Friday, April 18, 2014

Reading What Little Text There Is on the Graves

  • Of all the songs on my massive WFMU DJ premium playlist that's the one I can't get out of my head, which is not a complaint.
  • Thanks to those of you who've asked/offered good wishes for Napoleon. Vet is coming today at noon to take out Nap's stitches and start rabies shots. Will give update tomorrow.
  • To cat or not to cat, that is the question.
  • Thanks to those of you who've asked/offered good wishes for the Goat. No news, no new entries on the neighborhood listserv.
  • Thanks to those reading. There are some new links added to blogrolls, please check them out as they float to the top. As always, if there is someone/thing you think I would enjoy reading please let me know. As always, if you are Kinding me and me now you please let me know. 
  • Futile Weekend Blogging starts today in Dead Blegsylvania.
  • Via Agi, your Good Friday song.
  • Two East German defectors walk into an art gallery....
  • Black Dog bark bark barking. Not me.
  • RIP Gabriel García Márquez. I'm not going to immediately promise a rereading, I'm not going to flood you with RIPs besides this one and the below link, though I will assert that whenever I see more than one butterfly in my eyesight I think of Gabriel García Márquez, especially if they are yellow.
  • A compilation of Gabriel García Márquez links.
  • Though please please please read this.
  • Vollmann, for those of you who do.
  • Muriel Spark on how to write a letter.
  • Robert Fludd's Temple of Music.
  • Fire Matt Williams!
  • Always thus.
  • Mary Ruefle draws a giraffe.
  • Via the youtube below, sought for this reason, I've learned her name is pronounced ROOF-lee.
  • I am on my second trip through her lectures collected in Madness, Rack, and Honey.
  • If I played my Silliass Deserted Island Five Game for working poets....


Mary Ruefle

We are a sad people, without hats.
The history of our nation is tragically benign.
We like to watch the rabbits screwing in the graveyard.
We are fond of the little bunny with the bent ear
who stands alone in the moonlight
reading what little text there is on the graves.
He looks quite desirable like that.
He looks like the center of the universe.
Look how his mouth moves mouthing the words
while the others are busy making more of him.
Soon the more will ask of him to write their love
letters and he will oblige, using the language
of our ancestors, those poor clouds in the ground,
beloved by us who have been standing here for hours,
a proud people after all.

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Beloveds, What Do We Do but Keep Breathing as Best We Can This Minute Atmosphere

No, I didn't forget yesterday was Ian MacKaye's 52nd birthday, there was another post in the queue.

So, I did write the listserv re: goat-napping -
Hey, someone stole a life-size fiberglass goat from our frontyard. One of us is an elementary school art teacher, takes it in for classes occasionally, grazes it in our front-yard the rest of the time. We live on Saul across from KPES. If you've a child there you may have seen it. If you see our goat on any street but Saul across from KPES (our neighbors on Saul have a second of ours in theirs) please let me know so I can retrieve said goat while not pressing charges against the goat-kidnapper. No doubt if it's your jerk kid you know s/he's a jerk kid and thief, we just want the goat back.

  • One response to the listserv email so far: I have seen that goat in your front yard and I hope you get it back. These are hopefully pranks and nothing malicious as we used to steal our rival fraternities mascots, hijack them to Florida and take Polaroid’s of them on the beach in Lauderdale with ransom notes. Ended up mailing them back freight collect. Let’s hope that somebody has a goat sighting soon. Smiley on Oldfield.
  • Yes, I was all of these Fugazi shows.
  • The End of Employment.
  • Calling it an oligarchy isn't enough.
  • The ideology of focus.
  • The carcass of myself.
  • Millennial Rising.
  • Holiday weekend - Spring holiday weekend - upcoming, Dead Blegsylvania be even deader than usual, I no doubt will dedicate extra effort into blogposts that few will read.
  • Juliana Spahr.
  • Five questions for Juliana Spahr.
  • Prynne week (via).

DECEMBER 2, 2002

Juliana Spahr

As it happens every night, beloveds, while we turned in the night sleeping uneasily the world went on without us.

We live in our own time zone and there are only a small million of us in this time zone and the world as a result has a tendency to begin and end without us.

While we turned sleeping uneasily at least ten were injured in a bomb blast in Bombay and four killed in Palestine.

While we turned sleeping uneasily a warehouse of food aid was destroyed, stocks on upbeat sales soared, Australia threatened first strikes, there was heavy gunfire in the city of Man, the Belarus ambassador to Japan went missing, a cruise ship caught fire, on yet another cruise ship many got sick, and the pope made a statement against xenophobia.

While we turned sleeping uneasily perhaps J Lo gave Ben a prenuptial demand for sex four times a week.

While we turned sleeping uneasily Liam Gallagher brawled and irate fans complained that "Popstars: The Rivals" was fixed.

While we turned sleeping uneasily the Supreme Court agreed to hear the case of whether university admissions may favor racial minorities.

While we turned sleeping uneasily poachers caught sturgeon in the reed-filled Caspian, which shelters boar and wolves, and some of the residents on the space shuttle planned a return flight to the US.

Beloveds, our world is small and isolated.

We live our lives in six hundred square feet about a quarter mile from the shore on land that is seven hundred square miles and five thousand miles from the nearest land mass.

Despite our isolation, there is no escape from the news of how many days are left in the Iraq inspections.

The news poll for today was should we invade Iraq now or should we wait until the inspections are complete and we tried to laugh together at this question but our laughter was uneasy and we just decided to turn off the television that arrives to us from those other time zones.

Beloveds, we do not know how to live our lives with any agency outside of our bed.

It makes me angry that how we live in our bed—full of connected loving and full of isolated sleep and dreaming also—has no relevance to the rest of the world.

How can the power of our combination of intimacy and isolation have so little power outside the space of our bed?

Beloveds, the shuttle is set to return home and out the window of the shuttle one can see the earth.

"How massive the earth is; how minute the atmosphere," one of the astronauts notes.

Beloveds, what do we do but keep breathing as best we can this minute atmosphere.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Steal My Goat

Was a wonderful time with Planet in Ohio, pull up to the front yard, SOME MOTHERFUCKER(S) STOLE OUR GOAT! Earthgirl wants me to write to the neighborhood listserv, I started:

Hi All, someone(s) stole a life-size fiberglass white goat from our front yard, should your asshole kid have brought it home tell him to die a goat's worst enemy's death.*

* Yes, I know, but I never stole anyone's animal.

While this is playing (LOUD! yo):