- While Landru was commenting I should go hike with my wife I was hiking with my wife on the AT!
- All I want to do is hike with Earthgirl.
- After the hike I voted in Maryland primary:
- Earthgirl, a public school teacher in MOCO, asks me to vote for particular BoE candidates, and of course.
- I also wanted to vote against a motherfucking rich Blair - motherfucking rich Blairs are a legacy MOCO curse - for County Executive.
- To be honest, I don't know this motherfucking rich Blair is an heir of motherfucking rich MOCO Blairs, but he is rich and he is a motherfucker and he's trying to buy the job.
- That race too close to call, and MVA fucked up ballots, there are 80K provisional ballets yet to be counted, may not know if motherfucking rich Blair lost or not for a month.
- Fuck Ben Cardin, D-Fort Meade.
- Baal bless Ocasio-Cortez, get ready for the hate from motherfucking Democrats.
- (Credit to Crowley for graciousness in defeat.)
- One upset is all you need: But what mattered the most is that Ocasio-Cortez embodies the future of the Democratic Party. An ideologically confident, multi-cultural, female, poised, powerful, and yes, socialist, future. It’s a politics of inspiration that matches uplifting words with actual policies to ameliorate the long dark night of the soul we’ve been going through for too long. And in the face of that, the old guard, which had bolted the door, just gave way.
- I am telling you three times, the motherfucking professional Democratic establishments sees Ocasio-Cortez' election victory in 2018 as far more dangerous than Donald Trump's victory in 2016.
- When motherfucking Democrats turn on former motherfucking Democrat.
- For the record, all credit to whoever killed Deter Paou and hijacked his twitter account.
- A brief (fascist) history of "I don't care."
- It's still not about the sex.
- Guided by Voices playing DC Friday October Friday October 19, WHO'S NOT JOINING ME!
I AM BUT A TRAVELER IN THIS LAND & KNOW LITTLE OF ITS WAYS
Is everything a field of energy caused
by human projection? From the crib bars
hang the teething tools. Above the finger-drummed
desk, a bit lip. The cyclone fence of buts
surrounds the soccer field of what if.
Sometimes it seems like a world where no one
knows what he or she is doing, eight lanes
both directions. How about a polymer
that contracts in response to electrical
charge? A swimming pool on the 18th floor?
King Lear done by sock puppets? Anyone
who has traveled here knows the discrepancies
between idea and fact. The idea is the worm
in the tequila and the next day is the fact.
In between may be the sacred—real blood
from the wooden virgin’s eyes, and the hoax—
landing sites in cornfields. Maybe ideas
are best sprung from actions like the children
of Zeus. One gives us elastic and the omelette,
another nightmares and SUVs. There’s considerable
wobble in the system, and the fan belt screams,
waking the baby. Swaying in the darkened
nursery, kissing the baby-smelling head:
good idea! But also sadness looking at the sea.
The stranded whale, guided out of the cove
by tugboats, turns and swims back in.
The violinist will not let go her violin
which is 200 years old and still on the train
thus she is dragged down the track. By what
manner is the soul joined to the body?
Answer: an arm connecting a violin
to a violinist. According to Freud,
there are no accidents. Astrologists
and Presbyterians agree for different reasons.
You fall down the stairs with a birthday cake.
You try to fit a blunderbuss into a laptop.
Human consciousness: is it the projector
or the screen? They come in orange jumpsuits
and spray the grass so everything dies
but the grass. It is too late to ask Kafka
what he thinks. Sometimes they give you
a box of ash, a handshake, and the rest
is your problem. In one version,
the beggar turns out to be a king and grants
the poor couple a castle and a moat and two
silver horses said to be sired by the wind.
That was before dentistry, which might have been
a better gift. You did not want to get sick
in the 14th, 15th, 16th, 17th or 18th centuries.
So too the 19th and 20th were to be avoided
but the doctor coming to bleed you is the master
of the short story. After the kiss from whom
he will never know, the lieutenant, going home,
touches a bush in which birds are singing.