The following are headlines from the on-line editions of today’s newspapers. The first one makes an assertion. The rest, although not written as such, in my opinion validate that assertion. My question is, what, if anything, are we going to do in response? I’m leaning toward joining the Luddite-Anarchist party myself but there may be an even better option. Read on!
FROM The Guardian
- ‘America is broken’: FBI criticized for mass-shooting survival video
- New Mexico shooting: at least three dead and multiple wounded
- Mormon church has $100bn ‘clandestine hedge fund’, says whistleblower
- ‘Impossible to hold him accountable’: DeSantis signs laws to ease 2024 run
- US supreme court pursuing rightwing agenda via ‘shadow docket’, book says
FROM The Star-Tribune
- Twin Cities metro roads have become far more dangerous since the pandemic began
- Lawmakers pulling together exemption for Mayo Clinic in Minnesota nurse staffing bill
- Man receives 103-year sentence for killing 4 in St. Paul, hiding bodies in Wisconsin field
- Minneapolis police respond to fights at DFL convention
- Windom pork plant was losing $6M a month, bankruptcy files reveal
is this apple tree broken?
Photo by J. Harrington
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There is one way to find that answer. I recently finished reading Rob Hopkins' From What Is to What If. If you share the kind of concerns implicit in today’s posting, see if you can get your hands on a copy and read it. It may suggest the best ways we have available of being the kind of ancestors our descendants will bless rather than curse.
And so I sat at a tall table
in an Ohio hotel,
eating delivery:
cheese breadwith garlic butter, only it was
not butter, but partially
hydrogenated soy
bean oiland regular soybean oil and it
came in a little tub like
creamer that’s also not
dairy.America in 2019
means a poem will have to
contain dairy that is,
in fact,not dairy. On Instagram: a man
has bought a ten foot by four
foot photo of a bridge
he livesbeside, bridge he can see just outside
his window, window which serves
as a ten foot by four
foot frame.My materialist mind, I can’t
shake it. Within a perfect
little tub of garlic
butter,a relief of workers, of sickles,
fields of soy. We were tanners
pushed to the edge of the
cityonce, by the stench, the bubble of vats
of flesh and loosening skin,
back when the city pulled,
leatherbucket by leather bucket, its own
water from wells. Then we worked
the cafeterias
at thepetroleum offices of the
British. Then, revolution—Simple.
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Please be kind to each other while you can.
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