- That's today's David Thomas song, one a day for month of June.
- Lookit, I'm gonna talk through links today, I simultaneously feel incredibly powerful FUCK YOUS and indescribably sad fuck its.
- The surveillance state and the rise of Ronald Reagan.
- Blarney!
- Why Snowden's a hero. OK, I'm gonna say something - Let's say for the sake of argument that Snowden's act was heroic: he just advanced Power's timetable of how much shit people will eat and like it in the larger scheme of feeding people shit and not caring whether people like it. Irony sucks, right?
- A vote for hero.
- Ellsberg votes hero. He was paid by the Koch brothers to say it, but...
- Do the people who scream, But he broke his oath realize the flipside to the coin is He was just following orders?
- The ecstasy of being told what to do.
- Vile, evil Dianne Feinstein, thank you for your invaluable assistance in my apostasies, for teaching the truth of who really is .06% more shitty, though to be fair, she far out-shits that marker. Motherfucking Democrats.
- vicious and grotesquely fallacious.
- Has anyone asked Ben Cardin (D-NSA) or Barbara Mikulski (D-NSA) what they think about this yet?
- Laura Poitras is a hero.
- Snowden and the snobbery of credential factory graduates.
- There are no accidents around here.
- Inside the United States.
- Cops.
- Photography is not a crime. Yet.
- Forgive me, I saw this headline, thought of Emily Litella.
- From apps to zombies?
- Commissioner Gordon has activated the Zombie Signal. Might have been answered as far as I know, I was answering to Serendipity.
- Silliman's always generous litlinks.
- Beautiful new Mark Kozelek song.
- Monk!
- Scelsi!
- I was reminded of Kitchen & The Plastic Spoons.
"AN ARCHIVE OF CONFESSIONS, A GENEALOGY OF CONFESSIONS"
Joshua Clover
Now the summer air exerts its syrupy drag on the half-dark
City under the strict surveillance of quotation marks.
The citizens with their cockades and free will drift off
From the magnet of work to the terrible magnet of love.
In the far suburbs crenellated of Cartesian yards and gin
The tribe of mothers calls the tribe of children in
Across the bluing evening. It’s the hour things get
To be excellently pointless, like describing the alphabet.
Yikes. It’s fine to be here with you watching the great events
Without taking part, clinking our ice as they advance
Yet remain distant. Like the baker always about to understand
Idly sweeping up that he is the recurrence of Napoleon
In a baker’s life, always interrupted by the familiar notes
Of a childish song, “no more sleepy dreaming,” we float
Casually on the surface of the day, staring at the bottom,
Jotting in our daybooks, how beautiful, the armies of autumn.
