Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Today is an auspicious day for Lentils

A living Medal of Honor recipient stands in military dress under a 600 ton-160 foot long television. He is recognized for killing brown people in Afghanistan in order to save his comrades in arms. The reality of Restrepo and the gaudy circus, fanfare, and inflated patriotism of the super bowl cannot be reconciled. The night is a spectacular synergy of bland bands and brands. There is no saving this land from the top down. There is no saving television nation. It has inculcated everyone and everything.


The curve of the edge of the clouds and blue sky mountain arcs down away to the horizon like supple birch wood rainbowed
Under pressure.

The professor's words still vex me. We wouldn't want to jeopardize
their future ability
to serve in the government
by exposing them to (shh, come close, you musn't tell a soul...)
secret government cables--better to pretend these things don't happen, to keep them in the dark as long as possible, to retain their ability to be utterly inculcated by later service.

I give thanks that the plutocrats can't touch Blue sky mountain.


I am utterly enchanted by the idea that other people would choose to read what I have to say. It is a self-aggrandizing truth that I believe: I have something to say.


I winced at the strangely human cries of her dog. The van smelled strongly: stale beer, cigarettes, old coffee.
I fear Mommy will comment on the dog in the presence of its owner, just like the gaugearedmariecallendar's waiter. The squawk box says he was not politically motivated, but I find that hard to believe.
Her smoker's cough was throaty, disguised, soothed by aguafina, and her lap dog was entirely unremarkable except in its pampered look, need for attention, and inability to fend for itself in nature.
In one way or another, everyone is politically motivated.

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