Madonna of Tehran
U.S. Amasses Stealth-Jet Armada Near Iran
The U.S. Air Force is quietly assembling the world’s most powerful air-to-air fighting team at bases near Iran. Stealthy F-22 Raptors on their first front-line deployment have joined a potent mix of active-duty and Air National Guard F-15 Eagles, including some fitted with the latest advanced radars. The Raptor-Eagle team has been honing special tactics for clearing the air of Iranian fighters in the event of war.
The fighters join a growing naval armada that includes Navy carriers, submarines, cruisers and destroyers plus patrol boats and minesweepers enhanced with the latest close-in weaponry.
So many goodbyes
no one will ever say
So many goodbyes
and no one left to say them
Is this poop phony?
Are you in it?
Do you suffer from multiple personality disorder?
Were you raised in an orphanage?
I want to know all about you!
I was raised in the ionosphere.
Now I live in your earphones.
I'm the spirit of your dead grandmother.
That's all you need to know.
You're my grandma, the Sixties porn-star?
This is plastic poop, with a rag-headed ghost in it?
Why does everything happen so fast, Grandma?
Why am I so confused?
The stars talk to me through my transistors!
Grandma!
Why am I so lost?
In Rush Rhees' notes on Wittgenstein's Lectures on Aesthetics (I.7), the following passage appears...
"Would it matter if I just said "Yummy!" and rubbed my stomach, instead of saying "This is lovely?"
This remark suggests any number of aesthetic definitions. For example...
"Poetry is yummy language."
I sold my clavier for carfare.
Why?
Couldn't you afford a cadaver?
This is where Elvis was embalmed in vinegar.
At the end he was almost as big as an airliner!
Shall I draw you a diagram?
His heart was a garbled madrigal!
Did you steal that cadence?
Yes.
Yes, I stole that cadence.
I stole that cadence from cardiac arrest.
"Go Home!"
Czech photographer Dagmar Hochova died in Prague last week at the age of 86. In addition to her iconic documentation of resistance to the Soviet occupation of Czechoslovakia in 1968, she was probably best known for her black-and-white photographs of children and "the poetry of everyday life," in contrast to the orthodox Socialist Realism which prevailed in Czechoslovakia during most of her long career.
That bra makes you look like a hippo.
Is that a meatball in your moat?
Would you like to meet Hamlet the Polymath?
Your mop blabs and unravels.
That bra makes you look like a hippo!
I'm not talking in parables!
That bra makes you look like a hippo!
Tallyho!
Did you trample the bellboy?
No problem!
All he needs is a new patella
and maybe an opal for his eye-hole.
The March 8.2% "headline unemployment rate" declined because the labor force contracted by 164,000, and although 31,000 fewer people were employed, there were 133,000 fewer unemployed persons, because the number of people not in the labor force grew by 333,000.
Is that clear enough for you?
But apart from this silly welter of overlapping statistics, large-scale changes in employment and unemployment are always most transparently measured by the employment-population ratio, as I described it here.
What percent of American adults have a job? If you squint at the last little dip in the BLS chart above, you'll see that the answer to that question got even more discouraging last month, and it hasn't ever gotten much better since December 2009.
All your sins are forgiven!
Did you flirt with wrens?
Fart and hurl at your mommy’s fatwa?
Eat a narwhal?
Whatever!
All your sins are forgiven!
So what if it cost your life-savings?
How much can you spend in a nuclear inferno?
How much can you spend on an ecru decal?
Can you really afford to dance merrily into the Nothing?
Did you miss the count-down?
Nerd! Now nobody can even remember your zits!
All your sins are forgiven!
Our little truck is
stuck in
gridlock from
cradle to grave!
Only angels can save us!
but the angels
either
don't exist or don't care or
don't know we're in trouble
and the future is cold and dark and slow.
Is your mood an omen?
Heed me!
Heed my sexy emoticon!
I met you in detox in 1987.
Your cooties mooned my economist.
My economist mooned your cooties.
Is that your lipstick on my tux
in this fugly mug-shot?
Then you ran away to London
and what was I supposed to do?
I ran to New York and evolved into
mayo and oats.
You evolved into manatees and
after so many
annoying switcheroos and genetic mix-ups...
Now we only coexist
in the city of incest.
I live in my limo.
Sometimes I recite voodoo jive.
Sometimes I yowl and moo.
Am I holy, or just another
icon of the infinite wow?
You decide.
Do you love all your seven step-mothers?
Is this a memo or a hymn of envy?
Mayhem or a yam?
Are you alive?
I live in my limo.
I live in my movie.
I park it in my
Hollywood word-salad and dissolve
all seven step-mothers
in the oil of
open
vowels.
u cAm outta ur hOl, u wurm!
nah-ow ahm gonna gitcha!
Cops call it a senseless attack.
Scalene poetess, are you wearing clean socks?
Her stepson cackles.
Yowl yowl yowl,
thou enuretic glue-pot!
I define thee with my one
wily neuron!
Now!
It's too late to grow wings!
Grin and wring its no-neck!
Neighbor! Worm! Scalene poetess!
I define thee with my
one
wily
neuron.
