Remember Everything They Never Knew [Twitter Found Poem, July 3, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
Don't forget to get your Self
Self authorized and Don't forget to forget
non authorized bitches. This is for your
Declaration of Independence:
read to someone who cant read
and blow his brain through his head.
If you can read then read the Codex
and addle your brain: you cant help
but mis-read the Codex. you cant help
but declare your Independence
from no read motherfuckers
who cant read and NEVER think.
drive someone insane: read to someone
who cant read and blow non authorized
fake ass motherfuckers brains through your head.
Don't forget to drive non authorized fake
ass motherfuckers to forget themselves
while u remember Everything they NEVER knew.
It’s first fireflies that charm children
And lure tiny yet firm fingers
To catch sources of light. Even
Extinguished there is still value:
A new hunger for bright colors.
They get older and chase lights on
A road, driving to drink. Party
On beach sand as explosions in
The sky over the bay shower
Corrupt white buds of gunpowder
On waves; rocks. And the smell: sulfur
And salt—vodka. They know this is
Not quite; almost it. Bright halo
From downtown is the source; neon:
What love must be like. Lusty
And red; taking the light spent, it
Entraps what does not die; trashes
The rest. Trinkets of lust, trifles
Of lost people who seek out the
Mementos they have lost: beaches
Are filled up with expense: condoms,
And glass shards and an ash pile that
The tide chokes on. The hot embers
Of youth die on the sand; fading
As winds blow all the best times out.
I decided to host combatwords tonight over there. If you want to play, go over to http://trickwithaknife.com/?p=771#comments and if you don't, you can still respond to what's there. It's got a 4th of July Theme. Huzzah for Uncle Sam!
The Case Against Color [Today's News Poem, July 2, 2010]
The rainbow's expensive and nature's a thief:
We've waited too long, for these colors—too brief.
And afterward, simply another life-score.
And framing these moments, a nightmare of bores:
Mosaics of stone—a whole mountain of rock
They've blasted and mixed and then poured into blocks.
And even the lights are ephemeral hues.
The march of the crowd with their clown-colored shoes,
And billboards—and pigeons; a yellow balloon...
And pace! And the next one—the next one is soon!
And mixed-up together, the concrete cements
The elements tightly, to single intent.
“Although private hiring was well below levels needed to bring down unemployment on a sustained basis, analysts said the report from the Labor Department on Friday was not consistent with an economy on the brink of another recession.”
– Lucia Mutikani, Reuters, July 2, 2010 http://www.reuters.com/article/idUSTRE65M2WK20100702
“All that the world most needs to-day, is combined in the most seductive manner
in his art,—the three great stimulants of exhausted people: _brutality_,
_artificiality_ and _innocence_ (idiocy).”
– Friedrich Nietzsche, The Case of Wagner, Page 16 http://www.gutenberg.org/catalog/world/readfile?fk_files=746821&pageno=16
A Chance 4 Misfortune [Twitter Found Poem, July 2, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
Gotta laugh. one Day/Weekend the whole city
just woke up and woke me up and decided
slit our wrists and burn down something beautiful.
the whole city was razed. someone just woke up
the whole city and razed their minds. so i Gotta laugh.
so i Gotta sit down on a random orange chair on the roof,
and laugh on the roof and watch the whole city burn,
and get my Drink 4Cast 4 2Day: misfortune with a chance
4 everythinggggg that im sure there wasnt there yesterday!
laugh and the whole city laughs with you,
funk and you funk alone. take a chance
with everythinggggg: get drunk, shut the curtains,
then watch them laugh and burn down something beautiful.
It's scary when you're really getting into the story...
It's scary when there is a chance 4 misfortune
that im sure there wasnt there yesterday!
Kiss From a Neon Siren [Today's News Poem, July 1, 2010]
Follow the lights and you'll drive to your bliss.
Tunnels of halogens guide you, with signs
Lighting the path—an electrical kiss.
Follow your whim; it's the pathway's design.
Locking your door made of glass has no use.
Smile at the strangers with predator grins.
Bottles are finished and both of you choose
Pleasure and vibrate with unified skins:
Masters tonight, but by morning are slaves.
Hangover breakfast, an awkward caress;
Coffee; a toothbrush—he rapidly shaves:
Pantomime game—you play house as you dress.
Daylight delivers the deadline you dread—
Both of you caught in the bars of the ray—
Everything's possible, costly and spread
Out for the taking; a trap made of pay.
“President Obama pressed Congress on Thursday to pass comprehensive immigration legislation to fix a “fundamentally broken” system by toughening enforcement of existing laws while creating a path to citizenship for many of the 11 million people in the United States illegally.”
– Peter Baker, The New York Times, July 1, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/02/us/politics/02obama.html
Sensors Blink Away the Tears and Say Good-Bye [Twitter Found Poem, July 1, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
when we start losing energy levels,
when our jackass won't run,
Remember, you're never too old to be put on a leash.
when we want something to be given to us
instead of going out and getting it,
and we always say "the Next one is on me,"
who likes us enough to keep us around?
Sensors blink away the tears and say good-bye
and put us on a leash. Smart Circuits
drive us to the airport and say good-bye again.
and when we want something to be given to us
we are given a drink on the plane,
and a drink,drink,drink drunk. and we say
"the Next one is on me," like we always say.
As maggots fall from the overhead bin
and bite us 4eternity
the Sensors blink away the tears and say good-bye.
Earnings are sport; just a game on the screen.
Wealth is the score and the players are meat.
Markets determine the price of a bean,
Residue running from acre to ocean;
Where plankton will bloom
And choke out the fish:
An oily wound plumes
In petri gulf dish.
Drunken suspenders are typing by dark,
Networks of millions are trading their points;
Feeding the creatures that dine on the spark
Arbitrage sends in a wire through computers—
With cables for nerves
And motorized arms,
A camera eye serves
To watch as we farm.
“By 10am it emerged that Mr Perkins had single-handedly moved the global price of oil to an eight-month high during a "drunken blackout". Prices leapt by more than $1.50 a barrel in under half an hour at around 2am – the kind of sharp swing caused by events of geo-political significance. Ten times the usual volume of futures contracts changed hands in just one hour... The FSA will consider re-approving him as a broker after the ban, if he has recovered from his alcohol problem, but noted "Mr Perkins poses an extreme risk to the market when drunk".”
– Rowena Mason, The Telegraph, 5:45AM BST 30 Jun 2010
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/finance/newsbysector/energy/oilandgas/7862246/How-a-broker-spent-520m-in-a-drunken-stupor-and-moved-the-global-oil-price.html
Pimp Yo Professor [Twitter Found Poem, June 30, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
So... I ain't admitting nothing,
but you better pimp yo professor.
Might seem weird,
but after a nasty fire and kneecap shooting incident
traveling to class scares me!!
So you better pimp yo professor
before yo professor pimp you!!
my professor broke my ankle,
set ME on fire...
and then there is the
nasty kneecap shooting incident...
I Almost fainted from the pain uhh...
wish yo bad luck would go away?
pimp yo professor!!
it is the only way.
your friends are gonna change with every situation,
but not yo professor!!
Yo, you change one thing, it changes everything.
You don't have to be a kiss ass,
You don't have to put an order in for street drugs
for yo professor,
You just need set the world on fire.
it is the only way to be sure
You do that assignment
and pimp that professor good!!!!
Symposium of Gold and Plastic [Today's News Poem, June 29, 2010]
The absolute value of anything's measured
By market demand and we seek as consumers
To swallow our purchase; becoming the item.
And Plato said beauty makes mortals possessive.
If alchemists coaxed from their gold what our chemists
Could draw from a barrel of petrol, they'd eat it;
Absorbing the spells from the states of that matter,
Transmuting themselves into something eternal,
Innate, with no context required to engage it.
“American McNuggets (190 calories, 12 grams of fat, 2 grams of saturated fat for 4 pieces) contain the chemical preservative tBHQ, tertiary butylhydroquinone, a petroleum-based product. They also contain dimethylpolysiloxane, “an anti-foaming agent” also used in Silly Putty. ”
– Christopher Kimball, CNN
http://pagingdrgupta.blogs.cnn.com/2010/06/25/a-tale-of-2-nuggets
Tinfoil Versus Psy-Ops [Twitter Found Poem, June 29, 2010]
Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
hopefulli the STARS wiLL stay in place
and I can just leave the tinfoil skullcap
At home. a tinfoil skullcap can soothe agitated
nervous systems, reduce mental chatter
and help you get some sleep.
I can't wait to watch riots.
the police started the violent riots.
Possible Black Psy-Ops are shooting stars
OUT Of the sky with the remote missile launch.
Black Psy-Ops are auto-dismissing
confidence, skill, physical power and practice time
with patriotism in the water.
Psy-Ops are auto-dismissing mental systems
and put nervous chatter on tv in its place.
When I take off the tinfoil weave or any type of tinfoil extention
At home and watch tv I see I launch a missile,
zomg,
shooting stars OUT Of the sky.
zomg.
I see I launch violent riots with the police.
zomg.
Black police Psy-Ops on tv,
slaps me with house arrest
and take away My tinfoil skullcap,
rendering me helpless.
Hunger's Accountant is the Serpent of Circles [Today's News Poem, June 28, 2010]
We own a placenta when cast from our mothers;
And handfuls of ashes—as remnants of lifetimes
We spent in a torpor. Our atoms were never
Possessions. And matter? Inert to the holy;
Eternally lying—not dead and not sleeping,
Nor live. And the deists prefer it alone with
Their worship of solids and logics and sorrow.
They harbor suspicions there's nothing but pleasure;
That moments between the whole universe clapping,
Are chemical wonders that vanish too quickly.
The urine of tigers, the flag of a nation—
They're hunger's accountants and dread what is coming:
The feast for the maggots; those landlords of graveyards,
Who rule in their turn at the end of beginnings.
And hope for no reason is fanciful folly;
And appetites thrive on this plane of existence
(The only one suited for acids and hormones):
What God owns is nothing much more than a stomach
That feeds on itself like the serpent of circles.
And likewise I feed off the hope I'm abandoned—
That angels have snipped the umbilical tubing
And cast me to mud with the rest of the carbon.
“... the Justice Department on Monday announced charges against 11 people accused of living for years in the United States as part of a deep-cover program run by S.V.R. ... secret Russian agents assigned to live as married couples in the United States, even having children to further their cover.”
– Charlie Savage, The New York Times, June 28, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/29/world/europe/29spy.html
Crocodile Tears of Lust [Twitter Found Poem, June 28, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
you think you know LOVE?
you think LOVE is a ticket
you redeem while watchin "I Love Lucy!"?
you think Smurf Sex honeymoon fucking
until you're blue in the face is LOVE?
Redeem yourSELF from that shower of shit;
from that shower of crocodile tears of lust.
you think LOVE is a magical
friend anyone can ever ask for?
false.
you must first redeem yourSELF.
you think LOVE is a ticket
that takes you to a happy place?
FUCK yourSELF until death do you part.
if you want lust you need Only
bust a nut,
but if you want LOVE
you must first bust ur head.
you can't take it
so you can redeem your ticket
for food, and reserved seating to
FUCK yourSELF to death
while watchin "I Love Lucy!"
while Dreaming of fucking.
The Mad Beloved [Today's News Poem, June 27, 2010]
They offer the car to their god in the hope
It's pleasing—that smoke from the plastic cupholders
Can summon a miracle down from the clouds.
The officers gather with shields and their clubs.
The leaders of nations are clad in deception.
And desperate mobs with their bottles of fire
Perform for the screen: my own prayer in a plume
Of gasoline clouds—the black in the grayness
Of towers and stormclouds; of sidewalks and age.
We're jaded and fearful of breadlines and bombs;
The black and white footage of skeletons starving
To death—all the mustaches screaming in mics,
Before all the millions in streets at salute.
This movie is real and we're stars—at least extras.
A pixel of billions, I'm nothing but days
In dreams of routine. Yet I've loved to the end
Of love; to that child of that love—each progression
Expanding my empathy; waking from scenes
Of victory, failure, routine, and ennui
To love without question; beyond the expected,
To limits I thought were denied to the bitter.
There's nothing discrete in this world of connection,
And nothing to fear from beloveds in madness.
“More than 500 people had been arrested by Sunday morning in connection with various protests, as well as some vandalism, related to the Group of 20 leaders summit here... Without offering specific information, Mr. Blair said that the violence was an attempt to draw police away from the protective ring around the summit site so that other protesters could move in and attack it.”
– Ian Austen, The New York Times, June 27, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/28/world/americas/28security.html?src=mv
“The latest government estimate is $897 million for three days of summitry. That comes to about $12 million per hour, or a total near what the government spends per year in the war in Afghanistan.”
– Ian Austen, The New York Times, June 27, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/27/business/global/27security.html
NOBODY Escapes Unhurt [Twitter Found Poem, June 27, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
Remember that ordinary citizens
can be used as weapons.
Of greater interest: the Police declared martial law.
a "peaceful" sit down could get nasty fast
and police equipped with the most advanced weapons,
may have to use nuclear force on ordinary citizens.
Learning how to build peace and oneness with
abysmal failure.
burning endangered sea turtles?
the only sound basis for peace.
Police Drive-by shoot the zoo in a super-high-speed racing car
equipped with the most advanced weapons?
the only sound basis for peace.
ordinary citizens can be used as secret weapons.
they can build a bridge to the Moon...
build a nuclear submarine with the most advanced
nuclear weapons, burning endangered mother earth.
the only sound basis for peace?
NOBODY escapes unhurt.
Partial Glimpse of the Partial Eclipse [Today's News Poem, June 26, 2010]
Atoms are ordered by lines on a table—
Protons at center, electrons on fringes;
Orbiting, trading their energy levels—
Straightening spheres into graphs; into boxes.
Even the sun is as small as an eyeball.
Space too, is curved and the light does not travel
Straight on a path, though we measure it thusly.
Shadows are proof; the eclipse is the moment
Measured—a line through the circles aligning.
Drawing a ray through the needles and branches
Bigger than houses, yet smaller than glasses
Watching the sliver of shadow on Luna
Glide to the dark, unobservable sphere;
Casting its nothing on nothing again.
“A partial lunar eclipse which was unusually magnified to viewers in North America has now ended. ”
– BBC, Saturday, 26 June 2010 15:36 UK
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science_and_environment/10414201.stm
Sit-N-Spin On Oily Ashes [Twitter Found Poem, June 26, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
experts say the oil leak in the gulf
the ashes of your deceased mother,
A BP gas card,
A used rabbit,
are in the genes.
experts say Y'all NOT havin kids!! Lol.
suffer the consequences of your actions...
wasn't destroying a place the experts have
come to call paradise a good reason Why
Y'all NOT havin kids?
sit-n-spin on the ashes of your deceased mother,
A used rabbit,
and OILY anjing laut,singa laut,walrus,dugong,manatee,sapi laut,gajah laut
.....astaga...HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA!
OILY AND HUNGRY NOW. CANNOT breathe! CANNOT EAT!
sit-n-spin on the ashes of your deceased you!!!
RIP! Lol
Intersubjective Symbiosis [Today's News Poem, June 25, 2010]
Who measured my soul? It is air, I am certain.
And dying this once, will the life everlasting
They promise, deliver contentment with scalpels?
The liver: an eater of toxins. Diseases
Take refuge in lungs; with their essences weighing
The same as my own—that is, nothing but error
That copies itself through the ages, and hitches
A ride on my final exhale: I am praying.
“...scientists have successfully implanted lab-made lung tissue into living rats. The fully functional tissue can exchange oxygen and carbon dioxide, the key role of the lungs. The scientists--led by a team at Yale University--used a chemical treatment to remove all existing cells from adult rat lungs, keeping the structure of the airways and vascular system intact to later serve as a sort of "scaffold" for the growth of new lung cells. ”
– Leslie Katz, Cnet, June 24, 2010
http://news.cnet.com/8301-17938_105-20008766-1.html
MOUNTAINS of SHIT In Millions of Crocks [Twitter Found Poem, June 25, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
There is no Constitutional authority. There is no law.
This meltdown was sponsored by Financial regulation FLAW.
what Are We? turkey pastrami on squaw?
r u tellin me ur gonna bite US with yo new dentures? neuter and spay
drunk ass prey
like US? MANNNNNNNNNN what a concept: seduce n fillet
THE WORKING CLASS with @SarahPalinUSA.
It takes 250,000 bullets to bite one enemy in Iraq
but It takes Financial regulation meltdown to lock
military personnel In #Dishonorable contracts to Stalk stalk stalk
and bug spray the enemy in Afghanistan & Iraq
and bite the enemy WHILE THE RADIOS talk talk talk
MOUNTAINS of SHIT In millions of crocks crocks crocks.
The New Hydrologic Cycle [Today's News Poem, June 24, 2010]
The shells of the animals covered with scabs;
We baited them, hoisted from muck—from the depths
Of brine—from the bay; and we threw all those crabs
In emptied out buckets of litter for cats.
And yet I can't help but consider the drugs
My system absorbed: all that coke in the air,
The smoke from those pipes. Am I high as this bug
That lived in a bay of prescriptions we flushed
Down toilets with feces? Our message from land:
Become us. Our claret converges and soon
Digestion, excretion will crawl in the sand
Of bays, as our organs, our bones—and our teeth.
From water, to oceans of urine and blood
As cannibals fishing our young from the mud.
“Fearing that the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico will deal a severe blow to the bluefin tuna, an environmental group is demanding that the government declare the fish an endangered species, setting off extensive new protections under federal law. ”
– Andrew W. Lehren and Justin Gillis, The New York Times, June 23, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/24/us/24fish.html?hpw
“The BP oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, one of only two known Atlantic bluefin spawning grounds, has only intensified the crisis. By some estimates, there may be only 9,000 of the most ecologically vital megabreeders left in the fish’s North American stock, enough for the entire population of New York to have a final bite (or two) of high-grade otoro sushi.”
– Paul Greenberg, The New York Times, June 21, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/27/magazine/27Tuna-t.html
“The Superior Council of Scientific Investigations found the air in those cities to be laced with at least five drugs: amphetamines, opiates, cannabinoids, lysergic acid and most prominently cocaine. Researchers found cocaine in concentrations between 29 and 850 picogram per cubic meter of air.”
– samzenpus, Slashdot, May 14, 2009
http://science.slashdot.org/article.pl?sid=09/05/14/1556244
Toasting the Instigator [Twitter Found Poem, June 24, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
REMEMBER THAT NIGHT YOU ATE shit
And drank a bottle of blood?
REMEMBER YOU tied a damsel to some train tracks?
you were wasted.
YOU WOULD deviously twirl your handlebar mustache.
And YOU fouled the Pizza AND treats
And gave Severe Asthma Attacks
And Asthma to children?
just because YOU wanted to shit.
just because YOU were wasted?
foul!! foul!!
YOU wasted a damsel And children
just because YOU were wasted?
YOU Avoid the cops
because YOU left me at the scene of the crime.
REMEMBER??
And now jailed, I drink MY own blood.
they let me name
the drink The Instigator!
Transubstantiation of Nihilism [Today's News Poem, June 23, 2010]
It's happening just as I saw it in visions:
A prophet inferno that rose from the ocean;
That spread with the current; that seeded the rainclouds
With shrapnel, as sparks of our wisdom exploded
And burned up like meteors scarring the nighttime.
I'm blinded. The streaks in the darkness were omens.
The flames from the oil are refining our spirits,
And casting themselves in the wind, like a pollen.
The light from the heat from our passions—our hungers—
Will unify emptiness, flesh and our notions.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=un8co1d4zb4
“But chances are the video (above) of an oil/Corexit mixture showing up 45 miles off the Gulf of Mexico is fake. That's not to say that BP should continue using Corexit--the dispersant is carcinogenic--but for now, at least, it seems unlikely that Corexit will rain down on our heads.”
– Ariel Schwartz, Fast Company, June 23, 2010 http://www.fastcompany.com/1663187/is-it-raining-oil-in-louisiana
“According to a 2003 study titled "Oil in the Sea III: Inputs, Fates, and Effects" put out by Ocean Studies Board, Marine Board, and Transportation Research Board, oil behaves very differently when on the open water. The study states: 'Within a few days following a spill, light crude oils can lose up to 75 percent of their initial volume and medium crudes up to 40 percent. In contrast, heavy or residual oils will lose no more than 10 percent of their volume in the first few days following a spill. Most oil spill behavior models include evaporation as a process and as a factor in the output of the model.' The oil included in the Deepwater Horizon disaster is most certainly crude, and was at one point a heavy crude, which reduces the overall loss to evaporation, however it's been mixed up by the effects of the ocean and become an emulsification, which according to the study, enhances the likelihood of evaporation... We have yet to find any science on the subject of the evaporation rates of these compounds or their likelihood to come back down as contaminated rain.”
– Jalopnik, June 23, 2010 http://jalopnik.com/5570961/its-raining-oil-in-louisiana
Scythian Lamb Ponders Whether the Universe is a Tautology [Today's News Poem, June 22, 2010]
My rhizome inverted, they plucked me and milled me;
Then ginned by a cyclops—then fed me with lotus:
A lamb of the vegetable, grown for the whimsy
Desire has commanded. They cultivate mouths for
The sake of a mouth that makes meaning with hunger.
Their purpose on purpose. And voids have the vision
To stare at the cave from which no man may journey;
And nothing is blinding—and pleasure's distracting:
We're born in a cave and we die in the garbage.
“A federal judge struck down the Obama administration's six-month ban on deepwater oil drilling in the Gulf of Mexico as rash and heavy-handed Tuesday, saying the government simply assumed that because one rig exploded, the others pose an imminent danger, too. U.S. District Judge Martin Feldman, who was appointed by President Ronald Reagan and has owned stock in a number of petroleum-related companies, sided with the plaintiffs.
"If some drilling equipment parts are flawed, is it rational to say all are?" he asked. "Are all airplanes a danger because one was? All oil tankers like Exxon Valdez? All trains? All mines? That sort of thinking seems heavy-handed, and rather overbearing."”
– MICHAEL KUNZELMAN (AP) –46 minutes ago, as of June 22, 2010 6:19pm PST http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5gIXWYBTpLtSayJtg41LKXpxSxVPAD9GGLCS01
The Epistemology of Hate [Twitter Found Poem, June 22, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
My glass stays full; whenever it's half empty
stand the f*ck BACK!
I'm Drunk from the epistemology of hate.
I'm rude as fuck and on a personal campaign
to raise hell So i just tell em what they wanna hear lol.
I would disrespect a dying person by making her feel warm inside.
the WHOLE purpose of defeating God is this shit:
to smoke weed all day everyday...
to blame anything on the alcohol of rage...
to purposely disrespect a dying person
just to see if i could get her to admit
GAAAAAAAWD IS A LIAR!!!!
whenever I'm empty of God I
Thrust My ROD in Thy Brother [THE DEVIL]
and purposely tell em I'm making em
feel warm inside. as I empty God from My dick
in to Thy Brother
i just tell em "EY HA BA BA SHO TA HIYA !!! GAAAAAAAWD.
there is no God.
there is no God.
there is no God."
Just Follow Bliss [Today's News Poem, June 21, 2010]
The forests of charcoal, the meat from the bushes
On sale in the market: a mote on the surface.
Another distraction. A sorrow I'm passing
En route to my bliss. And I'm over the legends
Of sorrow—I'm flying my way to a tropic
Of pleasure—away from my mansion of plastic.
I'm seeding the clouds with exhaust as I journey
And savor escape—a respite from my anguish
That hides in routine, in the margins of ledgers
I keep for my score. I can measure my triumphs,
Ignoring the losses I cannot consider:
Unless it is burning; unless there is screaming,
I name them as fiction, a story to please me.
“Until recently, biologists believed that manatees rarely ventured west of peninsular Florida, where, so far, no oil has appeared. But in 2007, Ruth Carmichael, who leads the Dauphin Island team, began documenting a relatively large summer migration of manatees to Mobile Bay, Ala. — leading them directly into and through the path of the oil from the Deepwater Horizon leak. From a couple of dozen to as many as 100 come to Mobile Bay for the summer, out of a total North American population of 5,000, she said.”
– John Leland, The New York Times, June 20, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/21/us/21manatee.html?hpw
“And yet there was something in Rumsfeld’s unknown unknowns that had captured Dunning’s imagination. I wanted to know more, and so I e-mailed him: why are you so obsessed with Rumsfeld’s “unknown unknowns?” Here is his answer: If I were given carte blanche to write about any topic I could, it would be about how much our ignorance, in general, shapes our lives in ways we do not know about. Put simply, people tend to do what they know and fail to do that which they have no conception of. In that way, ignorance profoundly channels the course we take in life. And unknown unknowns constitute a grand swath of everybody’s field of ignorance.”
– Errol Morris, The New York Times, June 20, 2010
http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/06/20/the-anosognosics-dilemma-1
Eyes for Ra [Twitter Found Poem, June 21, 2010] Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
In honor and to appease the sun god Ra
I offer MY EYES.
I plan to stare at the sun.
that planet Earth turns... sloooooowlyy...
the most annoying planet.
I went to a planet that had people!!!
Why's it always painful people?
Why can't I BURN MY EYES In Peace?
Why are all these ugly pagans
trying to honor and appease the sun god Ra?
I don't like to SEE #Wiccan VAGINA PLZZZ.
I'm a fan of pagans who burn their own Stonehenge
to the ground after winning a summer solstice.
Put your chunky #Pagan penis away.
the sun god Ra doesn't want to SEE it.
the sun god Ra wants you to stare at the sun.
ha ha! Feel the burn!
burn the city to the ground
that planet Earth turns... sloooooowlyy...
there is no stronger god than Ra
and blindness is his prophet.
The Germans [Guest Twitter Found Poem, June 20, 2010 by Ryan Ridge]
By Ryan Ridge Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem
Oh, and Germans.
Don't forget the Germans.
What's with the Germans?
What happened to the Germans?
What will these Germans think of next?
Are we still better than the Germans?
Are we trying to avoid the Germans?
Are we Germans in disguise?
I’m laughing at the Germans.
Hard luck for the Germans.
Upset for the Germans.
The Germans still lost!
Bury the Germans!
I feel a little silly after mocking the Germans.
I changed my mind,
I’m going out with the Germans.
Bio: Ryan Ridge writes and teaches in Southern California. Recent work has appeared, or is forthcoming, in Abjective, Corium, DIAGRAM, elimae, Fact-Simile, JMWW, The Los Angeles Review, and elsewhere. He maintains an archive of past work here. http://pastwork-ridge.blogspot.com/ Return to Toylit Subscribe in a reader
not enough to deal with
the poverty
the ungodly ennui
the loss of bone marrow deep love on aisle three
oil! toxic! all over the fucking ocean!
the one near my mama's house!
Lindsay Lohan's diseased cunt is worth more
than my spirit, the one I weep daily
from my pretty bluebonnet eyes
and the miraculous births
of retarded Siamese twins
like the sea levels
are on the fucking rise
no, not enough shit on paper plate
so Campbell Soup Company comes in
like Doo Doo Dragon of the Apocalypse
to sing song this terrible news
from dipshit rah rah mega phone:
15 MILLION POUNDS of SpaghettiOs
recalled due to malfunctioning meatball cooker
in Paris, Texas
the alphabet SpaghettiOs are the only education
some toddlers receive
not counting "Dinosaur Train" and "Dora The Explorer"
because suburban soccer mommies
are busy getting mani pedis
and sucking plumber cock
while entry level call center peon daddies
field phone calls from customers pissy about
astronomical cell phone bills
and Lady GaGa ring tones
last night I dreamed I was swimming
in Sinhalese SpaghettiOs with Richard Dreyfuss
he didn't judge me for the raw chunks of meat
so show offy orange in my salty strands of hair
he fucked me multisyllabic
as America burned to a crisp in a microwave
like a 99 cent Totino's pizza...
Pronounced Model Land [Guest News Poem Reprint from May 11, 2010, by Misti Rainwater-Lites] Misti Rainwater-Lites
Tyra Banks, fairy godpimp
to many a wannabe Gisele Bunchen,
is a literary genius, poised to take
the world by storm with Modelland.
In Modelland the boys and girls
shit strawberry fat free ice cream
and there is no unrequited love
or mediocre hair days. Everyone
is, like, totally hot and all the skyscrapers
are mirrored and the cotton candy clouds
only rain confetti and lingerie.
Choo choo. All aboard for Modelland.
Make me a believer, make this size fourteen
Texas baby mama believe
that such a place exists
and there is room at the inn for me.
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