gun control

kelley d-m-c at worldnet.att.net
Sun May 30 09:19:45 PDT 1999


Doug Henwood wrote: > Instead, it's all framed as an interpretive
>struggle around the dead white boys' text. Weird, very weird.

yes indeed.....

carrol said:


>It would be easier to conduct conversations with you Margaret if
>you would ever respond to what Marx, Engels, Lenin, Mao, etc.
>actually said and in context rather than to some bizarre version that
>exists only in your head or in the words of whatever red-baiter
>you got your information from.

everyone, scanners at the ready? on your mark, get set, BANG! start duking it with exact quotes of the dead and mostly white buoys. and make sure they're the right translations damn it! let the text speak for itself!

"I stood up. Michel went away to vomit. I stood there, with all the cries of Criolla in my head, lost in the crush. I no longer understood. Had I shouted, no one would have heard, not even had I shouted my head off. I had nothing to say. I was still doomed to go astray. I kept laughing. I would have liked to spit in other people's faces. .... When I was a boy, I loved the sun; I used to shut my eyes and let it shine redly through my lids. The sun was fantastic--it evoked dreams of explosion. Was there anything more sunlike than red blood running over cobblestones, as though light could shatter and kill? Now, in this black darkness, I'd made myself drunk with light....My eyes were no longer lost among the stars that were shining above me actually, but in the blue of the noon sky. I shut them so as to lose myself in that bright blueness." ~Bataille, Blue of Noon

kelley political impotence and necrophilia kinda go together.

"Despair feeding upon the foregone conclusion of its phantasmagoria, imperturbably guides man to...theoretical and practical wickedness. In a word, causes the human backside to prevail in reasoning. Come, it's my turn to speak. Wickenedness re- sults, and eyes take on the hue of those of the damned. I shall not retract what I propose. I desire that my poetry may be read by a young girl of fourteen"

~Comte de Lautreamont, Les Chantes de Maldoror



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