21 Comments

"We try to love reasonable lives" One of the finest typos I've ever written. t was supposed to be 'live reasonable lives' but typos tell the truth better sometimes.

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Our generation had this masterpiece shoved down our eyes whether we liked it or not. Its poetic prophecy proves truer than ever these days:

'pity this busy monster, manunkind'

pity this busy monster, manunkind,

not. Progress is a comfortable disease:

your victim (death and life safely beyond)

plays with the bigness of his littleness

--- electrons deify one razorblade

into a mountain range; lenses extend

unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish

returns on its unself.

A world of made

is not a world of born --- pity poor flesh

and trees, poor stars and stones, but never this

fine specimen of hypermagical

ultraomnipotence. We doctors know

a hopeless case if --- listen: there's a hell

of a good universe next door; let's go

E. E. Cummings

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http://theeconomiccollapseblog.com/nearly-2-8-million-birds-mostly-chickens-and-turkeys-have-died-in-the-first-month-of-americas-raging-new-bird-flu-pandemic/

The new social competition: hunkering down. Keeping up with the Jones is now the new limbo: how low can you go?

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Do you own any shirts other than Hawaiian prints? Asking for a smartass friend.

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