Amy, one of my four most influential teachers, once told me that one of the most pernicious tenets of liberal cultural studies is the invocation against hate, the premium on tolerance as the ultimate virtue, the belief that one cannot do serious scholarship or be considered an honest scholar if one harbors one suppressed dollop of disdain for any subject(s) within or without one's expertise. Her field was Queer Theory and her specialty theories of passing. She told me, taking pride in not hating who wants to beat the fuck out of you for being you, taking pride in not hating who wants to make your identity a crime, doesn't make you a morally virtuous paragon and a better teacher and scholar but a motherfucking fool and, worse, a motherfucking tool.
She left academia. Did she jump or was she pushed? Yes.
- I do hate me motherfucking christers.
- Changing face of racism.
- Police states.
- What if Obama was a Telco?
- Fat pig loves fat pig.
- After the dead horses.
- Does culture disappear?
- Losing privacy?
- Grifting can be profitable.
- On a happier note, bunnies!
- More happiness.
- Don't buy this house.
- UPDATE! Why the fuck is the University of Maryland fighting the Purple Line?
- Don't camp on Greenfield Road - something I knew thirty years ago.
- One mile from my house!
- UPDATE! How Fulham does it.
- What novelists contributed to whose campaign in 2008?
- Final exam.
- High stakes criticism.
- 25 funniest album covers?
- Please don't forget counterstream.
- UPDATE! The Great Riff War of 2010!
- Me and Jane Doe.
- Drunken angel.
- UPDATE! Why the fuck is Jack White on my radio?
- Back and forth.
- UPDATE! This week's new releases w/MP3.
- Hey, goodbye.
- Black Star (she's been in HEAVY rotation lately).
Call me a lyre, I dare you
Last of some night
light, who cares the when of this,
glittered the tree up at the ned
of the wash from a car as moved the planet, I'm not
in touch with personally Saturn, in branched fingers
of eerily, I'd say off-the-shelf language, isn't it
necessary still how life lit into the moment
to say other than the facts of it, see,
whatever the bits are inside that oscillate
or pinwheel, I was moved to internal whirring
cicadish, even though my epiphanic dog-walkings
mean shit to you in the throes of your
epiphanic askings of the moon, for what, afterall
are we in this, some random sense of, fuck
if I know, belonging
Another one of dozens of my five favorite songs ever: