Sunday, January 14, 2018

From Out of the Bushes Sometimes Someone Still Unearths Rusted-Out Arguments and Carries Them to the Garbage Pile

Is reading everything, finishing nothing, reading?
I bought Destroyer's latest album Ken (and you should too) and listened to it end to end about ten times then into Destroyer playlist where it's always shuffle. I'll never listen to Ken end to end again.
There's side two of Kate Bush's Hounds of Love and all but the jams at the end of George's All Things Must Pass, but but those two I can't remember the last time I listened to an album end to end except when new in ?
Fellow motherfuckers, is it ok to put five, fifteen, a hundred novels novellas books of poetry on song by song shuffle and never finish a motherfucking one ? Please say yes.
Love even if no.


Wisława Szymborska
    - Translated by Joanna Trzeciak

After every war
someone has to clean up.
Things won’t
straighten themselves up, after all.
Someone has to push the rubble
to the side of the road,
so the corpse-filled wagons
can pass.
Someone has to get mired
in scum and ashes,
sofa springs,
splintered glass,
and bloody rags.
Someone has to drag in a girder
to prop up a wall.
Someone has to glaze a window,
rehang a door.
Photogenic it’s not,
and takes years.
All the cameras have left
for another war.
We’ll need the bridges back,
and new railway stations.
Sleeves will go ragged
from rolling them up.
Someone, broom in hand,
still recalls the way it was.
Someone else listens
and nods with unsevered head.
But already there are those nearby
starting to mill about
who will find it dull.
From out of the bushes
sometimes someone still unearths
rusted-out arguments
and carries them to the garbage pile.
Those who knew
what was going on here
must make way for
those who know little.
And less than little.
And finally as little as nothing.
In the grass that has overgrown
causes and effects,
someone must be stretched out
blade of grass in his mouth
gazing at the clouds.

Friday, January 12, 2018

Lapse into Arcs in Deference to Circumstance

  • Once every post at this blog had a Fleabus photo. Oranger, sweeter as she ages.
  • Photo taken Wednesday night, >> deleted bleggalgaze << though photo stays.
  • I heard this new David Byrne (w Eno) song, and fuck does it suck.
  • It's...          I'm old, I try to hike, try to read, like I'm 35, who am I to...
  • So's Earthgirl! It's her birthday, if you love her and have the numbers please send her hello!


Josephine Miles

All our roads go nowhere.
Maps are curled
To keep the pavement definitely
On the world.
All our footsteps, set to make
Metric advance,
Lapse into arcs in deference
To circumstance.
All our journeys nearing Space
Skirt it with care,
Shying at the distances
Present in air.
Blithely travel-stained and worn,
Erect and sure,
All our travels go forth,
Making down the roads of Earth
Endless detour.

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

Cloaked in the Folded Storms of His Shoulders