Friday, October 28, 2016

Face Your Waste of Time

  • HC emailed back, The fuck?
  • UPDATE! 330 PM - We climb down from Maryland Heights, turn on car radio KABOOM! NEW HILLARY EMAIL CLUSTERFUCK! I'd like to take credit, but all praise to Bless Serendipity! 
  • UPDATE! All those Democrats and Hillary supporters who sang Comey's praise when he called off the dogs in the Summer? Enjoy their attacks on him the next eleven days.
  • Honesty issues.
  • Everybody all around the world.
  • Cheering the inequities.
  • The End of Adolescence.
  • Banning dog breeds.
  • Mary Ruefle's private property.
  • The sound on my Fisher-Price laptop died last night. Listening to songs off the 50 Best Shoegaze Albums, just motherfucking stopped working. When I go to Sounds in Control Panel it will not load. What the fuck? I swear, all volume switches are turned up to eleven. Help.
  • Some of those songs over the weekend, for now, my stupid for brilliantly stupid pop songs continue. I assume you can hear them.


Graham Foust

Don't let me down.
Don't not let the day drown.

Face your waste of time. 

This is all.
This is all you are.

This is all you are allowed.

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

There I Was: a Stinking Adult

Fleabus likes the replacement laser light I bought for Olive after the battery died in the last one. They burn out fast, Olive always screaming. Fleabus had zero interest in all the previous, loves the new. Olive spazzes as if the legendary pink dots are the same (or different, all spazzworthy), and the legendary pink dots look the same to me too. Fleabus, like me, is going blind, once she sees the legendary pink dot she can see it until it disappears then has trouble finding the legendary pink dot again.


John Ashbery

Once upon a time there were two brothers.
Then there was only one: myself.

I grew up fast, before learning to drive,
even. There I was: a stinking adult.

I thought of developing interests
someone might take an interest in. No soap.

I became very weepy for what had seemed
like the pleasant early years. As I aged

increasingly, I also grew more charitable
with regard to my thoughts and ideas,

thinking them at least as good as the next man's.
Then a great devouring cloud

came and loitered on the horizon, drinking
it up, for what seemed like months or years.

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

Born One Hundred and Two Years Ago Today


John Berryman

I put those things there.—See them burn.
The emerald the azure and the gold
Hiss and crack, the blues & greens of the world
As if I were tired. Someone interferes
Everywhere with me. The clouds, the clouds are torn
In ways I do not understand or love.

Licking my long lips, I looked upon God
And he flamed and he was friendlier
Than you were, and he was small. Showing me
Serpents and thin flowers; these were cold.
Dominion waved & glittered like the flare
From ice under a small sun. I wonder.

Afterward the violent and formal dancers
Came out, shaking their pithless heads.
I would instruct them but I cannot now,—
Because of the elements. They rise and move,
I nod a dance and they dance in the rain
In my red coat. I am the king of the dead.



Monday, October 24, 2016

With You I'd Take It Raw

Laptop monitor, dining room table, Sunday Sun Oct 23 2016, 10:40 AM EDT.

Just did a blogroll dead call - hey look, Moribund is full (100 max my motherfucking free blogging platform allows in any one blogroll): I had to open a second mausoleum, Mor(e)ibund. Get it? Reminder: these exist so that when you sit up in your grave to howl once (never yodel) before remembering Fuck This and deading again I get to say Hi! Plus it speeds up the pageload as those blogs with dead urls that load to ads, fuck that, they get no gravesite: the blogload lately sucked, before I throw a faux shitfit at my motherfucking free blogging platform I jiffy-lubed the joint before faux barking, jeez. I should weed Moribund too, speed up loading more, but that would delay the day when the dead outnumber the living here, so I have no rules. Or do but don't honor them or do but just selectively. And without introspection beyond noting my lack of introspective, proudly. I'm not hoping for soon (the dead outnumbering the living) but am fascinated for when. Three new joints added past week, look for their latest to float to top of blogroll.

Hey, if there's someone you think I'd like reading or need seeing please let me know. If you're Kinding me but me not you please let me know. As always, thanks for reading.

Hey, Berio born ninety-one years ago today.


Dorothea Lasky

Do you want to dip the rat
Completely in oil

Do you want to dip the rat
Before we eat it eat it

Do you want to dip the rat
Completely in oil

Before we eat it

Tender tender meat
Like pork shoulder

A hundred traps set
Eighty hanging in a row to be broiled

With you
I’d take it raw

Tiny pink feet
Glistening with oil

Legs and feet
Glistening with oil

Matted fur and face
Weighted down with oil

Everything in oil
But the teeth are shiny clean

No what I really want to know
Before you open that mouth again

Should we completely dip the rat in oil
Before we eat it eat it

Should we completely
Dip the rat in oil

Before we eat it