I truly hope
you’ll give my scraps o’ trash a warm home.
I truly hope
you’ll give my scraps o’ trash a warm home.
When I went to refill the bird feed, I laughed—
I always look both ways before crossing the grass.
I hope I don’t get new poop on my new shoes.
No puedes robar mí depresión;
la tristeza es el sólo calor en este vacío frío.
¿No sabes cuantos los cuestra leña?
Cuando piensa de los ahorros sobre los años…
Eso mero depresión vale miles de semillas de girasol;
eso es suficiente para hace gordo algún hámster.
No puede poner esa pastelería en el paquete y pudrirla.
You can’t take my depression;
sadness is the only warmth in this cold emptiness.
You know how much firewood costs?
When I think o’ the savings o’er the years…
That mere depression’s worth thousands o’ sunflower seeds;
that’s ‘nough to make any hamster fat.
You can’t put that cake factory in your packet & putrefy it.
Baby-doll, nothing makes me swoon-a
like a cat that smells like tuna.
But not so much that red vein in your eye.
Please ne’er show me that ‘gain, kitty.
Alguien en el radio dice,
—Creo que 2015 será un año muy bueno—,
a cuál respondo,
—pues, yo creo que será lo peor—,
solo realizar que no pudo oirme,
que no pudo oirme nadie,
y eso es por que 2015 es tan bueno:
porque a los que no les gusta
no se permite tener voces.
Someone on the radio says,
“I think the year 2015 will be a very good year,”
to which I reply,
“Well, I think it’ll be the worst,”
only to realize he couldn’t hear me,
that nobody could hear me,
& that is why 2015 is so good:
‘cause those who don’t like it
don’t get to have their say.
Yes, the leaf’s still in my tea;
it can swim where it damn-well-please.
Actually, the article itself is a mess o’ backward & forward sputtering that doesn’t seem to have any point. 1 o’ the reasons I utterly abhor Forbes, the same as why I hate the New York Times, is that though they love to brag ’bout how brilliant they are, they’re actually strikingly imbecilic1–‘cept the New York Times a’least doesn’t make me question if they’re literate (well, save Routhat). It’s the kind o’ thing that almost makes me feel sorry for market fundamentalists. What happened? Did the vile commies infect all o’ your water supplies with lead?
They admit that “great CEOs” can oft be sociopaths, & some Marxist e’en snuck in, “Then you realize that because of this dysfunctional capitalistic society we live in [having a boner for firing people & wondering what human flesh tastes like2] were positives,” which was fun; but then they try to pour water all o’er it in the hope o’ diluting the sour taste such a statement makes. For instance, when you think ’bout it, all o’ those people who rag on capitalists for loving to fuck with people like cats to a rat it’s ’bout to kill, they kinda don’t have empathy for people who love screwing with people, so they’re kinda sociopaths in a way themselves. Also, I was intrigued by this brand o’ people who apparently believe the world to be run by “blood-drinking, baby-sacrificing lizards.” I always viewed the world as run by, well, sociopaths; but then, maybe I’m just an outlier. I’m sure Ronson’s example is accurate & reasonable & not @ all a ludicrous strawman.
The reason for the positive relation ‘tween capitalist & sociopathy has been known forever: its hard to treat someone else as a subordinate when you think o’ them as one thinks o’ oneself–the definition o’ empathy. It’s the same reason this same connection exists ‘mong government officials3–or anyone in power. After all, capitalists are simply government officials in denial: they control people through property just as governments do. E’en their main defense–”If you don’t like my rules, go somewhere else”–can be just as fairly made by governments. Indeed, any hierarchical social organization presumes that some people are less than others; why else would some deserve less power than others?
In the past people acknowledged this: they called it “Social Darwinism,” e’en though ’twas actually Herbert Spencer who hocked it up. It’s only later that this imaginary hippie-commie “Let’s Put Dildos in Each Other’s Bum™” version o’ capitalism has seemed to infect people’s minds–@ the loss o’ aggregate brain cells.
I think the ruby has to be a quote by the guy they interviewed as a ‘scuse to peddle his incoherent pop-psychology:
…the average anxiety-ridden business failure like me — although the fact that my book just made the Times best sellers list makes it difficult to call myself that…
It’s my favorite kind o’ modesty–the David Brooks kind: talk ’bout how modest one is while jerking oneself off. Safety procedures always mandate that one should wear protective covering while in the presence o’ such writing to protect oneself gainst splashed jism.
Note that Forbes doesn’t italicize the Times, which means they either despise those gross liberals so much or are, sniff, low-class in their style–or they can’t figure out how to make italics on this here hip-fangled WordPress thing.
Fui un mal chico que volví a hacer un mala cosa:
comí la galleta antes de que terminar el almuerzo.
Siempre termino el almuerzo antes de comer galletas;
esta vez no lo hice.
Siempre terminaba el almuerzo antes de comer galletas,
y echaba a ponerme harto de hacerlo;
me parecían que las galletas tuvieran mejor sabor antes,
¿O tal vez tenga la comida?
delinquí este crimen criminal
y es tiempo que yo beba la pocción.
I was a bad boy doing a bad thing ‘gain:
I ate the cookie ‘fore finishing my lunch.
I always finish my meals before cookies;
this time I didn’t.
I always finished my meals before cookies,
& I started to get sick o’ it;
thought the cookies might taste better beforefoot--
or maybe the meal?
I committed this criminal crime
& it’s time I drank my potion.
Every happy memory from the past
is just ‘nother reason to be sad
—objective, scientific proof that happiness is a 0-sum game.
Gotta scrub the grub stains on the tub;
‘cause e’en bathrooms need a li’l love.