Debridement.

Squash Bloom

 A dread morning when Oligarchs in an attempt to avoid debridement issue woolly headed manifestos.

 Unlettered was the accusation both the poet Wordsworth and the essayist and drug fiend De Quincy made of the materialist philosopher and adventurer John 'Walking' Stewart. "Unlettered" is an adjective masquerading as a verb which Baxter and I have used to label Satan's most arrogant spawn some dismiss as the Tech Bros.

 In the end it was Marx in his Das Kapital that pointed out the limits to Adam Smith's inspiration that competition in free markets was a mechanism that would assure moral behavior by particants in the game of money making. 

 Mind you when the border guards of a necrotic enclosure buy government you have the beginnings of an answer to Gibbon's question which was "Why did the Roman Empire decline and fall?"

The Verb Aura

April 21

 My new word, or phrase, is thusly spoke in noun-ness  : "The Necrotic Enclosures of the Oligarchs." As an image it has beauty, charm, horror, the tapestry of an acid trip gone badly astray.

 Of course there follows a support crew of noun-ness, one of which would be "Necrotic Control." As it writes itself into a Genesis we can hear the wings of angels in the verb-ness of "Open Source."

 In our new charter a closed box is a gravestone, an open source is a slope. We chose the slope because that is where that hint if true things, the Aura, lives. Then at last we might begin to think of ourselves as stewards of the verb Aura.

How tired we all are.

June Grass

 I think it fair to say that our current political economy is no more than a necrotic enclosure that treats human effort as a liquid asset and, with no offence to the Lesser Apes, the threads of this enclosure are being acively managed and fought over by a collection of retarded Baboons.

 The truer path is to understand that Answerlessness is the source code of life and of reality. I'll say it again : the verb is the slope we live on, the noun is the gravestone at the end of the slope. It's an unbalanced ledger, there is no profit or loss until nouns revert to an animal form, a verb with whiskers.

The Everywhen of the First Australians. Oh sure, go ahead call it a "cultural time concept" and damn your eyes if you really are that tired.

Are you Obeying or are you finished?

Mid-April Spruce

 "Who is being liquidated to make this noun?" He ended up teaching Journalists. And while he most likely never asked Who is being liquidated to make this noun and while I might have once painted the corner of his roof where the paint on a soffit was flaking, it was his book Moral Panic that granted me an insight into his way of thinking. The question asked of journalists comes from Bobby not from the author of Moral Panic. And yes, it was Bobby put that question into Geoff Mungham's mouth.

As a species our problem is we have lost our whiskers and as a result our subconscious prevents our animal form from floating away into an answerless tangle that enables the cat to engage in verbing or catting. Instead, our species, we dwell in "The Demand for Answers," a moral panic, and proud we are of being human as a result. A curious boy, or Warren Zevron's Just an Excitable Boy who rubbed pot roast on his chest, desecrated the graves of his victims but was he just an excitable boy or as a boy had he been traumatized by a cruel aunt. Leave it to Hollywood or Journalist and television producers to find something to tickle us with.

Puts you right off suits, ties, blondes and haircuts. Finished nouns they are, with mirrors to stare into, wardrobes and plastic surgeons to keep them special and sweet. Kill me now, you charismatic archetype, the Angel of History sees the wreckage of your verbs, that frightened little person underneath and in you I see a servitude. 

Mungham might have asked the question "Are you obeying or are you finished?" Are you a Managed Asset or a Byzantine General? Whose chain do you polish princess?