Sunday, May 1, 2016

Or Is This Something Curs with Lathered Mouths Invent?

Part of me wants Leicester City to finish the job today in Manchester, part of me wants Leicester City to clinch at home next weekend in front of the fans, lifting the trophy post-game. I tweeted a question two months ago - Leicester? A Labour or Tory town, and was told all three Leicester MPs are Labour: I want to be happy for Leicester fans, but not if they are majority Tory. It's all about me. Vicarious tribalism is still tribalism, and my tribalism wants Leicester to win the title this year and to need fight to avoid relegation next season. Fine metaphors abound.

  • RIP Daniel Berrigan.
  • yesterday tornadoes came: a >not mine< bleggalgaze of sorts.
  • nobody's place in line.
  • Distraction watch.
  • Desk chair on the Titanic: part a >not mine< bleggalgaze of sorts, part on tribalism, most on clusterfuck.
  • Pay in cash: how the restaurant industry proves there is no Left.
  • The rational irrationality of Capitalism.
  • The predicament of immanence.
  • { feuilleton }'s weekly links.
  • Bleggalgaze >mine<: >>Deleted<< other then say, weekend mornings are when I like doing this most, at the dining room table with music and coffee, even though it means relegation from the third tier of the Blegsylvania Blogging League to the fourth.
  • Also too, today? Tomorrow is a High Egoslavian Holy Day, so get your links today.
  • Elkin's Franchiser. More on May 11 for Elkin's birthday.
  • Ransom, who I have not thought about in a long time.
  • Barwick's music is background to video of my Overnight Planet posts, so there's that, though not here, now, but all her music works on me in ways I love to submit to, almost - almost - don't resist. Fine metaphors abound.
  • New Juliana Barwick, out May 6 ▲ two songs new, she's playing 6th & I Synagogue June 15, Earthgirl, Planet, and me going, join us.


Weldon Kees

"The night is monstrous winter when the rats
Swarm in great packs along the waterfront,
When midnight closes in and takes away your name.
And is was Rover, Ginger, Laddie, Prince;
My pleasure hambones. Donned a collar once
With golden spikes, the darling of a cultured home
Somewhere between the harbor and the heights, uptown.
Or is this something curs with lathered mouths invent?
They had a little boy I would have bitten, had I dared.
They threw great bones out on the balcony.
But where? I pant at every door tonight.

I knew this city once the way I know those lights
Blinking in chains along the other side,
These streets that hold the odor of my kind.
But now, my bark a ghost in this strange scentless air,
I am no growling cicerone or cerberus
But wreakage for the pound, snuffling in shame
All cold-nosed toward identity. - Rex? Ginger? No.
Wild for my shadow in this vacantness,
I can at least run howling toward the bankrupt lights
Into the traffic where bones, cats, and masters swarm.
And where my name must be."

Saturday, April 30, 2016

Picked Up My Zither and Begun Walking and Strumming Like an Idiot

  • Olive, yesterday.
  • She's probably the one candidate who could lose to Trump, said my Hillaryite Colleague, back in for Hillary, just not as enthusiastically as once. She's not losing to Trump, I said. Yesterday was Illhoptay Day at Illhoptay, a one day cross between Red Hour and Amok Time except lame because drunk ugrads. A parade of students marched to Dixie Liquor to buy or having bought carried back a 30 pack of Notbeer Light in each hand. Bernie shirts, not everywhere but enough to be noted. Bernie'll bring enough home, I said, shrugging at the students, Trump's supporters will scare them home, plus remember that SCOTUS thing, we're gonna be hammered over the head with it for months. I don't know, he said, she could fuck it up. Here's hoping, I said. What, he said, you want Trump. I want to be entertained, I said. That's selfish, he said. Who isn't, I said, and she's not going to lose to Trump.
  • This was three in the afternoon. In the bushes next to Poulton Hall, twenty yards away, one student lay unconscious face down in his puke, his buddy puking his way to unconsciousness. I could tell you one had on a Bernie shirt, the other a Trump shirt, but I'd be lying.
  • The zombies among us.
  • Meeting nowhere, no before or after.
  • Satanists are furious Boehner compared Cruz to Lucifer.
  • Clintonism before Clinton.
  • The author of ▲ responds to a neoliberal responding to ▲.
  • Rhyton, people?


Bob Hicok

A little bit of hammering
goes a long way toward making
the kind of noise I want my heart
to look up to—or have you ever
gone into a woods and applauded the light
that fights its way to the ground,
and the shadows, and the explosions
of feathers where blue jays
have been ripped into the bright
and hungry future of hawks—
and there’s this—writing an etude
by pushing pianos off a cliff
until one of them howls or whispers
just so—like a vagrant
slipping into a clean bed
or a man lifting a dying child
toward the sun and begging help,
rescue—if my eyes could speak,
they’d be mouths—the tongues
of my fingers ask to be words
against your skin—and when I
was a librarian, I lost my job
for exhorting patrons to sing
“Bye Bye Miss American Pie”—
it’s not what we do here, I was told—
yet I know this is a world
made by volcanoes, and don’t want
to keep this awareness of kaboom
to myself—so have picked up
my zither and begun walking
and strumming like an idiot
who thinks music is all
a body needs to feed itself—
and though I haven’t eaten
in years, I have been fed.

Thursday, April 28, 2016

Sixty-Three Today

Five Kim Gordon songs for her 63rd today.




Wednesday, April 27, 2016

The Men on Top of the Hill Launched a New Dirt Lobby Meant to Outstrip the Precious, That Is, Previous Tentative by a Better Than Three-to-One Margin

  • Sugarloaf, yesterday w Earthgirl.
  • Beloved Sugarloaf, it's where I've gone when I could in the time that I had since I learned to drive.
  • Reminder: don't attempt a seven mile hike on rocky trails w hard but not tough elevation gains on an empty stomach and no hydration before hike except coffee. Carry raw almonds, Dumbfuck.
  • Reminder: sushi tastes better after a hard hike.
  • Restless it roules....
  • Amnesia or transmission....
  • I didn't vote, though I'm glad Kathleen Matthews and especially David Trone lost.
  • I understand the tug-a-war principle even if I think, in this particular case, it won't matter.
  • The Chuck Schumer Party.
  • We had lunch at my parent's this past Sunday. My aunt, who has teased me for years about my Democratic tribal affiliation, teased me about my Democratic tribal affiliation. I yodeled at her what I've been yodeling at you for years - and I will not yodel at you now, you're welcome - beyond Fuck the Democratic Party, the -.06% less-shitty assholes. I thought I'd yodeled this at her for years, perhaps I have, perhaps I didn't, but she heard this time. Damn, Jeff, you've finally grown up, she said. Lordy, I said.
  • I'm voting for Hillary, she said, a life-time Republican (fiscally, not socially). If the only difference between all the stooges running for POTUS is Hillary's gender, I'm voting for Hillary's gender. 
  • Sounds tribal, I said. She laughed.
  • Daddy drives a UFO.
  • Grooming your inner perfectionist.
  • Live SUNN O))) on the way!
  • ...New Ashbery which is below the...
  • ...view from White Rocks.


John Ashbery

The men on top of the hill
launched a new dirt lobby
meant to outstrip the precious,
that is, previous, tentative
by a better than three-to-one margin.

And slightly without you
horrified spectators esteem the rain input.
You would have too crude shelter
of boards circling a central meaning place.

Arrhythmia! You pant. Not by a long
chalk, crotch shot
on a bowling team, English-worthy kebabs.
Let Fido confide, or cough up. I can’t
vouch for the clientele, in lockdown mode.
They don’t want you there, aporia.

Mrs. Mulligan down the hall broached the topic
long after everyone had gone home
into the night.