Monday, February 29, 2016

       The cauldron scalds.
       Flesh is scarred. 
       Eyes shot.
 
       The street aswarm with 
       vipers and heavy armed bandits.
       There are bandages on the wounds
       but blood flows unabated. The bath-
       rooms are full. Oh stop up
                                                      the drains.
                              We are run over.


-- John Wieners, 'A Poem for Painters'

Thursday, February 25, 2016

Helping Someone with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) While Taking Care of Yourself

Helping Someone with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) While Taking Care of Yourself






“It seems to me that, in practice at least, one of the things that has a great deal to do with sectarianism is somehow connecting your personal identity to a set of ideas, so that if anybody challenges something that you think, it is taken as this devastating attack upon your being. [. . .] [I]f we start down the associated slippery slope, 'the personal is political' can get exaggerated, can be distorted, and eventually can come to mean almost the opposite of what was intended, that the essence of politics is personal. The meaning has been almost exactly reversed, so that now we begin to have the feeling that everything is a function of personal, individual, totally separate, totally atomized choices.” Michael Albert, Trajectory of Change: Activist Strategies for Social Transformations, Cambridge, MA: South End Press, 2002, p. 105, 108-9.

Wednesday, February 10, 2016

An Eastern European story is instructive here. One day, these three worthy peasants were lazing beside the Iskur river and talking generally among themselves, as people are apt to in such stories.
‘“Now, Ghele,” said one of the others, “if you were a king, and had all the powers of a king, what would you most like to do?”
Ghele thought for a while and finally said, “Well, that’s a tricky one. I think I would make myself some porridge and put into it as much lard as I liked. Then I wouldn’t need anything else.”
‘“What about you, Voute?”
Voute thought for quite a bit longer than Ghele, and eventually he said, “I know what I would do. I would bury myself in straw and just lie there for as long as I pleased.”
‘“And what about you, Gyore?” said the other two. “What would you do if you were a king and had all the powers of a king?”
Well, Gyore thought about this for an even longer time than the others. He scratched his head and shifted around on the bank and chewed on a grassy stalk and thought and thought and got crosser and crosser. In the end, he said, “Damn it. You two have already picked the best things. There isn’t anything left for me.”


Thursday, February 4, 2016


As Harold Pinter wrote in his Nobel Prize-winning speech in 2005, when it comes to the US “it never happened. Nothing ever happened. Even while it was happening it wasn’t happening. It didn’t matter. It was of no interest.” He continued: “The crimes of the United States have been systematic, constant, vicious, remorseless, but very few people have actually talked about them. You have to hand it to America. It has exercised a quite clinical manipulation of power worldwide while masquerading as a force for universal good. It’s a brilliant, even witty, highly successful act of hypnosis.”


“In front of the vacant Mausoleum of the First Leader an old woman stood alone. She wore a woollen scarf wrapped round a woollen hat, and both were soaked. In outstretched fists she held a small framed print of V.I. Lenin. Rain bubbled the image, but his indelible face pursued each passer-by. Occasionally, a committed drunk or some chattering thrush of a student would shout across at the old woman, at the thin light veering off the wet glass. But whatever the words, she stood her ground, and she remained silent.”

Julian Barnes, The Porcupine. p. 138. (Final paragraph.)