(via)

   "What the Candidates Have on Their iPods"

A assortment of Mormon vampires guards our watershed
deeply hideous thralldom, multifoliate sadness
melted as soon as fallen song of unspooling tungsten
ice cream made from this has nil value

You have a bizarre definition of justice, April
as thixotropic collaterals make haste to gouge
fishing holes out of the surface of some drifting object
stylizators pale and lonesome

The quality of the air on this deranged soft evening
car in sev'ral colors painted, fleeing from the northern
extremity of loss, learning to grok such trick bebop
as gilds the flame, however stubborn


The Collapse Gap. (via Joe Bageant)


They were Expandable.


Patti Smith on MSNBC, talking. (via Eyeball Hatred)


Something: our ruin is its completion, its culmination.
Just don't call it "tomorrow".