La Nausée

[M]any of the usual suspects just cannot bring themselves to join this year’s [Republican National Convention] — either out of principle, self-preservation, or an overwhelming sense of nausea.


‘Saturday the children were playing ducks and drakes and, like them, I wanted to throw a stone into the sea. Just at that moment I stopped, dropped the stone and left. Probably I looked somewhat foolish or absent-minded, because the children laughed behind my back. So much for external things. What has happened inside of me has not left any clear traces. I saw something which disgusted me, but I no longer know whether it was the sea or stone…

… Things are bad! Things are very bad: I have it, the filth, the Nausea…

… I wanted to vomit. And since that time, the Nausea has not left me, it holds me…

… [W]e have so much difficulty imagining nothingness. Now I knew: things are entirely what they appear to be — and behind them . . . there is nothing…

… I glance around the room and a violent disgust floods me. What am I doing here? … Why are these people here? …

… The Nausea has not left me and I don’t believe it will leave me so soon; but I no longer have to bear it, it is no longer an illness or a passing fit: it is I…

… And then all of a sudden, there it was, clear as day: existence had suddenly unveiled itself. It had lost the harmless look of an abstract category: it was the very paste of things, this root was kneaded into existence. Or rather the root, the park gates, the bench, the sparse grass, all that had vanished: the diversity of things, their individuality, were only an appearance, a veneer. This veneer had melted, leaving soft, monstrous masses, all in disorder — naked, in a frightful, obscene nakedness…

… . We were a heap of living creatures, irritated, embarrassed at ourselves, we hadn’t the slightest reason to be there, none of us, each one, confused, vaguely alarmed, felt in the way in relation to the others…

… Every existing thing is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness and dies by chance. I leaned back and closed my eyes. But the images, forewarned, immediately leaped up and filled my closed eyes with existences: existence is a fullness which man can never abandon…

… I was nowhere, I was floating. I was not surprised, I knew it was the World, the naked World suddenly revealing itself, and I choked with rage at this gross, absurd being. You couldn’t even wonder where all that sprang from, or how it was that a world came into existence, rather than nothingness. It didn’t make sense, the World was everywhere, in front, behind. There had been nothing before it. Nothing. There had never been a moment in which it could not have existed. That was what worried me: of course there was no reason for this flowing larva to exist. But it was impossible for it … not to exist. It was unthinkable: to imagine nothingness you had to be there already, in the midst of the World, eyes wide open and alive; nothingness was only an idea in my head, an existing idea floating in this immensity: this nothingness had not come before existence, it was an existence like any other and appeared after many others. I shouted “filth! what rotten filth!”‘

“I’m Michael. Fly me.”

‘I work for United Airlines, and I’ll take your fantasies about killing powerful women up up up and away.’

Friday the Rabbi…

Backed Out.


But – good news! They’re still going to be able to keep it in the family: The attorney who put Ivanka’s husband’s father in jail will be speaking.

Apparently, political advertisements also leave a chemtrail.

John McCain’s Republican challenger in Arizona, a woman named Kelli Ward, has long believed in a federal plot to poison Americans with the chemical trails some aircraft leave in the air.

Yet Ward’s keen sense of the endurance of certain visual effects fails to extend to the traces old attack ads leave in the mediasphere. Maybe Ward thought Mitt Romney’s 2008 attack ads against McCain had vanished into the Celestial Contrail and become fair game… Whatever her motives, her campaign simply, er, repurposed them…?

Kelli Ward, one of U.S. Sen. John McCain’s three Republican primary challengers, may have found a way to overcome her campaign-funding struggles: just tack her name at the end of an old Mitt Romney attack ad against McCain from the 2008 presidential race.


Stealing and signing with your own name is a gesture quintessentially postmodern, an instance of Appropriation Art, in which artists like Sherrie Levine re-photograph canonical early twentieth century photographs and sign them with their own name. But just as Sherrie had to deal with a bit of copyright static, so Kelli is in receipt of legal correspondence from a Romney rep. Something about “blatant infringement” of “protected work”…?


“How could anyone do anything so dumb?” asked Mr UD this morning when I told him about it. “Didn’t she know she’d be caught?”


Without wanting to get too conspiratorial (in this UD defers to Ward and her man Donald Trump), UD will point out that if you reshuffle the letters in KELLI WARD you get (roughly)


I.e., Ward is a secret John Rawls lover. John Rawls! The famous left-liberal political philosopher! Could Ward’s inner struggle between right and left account for her otherwise unaccountable behavior?

Scathing Online Schoolmarm Says:

Extremely good writers can take what you know, re-charge it, and scare you.

Shades of Brezhnev/Honecker.

Cleveland, today.

Germany, 1979 and 1990.

‘La Cage Aux Follicles’

Because this is a blog that appreciates word play.

Tetchy techies….

… in a collective bad mood because of you know who.

From the Republican Convention

Buttons seen on arriving women delegates.

— Louise Bryant


‘Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.’
— Sylvia Plath



Headline of the Day.

Dentist Who Pleaded Guilty To Tax Evasion Braces For Prison After Sentencing

Nice pun. Deserves a plaque.

Tweets for English Professors.

Trump/Gingrich: a presidential ticket that would have more infidelity than the collected works of Philip Roth & John Updike combined.

Jeet Heer.

A Nightmare from which Historians are …

trying to awake.

The Republican Convention – AKA…

The Nunberg Trials.

With the Republican Convention Down to the Short Strokes…

… organizers are working on smoothing out any contradictions between a ferociously anti-pornography platform and a presidential candidate whose namesake hotel hosts the annual eXXXotica Expo.

“[T]he potential is there for Cleveland to be a complete shit show.”

What? With Bikers for Trump providing security?

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