The Lies of our Times
Four-star war ciminals blame enlistees
In Line for the Rapture
Opposition Growing to U.S. Exemption on Global Court
What Russians Think
Free Bumper Sticker
I’m lonely already.
I hate the world and want it to die.
Today I saw a whole bunch of suburban white kids trying to be hip-hop icons by screaming “motherfucker” into a microphone a lot.
The exhaustion I feel reaches beyond the physical and into reflexive embodiment itself. My “Id” needs a Rip Van Winkle.
I am not as good a writer as I sometimes think I am.
I am reasonably excited that my sister is coming to visit.
“rot grün gelb schwarz
kohlrabenschwarz ist farbenfroh
funkelnagelneu ist nichts mehr
ich habe mein vokabelheft verloren
wo ist der schlüssel?
wo ist mein hut?
ich gehe jetzt”
The future, just at the moment, terrifies me. I want to sneak up quietly and suddenly, with a soundless motion, slip a knife into it, then twisting, twisting, grimacing, jerking about, closing my eyes…
But I won’t.
I’ll just step into it, like I step into anything, and hope for the best.