May 25, 2009

My sister held on to our old turntable
and all the old records we listened to
through the long Italian opera

of our childhood. So tonight
we sit in the living room with some wine
and Puccini, as the needle scratches

the black door of the past, the air comes to life
with that lovely, cornball melodrama,
and our father is sitting in his chair,

ice cubes clinking in his scotch,
and our mother is in the kitchen
trying to be quiet, trying not to disturb

Maria Callas as she explains
to Tito Gobbi that she has lived for art
and she has lived for love, but it’s hard

to fry pork chops and dice an onion
without making a certain amount of noise,
and pretty soon my father is shouting at her,

he’s trying to listen to the goddamn music
for Christ’s sake, could she for once
show some goddamn respect,

and our mother says nothing,
it’s just the same old argument
between ghosts, after all-the music

won’t let them sleep—
though it has my sister in tears
and even Tosca has begun to weep.

George Bilgere

Nulabour who want bigger and better databases, a national ID card system backed up by, guess what?

Yes, the biggest national database yet, storing everyone’s private details, which, the Government assures us, will keep that information safe and secure.

I think by now we all know these knobheads are off with Alice down the rabbit hole. But for those more gullible, who thought there might have been a modicum of truth in Honest Gordon’s pronouncements, see this:

“The personal medical records of tens of thousands of people have been lost by the NHS, the Department of Health has confirmed.
A total of 140 security breaches were reported within the NHS between January and April this year.

These included computers containing medical records stolen and left by skips and stolen and passwords taped on encrypted discs with sensitive information, The Independent newspaper said.

Over the last six months, the Information Commissioner has been forced to take action against 14 NHS bodies for breaching data regulations.”

Oh dear…not so secure then? What about this:

“Senior RAF staff could be at risk of blackmail after files detailing alleged drug abuse, extra-marital affairs and use of prostitutes were stolen, it has been reported.

Computer disc drives taken from RAF Innsworth in Gloucestershire contained details gathered while vetting staff for security clearance, the Guardian has claimed.

At the time of the theft in September last year, the Ministry of Defence said that personal data such as bank details and addresses could have been lost.

But an internal memo obtained under the Freedom of Information Act and published in the Guardian appears to confirm that “vetting” information also disappeared”

I really don’t think the Government or any of its official tentacles can be trusted with the security of our data. After all said and done, they were keeping the data on MPs expenses secure for a June release weren’t they? They couldn’t even protect them…someone tore open the wet paperbag, perhaps?

poets don’t have gender
just faint words embossed on their flesh
    like secondary sexual characteristics,
a many-years-old growth of impressions
which is never fully expressed,
shave it off or leave it for its charm?
bearded Hemingway hunts down his death –
a lazy lioness in a broken trajectory of flight
pounces on him swiftly and heavily
  like tropical rain after a long drought,
how long did he have to wait for her
    hidden, craving,
feeding the mosquitoes of routine with his own blood?!
after all, who has to wait for whom
  in this unwritten code of existence
       who is hunting whom?
poets don’t have gender
     solitude’s hermaphrodites
incomprehensibly wanting every time the other the Other,
in torture giving birth to only themselves
     which are repeated,
а repetition of а repetition
     repeat please
    а repetition of а repetition,
how does one escape these hula-hoops of bodies?
reconciling these differences within oneself
     smoothing genitalia,
everything will go smoothly, Hemingway
     without any snags,
the last boundaries of self-identification are crossed,
Gordian knots of mutual obligations are hewn,
Sisyphus’ stone of life is pushed from the summit,
genius doesn’t have gender
    just a throat raw from shouting
     between the legs

Halyna Krouk

Thoughts for the day

May 25, 2009

Yesterday was thoughtless, so today will be thoughtful with these two gems from Charles Bukowski:

“Boring damned people. All over the earth. Propagating more boring damned people. What a horror show. The earth swarmed with them.”

“The difference between a democracy and a dictatorship is that in a democracy you vote first and take orders later; in a dictatorship you don’t have to waste your time voting”

Charles Bukowski