It is too easy to slur Columbus Day and ignore Thanksgiving, for fear of upsetting the neighbors. Today we sit down to celebrate the complete incompetence of European settlers to feed themselves and contemplate the gratitude they showed to their Native neighbors, to offer our thanks to their omnipotently paranoid god who blessed the casual erasure of humans and bison from sea to shining sea, to engorge ourselves on indigenous corn and potatoes and African yams without a thought to their origins, eat thick slices from the engineered breast of a native bird bred like Chevrolets in a feed house it could not survive without constant dosing with antibiotics. 158 more words
Tags » The Narrative
Getting in touch with one’s inner daemon, not infernal but an amoral engine of perception whose only purpose is music, not of the spheres, of the equinoctial routine but rather the assembly of images like maenads, words raving and tearing at each other’s clothes until assembled, naked and purposeful, in union, in invocation: the earth shifts its ecliptic and the divine is eye is opened.