January 25, 2013 - January 18, 2013
Thursday, January 24, 2013
it all started. Diana Rigg was charming about her role as Emma
Peel, master martial artist. "I
push them and they politely fall down," she explained.
TO THE FRONT LINES. The mistake we make is thinking they're
naive. This latest move is as sick and twisted as it is cynical. But
it's also classic liberal politicking and a demonstration of how
accomplices in the mass media have spent a generation setting us up
for this particular catastrophe.
Female warriors have long been sold to us in movies and TV as
symbols of the feminist quest for equal respect. Initially, we may
have understood that there was little or no reality to depictions of
hundred pound women who can go toe to toe with two hundred pound
men. We knew without being told that even an average schlub could
break a woman's jaw with one clumsy punch. So when we saw movie
heroines who could fight back successfully and prevail, it was mere
fantastic allegory. But now we have a couple generations who have
inhaled all these fictions drop by drop and now probably kinda sorta
believe them. Emma Peel has been replaced by Lara Croft, and the
special effects are so marvelous we actually can see it in our
Hell. It's been a long road of subliminal propaganda. The myth of
the equalizing power of kung fu, exemplified by Cynthia Rothrock, Carrie Ann Moss in The Matrix, Uma Thurman in Kill Bill, and most recently by
in Hawaii Five-0. The
artifice of "gritty." "realistic" films like Girlfighter, in which a
female boxer defeats a male in her own weight class. The
sensationalistic voyeurism of movies likeG.I.
Jane, in which a woman becomes a Navy Seal.
Isn't this the
whole situation in a nutshell? She's not supposed to have a dick.
she's not supposed to get raped to death either. Anything else is
Ridiculous, of course. But the liberal lie is laid down in the
process. What stands in their way is merely chauvinism. On an equal
playing field, they would prove themselves equal to any and every
task. Just to drive the unpleasant;y contradictory reality home, here's what
hand-to-hand violence really looks like.
this with the new female action star in Haywire, who is a women's MMA champion.
What we're seeing there is not combat but sex. Conquest
by cunnilingus. And a gun.
Why boxing, wrestling, and mixed martial arts are always divided
into strict weight classes. The postulate? A good big man always
beats a good small man. Where in the hell do women, with their
negligible upper body strength, fit into this picture? They don't.
They can't carry anything like the same weight of supplies and
ammunition. They can't carry an injured man twice their weight to
safety. Every one of them who is on the battlefield is a man who
isn't. Their mere presence is an automatic diminution of force.
I'm reminded personally of the most bizarre conversation I ever had
with a devout feminist in the mid-1980s. I was trying to point out
to her that there were clear instances where physical differences
between men and women were decisive. I used the example of Sandy
Koufax and his hundred-plus mile per hour fastball. With a straight
face she argued that there could be female Koufaxes if women were
simply allowed to play. This was so absurdly not true that the
conversation degenerated into a yelling match.
There are so many many ways that women in combat is a horrific idea.
Here's actually the kindest
I served in the 2003 invasion of
Iraq as a Marine infantry squad leader. We rode into war crammed
in the back of amphibious assault vehicles. They are designed to
hold roughly 15 Marines snugly; due to maintenance issues, by
the end of the invasion we had as many as 25 men stuffed into
the back. Marines were forced to sit, in full gear, on each
other's laps and in contorted positions for hours on end. That
was the least of our problems.
The invasion was a blitzkrieg. The goal was to move as fast to
Baghdad as possible. The column would not stop for a lance
corporal, sergeant, lieutenant, or even a company commander to
go to the restroom. Sometimes we spent over 48 hours on the move
without exiting the vehicles. We were forced to urinate in empty
water bottles inches from our comrades.
Many Marines developed dysentery from the complete lack of
sanitary conditions. When an uncontrollable urge hit a Marine,
he would be forced to stand, as best he could, hold an MRE bag
up to his rear, and defecate inches from his seated comrade's
During the invasion, we wore chemical protective suits because
of the fear of chemical or biological weapon attack. These are
equivalent to a ski jumpsuit and hold in the heat. We also had
to wear black rubber boots over our desert boots. On the
occasions the column did stop, we would quickly peel off our
rubber boots, desert boots and socks to let our feet air out.
Due to the heat and sweat, layers of our skin would peel off our
feet. However, we rarely had time to remove our suits or perform
even the most basic hygiene. We quickly developed sores on our
When we did reach Baghdad, we were in shambles. We had not
showered in well over a month and our chemical protective suits
were covered in a mixture of filth and dried blood. We were told
to strip and place our suits in pits to be burned immediately.
My unit stood there in a walled-in compound in Baghdad, naked,
sores dotted all over our bodies, feet peeling, watching our
suits burn. Later, they lined us up naked and washed us off with
Yes, a woman is as capable as a man of pulling a trigger. But
the goal of our nation's military is to fight and win wars.
Before taking the drastic step of allowing women to serve in
combat units, has the government considered whether introducing
women into the above-described situation would have made my unit
more or less combat effective?
The reality is much worse. Women taken prisoner in most parts of the
world will be savaged sexually. Fact. It doesn't matter if women in
uniform think they are up to that possibility. or even mentally
prepared for it. The nation isn't. Which is the sickest part of the
liberal "freeing" of women to subject themselves to such torment.
See, the libs who are in favor of women in combat know that neither
they nor their own daughters will ever be engaged in combat or
members of the military at all. They hate the military. This newest
"reform" is akin to the darkest motives of Fast & Furious. They
can't wait for a genuine atrocity against female soldiers in combat.
Because then, they believe, we'll begin dismantling the military
across the board. After 23 female troops are gang raped to death in
a muslim country, we'll all start seeing the light and make sure the
troops never leave our shores again. Heaven according to the gosepel
of Noam Chomsky.
Because they believe so much in peace. And equality. No matter who
gets killed and brutalized in the process. Deep deep sickness. Their
fantasies are always
destructive, murderous, and soul destroying in reality. Why we got
Stalin, Mao, and Pol Pot when all they had in mind was fairness and
sharing. I spit on them.
So take note of who is endorsing this insanity or protesting only
mildly around the edges. I guarantee you it's too many for my taste.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
We're in the
government's hands now. No use
kidding ourselves about who has the power.
I STILL INSIST YOU LISTEN. It's like a death after a long
illness. The end was known well ahead of time. But the event when it
occurs is still shattering. Ignoring the second inauguration didn't
make it go away. The fact of it is shattering. It's so official, so
final. All through the first term there was the hope that the damage
could be undone. Two terms of this madness is probably something our
beloved country can't recover from. We knew this on election night.
But that was a knowledge of a death blow to come, not the blow
itself. Now the blow has been delivered, and it's even more
shattering than our imaginations could encompass. You're shattered.
I'm shattered. The question keeps recurring. What are we to do now?
Prospects are bleak. For those of us who are older, the impacts will
be direct, personal, near-term, and fatal. Palin's death panels are
no fantasy. With ObamaCare, our fates in the event of predictable,
old-age illnesses will be decided by bureaucrats, not doctors. I am
almost certain the government will take my wife away from me
prematurely or me away from my wife prematurely. Hell. we both
smoke, which makes us evil in the post-Christian world where
morality consists of being an historically victimized minority
or, well, anything but a relatively affluent white person.
I'm not whining, just reporting. All of you who believe that
politics is not something discussed in polite company or held
against those you otherwise like but disagree with politically need
to understand that the second inauguration changes life for
everyone. Everyday life. When Obama took the oath for the second
time, your children's lives were dimmed and reduced. They will never
experience your prosperity. They will live in lesser houses in worse
parts of town. They will be brain-damaged by an educational system
you cannot rescue them from. They will, at some point, cease to be your children and become
instead generic soldiers of the state. They may live longer
physically but probably won't, and likely their lives will not be
what we would call lives
at all. They will become prisoners of a malleable present whose
changes they can't detect, much as George Orwell prophesied. They
will be anonymous units in the cascade of a pachinko machine,
jingling nothings whose only significance is statistical.
They will not see what is wrong or missing in themselves. They will
look at you and wonder what it is that's wrong or missing in you. They will thank the
government when you die and the burden of your old age is removed
from their weak, indifferent shoulders. In other words, the
government has become one of the most intimate and powerful
influences within the family unit you once believed could protect
and save your experience of life. What the loss of freedom means in
I have just two talents as a person. Otherwise I'm not much. I can
write. And I can see relationships between cultural elements at a
very deep level. The way you look at a barn and see that it is red I
can look at a newspaper, TV show, organization, institution, public
(or private) person, or national moment and see its resonance, the
sources and impacts of its slightest movements. Right now, at this
precise moment in time, I am shattered.
I haven't commented much on current events since the election. Why?
Because all I can see is non-current
events. The future unfolding before us. Why I've been such an
asshole of late that only my wife can stand me. I've lost all the
friends of my youth and middle age. I've cut myself off from most
family and near family. I have no room room for anything in my mind
anymore but her, my dogs and cats (who remain lovely innocents), and
the darkening vision of the end of western, Christian consciousness.
I have no more patience for ego, jealousy, acquisitiveness,
ignorance, willful blindness, or stupidity.I am adrift in the
universe of piercing, rocketing interrelationships among all things,
from the most trivial to the most complex. Cultural cosmology,
comprising everything from particles to planets and beyond.
Not boasting. It's a curse. My physical energy is gone. Not that I'm
physically ill. I'm not. Like Star Trek's Enterprise where Scotty
diverts all power to the shields or the warp drives, my life force
is diverted to my consciousness. Most of you can look at a TV show
or movie and enjoy it (or not) on its own terms. I can't do that
anymore. I see -- can I come up with an adequate term? -- always a matrix.Imagine a table in three
dimensions in which every variable, from producer to scriptwriter to
director to cameraman to FX designer to actor to soundtrack composer
to film editor to lighting technician to extra, is part of a vast
lattice of equations that add up to the end product. Each has a
personal history, a worldview, a body of work, a theme, a message, a
set of fantasies, a life being channeled into a succession of still
frames we see as a "good flick" or a "turkey." Which definition also
sits in a matrix of genres and competitors both ancestral and
derivative. And on and on. Seeing the whole thing whole is my
impossible obsession. I'm not saying I can see all the elements of the matrix. I'm saying
that's the perspective from which I watch. When you chase infinity,
you are doomed. You cannot know. All you can do is continuously
ratchet down your expectations of what you might know. After years
of pontificating, I have arrived at the summit of wisdom. I know
nothing but a few elementary principles of right and wrong that
obviate the matrix. Where I am. Shattered.
Commenters here have been waiting since the election for me to say
something worthwhile, intelligent, or helpful. (That's not ego; they
wouldn't be here at all if they weren't interested in my thoughts.)
I haven't done that. Why Peregrine John, one of our reliably shrewd
interlocutors, identified the common sense advice of Sara, who knows
more than I do what we might be able to do next. Here's
what she has to say. Read it. All of it. I mean it. Come back
after you've read it. Meanwhile, we'll twiddle our thumbs.
What did you think? Pitiful, isn't it? We're not even going to be
able to save our children. I don't doubt her resolve, but you know
what's going to happen as well as I do. Read for pleasure? No way.
She didn't even specify the most crucial requirement of that goal --
required memorization and recitation of great poetry. Forget it.
It's all gone. Shhhhhhhhhh. Don't go any farther in this post..
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
For those who
didn't see it, here's Obama's second inaugural address.
It reminded Chris Matthews of Lincoln's second inaugural. Of
SCORE AND FOUR YEARS AGO. I didn't watch it or any of the
coverage of it. The closest I came was reading Drudge and Hotair
headlines. The only one I followed was at Hotair, because it came
Eric Erickson and was titled, "Congratulations, Mr. President, from
the loyal opposition." Here's a sample:
Congratulations Mr. President on
your second inaugural.
Saying that makes some of you really enraged. I said the same on
twitter shortly after his official swearing in. Several of the
replies were embarrassing and atrocious. Some accused the man
elected by a majority of Americans of treason. Some accused him of
willfully destroying the nation.
I believe the President’s policies are destructive and will harm
our economy, our nation, and our sense of national self long term.
I believe his policies have the effect of turning us into subjects
of the government, not citizens in charge of it. Because of his
expansion of the social safety net funded through class warfare,
Mr. Obama’s policies will cause too many Americans’ fortunes to
rise and fall with those of the government, unable to chart a
course for themselves apart from government.
But I do not think the President means to do this maliciously. I
do not think he is treasonous. I do not hate him. I am not
outraged by it. The President has done what he set out to do. I
cannot be outraged by him doing what he set out to do. I am far
more outraged by the Republicans not doing what they said they
We have too many outrage pimps on both sides of the aisle whipping
the respective bases into a frenzy and fury against the other
side. I don’t have enough time or energy to be outraged about it
all. There are things to be outraged by, but not everything, and
certainly not with full energy dedicated to every perceived slight
What I am finding is that among conservatives there is too much
outrage, piss, and vinegar. It makes our ideas less effective. We
have become humorless, angry opponents of the President instead of
happy warriors selling better ideas. We are not even selling
Conservatives, frankly, have become purveyors of outrage instead
of preachers for a cause. Instead of showing how increasing
government harms people, how free markets help people, and how
conservative policies benefit all Americans, we scream “Benghazi”
and “Fast & Furious”...
Be mad at me if you need to. Feel free to express your moral
outrage and indignity at me. But then shut up and focus on
convincing people not that the President of the United States duly
elected by a majority of the American people is a traitor
willfully trying to destroy the country, but that our policies
will allow people to make the most of their lives and not be
dependent on the rising and falling fortunes of Washington, D.C.
Be happy. The anger is unbecoming of the party of Lincoln and
Be happy. Try to emulate
the original "happy warrior," Abraham Lincoln. uh, sure. Think of
all those daguerrotypes of Old Abe smiling.
My first thought on reading this was the adage, "Fool me once, shame
on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." Because there is a deja vu moment or two
here. We went through this false, deluded collegiality display last
time, too. In November
2008, I took exception to a very similar rant by Glenn Beck:
There has also been a fair amount of
the schizophrenic behavior I heard on Glenn Beck's radio show
yesterday, when he wound up literally screaming at a caller that
if he didn't "accept Obama as our president," he was exactly like the wingnuts at
the DailyKos who argued for eight years that Bush stole the
presidency and had no legal right to the office. This from a guy
who has consistently characterized the 2008 election as "1860, the
brink of civil war."
What's going on here? Is there an issue at all? If there is, why?
If not, why not? I, for example, am already on record as saying
that "I refuse to accept a president who thinks our constitution
is fatally flawed and who sees nothing wrong with choosing a black
racist as a mentor or a murderous terrorist as a partner in a
conspiracy to radicalize school children rather than teach them to
read and write. " Does this make me "exactly like the wingnuts at
I would say no. I don't dispute the legality of Obama's election,
and I doubt most of the people who agree with my statement above
would either. After he takes the oath of office, Barack Obama will
be the President of the
United States. I have lost none of my respect for the office, and
as the current occupant of that office, he is entitled to the
official respect that was always denied George W. Bush by his
fanatical opponents. If I were overseas and heard him criticized
by a foreigner, I would defend him because I'm an American citizen
and that is part of my duty as a citizen, as I understand it.
However. As an American citizen, I also reserve the right to
believe that Barack Obama is not my president. The prigs and the screamers on
this point seem suddenly to be forgetting that there's more than
one kind of contract in force here, and all of them involve
complex and sometimes mutual responsibilities. The president has
an express contract with the Constitution of the United States; he
swears a solemn oath to defend and protect it.. He also has an
understood contract with the the United States as a nation, that
he will subordinate his own interests to the welfare of the nation
as a whole, and will make whatever personal and political
sacrifices may be necessary to keep it from harm. Finally, he has
an implied contract with each and every citizen individually, that
he will repay our respect for the office and his tenure in it by
remembering that he works for us, all of us, not simply those who elected him...
...I do not believe Obama is entering into any of the three
contracts in good faith. I don't believe he intends to defend and
protect the Constitution of the United States, but to engineer its
rewriting from the bench. I do not believe he holds the interests
of the United States as a nation above the interests of various
constituencies and political factions around the globe. And I do
not believe there is any definition under which he would repay my
acceptance and respect by being my
president as much as he intends to be the president of the
aggrieved and vengeful...
...My last point on this subject concerns my grave disquietude
about the meaning of the conservative rush to "make nice." I think
everyone who does this betrays a naivete for which there is
absolutely no justification. Do they really think that being
gracious is going to slow down the juggernaut of a Democrat White
House and congress? Fools. We are days, if not hours, away from an
all-out declaration of war by Democrats on all things conservative
and Republican. Taking time out to shake the right hand of the man
who will immediately stab you with the dagger in his left is more
than folly. It's contemptible.
It's especially contemptible given Erickson's historical
condescension to conservative internet blogs that are not focused
on political activism but the reactions, thoughts, and anger of
individual voices in the unorganized blogosphere. In May
of last year, for example, he pronounced his own personal
superiority to the hoi polloi of righty bloggers:
As I’ve grown up online, I’m one of
the uncommon few who has moved on to both television and radio. I
have been blessed. Along the way, I find others who are making the
transition too, but still others who have been toiling away in the
blogosphere for years who have refused to make the transition, or
been unable to despite their hopes, and they may look at me and
others like me and think we’ve sold out or decided to go along to
get along. But I look at them and think what a waste of talent and
energy. Some don’t want to transition, but have grown up and
matured in their style and interpersonal relationships. They want
to have an impact and they do. Hats off to them. But there are
others who are dragging those folks down and the rest of us too.
Sadly for them and the rest of us who get invited to nice places
to meet nice people off the record, as long as the rest of us keep
humoring them and their antics, those invites won’t come for any
He's trying hard to justify the move he made from being an
opinionated nobody to a Republican political activist with an
agenda, seeking power. I responded (in part) thus:
Erikson is obviously aware of the
problems inherent in being a politician. Why he's fearful that
"they may look at me and others like me and think we’ve sold out
or decided to go along to get along." It's also clear that he has
trouble comprehending the possibility that anyone would invest so
much time without wanting a political career of some kind. Those
who don't aspire to that are merely dabbling in ways that might
improve their "interpersonal relationships."
All of which suggests to me that he is missing the greatest
possible boon of the Internet and the "blogosphere," which is the
role of amateur citizens who watch and listen and comment from the
perspective of those outside the political circus. We don't all
want to be performers in
the circus. Actually, we're the most important participants in the
show -- American citizens. So easy to forget...
I don't claim to speak for anyone but me, but I can assure you --
despite having blogged as long and prolifically as Erick Erickson
-- that I have never once considered attending a conference or
convention of like-minded bloggers (if there were any), and I
can't think of anything worse than being a designated conservative
in a CNN segment. Wild horses couldn't drag me there. I don't want
people whose political philosophies I despise to regard me as
reasonable or affable. Why? Because I despise them. I'm not an
activist, conservative or otherwise. I'm an outspoken citizen, and
my amateur status is the solid gold credential that underlies
everything I write in my blog.
The irony. This would-be "happy warrior" is doubly accusatory and
doubly unhappy. He's
furious at the political establishment he worked so hard to
persuade, energize, and support. And he's equally furious at the
uninvited commoners who no longer believe in the counterfeit coin of
being accepted as the (eagerly) loyal opposition. He's clinging to a
phantom. Having given away his own native voice and spontaneity in
favor of calculated political-speak, he feels betrayed by both the
hacks who used him and the peanut gallery that was laughing the
Are there lessons here? I don't know. Erickson may not have achieved
the power and influence he wanted, but he did achieve a certain
celebrity. I've heard him as a guest on Laura Ingraham's radio show,
introduced with glowing praise. That's certainly part of what he
wanted. What did he give up? Not much in the terms he claims to
value. Though, as he relaunches his offensive on the Obama empire,
I'm reminded by his fraudulent bonhomie toward the opposition of the
fact that it's years since he's had the freedom to be go-to-hell
irreverent, humorous, and fearlessly prescient.
I won't dwell on my own record as a prognosticator. But I will link
to several posts I put up during the time of the first inauguration.
Judge for yourselves how much I got right and wrong. And whether I'd
have posted them at all if I were writing as a politico rather than
a pissed off average citizen.
I suggest that what I got right was how rigged the game would be,
particularly in terms of the media and Obama's own political tactics
and priorities. I never had to lie to myself that I was some kind of
player in a game that is bruising and winner-take-all but somehow
inveterately the same and (quasi) Marquis of Queensberry in that
everyone who participates must accept outcomes determined by the
rules of the game. Why he wants to shake hands after the
inauguration before he comes out fighting again. I get that. But I'm
shaking no man's hand in this brawl. I'm reverting to my
the pertinent point, no matter how achingly relevant it seems.
Rather, it's the GNR song architecture. Complete verse and chorus
followed by over-the-top solo-slash-coda courtesy of one
Guess you could call this whole virtual exchange between Erickson
and me a combination of "deja vous" and "deja moi." I still know who
I am. Does he know who he is?
I'll tell you who he is. Him and everyone like him who wants to
congratulate this administration on its second term.
I've used the NFL analogy before. It should be fresh in a lot of
minds. Imagine a Super Bowl in which the sports press has picked its
favorite beforehand and written nothing but puff pieces about the
anointed team (which has a 7-9 regular season record but the best backstory in NFL history) and nothing but exposes and criticisms of their chosen
villain team, which hails from boring flyover country. The game is played at a neutral site, but somehow
ticket sales have resulted in a huge homefield advantage for guess
who? As the play proceeds, it becomes clear that all the luck is
going only one way. One team lines up in the neutral zone on every
play and is never penalized. Their defensive secondary interferes on
every pass route and is never flagged. Helmets are launched at
receivers and the quarterback, players are carted off the field, and
there is no yellow flag thrown. Ever. Conversely, the other team is
continuously penalized for being blocked into the returner and the
quarterback, and for delay of game infractions caused by play clocks
that tick mysteriously fast, stadium sound levels that rise
precipitously in volume when the villain team is on offense, and for
instances of chaos attendant to bottles and batteries flung from the
stands at villain players whose pleas to the refs are waved away.
Every challenge by the anointed team is successful. Every challenge
by their opposition is defeated. The announcers in the booth never
acknowledge any of this, contenting themselves with lauding the play
of the anointed. Whenever there is controversy on the field, as when
players pick up and display thrown bottles and batteries to
referees, the cameras go to the sidelines, where all the most famous
celebrities in Hollywood are cheering on their winning team. Late in
the game, when the outcome is still in doubt against all the odds,
refs begin to throw flags for penalties no one's ever heard of --
tackling impolitely, muttering under the breath about referees,
objecting to the fact that the anointed's linemen are carrying
sidearms and have members of their opponents' families held hostage
under the stadium. The final, potentially winning field goal splits the uprights and is called no good. Official review confirms the call. The winners win. As everyone should have known they would.
Then the Owner descends from his gold-plated box to accept the trophy and all the credit. As he should. Who (and what) else could have pulled off such a triumph of "sport"? Shammadamma.
At the conclusion of such a "game," what does the loser do? If you
say, "Oh well, they kicked our ass fair and square, and we'll have
to do a better job next time, and congratulations to the winners,"
you're not a rational, credible source. You're a fucking fool.
Congratulations, Eric Erickson. You're a fucking fool. That doesn't
solve the problem the rest of us have about what to do next. It only
solves the problem of who you
As for me, Obama is still not my president. I and more than a
hundred million others are united in that conviction. Maybe you
should stop telling us what to think and start listening to what we
have to say.
INSISTENCE REDUX. I had to comment on the inauguration. I've
done so. But I want to end the day with something more important and
Commenters reacted with appreciation for the Philip Glass tour de
force, The Hours. I listened to every piece recommended, and I thank
everyone who recommended. They were all good, some extraordinary.
Yet I found myself coming back to The Hours, which I remind you I
found by accident, and in particular the video of its performance.
I keep watching it, and somehow the music, the performer, and the
video have become one in my mind, a transcendent gestalt I may never
be able to separate into component parts. Sorry. Not trying to be
opaque. The music is genius. The pianist is inspired. And the
video of this performance is greater than the music or the pianist.
It's a glimpse of perfection.
Why I'm redirecting your attention in the wake of yesterday's
buffoonish celebration of empty self. Watch THIS thing again. And
especially all of you who think I don't understand the unique
strengths of womanhood at its best.
You have to watch it full screen in hi-def. That's when you start to
feel her hands. Not young hands. Weathered but not old either.
They've washed dishes, changed diapers, maybe darned socks, felt for
where it hurts with exquisite sensitivity, rushed quivering to the
face at awful news, plied the pen to do the books and write the
checks, and most likely tended a garden or picked a crop.
We can't see her face. But we get to hear her heart. Everything has
happened to her and nothing will ever make her stop.
We see her in profile. What is the piano? This grand Steinway is no
phallic symbol. Its curves are female, its voice mightier than
sex. The insistence is not prayer, not mother love, not carnal
desire. It's not even what we call vitality. It's the ferocity of
life as we're supposed to live it, not in passive appreciation but
in the hungry perseverant never ever subsiding passion which fills
every hour with the life that IS what we mean when we speak of God.
So I keep looking at her hands. Where the music is coming from. Her
frail bent back. Where the power is coming from. And Glass,
presumably, is being channeled through her bun.
Regardless, none of this art will ever be brought to you by the
collective action sponsored by the government.
All right, maybe I'm a little bit crazy right now. But if I weren't,
I'd be concerned that maybe I'm a little bit crazy in the aftermath
of a catastrophic proof that the country as a whole has gone
completely batshit crazy.
Here endeth my day.
Friday, January 18, 2013
The First InstaPunk Book is Here
TOOK MY SWEET TIME, DIDN'T I?. I've been working toward this moment for months, and I still feel like I've been asked to give a toast out of the blue.
Regular readers have been expecting a Best of InstaPunk volume, and that still is in the pipeline. But a few months ago plans changed. I was inspired to dust off an older project, a book about the 2008 election, and revise + update it. Like I say on the back cover of The Indictment, my intent was to compile a kind of Berlin Diary about the Obama Administration. Quickly realizing such a compilation would probably exceed the phonebook length of Berlin, I tried to pare it down to the essential history of the period. It was somewhere around 650 pages. Even with only the good Sarah Palin posts (but all the good Sarah Palin posts) and the good election aftermath posts and that one really good Biden post from 2005, it was still too much. Finally I settled on a focused narrative: Obama. First the man himself, second the world that made him and the world he's made. A psychological autopsy, then a history.
So here it is. 350 pages. After many, many weeks of pouring over old entries, formatting for the printed page, Photoshopping, more Photoshopping, wrestling with the vagaries of fly-by-night knockoff PDF creators, and a very sparing use of spell-check, I think we've got something. The thing looks good, my friends. And you could mistake that cover I designed for a real cover, at a glance.
After almost 10 years online, InstaPunk.com makes it to print. You can buy it here. Sold and published by honest-to-God Amazon. Tell your friends.