Sophie Scholl was a member of the White Rose. Tried for treason, she was executed for distributing anti-nazi propaganda. Anybody who talks like this in the heart of Nazi Germany warrants a tip of the hat in my book.
“Every word that proceeds from Hitler’s mouth is a lie. When he says peace, he means war. And when he names the name of the Almighty in a most blasphemous manner, he means the almighty evil one, that fallen angel, Satan. His mouth is the stinking maw of hell and his might is fundamentally reprobate. To be sure, one must wage the battle against National Socialism using rational means. But whoever still does not believe in the actual existence of demonic powers has not comprehended by far the metaphysical background of this war.”
That makes me make my power face. This too.
This had the same effect on me at 8 that Nietszche did at 15.
Dmitry is recreating the evolution of wolves into dogs with foxes. ENO video painting.
I need to get back to Michigan.
Also, my banjo is still there and my fingers are fat soft lazy and oh-so-stupid.
One of the contestants on the biggest loser (me, for watching) used to be an Olympic wrestler. The show reunited him with a former trainer in order for the trainer to shame the brute for letting himself go. His trainer is a former Pride fighter. Pride is a big mixed martial art (blended army painting) league, but I always liked the two-word poem of the name. I'd say stick with this at least until he says "people always underestimate the kick to the groin."
What to do for a sorbet after all that bang-a-da-bang-a-da-bang? Elsa Mora.
My science teacher in 10th grade arranged 9 students in a line on the football field, each holding one of 9 differently-sized spheres to represent the planets and their proportional distances. It made me think of the scene in Jaws when the ginormous shark is right off the port bow (left) of this puny ass boat and the one guy wants the other guy to go stand by the shark so you could get a sense of scale from the picture he wanted to take. I guess it's all about where you stand.
I spend an embarrassing amount of time poring over Medieval manuscripts online. I swear I only read it for the pictures.
Speaking of two-word poems; silk tree.
cricket cage. (I can't seem to settle on the right pet for me.)
Eddie and I were talking today about the glories of the days-long-gone when one usually had to be talented to be famous.
I regret not recording the 7-foot-tall man with long white hair. He'd often turn his head and remark loudly, announcing some fact of mythology that needed to be dispersed as gospel to the masses. The closest he came to any declaration of intent was when he compared a can of black beans to fudge and made it seem as though fudge might be bad. He started with the dove. "Do you see they dove above my head? I am the human form of Noah that gave God the plum. A quill from the dove above my head was used by Jesus to write the name George Washington," he half-shouted to the thin black teen sitting next to him. The kid hid behind his headphones and stared into space. I stared at the bewildered giant spouting off some serious Harvey Darger freestyles up in the piece. His delusion was so well-cataloged and organized.
I'd had a long day which led to beers at the bar around the corner from work. I talk the golden age of Hollywood with the old Jew who holds ups the end of the bar. He's sharp as a tack and never passes the opportunity to one-up me on cinematic minutiae from 50 years before I was born. He gives me grief about being half-Goy and I rehash jokes Rabbi Barash told me in Prague. He brought this scene up and I immediately said "Hume Fucking Cronyn" and pointed emphatically. We became fast friends.
I've been reading lots of Hellboy and Lovecraft lately. The long day and the quick drinks helped tempt me to engage the enormous prophet on the train. I didn't because the only thing that would unnerve the entire car would have to be along the lines of "Nuh-uh. Shut up," when, in all honesty, I would have gone a more "I am Sadu-hel, scion of Baphomet, sigil of the great South hoop of Arawapa. You incite Gahdu-Shem with your various indignities. Tread carefully as your vibrations today will be in lines of 3s, 5s and 7s" route. Give it a minute to sink in, then nonchalantly validate it. "I know all this because I'm George Washington." I just sat and wished for a piece of paper with a pocketful of pens.
He sounded crazy, but lots of stuff sounds crazy to me.
People don't have to talk crazy for me to like watching them.
I was going to write something about oranges instead of sifting through my past week's worth of browsing history in order to assemble a psychological profile that maintains a genuine-seeming air of urbane verve and insouciant charm, but what do I know about oranges. Let's take a moment for some Music Television.
I used to rock a fantastic flashdance routine to this whilst in my cups back in the day alone in my room, la zona fantasma. I went to my myspace page to mainly to see if my myspace was still there and partially to see if myspace was still there. I'd forgotten about the song Kahlil Blues that I'd made a million-and-a-half years ago. It takes a minute to warm up but it still sounds good on headphones loud with coffee.
This music makes me want to hugpunch a clownface
Let's write poems using only these word combinations and nothing else.
Popcorn!
The fox is my favorite.
Being able to understand German does not help one to understand this. I love it.
I wonder if you're on one of these trains and which sound does it make.
Goddamn, I love pictures of nothing in the middle of nowhere. Robert Adams talked about the photographic vernacular of the everyday and the strength that it drew from the closeness with which it skirted banality by saying something along the lines of "Show me a family album and I'll find you a great picture."
