Posted in error

https://www.thecut.com/2017/05/new-fashion-trends-normcore-gorpcore.html?utm_source=Boomtrain&utm_medium=manual&utm_campaign=Paris+Review+Daily+Roundup+20170626&utm_term=Paris+Review+Daily+Roundup+20170626&utm_content=Paris+Review+Daily+Roundup+20170626

“Of course, there may be one other reason these clothes fit our current cultural mood. It’s an overreaching journalistic impulse to attribute every micro-phenomenon to post-election malaise, but the rise of gorpcore — which exalts activities that, in their environmental consciousness, have always been considered hippie-dippie or tree-hugging — is a political act. “It’s crunchy,” says Schlossman. “And in this political climate, these brands we’re talking about stand for good. I’ve not necessarily been someone to vote with his dollar, but it’s the perfect marriage of ideas.” Mother Nature has been how liberals — one famously — have been licking their wounds, and celebrating it is a rebuke of the president’s planned $1.5 billion cutfrom the Interior Department’s budget. To wear Patagonia is to stand in solidarity with the brand’s environmental advocacy. It’s no accident that Black Lives Matter activist DeRay McKesson has worn the same Patagonia vest for nearly a decade. Sporting brands that give voice to your value system is its own form of silent protest.

Ideas in fashion and food and design and travel don’t occur in isolation. You can trace the philosophical throughline — that maybe nature holds some secret to self-improvement or emotional deliverance — in the rise of grain bowls and Moon Dust, the comforting, naturalistic principles of hygge and lagom, and the Ranch. Gorpcore’s not fashion for the 1 in 7 billion, nor is it fashion for the one percent — it’s live-good, do-good, feel-good fashion for the ones who care just a little too much.”

The soft flower  shows us love and beauty fine
To give us comfort with its grace divine

Black people living in Kensington will be painted white to make the rich white people forget black  folk exist and need homes.Poor whites will be given cardboard coats painted like mink.I know there’s  heat wave but they have to compromise.
Meanwhile in Tottenham white people can be painted black free of charge in the garage off Bruce Grove where the witch lives with the dentist.
People  who want to protest can be painted in black and white strips and given zebra to ride on.But not if they have red hair.
People with red hair have to move to Scotland or Northern Ireland.Or they could swim to the Irish Republic and ask for asylum.
[If you do this change your name to O’Smith,McJones   or O’Noah  etc before you leave]
All people who are light beige, yellow, green or light to dark brown can stay where they are.Do not put shoe polish or stage makeup on your face.It rains alot and it will ruin your clothes.Still that’s nothing to do with me,is it?
I’m only your new Dictator as foretold by Plato.Jesus wept!

Saturday , another film of war
Shall I read my manly palm instead?
I lost my glasses reading   tripe  on Blair

I see an actress easy on the eye
I’d like to cuddle up with her in bed
Saturday , another film of war

If I want  to marry I must  pay
To buy a house  before we are quite dead
I lost my glasses reading   tripe ,who cares?

I never read that book about things Grey
I hate to see pornography ill bred
Saturday , another film of war

In my youth we had such fantasies
About the kisses and the  marriage bed
I lost my glasses  seeking ecstasy.

Now I can see any act  or deed
Faster than an Eskimo can read
Saturday , another film of war
I lost my glasses,I need social care

Alice in Sunderland
Malice I understand
Alice in Blunderland
All is in, understand?
Walrus tinned under sand.
Sallies by guns unmanned.
Call us in Thunder Band
Phone is in Alice’s hand
iPhone in political scams
Trellis blows down in wind.
Four letter words gave me wind.
Before litter, we all must be banned.
Bellicose man in grandstand
I wish I could do a handstand.
Where was that Alice he stunned?
Algebra made me a man

I bought a brand new A to Z.
I bought a map of Wales.
I roamed around the whole day long
Despite the snow and gales.
I bought the Ordnance Survey too
of all of the UK
I looked at maps on Amazon
and even on E Bay

I studied charts of Greenland
And Africa and France
I talked to expert geographers
Who looked at me askance.

Borneo or Burma?
Malaysia or Spain?
Where does Father Brown say..
I must read his books again

But giving up, I came back home
And lay down for a nap
Suddenly it came to me!
God’s not on a map.

Poetry and the Subconscious

Extract

Charles Simic: “Whatever the eventual subject of the poem is, it emerges in the process of fumbling around.”

You get the point. Fumbling around. Feeling out. Following the trail. Listening for. To quote Robert Creeley, “I think the presumption that one knows what one is writing is pretty naïve, that it’s all planned and everything goes to some specific point of purpose or even understanding.” In other words, poetry isn’t an act of creation, it’s an act of pursuit. It starts with an itch—an image or a phrase, an idea stuck in your head. A poet feels a gust of wind, throws up a sail, and discovers where it leads.

This is why I prefer to use “subconscious,” rather than unconscious. The term subconscious appeared in Freud’s earlier works, but quickly grow out of favor for its ambiguity, yet I don’t think what we’re talking about can be described without ambiguity. Moreover, I feel like the word “unconscious” is inaccurate—we’re never completely unaware of these deeper thoughts that lurk below the surface of our understanding. We’re not randomly plunging our own depths like a trawler at sea casting its net; we’re fly-fishermen throwing our lines into the eddies where intuition and experience tell us a bass might rise. What many call “inspiration” is simply the soft pang of truth from below, a blip on the sonar telling us where to look.

If anything other than subconscious, it might be the preconscious impulse we’re chasing—not in the psychological sense of memories that we haven’t yet accessed—I mean preconscious in the truly precognitive sense—not necessarily seeing the future, but finding some harbinger of a future mental state. Poets press at certain material because they sense a broader understanding, a surprise, hidden beneath it.C