Here's what I think: the tipping point has tipped.
We're ants, but ants driven by power, not survival.
Yes a bad mood, a bad cold, a bad soccer team bring out the apocalyptic in me, but you don't think that capital's suits know how fucked-up their sandcastles are and are developing schemes to maximize profits in the fucking crumbling of their fucking crumbling sandcastles?
Yes, they would rather incinerate the planet than not buy that fourth Hublot Black Caviar Bang. Yawn.
- The environment, tipped?
- The global economy?
- The modern anti-world.
- They are fucking nuts.
- And yes, many are racists, though tarring them all as racists for political gain is an ugly game and a bit unfair: if HRC had won, the noise would be almost as loud.
- Secede, fuckers.
- "I would hope that our leaders in Washington, D.C., understand we like to be a dominant superpower," the former Alaska governor said. "I don't understand a world view where we have to question whether we like it or not that America is powerful." Which is, at least, honest.
- You say treason, I say sedition.....
- Why hasn't Obama set foot in an American mosque?
- The question is asked, answered.
- Good comment thread.
- Capitalism.
- Capitalism.
- Your Fucking Washington Post.
- An entire NYTBR devoted to novels, not a single one I want to read, and you couldn't pay me to read the new McEwan.
- Explain yourself.
- Not just nostalgia.
- 930. I've been to the new one only a few times. The old one? I don't know if I was at that particular Minor Threat show in 1983, but odds are good.
- Tiny Desk Unit.
- My sweet lord.
- UPDATE! Why the fuck is DeVotchka on my radio?
- Rabbit Heart.
- Love will tear us apart.
- Blind my mind.
- Wrong.
Frederick Seidel
The ants on the kitchen counter stampede toward ecstasy.
The finger chases them down while the herd runs this way and
that way.
They are alive while they are alive in their little way.
They burst through their little ant outfits, which tear apart rather
easily.
The little black specks were shipped to Brazil in ships.
The Portugese whipped the little black specks to bits.
The sugar plantations on the horrible tropical coast where the soil
was rich
Were a most productive ant Auschwitz.
The sugar bowl on the counter is a D-cup, containing one large
white breast.
The breast in the bowl is covered by excited specks
That as so beyond, and running around, they are wrecks.
They like things that are sweet. That's what they like to eat.
The day outside is blue and good.
God is in the neighborhood.
The nearby ocean puts liquid lure in each trap in the set of six,
Paving the way to the new world with salt and sweet.
They sell them at the hardware store on Main Street.
Inside each trap is a tray that gives them a little to eat
And sends them back.
There is light in Africa, and it is black.
I was looking for something to try for.
I was looking for someone to cry for.
I was looking for something to die for.
There isn't.
What to do with a (still) 101 degree fever: