Sunday, January 15, 2017

but may be taken in despite your chordal list of hates

  • Heading out shortly to find a low rim litter box, or at least one with one lowered side. Someone ▲ (photo from last night) is getting old, the old back hips aren't what they used to be. FMA.
  • It's a world of love and hope.
  • Consciousness and self-congratulation.
  • Trump, Jesus, Paul, liberals.
  • My two Hillaryite Colleagues at Hilltop no longer talk to me but to say hi if we pass in Red Square. I've friends and loved ones who don't talk to me any longer. I am simultaneously not existentially aghast enough at the prospect of Trump as president and too happy-nasty* in blaming Trump's rise on motherfucking Democrats. M, formerly known as Hillaryite Friend, asked me if I thought Obama/Democrats actually had a viable choice in the economic policies he/they made re: for instance the Great Bailout, and maybe, I don't know, probably not. Does it matter, I asked. If Democrats made conscious choices to reward Wall Street and punish Wall Street's victims they are guilty of shittiness, if they had no choice but to reward Wall Street and punish Wall Street's victims they are guilty of sloppy propaganda. Which is worse?


Clark Coolidge

In edges, in barriers the tonal light of t
the one thing removed overemphasizes tonally
and you could hurry it, and it vanish and plan
You go out on an avenue, but may be taken in despite
your chordal list of hates, overcomings banished ready
receiving you from a darkened cone, the one a beat
behind the one you there are
Then the I not part of the you equation, but the
spider trying to build where it is written
vibrates tentative
I don’t want to talk to you about it anymore
crystal region in its light, there are failures and
there are failures
But it’s imperative, abrupt catch, that you sink the
final catch, trounced morning
this is awful but none other available, words reach
and visually fail to tie audibly retire
the pieces of the opening collision, and the reaches of
turning aside remind
I am hopefully
this is position
of the world overcome by
and by the wind takes our voice
the collateral one voice


  1. Shame on you for not being aghast enough, tis difficult to live up to others expectations. Yet what is there to be aghast about other than what we all knew all along that no matter what happened things would get worse. Trump is a symbol like Obama was a symbol. People are stupid, stupid, stupider than stupid. I'm stupid, all is stupid. The universe is stupid. People love their symbols. All is symbols. Attire, cars, food, fashion statements! Symbolic moronic all. Wear a baseball cap backwards and you're a regular dude, anti-intellectual. Wear a tweed jacket with patches on your elbows and you're an intellectual anti-backwards baseball hats type of guy. But gosh, whatever happened to the Trump revolution? Same thing that happened to the Obama hope and change thingy. Poop-shit. People hate, hate, and hate. They hate you for what you think. Think about that if you will but they'll hate you for that too. I'm too jaded to be aghast. Liberals make me want to puke, but they aren't worthy of my hate. I'll save my hate for something worth hating. America makes me want to puke. Conservatives, rednecks, crackers, shitty city assholes, intellectuals, all the seed of puke-ability. Humans are the only animal that kills for what others think, we also have the biggest butts for our size in the animal kingdom. What is intelligence, a dream, a nightmare? Can anyone actually use their intelligence to define intelligence in a meaningful way? I suspect it's naught but a mirage shimmering on the horizon. People endlessly debate which tribe has the highest IQ yet they never question if the IQ test is valid, even if the IQ experts cannot define intelligence in any other manner than their syntax allows. Which came first, the syntax or the intelligence?

  2. I can guarantee that Orangehandsmicrodick did not have the traditional Dust-and-Dough-Balls antipasti at his gargantuan feast last night, with it's musicians (Paul Anka, trying out his new version of 'My Way'), jesters (Il Duce demands a Professor of Ethics from NYU be brought before him and be treated to Hoots Of Derision as he explains Aristotle ["Who da fuck's dat?" Asks our new CIA Director-to-be]), and Special Guests (CEOs of European-based multinationals, and their discreete female teenaged friends).

    I don't think it's about being aghast enough. Dunno about you, but I left 'aghast' behind weeks ago, skipped denial, serious concern and angry befuddlement, and went right into grinning, clear-eyed Bring It On, Ya Moronic Bum-Rolls.

    The bad part about being right about the mendacity and malfeasance of the creatures slouching towards the Kapital is that when they fuck it up -- and they will -- their fuckityness could be bad enough to swamp all the small boats. How it plays out is anyone's guess.

  3. Um . . . , what Mongo said . . . .