(Ongoing at my building)

• SUNDAY, BLOODY SUNDAY:

NABE RIPPED AT POST-NICKING CREEP

• SUN-DAZE:

TICKED-OFF NABE TO POST PEST:
"GET YOUR OWN!"

Change

QUARTERS [I was drunk when I thought up this one] are like your aces. Your lieutenants. Dimes are kind of like your sophisticated friends too, delicate and refined and surprisingly loaded. Nickels you kick to the curb and feel bad for it, especially when the day rolls around when they're all you've got and you need to round up a gang and ask them all a favor. Pennies are like little lint pieces that come up in your pockets, they're weathered and historical but they're used to getting dumped in the garbage can, it's no big deal -- they'll be back like cockroaches.

They can seem to have lives we know nothing about: a secret society like the Brotherhood of Freemasonry, wheezing along and obsolescing in the dark cul-de-sacs of Americana.

(Headlines)

"EXPANDING BANKS BEMOAN LACK OF QUALIFIED TELLERS" --WSJ

I FEEL BAD ABOUT MY DICK

Creative People

"Isn't it exasperating to be treated as a fool by people who do not suffer?" --George Sand

Holy shit is it exasperating! I love this blog.

There is a tendency to want to approve of and encourage all creative activity around us, and any expression of passionate struggle against the inertia of carrying out what is prescribed, to oppose this active force to the null of non-artistic activity that is daily life.

But, this is the wrong attitude. The way forward in art is of course through discrimination; the earlier in life this condition is understood, the better. (If you have no talent for it, drop out as soon as you're convinced.) So much of art produced around us in cities seems exciting or worthwhile because it differs essentially from the behaviors of work-a-day urbanites. 'Wow, you actually did this,' is the premise of our judgement, a congratulation more than a commendation.

The truth is that art refers to social life tangentially only. As a special case of free action in an unfree universe, it refers above all else to the reality of lived consciousness. In other words, to the history of great art.

(To the wind that blows from Paradise. --A beautiful image, heartbreaking. But what does the image mean, anyway? That is, what does it accomplish?)

(Doggerel)

(Bonus verse I just wrote to "Wipe Me Down")

We on like your favorite show
You off like bugspray
You off like a holiday
We on like Father's Day
Right away, I take off
Like it's my right-of-way
I write it right away
You write and write away
I write it and get paid
Keep it short like a fade
I got two things to say

WARNING

BE EXTREMELY CAREFUL WHAT YOU DO.

"Historical Materialism"

In about a million different ways
The violence of a previous generation stays.

The 18th Brumaire of Louis Napoloeon (1852)

" Peasants.
A class divided against itself- the reactionary vs. the conservative element of the peasantry. In Marx the exploited classes (proletariat as well as peasant) are always trapped between the desire to hold on to the subsistence they have, and their revolutionary ardor- innate desire for freedom.
So the peasants find their “natural ally” in the urban proletariat.

Bureaucrats.
Bureaucracy is a form of parasitism.
The Army as an incarnation of peasants’ desires: their form of honor. Unlike the audience of Constantin Guys’s illustrations of the Crimean War, the peasants appreciate the army in a different way, as an extension of themselves, their new nationhood, their nobility as part of a grand narrative of French history.

Main thesis: Marx is demonstrating how the rise of Bonaparte is a culmination of the French Revolution: the display of how state power works in the bourgeois-driven modern bureaucracy becomes ever clearer, from inchoate forms in the napoleonic ideas, to the highly apparent uselessness of Bonapartist bureaucracy.
The opposition between state power and society.
An analysis of the peasants as a class (largest in France).
Why did the peasants support Bonaparte? What will be the result?

Capital: bureaucracy needs capital, because it needs taxes. Peasants become taxable as soon as they run their own land. This is why their emancipation (by the original Napoleon) from feudal lords was really a pauperization. "


--I would never write "highly apparent".

"Saturday"

Of all the things to do or to have done
The simplest is sitting in the sun
To smoke and praise and criticize and drink
To be alone in company to think

I lost my past facility with speech
Without appearing much to really care
But to the darkest recesses do reach
The blackened brainstem's tuneless air
I thought of Friday, coming as it does
To full-stop every week; one disentombs
Expectancy a mercy and a buzz
A hanging picture in a spartan room.

The thoughts that coalesce in daylight haze
The morning of experience's day
The stainless steel surface of the plate
The tackiness and chat of a cafe
--Ongoing for a month of Saturdays.

IF I WAS GOING to pick a shape to be
From nature, to participate in fun,
I'd choose an hourglass femme, two flattish tits
Whose daybook read "- Check email - Yoga - Run"
A willingness to lead on and be led
A thoughtlessness disguised as joie-de-vivre
I'd chat and drink to satiation, leave
And start to dance when others threw their fits.

My laptop had a sticker reading "CASH".
My oldest clothes had holes from smokers' ash.
My irises were Pantone sapphire-white.
My hair worn down. I batted left and threw right.

My browser came from Linux open-source
My homepage linked to camelsmokes.com
The purple fetus boozing in my womb
Would never know a smiling human mom

LAST NIGHT I DREAMED a girl with supple thighs
Approaching me at dawn across the sheets
We entertwined and traded off our sighs
And in the morning found adjacent subway seats

Whatever is begotten, born and dies
Or looks around for somewhere to throw up
Will end up indexed online in an archive
To be thought of, like we think on dial-up.