- If there's a line to get on a crowded bus, do you wait your turn and refrain from elbowing your way past others even in the absence of police?
- Are you a member of a club or sports team or any other voluntary organization where decisions are not imposed by one leader but made on the basis of general consent?
- Do you believe that most politicians are selfish, egotistical swine who don't really care about the public interest? Do you think we live in an economic system which is stupid and unfair?
- Do you really believe those things you tell your children (or that your parents told you)?
- Do you believe that human beings are fundamentally corrupt and evil, or that certain sorts of people (women, people of color, ordinary folk who are not rich or highly educated) are inferior specimens, destined to be ruled by their betters?
That last question, if he's asking what I think he's asking, is fucked constructually. That last question, if he is asking what he's asking, is fucked categorically.
Hey! The Glands reunited? I love The Glands.
The Glands - Mercury Lounge, NYC by brooklynvegan
The Glands - 2 - Mercury Lounge, NYC by brooklynvegan
- I would be flattered to have Condo Fuck open for me.
- New rallying cry.
- Moby octopad.
- Outing the ringers.
- Occupy DC settles in.
- Washington pre-occupied.
- Occupy Bill Clinton, Harvard, Towers Watson, Tysons Corners, SCOTUS.
- Return to hot chicken.
- Recipe.
- The politics of austerity.
- Damage.
- Occupy the fucking DC police.
- The lie and how we told it.
- Is Obama toast?
- Yes we can care less.
- Not even pretending anymore.
- Thought provocateur.
- The Batrachian Candidate.
- YFWP.
- My little corner of the world.
- I played NaNoWriMo for two weeks four or five years ago twenty years after I knew I wasn't a novelist. I point it out today only because four of five years ago Lit Blegsylvania wasn't the ghost town it is now.
- The Fall guy.
[white spring]
Lisa Olstein
I am working on a specimen so pale it is like staring at snow from the bow of a ship in fog. I lose track of things—articulation of wing, fineness of hair—as if the moth itself disappears, but remains as an emptiness before me. Or, from its bleakness, the subtlest distinctions suddenly increase: the slightest shade lighter in white begins to breathe with a starkness that’s arresting and the very idea of color terrifies. It has snowed and the evening is blue. The herders look like buoys, like waders the water has gotten too deep around. They’ll have to swim in to shore. Their horses are patient. They love to be led from their stalls. They love to sharpen their teeth on the gate. They will stand, knees locked, for hours.
