( me / via )

Not now, Melville.

"Rot in a jar of edam I made for a janitor." --@anthonyetherin.bsky.social

"In other words, it is a question of speaking of destructiveness as the 'psychological foundation' of fascism, and not merely as a characteristic of the inherent dynamics of social struggles and processes of conquest." (Google translate) via @tir2.bsky.social

"What Kind of Times Are These

There's a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.

I've walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don't be fooled
this isn't a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,
our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.

I won't tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
meeting the unmarked strip of light—
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.

And I won't tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these
to have you listen at all, it's necessary
to talk about trees."

--Adrienne Rich via @alinapleskova.bsky.social

Fentanyl Czar.