Tuesday, August 6, 2019

Will Become a Chasm Before Anyone's Had a Chance to Waver

  • Blue tablet filled yesterday morning filed afternoon forgot last night
  • Redorange tablet debuted, same rules at start as Blue's at end
  • inviolable until violated when new inviolable rules decreed

  • What did you expect them to say, the Crackerbaiters, with screenshot after years of screenshots of their crackerbaiting?
  • I am telling you three times, set aside Crackerbaiters' cowardly cynicism blaming digital violence for analog's, they are not wrong, we *are* being reprogrammed and reprogrammed just for this and guess who the digital violence is meant to bend (see bullet before Bernie below)
  • Our sociopath rulers... You aren't getting theirs, and they'll kill the nigger
  • Funny, new tablet, tonight's a type night
  • Somebody better tell Bernie about cops:

Do the Collapse was twenty yesterday, GbV twooter told me, here:


John Ashbery

Here in life, they would understand.   
How could it be otherwise? We had groped too,   
unwise, till the margin began to give way,   
at which point all was sullen, or lost, or both.   
Now it was time, and there was nothing for it.   
We had a good meal, I and my friend,   
slurping from the milk pail, grabbing at newer vegetables.   
Yet life was a desert. Come home, in good faith.   
You can still decide to. But it wanted warmth.   
Otherwise ruse and subtlety would become impossible   
in the few years or hours left to us. “Yes, but . . .”   
The iconic beggars shuffled off   too. I told you,   
once a breach emerges it will become a chasm   
before anyone’s had a chance to waver. A dispute   
on the far side of town erupts into a war   
in no time at all, and ends as abruptly. The tendency to heal   
sweeps all before it, into the arroyo, the mine shaft,   
into whatever pocket you were contemplating. And the truly lost   
make up for it. It’s always us that has to pay.   
I have a suggestion to make: draw the sting out   
as probingly as you please. Plaster the windows over   
with wood pulp against the noon gloom proposing its enigmas,   
its elixirs. Banish truth-telling.
That’s the whole point, as I understand it.   
Each new investigation rebuilds the urgency,   
like a sand rampart. And further reflection undermines it,   
causing its eventual collapse. We could see all that   
from a distance, as on a curving abacus, in urgency mode   
from day one, but by then dispatches hardly mattered.   
It was camaraderie, or something like it, that did,   
poring over us like we were papyri, hoping to find one   
correct attitude sketched on the gaslit air, night’s friendly takeover.