Dear BUS 415.04:



Reading, note-taking, and all turn-in work through the beginning of March: done.

Boo-ya!

I may graduate yet.

Atlas does that thing with the shoulders

"BB&T, the nation’s ninth largest financial holdings company with $109.2 billion in assets, announced today that it 'will not lend to commercial developers that plan to build condominiums, shopping malls and other private projects on land taken from private citizens by government entities using eminent domain.'"

Ahem. From BB&T's corporate values statement:

In evaluating other people, it is critical that we judge based on essentials. At BB&T we do not discriminate based on nonessentials such as race, sex, nationality, etc. We do discriminate based on competency, performance and character. We consciously reject egalitarianism and collectivism. Individuals must be judged individually based on their personal merits, not their membership in any group.

I blush like I do at the zealotry of wide-eyed Catholic converts, but I love it. Of course. Still...

In the real world, which includes real legal concepts like fiduciary duty and constitutional rights (or non-rights, after Kelo), American corporations are self-less entities with no moral obligations. They have legal obligations, but taking all prudent and legal action (post-Kelo in this case, the actions concerned are positivist-wise legal) to maximize shareholder value is the preeminent one. Of course, given the public outcry against Kelo, good PR may well do this better than unseemly private eminent domain seizures. But if that were not the case, the management of this company could be forced to change tune or step down.

eat drink man woman

Hi.

Another aubade

in the wake of a dreaming before the too-early a.(lar)m.
(First days of school I think of you in khaki and blue)


KITE

By Rives


I mistook a garbage truck for thunder.

The morning after the first night we made love,
I dreamt thunder was chasing rain
through your neighborhood,
flooding the streets and keeping the two of us
indoors for days or even weeks,
until some old prophet could drop by in an ark
to take us and the rest of the paired-up animals
to a very high place, or an island maybe,
where we could just straight
fuck
for a living.

But the thunder was a garbage truck.
And when my eyes woke up
a note on your pillow said:
"Good morning, Sparkle Boy!
I'll be back around noon.
You--make yourself at home."
And so I did.

Maybe.
I'm saying maybe I put on your slippers,
which were as comfortable as bunnies
because they were bunnies,
and then shuffled over my new favorite
hardwood floor to the bathroom
where maybe I took a bubble bath,
which is not something I can do at my place
because, frankly, my tub is way too skanky
to ever sit my bare ass down in.
And then maybe I got so caught up in the romance of the suds
I started quoting old Latin poetry from my college days
like: "fulsere quondam candidi tibi soles..."
You know: "Verily a bright sun does favor me this morning...muthafucka!"
And then maybe I... played with myself.
But it's not what you’re thinking--
I'm saying possibly I just sorta
stuck my hand up from the water, going:

(HERE I HOLD MY HAND UP LIKE A SOCK PUPPET
WITHOUT THE SOCK AND MY HAND TEASES ME
IN A HIGH, SMUTTY VOICE):

HAND: "Somebody got laid last night!"
Ha-ha-haaaaa!
It was youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!!!"

Or whatever.

And then maybe I.. played with myself,
and it's exactly what you're thinking.
But if I did, it was only to put
the mental motion picture of our naked night together
on replay and replay and replay
so touching myself was just like...
Tivo in a way.

And yes, I was still wet when I borrowed your bathrobe.
And yes, I baked apples in your oven
and then ate them with your honey, honey.
And yes, I scared the birds away from your balcony
with my antics, dancing full-blast
to your old Prince CDs--
but please let's just keep that my little secret,
because nothing is as private as a solitary dance
unless--maybe-- it's standing in front of a full-length mirror
in a borrowed pair of bunny slippers,
slipping off a bathrobe and then wishing to a lightbulb
that my name, or my game, or my something were bigger,
wondering: "What kind of woman wants this skinny kid for her warrior?"

And so I made for you a kite, enormous,
out of coat hangers, brown paper bags
and the masking tape from that drawer in your kitchen,
and I hung it in the hallway
where you couldn't hardly miss it,
and I tagged that kite with my words,
I wrote:

"Just so you know--

My weird mind wanders and my brave heart breaks.
I've nailed some milestones, but I've made mistakes,
cuz I've got more faults than a map of California earthquakes.

I am taking a nap beneath your covers.
Wake me if you like me.
Wake me if you want me.
Wake me if you need another poem.

Your once and future lover
has made himself at home."

Holy Sonnet XIV

Batter my heart, three person'd God; for, you
As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend,
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee, and bend
Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurpt towne, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end,
Reason your viceroy in mee, mee should defend,
But is captiv'd , and proves weake or untrue.
Yet dearely I love you, and would be loved faine,
But am betroth'd unto your enemie:
Divorce mee, untie, or breake that knot againe,
Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I
Except you enthrall mee, never shall be free,
Nor ever chast, except you ravish mee.

-- J. Donne