When a Master Stares at Himself in the Future What He Fears Is That the World Will Do to Him What He Did to the World When He Was the World

Above from the Bidart poem below, is True, not only for masters but masters' favored subjects and down each tier of the pyramid, there is no cruelty inflicted on another human the inflicting human doesn't think the inflicted would inflict on him



Another headshot, crayon, clear elmer's glue infused with acrylic ink, if you have empty elmer's glue squirt bottles please mail to me, apply infused glue directly by squirting. Yesterday Israel murdered seven World Central Kitchen workers who dared to feed the people Israel starving to death AND bombed the Irani consulate in Damascus, yawn, and another professor-friendly acquaintance at Hilltop told me it will be my fault when Trump beats Biden, I call this Monday. 

As for blogfutility: went to prune the blogrolls to move the dead or unconscious to the moribund purgatories but discovered some of the dead or unconscious neither but their feed be dead so I made an executive decision to give zero fucks and do fucking nothing. Fine metaphors abound. So zeroed are my fucks it occurs to me as I type this sentence that I have not checked blogstats since last Friday or Saturday, I should just delete the counter but still can't, fine metaphors abound

Trump yesterday said, I'm paraphrasing, Israel! If you gonna fucking slaughter all the fucking Gazans just fucking get it over with, you're wasting time and money, it's bad for business, a distinction from Biden who no doubt tells Bibi, if you gonna fucking slaughter all the fucking Gazans can you at least do it more discreetly and finish up before the Democratic National Convention if at all possible, here, have more bombs (both have since been called antisemitic by Zionists). In protest I've switched from ink to pencil in daily journal. Fine metaphors abound

"If you try to feed starving Palestinians, Israel will murder you"
Plan Is To Turn Palestine Into A Historical Footnote So It's Too Late To Save It
"I believe if the IDF dug up the body of Beau Biden and ran it over with tanks, Joe Biden would do nothing"
The Road to Famine in Gaza
We Were Lied Into the Gaza Genocide
Black Lives Matter and Palestine
The Business of War & The Cost of American Delusions
"Your occasional reminder that libs are absolutely preparing to turn on “ungrateful” trans people as their leftist scapegoat when Biden loses because the alternative would be taking responsibility for that whole “let’s just ignore mass murder” thing"
Is Imperial Liquidation Possible for America?							Gonna go with No
You too can put a dash of Huat behind your ears
POLITICS IN A BURNING WORLD
Zero fucks given in different languages
Venting Doesn't Reduce Anger, But Something Else Does, Study Finds
Nowhere in this article on the county I've lived in for sixty years mentions county executive Marc Elrich who pushed for this and pissed off the Moco shitlords who all give money to whoever is running against Elrich
Maggie's weekly				NOTHING MATTERS
two philosophers drill a hole into a wall
What hath the blog wrought: a bleggalgaze
Ishiguro, long ago				{ feuilleton }'s links
I was reminded of Teardrop Explodes and the greatest clean fresh orange sunshine tripping song ever, fight me

Frank Bidart

THE MORAL ARC OF THE UNIVERSE BENDS TOWARDS JUSTICE

is an illusion. It’s true, it’s human nature to try to
unbend

what for centuries human nature—with great wisdom, great
pain—bent.

What had to be built we knew instinctively must be built
without

asking permission of the ignorant doing the building. But natural
pity

soon ends
when what pity unleashes is CHAOS, is

horror.
The cauldron that has always been the source

of force
we have learnt slowly, in time, how to control. Have learnt to

enslave
(you would harshly say) more subtly. More, you would say, cunningly.

Think the American Civil War,—
. . . followed by a century of Jim Crow.

If you do not become a master
you are a slave.        

•

The voice of What had to be built leaves certain
words bodiless. The Lost Cause, strange

fruit, was lost, for us, in a song about lacerated flesh.

When a master stares at himself in the future

what he fears is that the world will do to him what
he did to the world when he was the world.