Terribly Lit Graffiti In the head

Today is the holiest day in America. Happy are Americans for the attack, grateful, proud. Every act of selfish aggression in service of empire's decline will be done in 9/11s name.

Including mine: I've advocated for and delighted in goading America's crackers and talibani under a roob's delusion that if crackers and talibani were driven to lunacy and violence they'd be marginalized so, what? America's decline would belong to progressives who'd make the descent a bit less shitty?

Every goading of crackers and talibani is gifting them affirmation of the righteousness of their crackerstani talibani beliefs, strengthens their resolve.

And visa versa. Black ants versus red ants; cogs; we have our roles.

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• Immaterialism. 
• Whither Positivity.
• Deserting the Culture Bunker.
• This isn't to slam this guy, who I read and like and link to, but when blegtrelling I come upon a post on ontologies of ontologies, I mean:

• Obama's War and the Game. (h/t) You know, Obama's niggerity is over-credited w/regards the pigbleats. Had Her Pantsuit won, it'd be almost as bad.
• UPDATE! Greenwald documents my above point.
• Crazy in Washington.
• UPDATE! Not just petty and politically stoopid (that's it, make the ass a cult hero), it's self-justification for Democratic cowardice before Bush. But mostly petty and politically stoopid.
• I know someone who lived off Castle Blvd during his marriage to a Japanese horror film monster.
• Big Day in Damascus!
• Guilty pleasure.
• What Hamster wants for Giftmas.
• Serendipity Alert! Believe me or not, after having lunch Thursday with a friend who insists on arguing John Berryman's poetry sucks and started up again (long story), and before seeing this, I had already decided to build my next post around this:

DREAM SONG 14

John Berryman

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy
(repeatedly) 'Ever to confess you're bored
means you have no

Inner Resources.' I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
Peoples bore me,
literature bores me, especially great literature,
Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes
as bad as achilles,
who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.

• Born seventy-four years ago today.
• Surely M isn't reading this bleg, but Happy Birthday.
• Which reminds me.
• This too.
• Dance.
• Guilty Pleasure.

!wOOt! UPDATE! !wOOt!

New Chuck Prophet album streamed free!

• Guilty Pleasure.
• Guilty Pleasure.

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ILL-MADE ALMIGHTY

Heather McHugh

No man has more assurance than a bad poet.
                                                - Martial

The logos thrives, it is crawling
with bugs. The lecturers, below,

are memorific, futurized, dead-certain
they'll go unsurprised. They don't

know nows as you do, true to no
clear destination. (You can't even act

your age, it's over-understudied.) Steady
as you go. The greatest waves are barely

bearable, alive's ill-read already,
and the Skipper is sick

of the terribly lit
graffiti in the head.

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