I know I should be reading of lying presidents and bombs...and spyings and torturings and petitions...i should be watching clips of television and spreading the news because its important. Important to be continually reminded of what most of us have known for years and struggled with integrating as if it's worth stacking, struggling under the weight of melted asbestos adhesive backing, not losing our fucking minds in a shrine of violence and lies and cruelty propagated by the powerful as if its good sense for every newborn child.

I should be reading more of the struggle over immigration rights, i should be searching out and Bearing Witness all the hate for mi gente, and the disCUSSION of the aVERSION of the very blood that runs through me, and then of listings that tell of proper framing for mi gente, and blogs that post each trouble and blogs that post each triumph, and comments that seek to adjust my adjournments, and engaging it, I should be back in it, back in it, swimming in it but ... I just can't bring myself to do it. I'm red faced and blue sacked from hauling the hypnotists's back issue stacks.

I'll come back to it. But for now, my needle's flipped. You see, my thermostat's fried, my tubes are cracked, my fuses blown, my breakers tripped. I need no more miasma of white noise and trails of plutonium breadcrumb.

but i know you come here for news sometimes. forgive my lack of commentary. here are some hot spots to swing by:

-http://www.icirr.org/stories/suntimessep0407.htm

-http://www.star-telegram.com/arlington_news/story/218020.html

-http://www.dmiblog.com/archives/2007/09/update_on_nomatch_mismatch.html

-XP's Latest

-Geraldo Punks Malkin

-http://www.suntimes.com/news/brown/542240,CST-NWS-brown05.article

-http://capwiz.com/nclr/utr/2/?a=10265086&i=1234&c=

-Immigration Campustop/Kyle's latest

Me, I need more wind singing to me through this window. The Sense of this daily digital media culture is a hyenacized loop of entropy. Kills while it strips down and dances with glee. I listen not to the radioactive radio esta noche. Me, tiny deaf grinning bronze toad emperor. A rain of dark decree bubbles off my warty back like yoke on the neck of a smelting stack.

Yeah, but even watching Tony Snow become gaunt makes me sad for the things he has worked so hard to make real. Earn your bean rot, foolish garden hand of death. Pet heavy your pebbles of greed and deceit. Grip them as they fill your corners, pockets, and evenings with terrifying speed. Fry your tomorrows in cramped palms of singed iron, praying for leniency, soundbytes for seasoning, glass dust for reasoning. Your empty auditorium of second chances. And an echo that will outlast your earthly flights of fancy.

Anyway, I return now to paint. A brush I push through the screen behind which I have filed all your most sincere jpgs. Memorabilia for robots, and a well-oiled sense of futility. They scream to me. They plead to me. I pretend I'm flesh. I promise myself and genuflect. Shining naïve knight in a halo of drunken headlights.

They chatter about our future. They are silent when it comes to tonight.