america's war is not a criminal enterprise you bleeding heart it's only business.

i feel that wind under the wings of the stealth bomber hovering over soldier's field i feel it in a cloud of bullets in the park rising bodies like sails whipped in the wind of empire. but what has this to do with my little man.

incoherent culture crushing lives.

the pen will sometimes stop, as if before a leap over an abyss- it will stop at something a stranger would have read with indifference. Pushkin

power has no history, it's continual disruption.

we're in the workshop of power not to understand but to serve.