Sunday, 29 March 2015

Sundae am nasty

Dear diary reader, I don't do this often so pay close attention and click & read the bulbous letter'd & linked:

By Blegg Dock Read is reasonably responsible for thishere entry in ways worthy of bullets in numerical form. How many?  OK, I'll tell you in some particular order
  (+1 for each &):
1)  prose & poetry
2)  gazing up@n other peep's biznis
3)  music & musing on the radio
4)  th@t other sense of attention deficit

Had he not writ the above bulbously letterd & linkd poem prior to his trip into Swans, that is to say, even if it were not worthy of being framed & hanged, he is the best in every single case without exception whenever somebody else is not, which is approximately daily, which I am definitely not. Summary judgment: Pop is better than I.

Apropos poesie & prosa, this brilliantly expressed centenary wish is friendly-foreign to the primary language of this non-daily product by one of the multi-talented multitude of K8s I know, I know.

Plenty o' Payne can be found on any given Sunday & from one to the next. I chose this one because it is off the beaten grid, maybe right up my alley. Say it, Merry Kins: ää-loo-min-ee-oom!

Lend a helping head with the straw entwined in darkness' radicalism.

Just in, like just about everything else, reminds me of something I said thrice if I said it once: Everybody's critical of supply-side economics except for the trickling that starts with them. This reminder that there is a ninety-nine percent under the t-shirt wearing version, and though I don't think it was planned in the Lamps and Wire as such, it reminds me further of the power of the pyramid. Meditate on that.

& listen to this:

Sunday, 22 March 2015


The only people who talk about a story taking on a life of its own are paid to distribute stories. If it really writes itself, why frame & forward it? Can something that's been framed & forwarded be said to have written itself?

The word 'sensationalize' has an origin. Many a journalist 'd be quick to point out that media critics are journalists too – the critic who ported that manteau (ized that sensational), part of the media. What better way to further the idea that yet another field regulates itself quite well, thank you – the ecological marketplace of humankind keeping itself in check. Selbstbedienung. The story serves itself.

What if a morning broke and a god-gazillion journos decided they had nothing more to say? Would the world be quickly uninformed? Would we be any more or less equipped or likely to start or stop action in War-istan or keep United Vegetable from slaughtering the farmers in Equivia and harvesting their bones for the next stage of the hybrid project?

Would the European or American public suddenly end up having no idea what is going on in Ukryria?

It is said that consumers in the digital media age receive poor quality product relative to their twentieth century print counterparts because they choose not to pay for their content. I have yet to see a study that proves that the public is less knowledgeable as to what is going on around them, more ignorant about what's happening in the world, or more misinformed today than twenty to fifty years ago – and it's not due to a lack of research. The larger the sample size, the more there is to be ignorant about, and verifying other's stupidity only misdirects attention from one's own, and when the people asking the questions and gathering & analyzing the data are not the least ignorant among us, then the entire enterprise is comprised of photographs of stinky garbage.

A society brought up on the belief that there is both good and bad information and that you can tell the difference by listening to the good informers is a society sure to be reared on bad information. But don't take my word for it. Look at the data and make up your own mind.


There are two kinds of junk science. There's the science that isn't science, but is presented as such despite a disregard for the rigorous standards set forth by Henry A. Science in 1582. Then there's the study of junk.


I see a dozen different newspapers on display just inside the entry to the bakery café in which I sit. The side and front of the rack face me, more or less. I can't make out the papers' print other than the mastheads, each with its own fancy font, some no doubt named for the paper itself. The Süddeutsche Zeitung has a profile shot of the German chancellor standing opposite someone in what appears could be a negotiated pose made to look like an authentic moment of diplomacy, not that there's a difference. Two rows up at the top is the Berliner Morgenpost with an infographic peeking out from behind the title of the Frankfurter Allgemeine just below it.

These are all placed vertically on side display, and I can see the backs of the competition on the far side of this skeletal rack. Between these two side displays lie the boulevards at about a forty-degree incline, the uppermost being a shallow stack of the Bild, which I can only make out from its red & black schema, below which sits the B.Z., basically vying for the same readership as the Bild, latter casting its shadow upon former, literally. As I put this pen to paper, this shade is obscured ostensibly further by the three-quarter eclipse of the sun, an event I wouldn't have known about had it not been reported upon, early & often. I can't recognize it regardless; it's as clear and bright as any first morning of spring.

At any rate, it doesn't matter. The moon can't hide the sun, the profit from both the Bild and B.Z. goes into the same pockets, and the readership of all those other papers are sure they're better informed.


Die Wörter infizieren und ignorieren, verwischen und verschlimmern, beschämen und verfälschen, und verkrüppeln, und verdüstern, und verfinstern nur. Aus dem Mund und auf dem Papier, missbrauchen sie durch ihre Missbraucher.
Thomas Bernhard


Ernst Forced to Stare at the Eclipse w/out Blinking,  Berlin-Prenzl'berg - 2015

barely related Sundae link:
Schechter geht nicht mehr: RIP for Danny Schechter

Thursday, 19 March 2015

Life is a Metaphor

The very act of defining something results to some degree in misnaming it. For every thing that has a word, we have created a description more or less apt. This doesn’t mean we cannot strive for greater precision of understanding, but the current nature of diversity of life as we know it, with its many opinions and ideologies, precludes unity of terminology.

Sunday, 22 February 2015

The Unforgiving Nature of Trample-Down Economics

For what does it profit a man to make his way along promptly plowed pavement safely to his office building only to slip and crack his head open on the sidewalk below?

Sunday, 15 February 2015

Cloudy Skies w/ a Chance of Crumbs

"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation. Most of the luxuries, and many of the so-called comforts of life, are not only not indispensable, but positive hindrances to the elevation of mankind."

Sunday, 8 February 2015

The Brazen Corruption of Breakfast

When Bo Rama speaks, you can predict the few things that will happen as a result: his biggest admirers will swoon over how smartly informed and refreshingly thoughtful his comments are; his biggest detractors will bluster about the odious treachery of the same; most people won't pay attention, but when the reactionaries get cranked up, the admirers will be joined by a chorus motivated in just as knee-jerk a fashion by the personality of the reactionaries, though no better informed about the integrity of the comments in question, and with just as deep a disregard for their context.

Friday, 6 February 2015

Eurotic Literature

A Game of Choke the Chicken
by Paul Krugman
1st grade econymonist

Never shoulda done it, coming together like that.  It was dangerous then, it's dangerous now.  Always thought so.  It's gonna come undone.  Just look at it's coming undone.  But we hafta cling to it. Don't look now but the money shot is riiiiight... there... and it's gonna be...

Wednesday, 4 February 2015

Were Apache Lucky, Duchess 'd be a Buddy of Tiny

For KiKiDo.  Not just.  Lest ye forget Trixie... and what of my tweelions, Imblique & Moschops?

Still now is the dog day of winter.

Monday, 2 February 2015

Amnesty's Hangover

Did you know that yesterday was do pass go, do collect a click all day?
Yes, you say?
Tho' I think I'd go w/ Perpetual Change, We Have Heaven is a fine example of a best of something ever, yes, no indifferent, and when you're tripping, who says they aren't both ever best of yes.
Would were it be...

Sunday, 1 February 2015

Soup or Sundae?

Perusal gives me the sense that the #USAsuisSeattle. This might represent the last vestige of interest paid to a spiel otherwise not of interest: not rooting for someone's win, but someone else's loss. I am familiar with this, um, sentiment, having attended the Indy 500 over a dozen times: when the driver of your dedicated fandom is out of the race before your third pig-meat sandwich, you start grasping for anyone... until the bitter, final turn when you just hope, "Please, God, anyone but Rick Mears."

Friday, 30 January 2015

All the Difference in the World

If time travel were possible - so the argument - we'd be surrounded by time travelers, to which one response would be, or might be, that we are surrounded by time travelers.