Friday, September 27, 2019

Martyrs, Spartans, Sirens, Mumblers, Pawns, Ventriloquists

  • Our sociopath overlords very OK when Trump broke kayfabe profitably but
  • now 
  • Trump's sloppy, rogue, danger to break kayfabe our sociopath overlords DON'T WANT BROKE
  • yet
  • Remember that guy, what was his name, he whored underage girls to sociopath overlords? still
  • not 
  • accident fulcrum a crime every politician commits down to me and my cats, this isn't about motherfucking decorum, it's pigeons stooling how and how not 
  • yet
  • wonderful for ratings, tribal wars fucks, quarupledupletruple-down on their rents while fundraising with our 
  • threats, think what people aren't watching


Lisa Robertson

To those whose city is taken give glass
pockets. To those whose quiver gapes give queens
and pace their limbs with flutes, ropes, cups of soft
juice. To those whose threshold vacillates give
that bruise the dust astonished. To falling
heroes give raucous sibyls’ polished knees.
To those who sip nectar give teeth. And if
they still sip nectar—give green chips of wood.
To swimmers give clocks or rank their hearts
among new satellites as you would
Garbo’s skint lip. To scholars, give dovecotes
to virgins, targets. Justice has nothing on them.
Virgil, sweetheart, even pretty fops need
justice. If they think not let creditors
flank them and watch their vigour quickly flag.
To exiled brides give tiny knives and beads
of mercury then rob them of prudence
for prudence is defunct. To those who fist
clouds, give powder. And if their sullen
wallets flap, give nothing at all. Still
I have not addressed lambent fops
swathed in honey, the stuttering moon
Martyrs, Spartans, Sirens, Mumblers, Pawns
Ventriloquists—or your sweet ego
The Beloved Ego in the plummy light
is you. When I see you in that light
I desire all that has been kept from me
etcetera. For you. Since your rough shirt
reminds me of the first grass
pressing my hips and seeds heads
fringing the sky and the sky
swaying lightly to your scraped
breath, since I hear
panicked, my sister calling
since the gold leaves have all
been lost, and you are at least
several and variegated
I toss this slight thread back
The beloved ego on cold marble
blurs. Hey Virgil
I think your clocked ardour is stuck
in the blue vein on my wrist. It stops
all judgement.

1 comment:

  1. 0)with regard to viewing cat videos, in the last couple days i found the youtube channel 'kritter klub' - not just kats, but also kanines, even chikkens - it's in korean

    1)with respect to the thoughts and feelings of plants, we cannot escape the fact that life lives on life

    if vegetarians eat vegetables, what do humanitarians eat?

    2)with respect to multimillion dollar grants for studying kindness, i recall again the four great questions confronting sentient beings

    where did we come from
    why are we here
    where are we going
    what's for lunch

    3)and with respect to feeding the heart metaphorically, not the body in a socioeconomic and biochemical sense, in the link to Reufle you give, there's a quote from her

    I want to slow down and reflect,
    like the top waters of a lake
    or the heart of Pincess Osra
    who had nine suitors at one tie.

    i wonder if tie might be a typo for time