2010/11/30
Saw I
______________________________________________________________
How's your seeing I dog!
See I go down the cliff
I see Cliff
I see Cliff go down the hill _ One eyed Jack.
Patch Eyed He and his dogs
Patch-Eyed he and his I's.
Mutiple noons and self.
prison. prism ~.
There was I saw you. I saw you. I saw you in two. So it ~
Sow It
Sew it grow ~
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What does it see when saying I?
What does it see when saying I?
2010/11/29
in then
___________________
in the man was a body
the body was
dying
forgot word
gotten bone
was your mouth
held by the dogs of night
not light's
fair feather
and the coming
storm
held
by
torturers
and the hell-bent destroyers
of human history
________________________
notes on irish economy
Notes from the Front Michael Taft
Notes On The Front
Commentary on Irish Political Economy by Michael Taft
2010/11/27
ImF to Pay Potatoes?
_______________________Internation pirates pay to calptial thrust bunds? Molecule reprisse moves to line of flight/flight
IMF:____________________U Must Pay
green capital ~
Molecule__________We decline ~
_____________________________
The schizomogenesis
The schizomogenesis
of Money~
A PaypayordiePlay
coming
Soon
to
Your
Wreckage
_______________________________
GrUndRise reread. Mona calls franny. Demonstrata ~
_
2010/11/26
Potatoes for Supper... an' Breakfast.. Potatoes at night and in the day time too
___________________The sickness of capitalism's everto have 'believedi ... it. sickness of csickness of c he sickness of capitalism 'getting better was never a question of embraCing another Ism ~ illness ~
and from here and there across the faltering flat surface of internet
________________One wantsto know who the pirates are that got away with the loot?
[press release] Joe Higgins walks out of talks over Rehn’s insistence on the confidentiality of discussion
“As far as I am concerned commissioner Rehn and the IMF are acting as
agents for the predatory international banks and the speculators who
gambled billions in private deals with property developers and bankers
in Ireland and now want the Irish working class to pay for these
gambles which went wrong.
agents for the predatory international banks and the speculators who
gambled billions in private deals with property developers and bankers
in Ireland and now want the Irish working class to pay for these
gambles which went wrong.
“I was therefore not going to participate in any secret discussion
behind the backs of working people and the unemployed.
behind the backs of working people and the unemployed.
“It is essential that there is a major mobilisation of people power
and worker power to stop the disastrous austerity programme beginning
next Saturday at the National Protest organised by ICTU.”
and worker power to stop the disastrous austerity programme beginning
next Saturday at the National Protest organised by ICTU.”
Quoted from Brian Greene The Great Anti Theft Movement
"Tell the EU and IMF to Shove It!"
_____________________________________________ Who hides the cash?ilene11/26/2010 - 13:32
where's the scratch?
who hid the boot?
Ireland
bleeding
bleeding
--------------------------------------A wonderful postin
The Great Potato Famine
The Irish people are no strangers to famine, misery, oppression and exploitation. That is why I fished around to find something germane to the latest developments in Ireland.
I came upon an Irish woman who penned her patriotic poetry under the nome de plume, Speranza. Her real name was Jane Francesca Elgee.
Born in Wexford about the year 1826, Miss Elgee belonged to a strictly Protestant, and Conservative family who had no sympathy with national aspirations.“Until my eighteenth year," she stated, "I never wrote anything. Then one day a volume of 'Ireland's Library,' issued from ‘The Nation’ office by Mr. Duffy, happened to come my way. I read it eagerly, and my patriotism was enkindled. Until then,” she continued, “I was quite indifferent to the national movement, and if I thought about it
at all, I probably had a very bad opinion of the leaders. For my family was Protestant and Conservative, and there was no social intercourse between them and the Catholics and Nationalists. But once I had caught the
national spirit the literature of Irish songs and sufferings had an enthralling interest for me. Then it was that I discovered that I could write poetry. In sending my verses to the editor of ‘The Nation’ I dared not have my name published, so I signed them ‘Speranza’, and my letters ‘John Fanshawe Ellis,’ instead of ‘Jane Francesca Elgee.Her works were well known in her day, and I have taken the liberty to revise this one...
machine?
HAVE YE DONE WELL FOR IRELAND?
Speranza
(Revision by WilliamBanzai7)
O COUNTRY, writhing in thy chains of debt
With fierce, wild efforts to be free,
Not seeing that with every strain
The Ponzi globalists close firmer over thee;
Or grasping blindly in thy hate
The temple pillars of the bailed out State,
To hurl them down on friend and foe,
Crushed in one common currency overthrow—
Can none of all thy Poet band
Preach nobler aims, loved Ireland?
As David drove with magic chords
The Evil Spirit back to night;
As Moses by his mighty words
Led Egypt’s bondmen up to light;
Hast thou no Poet, strong to calm
Thy troubled soul with holy psalm?
Or trusted Chief, to be relied upon,
Across the derivative Rubicon,
Could lead thee with pure heart and hand
To financial Freedom—my own Ireland?
By those doomed men, in austerity's despair
Slowly wasting in a bailout dungeon’s gloom;
By all youth’s fiery heart can dare
Quenched in the debt prison’s living tomb—
By the corroding financier's chain,
That tortures with Promethean pain
Of distressed debt vultures gnawing at the core
Of their lost lives for evermore—
I ask you, People of our Land,
Have ye done well for Ireland?
By History traced on trading dungeon walls,
By scaffolds, chains, and exiles’ tears,
Slow marking, as the shadow falls,
The amortization of the years;
By youthful genius crushed and progress barred,
By noble aspirations marred,
Till with a smouldering fire’s life
They burn in deadly hate and strife—
I ask you, Rulers of our Land, Have ye done well for Ireland?
O Men! these men are brothers too,
Tho’ frenzied by that fatal Ponzi dream,
Their living souls were meant to do
Some noble work in God's great scheme,
Perchance to hew down, branch and root,
The banksta tree that bore such bitter fruit;
But, left unguided in global finance's myopic sight,
They grope out blindly in the night
Of their insolvent passions; striking down
Their Country’s proud hopes with their own.
But now, ye say, the Land hath rest—
Aye, with the debt weights on her eyes;
And foreclosure arms across her breast,
And Eurocratic hands stifling down her cries.
So rests another banksta vic within the grave
O’er which the Wall Street grasses wave.
Oh, better far some kindly word
To stay the vengeance?lifted sword,
Or Love, with queenly, outstretched hand,
To soothe thee—fated Ireland!
'WB7: I am sick and tired of bankstas and their political whores fucking everything up everywhere they go and I am sure Speranza would have been happy sayin' as much on a blog the likes of Zero Hedge.'
_________________________________________________________________________________
You two sat in the
kitchen speaking to two friends 6 years back predicting the fall of the Irish economy...
__________________The ilL UsIonS of CapitaLism ___ the sickofprofit ~
kitchen speaking to two friends 6 years back predicting the fall of the Irish economy...
__________________The ilL UsIonS of CapitaLism ___ the sickofprofit ~
______________O people of the poors around the ringing world. Refuse
2010/11/23
Vous vous souvenez du sublime dernier chapitre des Frères Karamazov, d’Aliocha parmi les enfants ? Je vous en rappelle six ou sept lignes :
_________________________________
« Mes enfants, mes chers amis, ne craignez pas la vie ! Elle est belle quand on pratique le bien et le vrai ! – Oui, oui ! répétèrent les enfants enthou siasmés. – Karamazov, nous vous aimons, s’écria l’un d’eux, Kartachov, sans doute. – Nous vous aimons, nous vous aimons ! reprirent-ils en choeur. Beaucoup avaient les larmes aux yeux. – Hourra pour Karamazov ! proclama Kolia. »
_________________________________________
« Mes enfants, mes chers amis, ne craignez pas la vie ! Elle est belle quand on pratique le bien et le vrai ! – Oui, oui ! répétèrent les enfants enthou siasmés. – Karamazov, nous vous aimons, s’écria l’un d’eux, Kartachov, sans doute. – Nous vous aimons, nous vous aimons ! reprirent-ils en choeur. Beaucoup avaient les larmes aux yeux. – Hourra pour Karamazov ! proclama Kolia. »
_________________________________________
2010/11/20
What was the message Mister Gardener?
Now get this, Honky You Go tell Rafael that I ain't taking no jive from no Western Union messenger
You tell that asshole
if he got something to tell me to get his ass down here himself
Then he said that I was to get my white ass out of there quick or he'd cut it
Now get this, Honky. You tell Rafael that I ain't taking no jive from no Western Union messenger. You tell that asshole if he
got something to tell me to get his ass down here himself.
Then he said that I was to get my white ass out of there quick or he'd cut it
2010/11/19
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______desire was a body when i came to see you__________________
The River-Merchant's Wife: A Letter
While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.
At fourteen I married My Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.
At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the lookout?
At sixteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-en, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.
You dragged your feet when you went out.
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden;
They hurt me.
I grow older.
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
As far as Cho-fo-Sa.
Li Po
translated by
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