and

http://www.mediabistro.com/fishbowlny/media_companies/swine_flu_hits_conde_nast_as_newhouse_profile_hits_newsstands_117789.asp

OM NOM NOM EVERYBODY PANIC!

i’m not talking ’bout no
aristocracy
that grotesque teabag sideshow act

this is for the remnant ruminants
this is for those who are
on the hook
castled with
a scottish rook
en passant by the duke of earl of sandwich board Lord Hoard
strung up and down and out
dangling feet
first
from a tapestry cord
you are free to go my lord
dismissed with a
pacifist fist
a pitchfork in the mist and smoke
of a torch that lights the way,
if I may,
to a mutual
free’dom’nation
versive submission
supine cursive subjugate geishas
cut-rate prostrate nerf serfs
carried by a sinusoidal wave of
volatile volition
ablution
volution
evolution
revolution
convolution
dissolution
no solution
no end to your troubles
just because you flipped the table
over
did your chore
spun the revolving power door
(redblackredblackredblack red  black   red    black     red      black       red        black)
to even out the illusory score
one more time, we gotta celebrate
for plus ça change, plus ça―
nihil novi sub sole
nothing new under the sun, son
no need to fuss, gus
your are the food chain, boss
you are what you eat
one day you’re a jerk
one day you’re a molé
one day you’re a beast
and one day you’re full of pollack-sole
on the dole
fresh from a boxcar
(like) cheaply picked fruit
low hanging
easy pickings for charles dickens
in a panty twist of olive fate we call
progress

you put the con in congress
it’s all about cheap labour, you see
the more the merrier
the merrier the more
as long as you keep poppin’ out
desperate masses
into the lower classes
you will be the pope’s dope
and the rich man’s one and only hope
that you’ll break your back
and cough and hack
and lift and stack
line the rack
stretched from commonwealth sea
to shining commonwealth sea
you’re so gonna need the CPR
you the ever-patient patient
etherized upon your Emily Carr tableau
upon your Canadian Shield flatbed
gallopping over cardiac expansion joints

the empire buck starts and stops here
at these extreme points, you see
gets snuffed out (like)
a cracked downtown east side olympic torch here
here, in terminal city

but the castles start… here
in your chessboard’s corner
the desperation here so thick it’s sick
bad cologne of lonely hearts
without a club
or a rubber-sole band
you are free to take a hike
to snap
to beat
to bleed
to rag
to stop
drop
roll
a perfect strike
use pins
to drag
to slug
to trail
through sand
by hand
homeric stone bowling ball after ball
for the edifice hall o’
the exalted pharaoh master blaster
(whose barter-garter disposition’s never quite sunny, ya dig?)

but his overcast royal
alabaster dour
facade
smug smog mug
has got your goat
he’s got you by your throat
and he’s got you by your money, honey
so get busy, bee
no time to rant, ant
you have no voice
no choice
in the matter
move your feet
pitter patter!
pater noster
our father, who ain’t even here…

meanwhile, you… your life
is but a hail mary pass
do not pass
go
do not collect
any intellect
defect
at your own risk
tisk, tisk, tisk, this is not a board game
this is not over yet!
stay tuned!
subscribe to our low-ball offer
of your common dream
for mere pennies on the dollar ninety-nine!
all you have to do is reach out and
touch faith
fatten up for the slaughter
of your incense
get buffet buff
chow down on the supersized bod of zombie jesus
with corn-syrup bunny ears
and everything will be all right
child
this is not your life anyway
yours is the next one
this one’s for the human gods
in their safety pods
we call castles

there’s dragons in them tarred moats
no feathery light trebuchet speed boats
can cross it in time
the harder they come
the more apple wagon
rockers get vexed, hexed
next!
next!
next!
the doctor will see you now
about the lash gashes that zebra your back
back to work!
we have wind whistles to blow
we have castles to build
with the eternal, shifting flows of sands of time
through saharan eras
across peon aeons

it’ll be the best of castles
it’ll be the worst of castles

but you…

you will not be remembered.

via: http://keepfightingprop8.ning.com/profiles/blogs/revoke-the-mormon-churchs-tax

If you’re angry that a church can meddle with another state’s political statutes, here’s something that you can do.

To report the LDS Church to the IRS, simply take 5 minutes to print these articles out and any others you can find:

http://www.sltrib.com/ci_10839546

http://www.sltrib.com/news/ci_10842051

Then print and fill out http://www.irs.gov/pub/irs-pdf/f3949a.pdf

List the taxpayer as:

Thomas S. Monson, et al
50 East North Temple
Salt Lake City, Utah 84150

List his occupation as President and the business as the ridiculously full name of the church (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) at the same address.

Check the boxes for False Exemption and Public/Political Corruption.

Then in the Comments section demand that the LDS Church be fined and their tax-exempt status revoked for repeated and blatant violations of the IRS’s separation of church and state rules, and for conspiring to interfere with a state’s political process.

Check Yes under “Are books/records available?” and write in “campaign finance records.”

You don’t have to provide any of your own personal info.

Mail the form and the printed articles to:

Internal Revenue Service
Fresno, CA 93888

That’s it. Done. Poll’s closed. Book it.

freepers:

I would like to say: “Welcome back, America.”  A lot of us out here feel like Short Round must have felt right after Indiana Jones woke up from the Thuggee cult stupor in the Temple of Doom.

Welcome back.

]]> http://asocialstudies.wordpress.com/2008/11/05/a-few-thousand-words/feed/ 0 asocialstudies http://asocialstudies.wordpress.com/2008/11/04/obama-or-mccain-change-or-remove/ http://asocialstudies.wordpress.com/2008/11/04/obama-or-mccain-change-or-remove/#comments Wed, 05 Nov 2008 00:33:42 +0000 asocialstudies http://asocialstudies.wordpress.com/?p=529 ]]> some Gmail LOLs, click on thumbnail to see full-sized:

“on peut tuer les bébés foques aussi” = “we can kill the baby seals also”
“du rouge à lèvres sur un cochon” = “lipstick on a pig”

audio: http://www.tindeck.com/audio/filestore/w/wwdo-SarahPalin.mp3

story and transcript: http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20081101.wqueduo1101/BNStory/usElection2008/home

yeah, Carla Bruni is soooo jealous.

loosely related: http://abcnews.go.com/politics/story?id=3973925

also, the tabs at the top do not allow me to quickly resize the browser window by double-clicking the title bar… i guess i’ll have to change behaviours.  lame.

also, we got ourselves a lolgrammur typo on page 15 of the comic that explains what Google Chrome is all about:

i mean, seriously:

Quick review before I try to catch a wink.  It’s a goddamn work night, people.

REVIEW FOR THOSE WHO HAVEN’T SEEN IT YET:

You should see it.  I mean, who goes to see only 2 movies out of a trilogy or only 3 movies out of a quadwhatever.  Brace yourself for a gray Indy with very loose face skin, and brace yourself for “modern” special effects and some pointless CGI, which makes for some scenes where you go “ain’t no way they survived that” or “yeah right, they’re still conscious after that kind of impact.”

Thankfully, though, it’s kept sufficiently on a leash to be able to suspend your disbelief one more time.  For old times’ sake.  And for a good time.  Call on Indy.

REVIEW FOR THOSE WHO HAVE SEEN IT (spoilers!):

It wasn’t as bad as I braced myself for, but could have been better.  I mean, aliens?  Roswell?  51?  Shit that’s “kinda” magnetic, but only sorta?  The Nazca lines were a nice touch, but their mention merely superficial.  The gophers/prairie dogs/rodents were totally pointless and should have been left on the cutting room floor.

Indy is DEFINITELY too old to be doing this, and the special effects just made things worse.  I guess you could say I like things a little more low-tech.  Some of those falls appeared buttery soft, like a splish-splash in a bird bath.  Seriously now.  You don’t just tumble down a Niagara-sized waterfall as if it were a waterslide at some freeway motel.  This movie should have been made a decade ago at the latest so that Harrison Ford would be sprightlier and less saggy, and special effects wouldn’t have to be used so extensively.  Nor would we need a Henry Jones, Jr. IV to divert our attention from Grampa Simpson’s Ravages of Old Age ™.

Still, for all this whining, it’s worth seeing if you’re in any way an Indiana Jones fan.  And who isn’t?  No, I don’t want to know those of you who aren’t.  It’s got some feverish chase scenes, is good-humoured without too many cheesy lines (though there are some, pointlessly stuck in there as if a Shrek writer walked into a room), and has visual appeal to the Machu Picchu set.

It has some overt references to pop culture and itself, like the giant 51 on the warehouse door, or the Ark itself peeking out of a crate freshly busted open during a pursuit of some other relic.  However, more subtle ones are in place also, like the Atomic Café.  Or McCarthyist witch hunts.  Or a drag race on an arid road out in the desert somewhere, while we wait for the first appearance of the actor known as Bob Falfa in one of his prior incarnations.  And that bomb detonation scene kicked ass—which also means that if Indy doesn’t get killed by bullets first, then he’ll most definitely eventually succumb to some kind of radiation exposure-related illness, ridiculous lead-lined fridge ride or no ridiculous lead-lined fridge ride.

All in all, it’s not the best one in the series.  In fact, it might be the worst one.  But, like Isaac Davis’ orgasms, even the worst one is still right on the money.  And to riff off those posters in the office of Murray Hewitt, Deputy Cultural Attaché to NZ, I’d have to sum this one up with: “Don’t expect too much… you won’t be disappointed!”

NOSCRIPT

DOWNTHEMALL

GREASEMONKEY

Martin can’t sleep… late night minds filled with wide-open raven eyes, and the deafening sound of freshly fallen snow. 12:35am

…

…then the MSN starts talking to me…

MAGENTA: beautiful fluffy diamonds falling from the sky

MARTIN: doing silent clink clink clink on my eardrums

MAGENTA: cold heat crunching under my soles

MARTIN: crispy crunch wheetabix flake blanket

MAGENTA: touches my tongue all sweet like

MARTIN: honey comb
all same
all different
tongue tingle

MAGENTA: tastes like vanilla but not
more like lemon with sugar—white sugar

MARTIN: the squeak of icing sugar underfoot
the taste of watermelon icecubes on the tongue

MAGENTA: lovely when it goes like that, she says
hum in my ear again

MARTIN: mmmm-mmmmm
the breath freezes into icicle notes
and the warm womb of an avalanche

MAGENTA: i like that song, walk more more

MARTIN: the feather foot thumps a powdery rhythm
gliding along a silent side street
lit by reflection alone

MAGENTA: your hand on my neck gives rest and i kiss your mouth
taste snow
and walk your reflection home

MARTIN: perchance to sleep
under cover
blood-filled lips mouthing words
of tender tales
and sweet dreams

purportedly by mehmeturgut on deviantart.

Leaves In The River by Sea Wolf lyrics say it much better than the whole original post below them did:

I met a girl on halloween
well she was lost and i was drunk
and it was dark and cold out when we left
and as we walked the rain started
the leaves I’ve felt
with every step and all around around us
people slept alone with their dreams

the wind came down from out the planes
and blew the leaves out through the streets
I wondered how far leaves could realy fly
would they rest in several yards
or make it to the city
or would they end up in the river just to float away

she pointed to a small brick house
and said it was where she grew up
the lights were out
she asked if we could stop for a while
her hair was still just getting wet
water running down her neck
collecting in the hand printed cement beneath her feet

apparently there had been a death
someone close had nothing left
because she hadn’t left him in the end

I saw her blush when I asked
if she always talked like that
she said it only happened when she drank
and later on I felt her hand slipping into my cold fist
she promised me a kiss as soon as we got home
her costume had begun to tear
she ran ahead and turned to me
her laughter echoed through the empty streets

__________________________________________________

ORIGINAL POST:

some nihilist, non-sequitur lines from some other time (clearly a time that sucked ass).

i think these lines need rearranging into a different order to make sense. read on and experience the inevitable nausea. (yay for uncontrollable nausea!)
_____________________________

i crossed that street some 3000 times last night,
curb to curb,
a caged, thrashing street rat-tat-tat (it’s not you, it’s me. i’m the cause of my own pain.)
pacing inside the winding, suffocating cuisinart haste-haste-haste

of ghoulish thoughts. of insiduous intent.
hang on tightly…

from star-search to soul-search.

if you knew even half the madness in the maze,
it would curdle your blood, fry your synapses.

nothing can give me what i need and want.
it doesn’t exist.
so i belong to it.
i belong to nothing.

i want nothing. sweet dreamful embrace of nothing.

you are like me, nothing,

belonging to nothing.

belonging to none.

i don’t want to catch mono again,

but here comes another hallowe’en mask
……………….running raw in the rain
perfectly fabulous outfit ruined.

a beautiful blonde dreadlocked drunk
angel appears out of the blue

and gives me an embrace.

another perfect timing ruined.

from nowhere and for nothing.

reading the ‘morning lovers’ coos
uttered right before the revelation
is the most painful thing.

and that ironic-more-ironic message sent

As It Happens

bushed, asleep on a salty pillow, eyes burning, witching hour.

_____________________________

i think this needs to go up on an LJ page or something. with some deviantArt thrown in to match. blech.

6 December was a monster.