Friday, April 15, 2005

Where's Dubya?

George Jr., isn’t as good at beating up (r)epublicans as he is Democrats.

There’s Tom Delay out there holding press conferences and setting a national policy of judicial review and purification from his post as majority leader.

(And we have talked here about the operational similarities between the grand old party and stalinist entities “Toward the Back of the Paper” March 26.)

Majority leader, by the way, is not a government post, it’s a party ranking.

And Bush won't rein him in and has nothing to offer but the usual tired morsels about “judicial restraint.”

And the scribe gets the impression George W.’s ultimate goal was reelection and he doesn’t have a plan for what was coming afterward.

Sort of the way Paul Wolfowitz didn’t have a plan for what happened after Baghdad fell, if that’s what it did instead of collapsing around the U.S. military.

And Delay’s out there directing the nation like he was Newt Gingrich, who at least was Speaker of the House.

the scribe has to give Delay credit for the large set of chestnuts, if not for smarts.

He can’t get away with what he’s doing. He’s a party man without a party.

He sold his soul for five congressional seats in Texas and now he smells too much for any kind of mutually beneficial association.

And politics is all about mutually beneficial associations.

the scribe just came off the highway, back from one of his favorite cities - San Diego. Here’s a poem about a neighborhood there in that fine fine fine metropolis.

It is a true piece of highwayscribery from “Spit in a Flower (If You Must")

Passing Through

the English majors of mission beach come
out at sunset in search of winter greenflash.

They are rapt in sweaters and wool hats
and let their eyes water in the wind
with obvious pleasure.

They sit along the stairs of houses
sprinkled pieces from many
too many different jigsaw puzzles.

jutty like the ocean with its jetties

they are not happy and sit or stand
meditating in golden spray over
ways to stay that way.

they are throwing in with distant
lands and heavy accents of

upstream they strive
each scar is a story

they are mission beach ladies
with their lipstick like morning glory.

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