poem of the day 010212
i’ve decided to do poem a day for all of this month. subjectivity liberated from the imperatives of purposive activity. too weary to type exclamation marks.
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don't fetishise the revolutionary other, just give them your money
for the next month, all U.S. dollahz proceeds from sales of Amy De’Ath’s poetry pamphlet CARIBOU will go to Occupy Oakland to support them in their new venture. GO HERE to get yourself some poetry with a side order of SMASH THE STATE. or, uh, non-violent protest. or however you wanna call it.
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Fighting or Camping?
As much as reading the phrase ‘Žižek was right’ makes me hurt, this is interesting (Ben Ehrenreich in the LA Review of Books):
If the cops are being polite and the politicians are eager to make the protesters comfortable, it’s not because they’re nice. It’s because they’re not feeling sufficiently threatened. When several hundred protesters left the City Hall campsite last week, marched to a Bank of America branch on Figueroa, and refused to leave until tellers cashed a giant, Ed McMahon-style check for $653 billion made out to the people of California, the chumminess of our brothers in blue evaporated. Eleven people were arrested. The lesson was clear: The protests would be permitted, encouraged even, so long as the protesters didn’t try to actually do anything. It’s not a fight, in other words, unless you’re fighting. Otherwise, as one particularly intense young fellow put it to me on the City Hall steps last night, “We’re just fucking camping.”
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