CXXXIII
People change. Greeks don’t reads said poster. Which, syllogistically, can only mean that Greeks are not people.
So now they’re letting non-humans marry?!
My small, lean Greek-revival divorce
Or funeral
“Spartan,” as it were
Old comedy
Sully pont de Paris
Don’t mourn, orgonize
A couple of mitzvahs walk into a bar…
I lift my selfie-stick beside the golden door
Washington B.C.
Even idleness is eager now – eager for amusement: prone to excursion-trains, art-museums, periodical literature, and exciting novels: prone to scientific theorising, and cursory peeps through microscopes.
Writ George Eliot in Adam Bede, oncet
Brother Kalashnikov, Sister Glock
A real to surreal tape recorder
The Kase of the Kontumate Konsumer
Roll-on
Lift and separate
Noman is an ISIS unto hisself
Noman’s land: Phobostan
Ah, flagellations of all nations!
Disorientalism and its incontents
Gog and Magog walk into a bar
mitzvah
Bah, mitzvah!
Guantánamo! Guantánamo!
I know it sounds a bit bizarre,
But in Guantánamo, Guantánamo,
That’s how conditions are…
Pace, Lerner & Loewe
Guantánamo, Larry, and Curley: those oh, so brutal, unfunny clowns
Stooges to stooges, dust to dust
Pox americana
Pox News
A Coney Alzheimer’s of The Times
Orlando numinoso
As if
If you can feel the earth and planets revolving, rotating beyond and within you, you may not feel the need to run. Nor can you possibly stand still.
Improv(is)ed
Balance the child
But what do we mean by balance?
A fixed thing, a state? Or a dynamic?
Balkan eggs
Massa’s in de gelid, gelid ground
One day there was a demand for light, next day shadow had gone up in value, and Stynsky, having shifted his theme by a halftone, would transpose it from major to minor. On his shelf next to amusing little learher-bound books from Paris stood a gaunt volume of Husserl’s and The Poverty of Philosophy by Marx. Stynsky, in short, had a way with words. According to both his well- and ill-wishers, he possessed undeniable literary talent and could have, perhaps, if not for… But for two years now his pen, caught fast on that annoying if not for, had found itself outside first-rank shop-window literature, unfit for the plump journal and the personal per-page fee. For all its fluency, it had slipped, strangely enough on a seemingly harmless article called “The Revolution’s Hammer and the Auctioneer’s Gavel.” Written on commission, the piece argued that as soon as the revolution’s glass-shatttering, metal forging hammer stops banging, the staccato, businesslike banging of auction gavels begins, dealing the final blow to what little remains of the old world – in picture frames, under the lids of carved boxes, behind wardrobe doors – now knocke out of all its cozy retreats. The commisioning editor accepted the hammer-and-gavel article but, as luck would have it, held onto it longer than usual; by the time the piece appeared, it was out of step and at odds with the times, and after that Stynsky simply couldn’t get his rhythm back. Disqualification leads, as we know, do a disquantification of income. Stynsky was eventually reduced to living on “Great Men” – a cheap series of pamphlets that could dispense with any genius in ten or twenty pages…
[…the pamplets] usually began: “This was in the era when commercial capital…” or “Capital, which felt confined on the continent of Europe, would have discovered America sooner or later. It was the Venetian navigator Co…” or “Socrates, the son of a midwife, belonged to the petit-bourgeois intelligentsia of Ancient Athens…” [Krzhizhanovsky, op. cit., pp. 190-191]
One dementianal man
The Welts of Nations by Adan “Big Blackie” Schmidt, Jr.
Thus dantian doth make daoists of us all
I was a plastic demon of decay for the FBI
Audrey Monson served as the model for Byootay, carv’d in marbre by one Frederick MacMonnies in the infant years of the 20th century. Byootay is accompanied here by Pegasus (presumably symbolizing poetic inspiration) and the fountain below her rides upon turtle vehicles. Above her is inscribed a snatch of John Greanleaf Whittier’s much more lengthy religious poem “The Shadow and the Light.” Today Byootay stands covered in chicken wire as an anti-pigeon strategem, but she still inhabits her original niche in the New York Public Library, south side. Trooth – of whom more anon – depicted as a wizened graybeard, occupies the north side niche.
The porcine figure in the tattered frock coat turned out to be a certain Igor Swineovich. He extended his trotter with a snaggletoothed smile…
Misty-cizm
The pork in the man pie hat
Belleview meets Beauregard
Curious how many cultures evolve some form of practical wisdom and then spend the rest of their lifespan running from it
Dude and redude
SEEKING INTELLIGENCE reads the section head in the Times, amidst a gaggle of articles on the airport and train station massacre in Brussels, and beneath that, the headline: “Experts Question Whether Paris Terror Suspect Will Provide Any Answers.”
Below which the article relates that: “Mr. Abdelslam, who was captured last week in a raid in Brussels enjoys an unusual status for a would-be suicide bomber: He is alive.
“Word from his lawyer, Swen Mary, on Thursday that Mr. Abdelslam would like to return to France to ‘explain himself’ raised the tantalizing prospect of a potential intelligence bonanza. ‘He is worth his weight in gold,’ his lawyer said…
“Yet there is reason to doubt that he will ultimately be of much help to investigators.
“His trajectory so far has been sinuous…”
Intelligence, reason, bonanza, gold…
Go ask Husserl when he’s ten volumes tall
Before you teach welding, better put on your pedagoggles
Expedite! Extradite! And fight fight fight…
A word to the weiss
I was thinking of some think else
Good enough Friday
The Easter Writhing
What becomes of force when its application is purely quantitative? Is it possible for force to be purely quantitative?
Our world is an ongoing play of dispersion and concentration, of faster and slower, wider and narrower, according to its one and many cycles
Things play out and things play in
The pathology of lust resistence
Lift and separate
What would we do without the world within?
Within the without playing out and in?
His trajectory has been sinuous. Almost “his path.”
Is it possible for a trajectory to be sinuous?
Beware, ye poets, the Ninth Circle of the Times.
It’ll singe your eyebrows, redden your face, sear your lungs, and drive you mad.
It takes more than one zombie to make an Apocalypse
Bereave it
Or not
Kublai Kahn
But he won’t
Un-ethikool
Dis stress and dat stress
All states failures
“A ‘High Degree of Miserable,’” reads the Times headline, “In a Refugee-Swollen Greece.”
