flesh with worms
He thought: reach the end and fill her mouth with foam
He held his breath as the moment reached and when it passed he thought:
The bodies buried in the wall the gutter the earth: the present is always the past for them
They must be killed again and again