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There may not “always be an England” and (BTW) social distancing is so last week

by Vanderleun on June 4, 2020

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Kevin in PA June 4, 2020, 1:11 PM

From one emergency to the next crisis and repeat.
I expect that will be the way of it from now until November 8th.

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ghostsniper June 4, 2020, 1:33 PM

Kevin sed: “I expect that will be the way of it from now until November 8th.”
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If Trump grabs the next 4 the insanity will continue, probably indefinitely.
See, a bunch of adults no longer accept responsibility for themselves and either, act like children, or let children in their charge, behave out of control. Behavior used to have consequences but, well, no more. Now, people get to do whatever they want and everybody else has to go pound sand.

The “father figure” has been gradually removed from this country over the last 40 years and it’s expected that the children will misbehave. When, “Just wait until your father gets home!”, is removed from the lexicon it translates all the way up the wire to the very top.

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Welcome to the New American Digest: 2003-2020

My Back Pages

Van der Leun: The Normblog Bio of Your Host

“From a student radical/hippie/leftist of the Free Speech Movement/Vietnam Day Commitee era and a full-on Democratic Liberal in the decades after, I think I’ve evolved a politics that is neither right nor left but is, in its elemental nature, draconian. In the last 20 years, I’ve taken apart my beliefs with a sledgehammer. Now I’ve got to put the surviving parts back together with tweezers and other ‘shabby equipment, always deteriorating’.”

A Wicker Basket

Comes the time when it’s later
and onto your table the headwaiter
puts the bill, and very soon after
rings out the sound of lively laughter—

Picking up change, hands like a walrus,
and a face like a barndoor’s,
and a head without any apparent size,
nothing but two eyes—

So that’s you, man,
or me. I make it as I can,
I pick up, I go
faster than they know—

Out the door, the street like a night,
any night, and no one in sight,
but then, well, there she is,
old friend Liz—

And she opens the door of her cadillac,
I step in back,
and we’re gone.
She turns me on—

There are very huge stars, man, in the sky,
and from somewhere very far off someone hands me a slice of apple pie,
with a gob of white, white ice cream on top of it,
and I eat it—

Slowly. And while certainly
they are laughing at me, and all around me is racket
of these cats not making it, I make it

in my wicker basket.

— BY ROBERT CREELEY