Thursday, 22 March 2018

Ain' no unseen hand raisin' boats.

To look long of breath & breadth's eventual to spy
It's the dough what prevents the apportionment of pie
If worthy of substance, to savor and share
It dries up, while what's dry's eaten everywhere

Saturday, 17 March 2018

Fifty Years of My Lie

I see it much the way I see the US. The Right, as they were, are an always existent element in society, and in spite of societal tendencies to recognize thick lines, they are in fact a spectrum of feelings, beliefs, general notions, and ideologies, like the rest of society, all prone to willful blindness and hypocrisy induced by learned identities. More often than not we are not cognizant of the masks we place upon our masks, let alone the masks themselves. So just like all those Trumpeteers, the AfD voters encompass a variation of xenophobic nationalism from latent to overt, unwitting to hardcore to just plain idiotic and/or evil.

The problem as I see it, as I think you know, is that the alternative presented is the same as it always is: a declaration of A or B. The multiparty system here does not avert that, largely because of coalition building (the CDU (read: Republicans) and the SPD (read Democrats) have just built yet another grand coalition that renders real opposition so far to the margins that we may as well just have the Queen). It would appear that this form of false-dichotomous democracy both here & there & everywhere has been enough to stave off a certain kind of extremity — (if we're willing to discount the extremity as it is represented in our militarist policies, which are in spite of all rhetoric anything but partisan, and our rich-favoring policies, as represented by both parties jockeying for financial favor from one or another rent-seeking class of assholes, or as it is represented by the standard American oh-so reasonable respect for law & order in spite of the evidence of its fascist tendencies) — but only for so long.

That is: I believe most people who wouldn't posit this as fact know full well this is where we've been headed. If you do not address the outright exploitation of people around the world and at home, and continue to pretend that the lesser-evil approach to electoral politics can continue unabated, eventually the most odious of the aforementioned spectrum will congeal & coalesce by obligatory scientific cause & effect. While it's true that here the coalition building aspect can keep the storm troopers of a certain kind of uniform from taking over houses of government, it doesn't mean they cannot curry favor. And, as I said, we have storm troopers of a different uniform already, increasingly militarized police forces who are not by my estimation Officer Friendlies, but people who think they are because of their uniform deserving of respect.

The A/B choice currently being forced upon all of us around the globe is nationalism vs. globalism. Neither one of these options as presented is remotely less than awful, but the reasonable anti-globalist factions (to the extent that such exist) are so marginalized by the exclusionary politics, media, and resultant culture that there may as well be no democracy. Indeed, the options, as they were, are not presented so much as dictated.

Here, as there, the only thing that people with their grubby fingers grabbing at the strings of anticipated power care about regarding Poo-tin — to take the Zeitgeist as example — is getting into another country to continue the disasterous policies of toppling the likes of Iraq and Libya. The disaster is by bipartisan design, of course, as indeed is even Don President's new torturer-in-chief of what's portrayed as American intelligence the doing of his predecessor's "looking forward not back". You might as well say that Bo Rama and all of his apologists were looking forward to her tenure. His choice to let these folks who tortured folks off the hook for the ostensible sake of healing and unity was a calculated move on every imaginable level of the eleven dimensional checkerboard. Just like incrementally privatizing schools and prisons and monetizing everything in between including healthcare, while somehow managing to look darling doing it, at least to his class of courtier who swooned at his family's every move and continue to yearn for his yesterday.

None of these putative players give a fuck about you or me, or the danger of Russian influence, or the Syrian population – any more than did the dyed-in-the-wool brutal American murderers for their victims fifty years ago yesterday.

Were that too not the consequence of a bipartisan-based global policy meant to curtail, oddly enough, the same enemy's influence, and dictated as a choice at the ballot box, it could not have led to the no-less heinous slaughter of over a million more Vietnamese victims — a number any neo-fascist newcomer political party would be proud to quibble with. 

Wednesday, 14 March 2018

Der Parkbank Pinkler: frucht-feife-ziehen auf de Jondel

„Ist die Ruhe um?“
—The Glam Squad, Gladiography (Veröffentlichungsdatum unbekannt)


Gestern ist der Zukunftsweg. Jeder einzelne Tunken Berliner, der neu in Donut-kreis der Hauptstadt auch-tauft, ist ein untrügliches Wahrzeichen dafür, dass diese Lokalkette ihre bettelarm Sklavenlohn-schufter auwacka-weise nicht nur mit Touris zu überhäufen hoffen. Nicht als hätten alle waschechte Berliner was gegen die Pfannkuchen-eintunkerei-erei, aber gerade in diesen Kaffee? Schrippen stippen? Wohl kaum, wa?

Doch, doch! Herrje, herrje! Man meinte, die sich nun nah dreißigjährig fortbestehende Kopp-kluft zwischen Ost und West innerhalb Berlin so gut wie nicht existierend einstufen läßt, von Akademikern, die nun ja mit sachbezogenen Stichprobe-berlinern geredet haben.

Stallgeruch: Mehr als jeder Dritte sowohl aus Friedrichshagen wie auch Friedenau findet die hierzu gratis Lorke aus dem Tunken Berlinern gut bis sehr gut — alle vier alt- wie neu-Friedrichshainer sogar hervorragend. Zumal Weddinger und Weißenseer treffen drauf gerne wieder. Na gut, deren Daten stützen auf Statistiken einer Marktstudie. Jedenfalls wurde willige Teilnehmer mit Anschrift diesseits Dahlem befragt. Ob dabei die ausstehende Mehrzahl ähnliches wie „Wat de Muckefuck”?! von sich gab?

Wer meinte, die Werbebranche schummelt nicht, verdient von der Zahlensalon seinen Lebensunterhalt. Wer glaubt, dass sich Akademiker Stories nicht aus den abzählenden Fingern saugen, sollte mal die Geschichtsbücher aus aller Herren Staaten via close reading allumfassend vergleichen. Die Leitfrage paraphrasiert, was und wer wird nimmer gefragt, wer gilt gar nie oder zählt überhaupt nicht?

Der Journalist möchte keinen Limerick aus 'ner Tragödie machen, deswegen wird berichtet, im „Tümpel” werde es sein, woraus eine Leiche geborgen wurde. Im folgenden Absatz darf es wohl als Teich bezeichnet, allerdings nur in direkter Zusammensetzung mit einem Totem oder ähnlich irrendem Beschön-sinn.

Fruchtstr./Rüdersdorfer Str. 1960 / Str. der Pariser Kommune/Rüdersdorfer Str. 2018


Sunday, 4 March 2018

Der Parkbank Pinkler: Rücksex säen

„Ahnte, schwante, tut die Tante,
schlechte Note, Schuldenquote.”
—'aus der Grotte


Keiner schaut bei ihm vorbei. Oder, wie es gerade geht, den Umstanden entsprechend, hinein zwischen der Raumdecke aus der Brückenunterseite, und der von den vier Wänden, die nicht zu dieser Decke hinaufreicht. Daraus kommt das Loch vom Schlupfloch. Da oben, neben den rockend un' rollenden Zwei- bis Zwölfrädern, ist auch eine Bushaltestelle, wo es kräftig quietscht. Die leere Lastkraftwagen rütteln aber am dollsten durch. Besuch aber nicht.

Sunday, 18 February 2018

Merely Prayers

That which teases the question of control — whether individual human agency from the bottom up is virtually existent or not in a whirlwind of agglomerated control structures — would be comparable to that which cannot qualify the existence or non-existence of free will. Maybe we peasant purchasers of information are discerning enough not to be duped, steered & controlled, or maybe that’s doubtful. Whatever, virtually all data is dubious until proven otherwise. As the messengers in this drama beggar believability — that is, not just the protagonist & antagonist casts, but the cast itself — it should be instructive that the default bylaws of binary self-governance are at once underpinned and impaired by, remarkably, an intelligent human capacity to believe one can measure and judge the relative trustworthiness of the least trustworthy class in this culture, and trust the spoils of one's toil to the marginal winner of that competition when in actuality the bedrock of what's customarily peddled by the Crullers & Crumpet Crumbs of Gluten, and the Clingy Badmintons in Bushes, and Dioramas of Gamey Diamond, and Cee D. Uses & S.P. Dees & "Äh, eff Ds!" and I. Saids & Net 'n' Yahoos of this whirlwind begs too much import to be but moot. So what if one of them happens to mouth a truth that works like a salve to soothe your sore sensibilities. Is it remotely relevant to their stage movements?

On the other hand, if you're still a follower at this point, it's not entirely in vain. Whether appropriate to the original purpose or not, it is apparent that answers are rendered unto the faithful of all beliefs. That itself has meaning.

Sunday, 4 February 2018

Der Parkbank Pinkler: Rücksieb Zin

„Man nennt es Fortschnitt.”
—nicht zurückzuführen


»Of all the fucking gall.« sagt er. Leo missversteht, denkt, die Galle soll alle sein, was hieße, eine Leberkrankheit oder ähnliches. In Wirklichkeit ist er nur sauer. »Nein. Nicht die Galle. Es hat nichts mit der Gal'nblase oder sonst was Körperliches zu tun!« Außer der Tatsache, dass er zittert, wenn sauer, denkt Leo. Eventuell ist er jedoch wütend. Er zeigt es nicht äußerlich, womöglich deswegen das Zittern so'n Bisschen gerade. Sieht nicht aus wie die Wut, tut aber so, als wäre es sie verbergen. Vor wem? Vor allen. Vor dem vor sich. Vielleicht vor der Nähe.

Leo hat Angst vor Krankheiten der Organe. Als Kind dachte er, die Leberzirrhose wäre ein Rettungskleid. Sanitätersbuxe oder sowas. Das ist schon eine Weile her. Als bürgerlicher Leo auf dem Weg zum „Olli” war, hat er schon ein paar Stücke verloren. Nach einem Maulvoll von Milchzähnen, die Mandeln mit fünf, den Blinddarm mit sechzehn, und wenn das für ihn kein schlechtes Zeichen war, ein Auge im folgenden Jahr, ist das ein Leben, das schon vieles erlebt hat.

Sunday, 28 January 2018

Merkelei gerahmt

In response to a request that the Chancellor be placed in proper perspective:

Merkel framed in Davos - 2018

In spite of her by now iconic triAngela-ting hand gesture and her chart-peaking approval of the export of military product, the reported victims of which would make one wonder how such policy could continue (short of it's really being part of an ongoing racket), it is unfair to implicate her at the top of the pyramid, unless it's part of the imagination of one's dreams of personal posterity.

Speakin' o'... this is as good a tale of Davos '18 as one'll read.

Thursday, 25 January 2018

Old, you're up! — Alt is' euer Opa!

These aged incontinent feed their fat livers sausage & sour cabbage as their still young, former Rothschild Investor calls for equity in all things at the round table. The joke is not lost on Aging Mother, who due to disinterest in the direction of the slopes and difficulty of the climbs can act as if theirs is not a far-removed indulgence of net neutrality where she & her collegial collaborator of an ostensibly vast divergence of bureaucratic bent after all still today are of an age climbing more than marginally faster than their villagers' respectively reformed, gradually growing ages of retirement. Their foil foments Friday but beforehand bears out as if by default of unquestioned contrast of mental health the wholesomeness of their indigestible diet. This capital cuisine is implied in a posture of a culture currently more welcoming, which counters the monocultural gauche & gaudy golden arches burning both ends of every economy, though no fancy font found in the menu lists the non-negotiable unanimity of fiery fraternal export, getting the goose cooked where the spit turns the other way round.