That's my complicit-ass torso on Metro riding home yesterday afternoon from Freedom Plaza. I was bored, playing with the settings and taking blind shots with my camera, thinking, Know what? I'm not giving up my comfort - my job, my house, my cars, my cats, my United season tickets. I am willing to give up the every payday Friday night Indian restaurant, and I still can't read anymore so why buy books, though I'm not giving up my Corporate wireless phone or my home internet connection at gunpoint - but I am going to buy some durable, no-frills blankets and take them Downtown this coming Saturday.
I punish the Indian restauranteur to assuage my guilt through paying proxies to protest my moral dispute with Corporate. See where my discretionary fund tugs my disposable money from? It's .06% less-shitty than letting my proxies freeze.
- (h/t)
- Firewalling their fortune. Those Micronesian islands with no extradition treaties with US don't buy themselves (or those private armies).
- Wall Street by the book.
- Weekend shift at the bullshit factory.
- Boy Scout Troop 1097's campsites were bigger than Occupy DC at Freedom Plaza.
- Chomsky's agonistes.
- Texas, Oregon.
- Wanktacular!
- Leaving Iraq doesn't mean leaving the Middle East.
- Walrus sucks own dick!
- Pastor Sanctimonious criticizes Bachmann's christerness! Pastor Sanctimonious pays someone to cut his hair that way.
- This breaks my heart.
- Maryland crackers pissed! Points to O'Malley.
- Frederick's most-wanted.
- Lit-Stringtown is dead, yo.
- Mining the digital motherlode.
ENTERING THE OUSE
Paula Bohince
First the bad boots
give up their strength, then the toes lift
their anchors. The ankle
bones are broken,
and so on, until the bladder lets go, without
shame, and the genital
organ washes away, the ovum
and her fertile signals. A proxy pain
stands in for the larger
intangible.
Has nothing to do
with tufts of snow blown upon
the unforgiving surface,
but how I mistook the beauty of those particle
deaths, their of-the-world
stardom, as a kind of metaphysical river,
that if I looked long enough,
with enough reverence...
Let my waist, bled numb, stand in
for that miscalculation. And the severed
friendships in the current’s wake, the bloom
blown off the stricken
self. I saw formal water,
knowing my body wanted to go there.
My only child. How
I’ve betrayed you.
