http://blogcritics.org/ A sinister cabal of superior bloggers on music, books, film, popular culture, politics, and technology - updated continuously. en Copyright 2005-2007 by the authors Thu, 18 May 2006 09:39:09 EDT http://backend.userland.com/rss Blogcritics.org custom software http://blogcritics.org/ Phillip WinnSunday, August 26, 2007, marks the switch of all Blogcritics.org article feeds from full-content to short-content. This is the result of several converging factors, and is unfortunately a permanent decision (as permanent as any decision can be on the web, that is). We are aware of all of the reasons that this is a Bad Idea, and we are aware that some of you will be quite upset about having to click on something to read the free content, and we're sorry. Unfortunately, despite great effort, full-content feeds are not currently economically viable. Two other factors are involved: full-content feeds have resulted in an unprecedented level of content theft, with BC content appearing on many websites, usually spam sites, without attribution or permission. This duplicate content causes a cascading set of problems, not the least of which is that search engines generally aren't favorable to duplicate content, and don't always guess correctly. Finally, our RSS advertising partner is strongly in favor of short-content feeds. We hope that you'll continue to subscribe to BC via RSS, and when an article grabs your eye, it's only a click away, still free on the BC website. Thank you for your understanding. Administration0@blogcritics.org Sun, 26 Aug 2007 12:00:00 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/05/18/093909.php KableSaw a biblical spectacle, recently. Beautiful and breathtaking. Nature, at her most sublime. Sandstorm on the verge of Sudan. Rise up, red and grainy. Swallowing city, whole.Meanwhile. In a galaxy. Not, far, far away...ASSOCIATED PRESS REPORT:"Chinese weather specialists used chemicals to engineer Beijing's heaviest rainfall of the year. Technicians fired seven rocket shells containing 163-cigarette-size sticks of silver iodide into city skies. China has been tinkering with artificial rainmaking for decades, using it frequently in the drought-plagued North. Last month, another artificial rainfall was generated to clear Beijing after city suffered some of the fiercest dust storms this decade. Whether cloud seedling actually works is subject of debate..."# transmission ends # Culture47916@blogcritics.org Thu, 18 May 2006 09:39:09 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/05/05/073328.php KableJihad's over. For one man, so it seems. 37-year-old, 9/11 conspirator, Moussaui's. Matrimony to martyrdom. ACCESS DENIED. Foolish rhetoric. From a skewered perspective. Honey, welcome, to the rest, of your natural life...Damn that. Just missing out. On the death penalty. Newest tenant, on the Supermax bloc. Poor mama's bleating: How dare, they leave her boy. "To die, like a rat, in a hole..."Sweeter, I'd imagine. It could not be. Justice served. Yes. Right, this time round. Poetry from the lips of Judge Leonie Brinkema. As she sentenced him. To a green-mile, horror. Of the most, unimaginable kind."You will spend the rest of your life in a supermaximum security prison... It's quite clear who won... and who lost. You came here to be a martyr in a great bang of glory, but to paraphrase the poet T.S Elliot, instead you will die with a whimper. .. You will never again get a chance to speak and that's an appropriate and fair ending..." Culture47297@blogcritics.org Fri, 5 May 2006 07:33:28 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/03/21/063252.php KablePretty nasty. This TGN1412, business. Hey, Mr Pharmaceutical. Run, come, inject me. Inflate my head. To three times, its normal size. Intensive Care sabbatical. Courtesy, of The Corporation. For the little lab rats, in Cubicle #9.Trying to save a population. That sometimes, resists. Cyclones roar across eastern shores. Dead dictators are laid out. Like slabs of meat. And six men float, critically. Through TeGenero stasis.Experiment, on primal cousins. Experiment, on the highly-evolved. What's the difference? Sacrifice the few. For the masses. Isn't that, the way it goes?For the sake of science. And, the human race. Foolish people commit unfathomable acts. Whores, on both sides.Human life. All, too cheap. "I feel bad, I had the placebo," sniffed one survivor. It was like Russian Roulette. I was doing it, for the money. But 2000 pounds, is not worth your life."Enough said...# transmission ends # Culture45245@blogcritics.org Tue, 21 Mar 2006 06:32:52 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/03/13/081854.php KableFragile eco-system, this world. All pulp fiction. Plasmadelic, wide-screen porn. "Space tourism could soon be affordable." Say the experts. "Not a second, too soon." Comes, my reply.I dream of Skyscraper Escape Pods. For "the hi-rise, in distress." Israeli invention. $1-million-prototype. Lifeboat, for the inevitable. Lest we forget. Though, we never shall.I dream of humanity. Carved into a cliff face. And of Philippine landslides, that bury people whole. But mostly, I see a man. With a catatonic stare. A stranger, with nowhere to go.Lo-fi. Like someone's turned down the volume. Swimming through fog. Amnesia, of tomorrow.And the lifeboats? Well. "No, not interested." Said the City of New York. When offered a test drive.Peace of mind, in an expandable cabin. Or simply, just a Sign O'The Times? Ground Zero for progression. Vision.Cushion our world with airbags. Numb us. So there's nothing left to feel, in the end. Just like the stranger. The boy, with the sad, sad. Columbine stare...# transmission ends # Culture44881@blogcritics.org Mon, 13 Mar 2006 08:18:54 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/12/31/081256.php KableSighs and whispers. Words between pictures. Tsunami and hurricane. Bodybags litter our terrain.Everything's illuminated. Optimism, amid the turmoil. Awareness, of a different kind.Tasted culture, this year. Traveled many miles. Across sky. Across ocean. To lands, far, far away.Through forests of wind turbines. And the click of a million Vegas chips. Venice Beach, where the palm trees sway. To the digital fingerprinting. And biometric eye scans. Of tomorrow. Of me. On file. Download. Into Planet Surveillance mainframe.Felt the heartbeat of my baby. Curled in tight. On an endless, Californian night.Carpe diem! Live. Learn. That's what we're supposed to do. Put it into perspective?2005. Greatest Story Ever Told. Culture41643@blogcritics.org Sat, 31 Dec 2005 08:12:56 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/11/19/053154.php KableSlipping into the ether of another city. Another skin. This City of Angels. Never quite what you imagine. Freedom to roam to the ends of the earth. Freedom to become someone else, for just one day. Liberation, for the price of an air- ticket. A few thousand frequent flyer points. And of course, love.* * *Meanwhile, on the other side of the globe. Paris Burns. ""France''s Failure," declares The Economist. Rioters in the streets ignite 6,000 cars. Buses, kindergartens and churches... Muslim and West African minorities responsible, say the headlines. Intifada. Jihad or plain discontent. A work in progress, either fucking way.* * *Restless hours ahead. Brush Fires burn in Ventura. Sirens wail deeply into the night.My baby comes home. Molds his body into mine. Just the way I like it. "Asahi, honey...?"We watch images of fire, consume prime real estate. Flaring momentarily, while helicopters hover above. Over this land of eternal Indian Summer."Run, come save me honey..." I scrawl on a post-it note. "You don't need to run, you're already home," he replies.# transmission ends # Culture39762@blogcritics.org Sat, 19 Nov 2005 05:31:54 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/10/11/202950.php KableThere's a quote, that haunts me. From a time, long before suicide bombers took over the world. When we punctured a hole in the sky.. Split the fucking atom and the universe, wide apart."I am sure at the end of the world, in the last millisecond of the earth's existence humanity will see what we have just seen..." - George Kistiakowsky, Head of Implosion Department , Manhattan Project, 1944.Now, earthquakes, bombs and bitch hurricanes. Wipe our blood, red meridians clean. From the bone. Erasing our footprints from the plasma sands of our own destruction. Grainy, fleeting, just slips through the tips.Reading novels, immersing in the surreal. About a suicide bomber cyclist. About Al-Jazeera, behind the scenes. Pure & Radiant Hearts, thank you, Lydia! Heaven in a Chip, barcode for the flesh, for tomorrow.Godfathers of the A-bomb. Come see your playground, now.Too tired to cry, busy watching bodies being excavated. Again. From 7.6 magnitude eruptions. RIP estimated 35,000 dead. From poverty to the grave, with little in the middle...Drifting off... Wondering, can a millisecond truly last a lifetime?# transmission ends # Culture37781@blogcritics.org Tue, 11 Oct 2005 20:29:50 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/09/22/082704.php KableIt began as an ache. Next, came the flashback. Stark and disturbing. Of the photograph, of the man. The Corpse. Let's call him Jon Doe.Belongs to no one in particular. Just floating, really. Through the toxic cesspit of a Ghost Town. Formerly known as New Orleans.So sad, these unfolding chapters. These apocalyptic times. Brings a lump to my throat. Makes me raw and fucking sentimental.Third World poverty reflected in the murky depths. Of a once hedonistic city. E-coli bacteria in the water. And refuse of human remains. Yesterday vibrant. Today, a fullstop. #People are talking: "I'm scared right now...What's next?" "Plague, pestilence and the four goddamn horsemen ..." I offer with a wry grin. #I wonder about that man. And how he ended up as floatsam in the food chain. Deserted, in his hour of need. I want to forget I ever made his acquaintance. Sobering and heartbreaking as it was. Poor soul. Decomposing before our very eyes. Our scrutiny and curiosity, ever so human.RIP Edited: PC Culture36632@blogcritics.org Thu, 22 Sep 2005 08:27:04 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/09/05/025255.php KableI used to dream. Of bodies. Floating. Now. I only have to open my eyes.Corpses litter. The streets of New Orleans. Silent. Bloated. Accusatory.Third world. In the heart of 'God's country...' Surely you jest.Sometimes. Life. Trickles. Like water. Through fingers.People howling with despair. On their knees. "Life goes on." Says one banner.Canoes glide. Down Canal Street. While troops. Prepare to harvest the dead.Such tragedy. Death of so many souls. Population: 485,000. Not anymore. 67 percent. African-American.RIP Culture35499@blogcritics.org Mon, 5 Sep 2005 02:52:55 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/09/01/124128.php KableA woman says: "We'll all be underwater in 100 years..." Her eyes drinking in. The watery devastation. Of a New Orleans grave.Misplaced. Displaced. Amnesiac souls. Us. Humans.Asahi and Ok Computer. Keep me company. Soothe my mind. As the hurricane subsides. From the disaster zone. And dead that litter it.Damn. Descending again. Drifting. In. Out.Just fading, really. Right now. Into the devastation. The river of tears. The hum of a looters heartbeat. And those bittersweet sounds. Of icebergs melting...RIP Culture35239@blogcritics.org Thu, 1 Sep 2005 12:41:28 EDT