I offer Bender a friendly amendment. Some people are exhibiting Youngkin Derangement Syndrome. Others of us are quite thrilled with the waves of executive orders he has signed requiring more openness and more transparency among school boards. The guy is not letting the grass grow under his feet.
I see where the RFK Jr QAnon nutcases have dreamed up a suitable slogan for Donnie to run on in 2024: “I’m the number one mofo.”
So true of Trump and so easy to remember! And so much more appropriate than the really dumb "Lets Go, Brandon" flag. Supporters with caps reading "MOFO UNO" would almost guarantee a 75% Mexican vote.
In a recent Yahoo Finance interview, [Pfizer CEO Albert] Bourla let the cat out of the vaccine bag, "And we know that the two doses of the vaccine offer very limited protection, if any. The three doses, with the booster, they offer reasonable protection against hospitalization and deaths—and, again, that’s, I think, very good—and less protection against the infection." Lock Him Up!
Haven't we suffered enough? Can we let Harvey Weinstein out of jail and let him start making movies again, or are we doomed to an endless existence of watching movies aimed at audiences whose artistic sensibilities were stunted and frozen at the age of twelve.
Saw Slacker, Richard Linklater's 1989 paean to the weirdness of Austin, Texas. The movie was good. The extras on the Criterion didn't justify the two-disc format. When a film is low budget, low tech, and shot with an amateur cast, the low quality, barely processed screentests, deleted scenes, and student films of the director may not be worth much attention.
Among the special features, though, were movie posters from the Austin film society. They really brought back how much filmgoing was a social, collective pursuit in the 1970s and early 1980s. If you wanted to watch a film by Dreyer, Kuleshov, Pasolini or someone like that, you had to watch it in a theater, in the dark, and if you took breaks, you'd miss something, but you'd also be surrounded with people and maybe you went with people and could discuss the film with them afterwards. It's strange, though, that the Criterion Collection, which did it's bit to kill off filmgoing culture pays homage to it now.
Also of interest was the 10 year reunion of the cast and crew in Austin. I wondered what a 30 year reunion would have looked like and what a 40 year reunion would be like. The success of a weird place like Austin -- its ability to attract Musk or Bezos or Zuckerberg means its demise as a Bohemian center. It means the eventual loss of its weirdness. Rents go up and the slackers get driven out (One point Linklater made at the reunion, is that he and the crew were the only actual slackers, everybody in the cast had a day job to make ends meet -- but few of them could probably pay today's rents).
The people in the movie did not like Reagan/Bush's America (and I got the vibe that they really didn't like the Texas of their day), but maybe squares and slackers keeping separate kept the two subcultures alive. Now that everything is bourgeois-bohemian, real bohemianism gets harder to find (That story's played out before in places like Greenwich Village). Bourgeois-bohemianism looks a bit like the kind of monoculture the slackers wanted to escape.
��
Snowpocalypse turned out to be Rainpocalypse. I would have known that had I paid more attention to the weather forecast.
I guess I will give Joe Rogan a listen. People tried to talk me into listening to Howard Stern, but when I did, it was all about tying to get his women guests to kiss.
What, in the schematic muddle .of it all, The stars, the broken galaxies, the effluent Of no-thing, what began or ended at This point and at this point, the fallacy Of forgetting or of being here or there, Something which said “I love…” and forgot what It was it loved: and to love! , to begin and Again! A wish, perhaps, a child’s Broken Sunday, thinking “Here, alone, There will be someone that sees.” Expecting that gladness of recognition Which, of course, fails -here to there And only the indecision, the amused surprise Of a face you’d wish you’d remember. . The earth, the taste played by the mouth Of a child alone and wanting, wanting I know not what. Though he fights away The blasphemy of being ‘one’ , it can only Be fear, the ‘fiery blush’ , the desire Not to be only Other.
The hooves are running backwards Over a broken head and “that’s history.” .- We have grown smaller and, thus, our guilt grows great: . Magnificent, this pygmy size, This laughing below our sleeves, This to large coat turned up at the cuffs. .
So, there we were, laughing on the ramparts, Broken, of course, a castle whose name, Even, is unrecallable (could we pronounce it?) Spouting a name that we’d also forgotten: Is that possible? Come (but, please, don’t) Meet my contemporaries: the list of casualties Is endless, the reason (we are to small) unknown. That’s us, liars, and not the guts to say The size of this life no longer suits. Faded the cotton, the colour, the moment. Don’t stop to see, my dead ones. I’m small, too.
Oh, in the heart of Hell - or, a voyeur Staring at what is impossible – happiness. Somewhat numb, glad for an unfeeling, Hoping to make this just a dream – then I’ll wake up, open the curtains, stare at what was Once my life. I’ll be tortured by hope, Begin, again, to say the words “I love you.”
What will happen will happen: The crowd Of millions that, perhaps, have their own Destiny: Accident jostled an understanding That 'did not exist'. To look, completely, In your eyes and smile. Something O so innocent: to forget fear.
We both see, we hope, the same chance of blue. The sky above just the destiny that destroys. To wander beyond what is possible: Men hope it will follow. Wanting What our cowardice has denied us.
I suppose, to confess, I always wanted My sky to be blue. With some cloud, To prefer us to change. A chance Beautiful. Somewhere in the rocks Looking towards the shore and knowing there That family had a picnic and those, at a late hour, Were rescued from a summer shower. And because the sun must shine (it must) There was someone, the children that picked seashells And wondered and compared and forever were told “The sea is a dangerous monster.” And were happy, there were some people, old perhaps, Sharing their unflasked, metallic tea, Trying to gather the sun, who said “I love you.” “I, too, my dear.” “Isn’t it beautiful>” “My love, it is beautiful.” “Aren’t we happy?” “Happiness is what we are.”
I will not tell how I tried To sing her into my arms. Neither bending forward nor backward will do. A murderous humiliation. And what was bright has been lost now.
A poet is a wretched man. As if we were stepped on and began to sing. But death must make even The most perverse silent. bored With all this glamour and prose. I merely want what is true.
II
A smile, two eyes so beautiful I could only die. The burnt, racial Stain of the brown. leaves of autumn. And, in winter, dirty beneath the snow. You found I was not all white. just on of those slaves. not an Angel. So you went. I love you.
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25 comments:
What a dog of a Steelers-Chiefs game.
Already in Virginia, after only one day as the new governor, people are already exhibiting Youngkin Derangement Syndrome.
Bender: "Already in Virginia, after only one day as the new governor, people are already exhibiting Youngkin Derangement Syndrome."
I'm surprised it took the lefties that long.
Bender said...
"Already in Virginia, after only one day as the new governor, people are already exhibiting Youngkin Derangement Syndrome."
I guess telling parents that they had no business involving themselves in what the government is teaching their kids was a bad idea, then?
Two more weeks and we're done with January for another 11 months.
I offer Bender a friendly amendment. Some people are exhibiting Youngkin Derangement Syndrome. Others of us are quite thrilled with the waves of executive orders he has signed requiring more openness and more transparency among school boards. The guy is not letting the grass grow under his feet.
Bender said...
Already in Virginia, after only one day as the new governor, people are already exhibiting Youngkin Derangement Syndrome.
Jonah Goldberg had it before Youngkin was sworn in.
Trump swallowed Jonah. But this Jonah, stayed in the belly of the whale.
I see where the RFK Jr QAnon nutcases have dreamed up a suitable slogan for Donnie to run on in 2024: “I’m the number one mofo.”
So true of Trump and so easy to remember! And so much more appropriate than the really dumb "Lets Go, Brandon" flag. Supporters with caps reading "MOFO UNO" would almost guarantee a 75% Mexican vote.
In a recent Yahoo Finance interview, [Pfizer CEO Albert] Bourla let the cat out of the vaccine bag, "And we know that the two doses of the vaccine offer very limited protection, if any. The three doses, with the booster, they offer reasonable protection against hospitalization and deaths—and, again, that’s, I think, very good—and less protection against the infection."
Lock Him Up!
Who does Bourla think he is? The president?
Youngkin shouldn’t be judged by his EOs. He should be judged by his will to have them enforced.
Insurrection! Elections have consequences! Does VA still have chain gangs?
"What a dog of a Steelers-Chiefs game"
Steelers seem to care more about politics than football, and we know where that leads.
Haven't we suffered enough? Can we let Harvey Weinstein out of jail and let him start making movies again, or are we doomed to an endless existence of watching movies aimed at audiences whose artistic sensibilities were stunted and frozen at the age of twelve.
Watch the Dutch PM walk directly into the tiger trap:
https://rumble.com/vsmb1j-dutch-mp-gideon-van-meijeren-confronts-pm-rutte-on-his-connections-w-klaus-.html
It's a thing of beauty, with an appreciative audience in the background.
Yout will have its day!
Saw Slacker, Richard Linklater's 1989 paean to the weirdness of Austin, Texas. The movie was good. The extras on the Criterion didn't justify the two-disc format. When a film is low budget, low tech, and shot with an amateur cast, the low quality, barely processed screentests, deleted scenes, and student films of the director may not be worth much attention.
Among the special features, though, were movie posters from the Austin film society. They really brought back how much filmgoing was a social, collective pursuit in the 1970s and early 1980s. If you wanted to watch a film by Dreyer, Kuleshov, Pasolini or someone like that, you had to watch it in a theater, in the dark, and if you took breaks, you'd miss something, but you'd also be surrounded with people and maybe you went with people and could discuss the film with them afterwards. It's strange, though, that the Criterion Collection, which did it's bit to kill off filmgoing culture pays homage to it now.
Also of interest was the 10 year reunion of the cast and crew in Austin. I wondered what a 30 year reunion would have looked like and what a 40 year reunion would be like. The success of a weird place like Austin -- its ability to attract Musk or Bezos or Zuckerberg means its demise as a Bohemian center. It means the eventual loss of its weirdness. Rents go up and the slackers get driven out (One point Linklater made at the reunion, is that he and the crew were the only actual slackers, everybody in the cast had a day job to make ends meet -- but few of them could probably pay today's rents).
The people in the movie did not like Reagan/Bush's America (and I got the vibe that they really didn't like the Texas of their day), but maybe squares and slackers keeping separate kept the two subcultures alive. Now that everything is bourgeois-bohemian, real bohemianism gets harder to find (That story's played out before in places like Greenwich Village). Bourgeois-bohemianism looks a bit like the kind of monoculture the slackers wanted to escape.
��
Snowpocalypse turned out to be Rainpocalypse. I would have known that had I paid more attention to the weather forecast.
I guess I will give Joe Rogan a listen. People tried to talk me into listening to Howard Stern, but when I did, it was all about tying to get his women guests to kiss.
NorthOfTheOneOhOne: "Jonah Goldberg had it before Youngkin was sworn in."
Jonah Goldberg is paid by far left billionaires to trash actual conservatives.
Its the only grift he has left.
What, in the schematic muddle .of it all,
The stars, the broken galaxies, the effluent
Of no-thing, what began or ended at
This point and at this point, the fallacy
Of forgetting or of being here or there,
Something which said “I love…” and forgot what
It was it loved: and to love! , to begin and
Again! A wish, perhaps, a child’s
Broken Sunday, thinking “Here, alone,
There will be someone that sees.”
Expecting that gladness of recognition
Which, of course, fails -here to there
And only the indecision, the amused surprise
Of a face you’d wish you’d remember.
.
The earth, the taste played by the mouth
Of a child alone and wanting, wanting
I know not what. Though he fights away
The blasphemy of being ‘one’ , it can only
Be fear, the ‘fiery blush’ , the desire
Not to be only Other.
XII
The hooves are running backwards
Over a broken head and “that’s history.” .-
We have grown smaller and, thus, our guilt grows great: .
Magnificent, this pygmy size,
This laughing below our sleeves,
This to large coat turned up at the cuffs. .
So, there we were, laughing on the ramparts,
Broken, of course, a castle whose name,
Even, is unrecallable (could we pronounce it?)
Spouting a name that we’d also forgotten:
Is that possible? Come (but, please, don’t)
Meet my contemporaries: the list of casualties
Is endless, the reason (we are to small) unknown.
That’s us, liars, and not the guts to say
The size of this life no longer suits.
Faded the cotton, the colour, the moment.
Don’t stop to see, my dead ones. I’m small, too.
Morning Happiness
Oh, in the heart of Hell - or, a voyeur
Staring at what is impossible – happiness.
Somewhat numb, glad for an unfeeling,
Hoping to make this just a dream – then
I’ll wake up, open the curtains, stare at what was
Once my life. I’ll be tortured by hope,
Begin, again, to say the words “I love you.”
A Chance Of Blue I
What will happen will happen: The crowd
Of millions that, perhaps, have their own
Destiny: Accident jostled an understanding
That 'did not exist'. To look, completely,
In your eyes and smile. Something
O so innocent: to forget fear.
We both see, we hope, the same chance of blue.
The sky above just the destiny that destroys.
To wander beyond what is possible:
Men hope it will follow. Wanting
What our cowardice has denied us.
Chance Of Blue II
I suppose, to confess, I always wanted
My sky to be blue. With some cloud,
To prefer us to change. A chance
Beautiful. Somewhere in the rocks
Looking towards the shore and knowing there
That family had a picnic and those, at a late hour,
Were rescued from a summer shower.
And because the sun must shine (it must)
There was someone, the children that picked seashells
And wondered and compared and forever were told
“The sea is a dangerous monster.”
And were happy, there were some people, old perhaps,
Sharing their unflasked, metallic tea,
Trying to gather the sun, who said
“I love you.” “I, too, my dear.”
“Isn’t it beautiful>” “My love, it is beautiful.”
“Aren’t we happy?” “Happiness is what we are.”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YZVn9y0XfoI
Blue Eyes
I
I will not tell how I tried
To sing her into my arms.
Neither bending forward nor backward will do.
A murderous humiliation.
And what was bright has been lost now.
A poet is a wretched man. As if
we were stepped on and began to sing.
But death must make even
The most perverse silent. bored
With all this glamour and prose.
I merely want what is true.
II
A smile, two eyes so beautiful
I could only die. The burnt, racial
Stain of the brown. leaves of autumn.
And, in winter, dirty beneath the snow.
You found I was not all white.
just on of those slaves. not an Angel.
So you went. I love you.
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