- I emailed an old friend in Brooklyn Thursday, the one who drove us in his yellow VW bus to a field in Germantown thirty-five years or so ago, we smoked dope drank beer debated poetry music women art
- but mostly stared at the stars, clouds, woods, shoes, blissed listening to Van der Graf Generator if his turn, Roxy Music if mine
- Plague, you?
- They're fine, cabin fever, he typed or thumbed
- He asked me what I thought current Whoa the Fuck daily
- I reflexively versed my current gospel:
- Our Shitlords Won't Let This Crisis Go To Waste
- He said, translate please
- I paraphrased here but less motherfuckingly profane
- He asked, Planet and Earthgirl?
- I said, Earthgirl's getting there
- Planet got there long ago
- As I type this sentence at 19:12 EDT Friday April 3rd we should have just arrived plus or minus an hour at the same rental cottage near Chelsea Michigan for ten days with Planet we stayed in three weeks thirty-seven lives ago
- This the effect: time is totally WHACK! given nothing but diet of GOOOOOO! suddenly told to stop, the fuck?
- Spoiled boomer I am, I assumed I'd miss a cataclysmic paradigm-wrecking event, I'm not fascinated by this enough yet
- I had just learned to laugh at the clusterfuck - hey, remember when this guy had an island of underage children and the world's most powerful shitlords raped them and after someone ratfucked the guy who owned the island the guy who owned the island committed suicide in jail?
- Or emoluments. Emoluments and the Constitution, Hatch Act
- Or, get this - motherfucking professional Democrats: as a spoiled boomer I was taught professional Democrats got me a 40 hour week and paid vacation and sick days and pensions and once upon, yes, it took me too long to figure out no Democrat since LBJ, who resigned when I was nine, worth shit
- Spoiler boomer that I am I did not expect to need live through - two neighbors down the street, did I tell this story already? cars bumperstickered with Van Hollen and Hillary and Obama and Jaime Raskin bumperstickers, saying, maybe we *should* have bought guns - what may be one of two or three most profound shakings of snow globes in motherfucking human history
- Fuck me and my Dr Sevrin ears (bigger, better at other place)
- American exceptionalism
- What are we asking for?
- Covid-19 and Capitalist Collapse
- What the plague can teach us about the climate emergency
- Disposable people
- The bigger picture
- South Park (I've seen a few episodes light years ago) as soul of American conservatives
- The Confederacy gonna take another whipping and no, it doesn't make me happy
- Hoarding catfood? Me, no, litter, yes
- Feeling (in and out of time)
- Pandemic fiction
- Essays in the face of uncertainties
- Dongs of Sevotion is twenty today, no songs because below, maybe tomorrow
- Boarded up
ginen the legends of juan mato [a malologue]
Craig Santos Perez
Rub the entire block of SPAM*, along with the accompanying gelatinous goo, onto your wood furniture. The oils from the SPAM* moisturize the wood and give it a nice luster. Plus, you'll have enough left over to use as your own personal lubricant (a true Pacific dinner date). Why didn't you tell me about the "In Honor of Guam's Liberation" SPAM*! I'm trying to collect them all! Once I was on a diet and SPAM* faded from my consciousness. Then I met my future wife, who's Hawaiian, and SPAM* became part of my life again (a true Pacific romance). Maybe the economic downturn will help people appreciate SPAM* instead of loathing it. SPAM* doesn't have to be unhealthy; I eat SPAM* every day and I'm not dead, yet—just switch to SPAM* Lite. Despite rumors, SPAM* is NOT made of such odds and ends as hooves, ears, brains, native peoples, or whole baby pigs. The name itself stands for Specially Processed Army Meal, Salted Pork And More, Super Pink Artificial Meat, Snake Possum And Mongoose, or Some People Are Missing. My uncle is the reigning Guam SPAM* king. He won the last SPAM* cook off with his Spicy SPAM* meatballs. I will never forget the two-pound SPAM* bust of George Washington he made for Liberation Day, toasted crispy on the outside with raw egg yolk in the hollow center— the kids loved it! Only a fool would start a company in Guam that provides SPAM* protection. For Xmas, I bought a snow globe featuring a can of SPAM* sitting on an island. Turn it over and a typhoon swirls madly, unable to unseat SPAM* from its place of honor. I have a souvenir can I bought after seeing Monty Python's SPAM*ALOT on Broadway in New York City. It cost me $10 and is the most expensive SPAM*
I've ever bought. I will never eat it.