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The Public Blogging of Pomosexuality, Homotextuality, Homophobiaphilia, and Drear Theory (aka Career Theory) [aka Gay4Pay]. We also read the Corner and OpJournal so the right buttock will be punished as well.
All comments subject to publication. Or dismissal. Or Both.
I usually admire Andrew Sullivan's honesty, but self-revelation has its limits:
CHARLIE AND HOWELL: Is anyone else a lttle perturbed that Howell Raines' first post-resignation interview will be with one of his best friends, a guest at his wedding, and another Southern liberal? Now, I love Charlie Rose...
He loves Charlie Rose? The smarmy faker whose twang gets steeper as the bullshit gets deeper? The ass-kissing table monkey? The run-away slobber bot who threatens to drown us all in its viscous treacle? The Sammy Maudlin of the NPR, PBS, NYTs axis of banal? That Charlie Rose?
Maybe it was just a lovely summer day in Provincetown and Andrew was high on earthly beauty and fellow feeling.
I've been using a wood-fired PC the last several days. My internet connection was via a pocket-knife and fishing-line splice into an abandoned trunk line that used to feed programming from the Wintergarden to NBC's Red, Blue, Orange, White and Gold networks--the legendary Winternet. Consequently, a post I made on Tuesday didn't appear to me to have posted when I checked on Thursday, so I reposted what I remembered of it. When I got back to my coal-burning PC in the city I saw that the earlier post had indeed been published. Thus there were two slightly different versions of the same post on display. As interesting as that might be to blog scholars (kill yourselves now), I decided to delete one of them, since I felt that in the end that the dual posting made me look like an ass.
I can only pray that google did not cache this page during those 10 or so hours that the erroneous impression of a seeming assishness on my part was being perpetuated by technology run amok.
I am otherwise covered in mosquito bites and can attest to the luxurious truth that the scratched-itch region of the brain lies in sacred proximity to orgasm central. Which makes for one hell of a neural neighborhood. Let the rest of that convoluted, wet, gray city burn to the ground, so long as its chiefest block still stands.
Thursday, July 10, 2003
We and Our Shadow
The introductory quotation from a book of selected essays by Clive James that I am reading and enjoying wherever it is I am.
Barbarism is not the prehistory of humanity but the faithful shadow that accompanies its every step. --Alain Finkielkraut
Contemplate that beside your pools, lakes and oceans. Or on your stoops, rooftops, and the sunbathing/moongazing perches you've cleared out from amidst the heroic rubble and the rotting infrastructure of a more vibrant commercial age.
Thank you, Monsieur Finkielkraut. I like the cut of your gloom.