we have to make choices simple contained systems all the turning
points a steady accumulation it is hard to think
why is it so hard? in the context of constraints (views about what
should be) centrally controlled do you really understand? how
do we design a system that says “yes” to the fire all at once to place a
load-bearing wall with a delicate touch alive in the hands my hope
Antistrophe:
I lie on the couch & listen to the furnace
breathe the house:
Last night an old barn caught fire
outside town & no one called it in,
but I watched it like an exotic flower
in a field of snow:
I see screens all day:
I pay:
the winter window reflects our family photos:
I’ve already made myself
a ghost:
Tomorrow I’ll put my boots on & step through
the soft dusting
& turn on the car: I’ll turn on the engine & play a
song about collective restlessness:
Maybe about love, but it’s only a song
if it’s about something not here, not now
The real
invisible hand passed
the punchline: every morning our lives grow steadily
brightly lit aisles
no central authority
making a finite supply of everything worth having
how does it all work? concern is a luxury good
a black-and-white television channel
we both excitedly signed up for an evening:
“at the moment, you are reading
instead of working, playing with the dog,
applying to law school, shopping for groceries,
or having sex.”
how do we manage? the cost
of something is what you must give up
(eco eco) the data speak
land, steel, knowledge
the guiding principle is relatively simple
in a warehouse full of sweatshirts:
pleasure
the medicine
will be sold to dogs and people at different prices
amoral diamonds are not worth water
criminals are innovative beautifully adapted species
self-correcting nostalgically
dressed in sharp uniforms often with bow ties
Antistrophe:
In the brightly lit chip aisle
I sat sudden & read about Nick Cave:
I listened to his razed voice
as he said loss is our collective condition:
I listened to his songs & the bouquet
of red & yellow bags, sliced, fried, preserved
hearts of the earth:
I read his addiction, his dying dead children,
his mountainous, cavernous lostness,
& I cried in the bustle, to myself, for myself,
& to the families picking out their chips
& I cried to the clerks in their hustle, & to the
boys out in the snowy lot collecting carts:
It was darkening outside but this was a clear,
well-lit aisle & I was ready right then to reach
On the black market communal
violence in the region grinds on
rhino-horn daggers self-interest
in any system how bad can it
get? The machinery that was
installed never worked properly
the foul air consumptionwas designed to take advantage
please see a manager steal
without getting caught
a future stream an excellent
postmortem transaction
many individuals are drawing
from a common resource what
happens? the pattern is well
established small shops on main
street are closed and boarded up
this thought process does not lead us
here, as elsewhere only an
analytical framework for thinking
about important questions
our best hope for improving the
human condition is to understand
why we act the way we do and then
plan accordingly
Time is money but money isn’t time; it’s language. I read a book about making choices & not one of its awful words rhymed. Great destructions will be good for us, it said, as a people on a continuum, but of course that’s a long con for the crimson annuals, for the lake rust, for the small town engagement.