Nuclear war is the “ALL-IN” of global politics
Posted on Sat Jul 28 14:06:00 UTC 2007
HERE IS WHERE THE ANGELS FELL. Went out, wild, my head already heavy with tomorrows regrets but still drinking recklessly, the drugs, of a dubious and unknown quality, my magic eight ball predicted imminent violence, dismemberment was CERTAIN, my death ALL SIGNS SAY YES. Staring longingly into a depraved and bottomless pit. This is the hypnotically spinning blades of industrial machinery that makes you want to stick your hand right inside the hydraulic press and push the green button with your elbow just to see what happens. This is the stomach of a ravenous and insatiable beast that swallows men whole and digests them slowly over a period of lifetime, and for me hereto thought implausible New Lows seemed suddenly well within sinking distance – do it, let go off the safety railing, a quick and easy downhill slide into the gullet of oblivion and the warmth of the colon beyond.
The discarded cocoon husk of an elephant after metamorphosis is a sight to behold. It's sloughed off skin sitting there, free of care or worry in the middle of street, blocking traffic, the angry honking of car horns like frustrated ambitions, a fond and translucent smoked glass memory of some half-remembered childhood elephant glimpsed and then forgotten at the Zoo one time, but Bar-Bar the mute and friendly elephant ghost no longer eats peanuts, he is indifferent to your praise or blame. The remains of his old self must now be removed by the sanitation department, but he has moved on to better things. Become something else, entirely. He has sprouted wings and flown south for the winter. Joined with the great elephant flocks in his native Mexican homeland, wheeling and circling and riding the desert thermals of the baking Mexican plains; he is high above the range of anti-aircraft fire and beyond the reach of death.
The speak in wooden planks, and then cackling demons ride off on their words like broomsticks.
I was talking to plato_hell the other day, and in a rare moment of empathy I finally grasped how frustrating it must be to constantly be thought of by others as fundamentally incapable of making your own decisions or mistakes, especially for someone as bright as she is. It's purely because she's a chick, and young. When I was seventeen I was expected to get up to a certain level of mischief, boys will be boys, I would graze my knees and bloody my nose and take my hard knocks like a man and hopefully, like an electrocuted mouse in a Skinner Box I would eventually learn from my fuck-ups by process of negative reinforcement. “Character building”, my Dad called it.
The only reason any of the rest of us have “the benefit of experience” is that we have already paid our dues in tears and bruises. You can't keep people wrapped up in cotton wool, the world is hard and bubbles always burst.
- - -
I suffer from a disabilitating disease, avant-garde amnesia, the chronic and reoccurring inability to form any new long or short term memories about possible future events.
The discarded cocoon husk of an elephant after metamorphosis is a sight to behold. It's sloughed off skin sitting there, free of care or worry in the middle of street, blocking traffic, the angry honking of car horns like frustrated ambitions, a fond and translucent smoked glass memory of some half-remembered childhood elephant glimpsed and then forgotten at the Zoo one time, but Bar-Bar the mute and friendly elephant ghost no longer eats peanuts, he is indifferent to your praise or blame. The remains of his old self must now be removed by the sanitation department, but he has moved on to better things. Become something else, entirely. He has sprouted wings and flown south for the winter. Joined with the great elephant flocks in his native Mexican homeland, wheeling and circling and riding the desert thermals of the baking Mexican plains; he is high above the range of anti-aircraft fire and beyond the reach of death.
The speak in wooden planks, and then cackling demons ride off on their words like broomsticks.
I was talking to plato_hell the other day, and in a rare moment of empathy I finally grasped how frustrating it must be to constantly be thought of by others as fundamentally incapable of making your own decisions or mistakes, especially for someone as bright as she is. It's purely because she's a chick, and young. When I was seventeen I was expected to get up to a certain level of mischief, boys will be boys, I would graze my knees and bloody my nose and take my hard knocks like a man and hopefully, like an electrocuted mouse in a Skinner Box I would eventually learn from my fuck-ups by process of negative reinforcement. “Character building”, my Dad called it.
The only reason any of the rest of us have “the benefit of experience” is that we have already paid our dues in tears and bruises. You can't keep people wrapped up in cotton wool, the world is hard and bubbles always burst.
- - -
I suffer from a disabilitating disease, avant-garde amnesia, the chronic and reoccurring inability to form any new long or short term memories about possible future events.