what a beautiful buzz

The Political Notebook: #List2012 Ins and Outs: For the Washington Post Style Section

Wed, 28 Dec 2011 10:56:07 -0500

The Political Notebook: #List2012 Ins and Outs: For the Washington Post Style Section:

Here are The Political Notebook’s own version of WaPo Style’s year-end (or year-beginning?) list of ins and outs. With a slight variation in approach

Out: Al Qaeda
In: The Haqqani Network

Let’s face it, with both Bin Laden and Awlaki gone as well as a handful of other AQ notables like…

yes. this exists.

Mon, 19 Dec 2011 19:04:46 -0500

yes. this exists.

thepoliticalnotebook: Picture of the Day. Beijing, China. A...

Mon, 19 Dec 2011 18:13:58 -0500

thepoliticalnotebook:

Picture of the Day. Beijing, China. A waitress cries at hearing of the death of North Korea’s leader, Kim Jong-Il.

Photo Credit: China Daily/Reuters. Via.

View more Picture of the Day posts. Submit a photo.

wut?

howl: beau sia

Mon, 24 Oct 2011 08:46:00 -0400

allen ginsburg

told me

that i was beautiful

in a new york city café

and i thought

he was trying to

pick me up.

you can imagine how arrogant chinese boys in new york get about love

when old, gay white men are involved.

exactly eleven months later

he died.

the time between point A and point B

can be measured in days,

but friendship hates math,

and so the sum of experiences

between two people

is not a sum,

it’s eating blintzes under trees

learning how cezanne liked to color,

and it’s

sitting in bed,

debating the value of failure in one’s life,

and its seeing allen

read one last time

in front of 689 nyu kids that

had no idea

he would spend the next two weeks in boston

starting his negotiations with death.

my friend is dead

and i don’t know how

to approach the subject

my generation has no starving, hysterical

nakeds.

i’m a member of the fame whore, superstar-at-any-cost-we-could-give-a-fuck-about-a-fuck because-teen-angst-isn’t-enough-anymore-our-self-absorbed-natures-have-overkilled-into-egomaniacal-d

ynamo-rage generation

and we don’t know

the first thing about the words

“selfless”

and

“give.”

i mean,

fuck the fact that he’s gay,

a beatnik,

and that even I get bored with his poetry.

the ginz made Tibet a cause to believe in,

pushed the angry

buttons of politicians for four decades,

and

set fire to

one hundred eighteen million minds in this world,

becoming lou reed, bob Dylan, billy bourroughs,

and my answer to the

question,

“who has influenced you in this life?”…

at point A

i ran with his mind in a 13^th st. loft

because his legs

were no longer capable

of adventures on foot

to point B

when i sat silent by the phone

listening to him say

four days before his death

that he though

he had another month.

point B to point C

is a distance I’m not sure I’ll ever reach

as i try to find straight lines,

reading his work in barnes&noble

and

remembering how he’d tell me

about his first connections with Kerouac

with a certain reverence,

and

I don’t know if i’ll ever understand

the scope of the words “death,”

or “goodbye,”

but I’m getting that

little ache under the ribcage

from loss

and the need to finally

tell a friend,

“i love you.”

barcarole: pablo neruda

Mon, 24 Oct 2011 08:35:00 -0400

If only you would touch my heart,

if only you were to put your mouth to my heart,

your delicate mouth, your teeth,

if you were to put your tongue like a red arrow

there where my dusty heart is beating,

if you were to blow on my heart near the sea, weeping,

it would make a dark noise, like the drowsy sound of

train wheels,

like the indecision of waters,

like autumn in full leaf,

like blood,

with a noise of damp flames burning the sky,

with a sound like dreams or branches or the rain,

or foghorns in some dismal port,

if you were to blow your heart near the sea,

like a white ghost,

in the spume of the wave,

in the middle of the wind,

like a ghost unleashed, at the seashore, weeping.

Like a long absence, like a sudden bell,

the sea doles out the sound of the heart,

raining, darkening at sundown, on a lonely coast:

no question that night falls

and its mournful blue of the flags of shipwrecks

peoples itself with planets of throaty silver.

And the heart sounds like a sour conch

calls, oh sea, oh lament, oh molten panic,

scattered in the unlucky and disheveled waves:

The sea reports sonorously

on its languid shadows, its green poppies.

if you existed, suddenly, on a mournful coast,

surrounded by the dead day,

facing into a new night,

filled with waves,

and if you were to blow on my cold and frightened heart,

if you were to blow on the lonely blood of my heart,

if you were to blow on its motion of doves in flame,

its black syllables of blood would ring out,

its incessant red waters would come to flood,

and it would ring out with shadows,

ring out like death,

cry out like a tube filled with wind or weeping,

like a shaken bottle spurting fear.

so that’s how it is, and the lightning would glint in your

braids

and the rain would come in through your open eyes

to ready the weeping you shut up dumbly

and the black wings of the sea would wheel round you,

with its great talons and its rush and its cawing.

Do you want to be the solitary ghost blowing, by the sea its sad instrument?

If only you would call,

a long sound, a bewitching whistle,

a sequence of wounded waves,

maybe some one would come,

from the peaks of the islands, from the red depths of the

sea,

some one would come, someone would come.

Someone would come, blow fiercely,

so that it sounds like a siren of some battered ship,

like lamentation,

like neighing in the midst of the foam an blood,

like a ferocious water gnashing and sounding.

In the marine season

its conch of shadow spirals like a shout,

the seabirds ignore it and fly off,

its roll call of sounds, its mournful rings

rise on the shores of the lonely sea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Barcarola)

Si solamente me tocaras el corazón,

si solamente pusieras tu boca en mi corazón,

tu fina boca, tus dientes,

si pusieras tu lengua como una flecha roja

allí donde mi corazón polvoriento golpea,

si soplaras en mi corazón, cerca del mar, llorando,

sonaría con un ruido oscuro, con sonido de ruedas de tren con sueño,

como aguas vacilantes,

como el otoño en hojas,

como sangre,

con un ruido de llamas húmedas quemando el cielo,

sonando como sueños o ramas o lluvias,

o bocinas de puerto triste;

si tú soplaras en mi corazón, cerca del mar,

como un fantasma blanco,

al borde de la espuma,

en mitad del viento,

como un fantasma desencadenado, a la orilla del mar, llorando.

Como ausencia extendida, como campana súbita,

el mar reparte el sonido del corazón,

lloviendo, atardeciendo, en una costa sola,

la noche cae sin duda,

y su lúgubre azul de estandarte en naufragio

se puebla de planetas de plata enronquecida.

Y suena el corazón como un caracol agrio,

llama, oh mar, oh lamento, oh derretido espanto

esparcido en desgracias y olas desvencijadas:

de lo sonoro el mar acusa

sus sombras recostadas, sus amapolas verdes.

Si existieras de pronto, en una costa lúgubre,

rodeada por el día muerto,

frente a una nueva noche,

llena de olas,

y soplaras en mi corazón de miedo frío,

soplaras en la sangre sola de mi corazón,

soplaras en su movimiento de paloma con llamas,

sonarían sus negras sílabas de sangre,

crecerían sus incesantes aguas rojas,

y sonaría, sonaría a sombras,

sonaría como la muerte,

llamaría como un tubo lleno de viento o llanto

o una botella echando espanto a borbotones.

Así es, y los relámpagos cubrirían tus trenzas

y la lluvia entraría por tus ojos abiertos

a preparar el llanto que sordamente encierras,

y las alas negras del mar girarían en torno

de ti, con grandes garras, y graznidos, y vuelos.

¿Quieres ser fantasma que sople, solitario,

cerca del mar su estéril, triste instrumento?

Si solamente llamaras,

su prolongado són, su maléfico pito,

su orden de olas heridas,

alguien vendría acaso,

alguien vendría,

desde las cimas de las islas, desde el fondo rojo del mar,

alguien vendría, alguien vendría.

Alguien vendría, sopla con furia,

que suene como sirena de barco roto,

como lamento,

como un relincho en medio de la espuma y la sangre,

como un agua feroz mordiéndose y sonando.

En la estación marina

su caracol de sombra circula como un grito,

los pájaros del mar lo desestiman y huyen,

sus listas de sonido, sus lúgubres barrotes

se levantan a orillas del océano solo.

occupation nation

Thu, 20 Oct 2011 04:57:25 -0400

occupation nation:

a sensible commentary on occupy wall st

reassurances

Fri, 26 Aug 2011 19:06:38 -0400

me: ughh
why is it so hard to find a flat in munich!!!
WHY?!!

Carl: you do realize you're using a complex system of networks to learn about living situations in a faraway land that you've never been to

is this for real?

Wed, 27 Jul 2011 00:19:00 -0400

is this for real?:

because if it is, this may be my best chance to live out a dream inspired by ‘encounters at the end of the world.’

“We are a coast people There is nothing but ocean out beyond...

Wed, 20 Jul 2011 17:56:13 -0400

“We are a coast people

There is nothing but ocean out beyond us.”

-Jack Spicer

"JT: hahaha this turned sour so quickly this was what happend 1) saw korean girl’s tumblr,..."

Mon, 11 Jul 2011 20:20:00 -0400

“JT: hahaha
this turned sour so quickly
this was what happend
1) saw korean girl’s tumblr, chuckled to self, thought “they WOULD be asian”
2) sent to you. still laughing.
3) clicked on website again and saw like 10 asses
4) brother also probably sees me looking at this website
5) made it onto your tumblr.. a sure sign that this will be remembered forever”

- followup break down of events

"JT: http://bootyoftheday.co/post/7199963388/spot-blown gagagag *hahha me: omg why are you on..."

Mon, 11 Jul 2011 20:06:00 -0400

“

JT: http://bootyoftheday.co/post/7199963388/spot-blown
gagagag
*hahha

me: omg
why are you on this site

JT: it was on someone else’s tumblr!
hahaha
HAHA
i can’t take this back, can i.

”

- oh you know, just browsing stuffs

Resolution

Mon, 11 Jul 2011 19:15:04 -0400

I’m going to start writing in this more. This is a note to self: Munich is the start.

"so plan: go to grad school get tenure track job ruin 1st marraige with affair with a young..."

Mon, 11 Jul 2011 18:57:52 -0400

“so plan:
go to grad school
get tenure track job
ruin 1st marraige with affair with a young student
retreat into isolation and do groundbreaking soc research
start affair with graduate student in neighboring dept
get married
again
and eventually run a used bookstore”

- NK, on game plans for the future

"before, i only had two options— to shower or not to shower. now i have a middle ground, baby..."

Wed, 15 Jun 2011 13:03:00 -0400

“before, i only had two options— to shower or not to shower. now i have a middle ground, baby wipes and dry shampoo! third option!”

- crazy joanna

"i think i’m just gonna use the dry shampoo and baby wipes instead of showering"

Wed, 15 Jun 2011 13:02:54 -0400

“i think i’m just gonna use the dry shampoo and baby wipes instead of showering”

- joanna, attempting to prolong the bonnaroo experience

"hopefully i don’t explode all over the bathroom this time too"

Thu, 19 May 2011 14:29:35 -0400

“hopefully i don’t explode all over the bathroom this time too”

- mei, exhibiting ambitious thinking

joanna, on roommate relationships

Wed, 11 May 2011 00:38:40 -0400

joannatang2007: hahaha
i was little spoon
me: HAHAHAHAH

"Mei: AHHAh tyrosine i mean wait thats an amino acid"

Mon, 09 May 2011 14:14:30 -0400

“Mei: AHHAh
tyrosine
i mean wait thats an amino acid”

- my sister, trying to recall the name of a character from Game of Thrones

"they’ve definitely done the nasty on that bed"

Sun, 08 May 2011 23:58:33 -0400

“they’ve definitely done the nasty on that bed”

- j giggs, on boys and beds

"god i think smoked gouda made me want to try a lot of new cheeses…= gateway drug of sorts"

Wed, 27 Apr 2011 18:55:43 -0400

“god i think smoked gouda made me want to try a lot of new cheeses…= gateway drug of sorts”

- joanna