This next jape–prompted by a Russian dance-pop video–points to a bookman’s truth…
World
Unsentimental Internationalism
I
One faction of neoconservatives were wittily defined as people for whom it is always 1938. Whoever so defined them may not have considered the possibility that there are also people for whom it is never 1938, and that for some of that latter group even 1938 is no longer 1938 (a very partial version of that last view can be seen in a recently released film in which Chamberlain is credited with having bought the time for Britain to rearm).
Lenin’s Oriental Despotism (Excerpt from Vasily Grossman’s “Everything Flows”)
The evolution of the West was fertilized by the growth of freedom; Russia’s evolution was fertilized by the growth of slavery. This is the abyss that divides Russia and the West.
The Irishman and the Ambassador from Potemkin
Per Bruce Jackson: “In this wonderfully revealing 6-minute interview, the Russian ambassador to Ireland lies, lies, does a bit of slip & slide, and then lies some more. Irish news presenter David McCaullagh calls him on every single one. Now if there were only a brilliant hacker who could slip this into the Fox news feed while Tucker Carlson is doing his nightly Putin-suck….”
Defund, Abolish, What?
The people who call for defunding the police, and the smaller number who want to abolish the police, have a particular focus: they are interested in the cops who patrol the streets on foot or in cars, the cops who direct traffic, the cops who answer calls about domestic violence and robberies or assaults in progress, and the cops who deal with threatening or erratic behavior in public places. And they are also interested in the special forces, the SWAT teams, that invade homes, often without warrants, looking for illegal drugs or other contraband. Focusing this way makes perfect sense; these are the cops who too often escalate the violence they are supposed to control; these are the cops who kill innocent people. But there is a great deal of police activity that is missing here.
Ill Fares the Land
In my dreams, I was constantly losing my brother in the midst of World War III. In despair, I didn’t want to go on, but I’d go on. I’d see him then as he was as a kid of four or five. His sweetness got him killed. Whereas I, even at my worst and most lost, always had an instinct for reality. I’d felt from an early age appointed or called by something. But reality was a minefield, starting with my own somatic experience (failure to be held). Something, some threat in the biological or social world, was always poised to interrupt where I was meant to go (K’s theory early in our friendship about Spinoza, Proust, imperial time, and death, and years later when he told me about what Grace Lee said about James Boggs, how she’d never met a person who could sleep so soundly, the kind of sleep that comes from being a Black man born in Alabama who lives and breathes a revolutionary humanity).
Putin (with Stooge) vs. Navalny
Since I haven't found an English version online, I've added subtitles to Putin's humiliation of his spy chief during today's grotesque security council meeting in the Kremlin. pic.twitter.com/bFx25nWzTK
— Peter Liakhov (@peterliakhov) February 21, 2022
Epiphany, and the Flight into Egypt
While quietly crossing the threshold from a most difficult year into a (hopefully) better year, I lit a simple fire in an old tire rim, and with Orion twinkling in the darkness above, I contemplated the religious icon that accompanies these words.
Gifts of the Spirit: Robert Farris Thompson on Basquiat and Haring
This Q&A with Robert Farris Thompson was originally posted at the Sotheby’s website in 2020, when the auction house was charged with selling paintings given to Thompson by Jean-Michel Basquiat and Keith Haring.
The Last Irving
The café had four octogenarian Irvings. Two have passed; one is infirm. The fourth, now 92, sat on a bench outside the Cheese Board. We spoke of every day being a blessing, of every hour.
The Starry Sky Above and the Moral Law Within
Dear friends and family,
Recently I happened to come across the question as to whether it is possible to care too much.
The “Forever War”
President Biden’s decision to withdraw from Afghanistan has provoked a flood of commentaries on our “forever war.” This obviously isn’t the war in Afghanistan, which lasted a long time but not forever. Indeed, Fred Smoler has made a strong case that Biden ended it too soon, given the consequences of defeat for Afghan women. I would be inclined to agree; my political sympathies lie that way. But I suspect that the war failed disastrously long ago, and Trump’s agreement with the Taliban, a virtual surrender, effectively ended it.
Did Afghanistan Have a Chance?
In the main I agree with Michael Walzer—this is almost invariably the case—but since broad agreement is rarely the stuff of mesmerizing political discussion I’ll declare a few reservations.
Hormones
I (Lust)
Shut up kiss me hold me tight
C was from Montreal and she was married to a pretty famous UFC fighter who was training at a big gym in San Jose for an important fight in Vegas. We met on a kink app used mainly by radical queers (or at least queers who like weird sex) and vampiric married couples at the very end of their rope, looking to stave off the apocalypse of the bourgeoisie, or at least to eroticize it.
Ransoms & Ripeness
Fr. Frechette has been writing regular updates from Haiti since the earthquake on August 14th. What follows are his two latest missives, starting with his most recent, which is marked by an undeniable urgency. His earlier update has an up ending that should give readers a genuine lift since Fr. Frechette’s good faith is the opposite of beamishness. His invocations of viridians in that first note made your editor think of Lorca’s Gypsy Ballad:
Green, how I want you green
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea
and the horse on the mountain.
Maybe “Romance Sonámbulo” isn’t quite apt for a priest, but Fr. Frechette is large (and Lorca’s mountains and sea seem right for Haiti). Fr. Frechette may not be forever young but he is surely unwithered.