Why did you just tell me that?
Gotta give the MUNI folks props for telling it like it is.
“With That Moon Language”
by Hāfez
Admit something:
Everyone you see, you say to them, “Love me.”
Of course you do not do this out loud, otherwise
someone would call the cops.
Still, though, think about this, this great pull in us to connect.
Why not become the one who lives with a
full moon in each eye that is
always saying,
with that sweet moon language,
what every other eye in
this world is
dying to
hear?
They can print statistics and count the populations in hundreds of thousands, but to each man a city consists of no more than a few streets, a few houses, a few people. Remove those few and a city exists no longer except as a pain in the memory, like the pain of an amputated leg no longer there.
John Leech Sketch from Punch (1853)
Railway Guard, “Now, ma’am, is this your luggage?”
Old Lady (who concludes she is attacked by Brigands), “Oh, yes! Gentlemen, it’s mine! Take it—take all I have—but spare, oh spare our lives!!”
The moustache movement, that pivotal moment in the mid C19 when facial hair became not just socially acceptable (after a long spell in the cultural doldrums - the beards of the C16th having been supplanted by wigs) but almost essential.
This and more available at Pictures from Punch
You know, Malkmus is being a bit of a bitch in interviews recently. One thing he said last summer referred to me as “trashy mouth.” And he just did this article in Spin where he alluded to me unpleasantly, saying, “You know, I always thought that Pavement could have had one of those big hits in the early ’90s with ‘Cut Your Hair,’ but I guess people preferred ‘Cannonball.’ ” Yeah, I liked Pavement. But if he keeps fucking smacking his mouth off about me, I’m going to end up not being able to listen to any of their fucking records again. Anyway, I thought, God, man, “Cut Your Hair” isn’t as good of a song as “Cannonball,” so fuck you. How’s that? Your song was just a’ight, dawg.
If only Malkmus had the foresight to license his jams to classic State sketches.
“The chickens in the attached picture untied one of my shoes when I tried to enter their pen and replenish their water on a farm in Vermont last week.”
Did Valerie Vaughn, crime reporter, better known to her readers as Lady Danger, actually meet the ghost of a swashbuckling skipper slain a year ago by Red Sea pirates? Or did she imagine it? Private Detective Grath, hammer-fisted sleuth, wants to know the answers too—and together they find them amid the fantastic perils that haunt—“The Dead Man’s Chest!”
It’s the same as it was in pre-revolutionary France. People thought society was normal, just as today people think it is normal that the Long Island Sound waterfront should be private. … If democracy is to prevail, public good must prevail over private interests. The question is: would the majority of people be happier with a public waterfront on the Long Island Sound or not? All children should have access to waterfronts without being members of a country club. … I eventually realized, of course, that socialism was a failure as an economic system. Yet equality is not dead. Socialism is dead, but equality as a goal is not dead.
“He went like that,” Spade said, “like a fist when you open your hand.”
Hot Corn Girls from Reminiscences of the Old Fire Laddies and Volunteer Fire Departments of New York and Brooklyn.