still searching

haven't posted here in a long-ass time.

here's the links to what I'm doing now:

elephantzine.weebly.com
elephantzine.blogspot.com
vaguelysacred.blogspot.com

applesauce misgivings
adrien! Adrien! StELLA!
forget you've forgiven mcgovern
italics are for suckers
i needa dolla, i needa dolla
chill chickens lets see this through
erase the glass menegerie
inhibit artist streak
tell new steak he's comin to dinna
check me out yo
livin in the SLUT
hey acid angels kick an ace this way
can you not tell i am loco
insane fascination with fuzz
gheppetto now regrets
sayonara slavery sell me not no
wooden legs. jump jump jump slam
eat an egg for break
faster faster wooden molest me not
spin spin spin in your rubber soles
and leave to death's imagining wreched woe
my fo fo make sure all yall kids dont grow
sick sick sick sink the ship
seven in seven year olds mcwhispathon
salivate celebate celebrations celebrity mismatch game show oblivate
rollersocks are the new zen
eat a peach
suck it, trebec.

samurai orchestrates air
beneath a misplaced tree
seagulls plan an ambush
fingertips twirl an antique piece
fur tufts spring from a boy's shoulders
cloud circle eye thru grass
street sign sleighed metal buzzing
teeth glint out of eagerness in circles
so many windows, all lined up
with a purple crayon.

the beatles. a beautiful crazy girl and brainwashing video tapes was involved.

http://www.daypoems.net/poems/1900.html

Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–89). Poems. 1918.

7. God’s Grandeur


THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod; 5
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things; 10
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

Hap

If but some vengeful god would call to me
From up the sky, and laugh: “Thou suffering thing,
Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy,
That thy love’s loss is my hate’s profiting!”

Then would I bear, and clench myself, and die,
Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;
Half-eased, too, that a Powerfuller than I
Had willed and meted me the tears I shed.

But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain,
And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?
--Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain,
And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan….
These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown
Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.


Thomas Hardy : The Darkling Thrush

I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land’s sharp features seemed to be
The Century’s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffed plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.




Thomas Hardy (1840-1928) 1900

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain (280)
by Emily Dickinson


I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading – treading – till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through –

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum –
Kept beating – beating – till I thought
My Mind was going numb –

And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space – began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here –

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down –
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing – then –


303, "The Soul Selects her own Society"

The Soul selects her own Society--
Then--shuts the Door --
To her divine Majority --
Present no more--

Unmoved --she notes the Chariots--pausing
At her low Gate --
Unmoved --an Emperor be kneeling
Upon her Mat --

I've known her--from an ample nation --
Choose One --
Then--close the Valves of her attention--
Like Stone --


J. 435
Much madness is divinest Sense--
To a discerning Eye---
Much Sense--the starkest Madness---
'Tis the Majority---
In this, as All, prevail---
Assent--and you are sane---
Demur--you're straightway dangerous---
And handled with a Chain--
c. 1862 (1890)



632

The Brain ­ is wider than the Sky ­
For ­ put them side by side ­
The one the other will contain
With ease ­ and You ­ beside ­
The Brain is deeper than the sea ­
For ­ hold them ­ Blue to Blue ­
The one the other will absorb ­
As Sponges ­ Buckets ­ do ­
The Brain is just the weight of God ­
For ­ Heft them ­ Pound for Pound ­
And they will differ ­ if they do ­
As Syllable from Sound ­


986
A narrow Fellow in the Grass
Occasionally rides--
You may have met Him--did you not
His notice sudden is--

The Grass divides as with a Comb--
A spotted shaft is seen--
And then it closes at your feet
And opens further on--

He likes a Boggy Acre
A Floor too cool for Corn--
Yet when a Boy, and Barefoot--
I more than once at Noon
Have passed, I thought, a Whip lash
Unbraiding in the Sun
When stooping to secure it
It wrinkled, and was gone--

Several of Nature's People
I know, and they know me--
I feel for them a transport
Of cordiality--

But never met this Fellow
Attended, or alone
Without a tighter breathing
And Zero at the Bone--

so little zacy's a jarhead%26nbsp%3B%20hardcore.%20they%20grow%20up%20so%20fast.%26nbsp%3B%20guess%20he%26apos%3Bs%20over%20in%20baghdad%20now.%26nbsp%3B%20wonder%20how%20sammy%26apos%3Bs%20doing.%26nbsp%3B%20did%20she%20ever%20have%20that%20kid%3F%20boy%20or%20girl%3F%20is%20she%20still%20with%20able%3F%26nbsp%3B%20i%20dunno.%26nbsp%3B%20I%20found%20lizz%20%28that%26apos%3Bs%20with%20two%20zs%21%29%20online%20and%20zac%20thru%20her%2C%20but%20still%20no%20word%20on%20sam.%26nbsp%3B%20hope%20she%26apos%3Bs%20doing%20okay.%26nbsp%3B%20I%20sorta%20ditched%20out%20on%20her%20but%20that%26apos%3Bs%20cause%20I%20was%20in%20the%20hospital%2C%20that%20was%20right%20around%20when%20M%20off%26apos%3Bd%20it%2C%20it%20was%20a%20fucked%20up%20time%2C%20lots%20of%20taking%20care%20of%20the%20family%2Ftaking%20care%20of%20business%2C%20left%20chicago%2C%20all%20that.%20anyway%2C%20i%26apos%3Bm%20really%20proud%20of%20that%20crazy%20motherfucker%2C%20last%20I%20saw%20him%20he%20was%20just%20hitting%20HS%20and%20already%20he%26apos%3Bs%20a%20man...wow.%26nbsp%3B%20well%2C%20my%20best%20wishes%20are%20with%20him%20and%20his%20family.%26nbsp%3B%20%26lt%3Bbr%26gt%3B%20It%20also%20renews%20my%20concern%20about%20current%20military%20policies%20like%20stop-leave...anti-war%20liberals%20like%20myself%20are%20accused%20of%20not%20supporting%20the%20troops%2C%20but%20my%20contention%20is%20that%20I%26apos%3Bm%20not%20sure%20the%20govt%20is%20doing%20the%20best%20job%20of%20it%2C%20and%20it%26apos%3Bs%20up%20to%20the%20people%20to%20make%20sure%20they%20do.%20Anyway%2C%20you%20can%26nbsp%3B%20cheer%20on%20a%20player%20and%20still%20criticize%20the%20coach%2C%20if%20that%20makes%20sense.%20%26lt%3Bbr%26gt%3B%20speaking%20of%20marines%2C%20i%20went%20out%20with%20one%20last%20week.%20good%20times-%20that%26apos%3Bs%20all%20i%26apos%3Bm%20gonna%20say%20%28don%26apos%3Bt%20ask%2C%20don%26apos%3Bt%20tell

hollywood loves a junkie
thin the wrist
track marks winding down arms
sweat curling
sparse graying chest hair
days lost wandering amnesiac
guitar string wound around forearm
exaggerated bending cough
dripping nose
stooping painful eyes cement straying
rifling through gramma's purse
sick with secret
doomsday denail
kicked in hard-nose cop n crackin
curled painful quiet room
washed clean with candles and couches
crumpled on mattress dirty
glitter stuck face
dragged drywall
pixie stick party of one
burnt spoon bubblin brown with yellow lense
sly grin swingin works from boot heel
strawman shaking gun sloppily at brick wall
chokin dick in bathroom
lickin ants from the sidewalk cracks
in  debt to the mob
masked and screamin horse and sweatin sick
jerkin skin looser,
bones crackin
sweatin out strange visions
scab cheeked
white eyed
always well meaning and past promise
fingers black
tracin multicolour shit odes on wall
hummin tuneless
spittin prophesies in sparse blue rooms.
It's the slow dance,
blood in the plunger
leaning back to the bleeding sun
and floating
oh so blissful
from the cardboard sheet.

Having been reading some socialistic and economic literature (nickle&dimed, confessions of an ECN hitman, freakonomics, In Search of Respect, Howard Zinn's People's History) my mind turned to my own financial state and attitudes.  As a kid I definitely bought the "meritocracy" line and I still believe there is room for social mobility in American Society, albeit for those born with a certain ambition, wit, ruthlessness, and luck- people unlike myself, for I am both foolish with money and lazy and complacent in the workforce, not to mention I have a distaste for "selling out".  I also grew up with the dueling perceptions of the working class as a noble and hardworking "backbone of society", as a criminal and suspect (even "lazy" or simple entity), and as poor unfortunates with little control over their fate (the latter view I am beginning to think is at least partially accurate).  As a child who was taught to believe in the system I still remember questioning it early on, though I was very patriotic, reading Dickens etc. and feeling great pity for poor people who didn't seem to have much of a change, though I was reassured over and over of the opportunities available to the poor.  Today I think of the words of Jesus in Jesus Christ Superstar (and of course, it's from the Bible): "there will be poor always, pathetically struggling" and I think, this is true, and there always has been, to what extent can or should we change the system?  I have no answer to that, save that my distaste for all things corporate has grown with the knowledge of the extent to which American private institutions continue to mistreat workers.  Yet any fool knows that the tyranny that calls itself communism does not end poverty, and that above poverty civil liberties are essential in a free society.  I am also learning more and more that America is not truly "the land of the free", that we have and will lose freedoms when corrupt leaders are in power, that other countries are truly more free than we are.  It is interesting to me, this liberal-conservative juxtaposition.  On the one hand, I read authors who are bitterly angry that some folks are very very rich while others are very very poor, that these poor do not have adequate living standards, that women are still socially if not politically oppressed, that homosexuals are no equal to heterosexuals and transgender is not recognized, that African Americans are still struggling under racism, that an unjust war is being fought, that free speech and other civil liberties are being eroded, and so on.  All of these things I agree with to some extent, but I will mention that racial and sexual oppression has lessened though the fight against it is plateauing, that poverty has and will always be a problem, and that some of the solutions the left offers are not good ones.  On the right, you have the bemoaning of the loss of morality (does this really reflect a change? hasn't immorality, like poverty, always been a condition of humanity?), the erosion of separate spheres for men and women, the danger of communism and terrorism as they threaten our lives and way of life, the inhumanity of abortion and science, the "anything goes" atmosphere that threatens to do away with religion and tradition, social policies that erode freedoms in the name of charity, the publicization of private enterprise, etc.  Of the latter two I sometimes wonder to what extent the govt should really get involved: I want more govt involvement in things like quality of meat but certainly less in terms of things like smoking bans, which are espoused by the left but erode social freedoms unneccesarily and unjustly.  And though I think a woman should have a right to choose whether or not to give birth, I would hope- though it isn't the govt's place to force her to do so- that she would choose adoption over abortion.  To me the right represents two sides of humanity- the side that wants to maintain social order because it benefits them personally and often financially, and the side that wants to do so because they feel that one standard of morality is the "right way" and would lead to more happiness and goodness overall.  However, they don't understand the morality of choice and freedom, that sexual promiscuity can be more "right" than sexual restrictions, which can cause such warped views of sex as to lead to fetishism, rape, shame, break ups of families, etc.  It is difficult to balance permissive morality, certainly.  People who try to live "freely" do get burned sometimes.  But so do those who are unable to live freely.  An open marriage has been known to save a marriage, for example.  It is when a society condemns such actions that they become dangerous.  On the other hand, institutionalized polygamy can be viewed as a freedom for men that can be oppressive of women.  Is it society's place to protect women by refusing to legitimize polygamy? Or perhaps it does not protect them at all, or harm them. 
In all of these things, there is often one thing missing: truth.  scientific research.  Morality is often not based solely on results.  If people were to judge, for example, whether it is immoral to have an open marriage, they'd have to evaluate whether or not it tends to hurt or help the marriage.  For me, personally, the green eyed monster and the threat of rejection would certainly make such an arrangement hurtful- but it would be more hurtful if I were cheated on, so my stance of monogamy leaves me open to that hurt because I cannot accept the possible harm of an honest polyamorous union.  It's like the unbearable lightness of being.  So you see, the real problem is whether or not you evaluate morality in after Kant or after Locke (?), that is, whether something is always wrong or whether it depends on the situation.

daffy duck: WWII Scrap Happy Daffy. 
after panning around a scrap yard, to a sign saying get the tin out- get the lead out!

Daffy mounts a pile of cans for the war effort, singing "we're in to win" and makes a victory sign with his fingers (this was b4 it became the peace sign.) ....and even this cynic gets a patriotic little surge, hehe
angered by Daffy's showboating, a crazed hitler munches carpet (chew here - - - - )and orders his troops, "DESTROY THAT SCRAP PILE!" in a frightening montage illustrating the Nazi network of power.  to do the job Hitler sends a sub carrying... a goat, who tries to chew up the scrap pile.

moments: daffy whistles at a pinup girl, hitler calls daffy a non aryan duck, daffy's reflections turn into the axis "freedom's foe" and the mirrors break, daffy takes his own reflection for his enemy, "this goat is a nazi!", "eh you wouldn't hit a guy with glasses wouldja", popeye ref, daffy's great great great uncle pilgrim tells him ducks never give up.
i had this on tape as a kid and just found it again at: http://classiccartoons.blogspot.com/2006/11/cartoon-of-month-scrap-happy-daffy.html
apparently it's public domain and all over the web, so if that links bad try youtube or even just google it.

do they drag yr name, little boots
youngest son, our little chicken
sleep soft beside
yr swallowd sister
a PR nightmare
grovel to the pillow swallow
hostage to poison grandmother
toddling spear chucker
uncle minnow chaser, slaveboy bitten
temper, temper, little boots
despise not your bloodlines
divine your rule
you talk too much shit
up late sniffin at the all-nite orgy
summers with the yacht club
far from the stone sqaulor snipers
taxes pave the marble mosaics
dream a little dream
and sweat yr
brain fever
pampered prisoner
seashell spoils
senator yr steed
stampeding hed
men, women, woman, man
toss yr bodies to meat
expand the cult of the living god
lets take it all the way
it's just skin
and down in the death machine
the gladiators live and die
and don't we all
drink up, little boots
venus, minerva
jupiter, neptune
fuck poseidon
stone eyes casting judgement
the gossiping senators
let them spin
it's a nice enough frame.

i totally sold obama some kids books for his daughter today.  = ) 
unfortunately i was unable due to circumstance to harass him in any way. 
still, wouldnt it be cool if he won?
anybody's better'an bush!

went downtown at the tail enda the taste.  wore my new green boy jeans and my holy old cobain shirt.  saw Dirty with a black bag of paps by the museum while i was waitin on Bean, could tell from the beard n glasses. Bean's back with Damien. she told me the other day how "we get violent sometimes...he's given me bruises and I've given him some".  last time i saw them he was in her place smokin a bong wit ha buddy.   she had kicked him out and wouldn't go home so she went in some drunk neighbordude's house, some big irish.  there were plastic sheets all over cause he was doin construction.  begged off an old style from Dirty after he did a line.  that asshole Evan from barnabus wiped his mouth on the celophane. he gave me a bloody knee in the third grade and that was the high point of our relationship.  smoked a jay and waved to the sailboats and heckled passers by.  sat and watched a drum circle and dropped two bucks in the bucket cause they rocked.

breakin into a summer house with taylor, peter, siroin, and two bitchy girls (katie and ?).  slightly worried at times at our illegal activity (as a now me) and then again blase (as a then me).  summerhouses alternately look like the lake house, beaver island house, small bungalow rows, and chalets.  on our way out to the bungalows we passed what looked like a scenic irish countryside full of beautiful castle ruins and then rows of mansions- to get to a relative shanty town.  passing other tourists dragging a white canoe decorated with names, colorful graffitti, without me.  my canoe? katie says no.  downtown chicago with ship mounted on building.

before bed i read an anthropology article about learning boundaries in which the anthropologist retaliated against theft of his canoe by loosing the theives canoes on the river. it reminded me of my own successes and failures at getting respect in the boy world while sometimes wanting to live up to the girl ideal of being nice.  I think the canoe is a link to that.

a later dream involved mom yelling at me and alice for making noise in the basement, that old childhood paralysis at her screaming and carrying on, going outside, running water from her room flooding into the yard.

B:  (talking about the kitten) he's just a baby.  he needs lots of love and affection.

hada bad fever for two days.  so sick i had to miss pride.  sux. but o well. ( Read more... )

recent (half-"just fucking with" me) arguments for white superiority ( Read more... )