I tease when I threaten to bray here, but I do seek some advice - does anyone know of a program that would allow type in different directions and colors - right-side-up, upside-down, left-to-right, right-to-left, up-to-down, down-to-up, and across different lines, that a lazyfuck techdope can use? Is there a trick in Word I don't know?
No, I didn't watch the speech. I typed that previous sentence three hours before the event. Did he say anything anyone couldn't've predicted he'd say?
Fucking Dukakis in a tank awesome. I recycle a joke in celebration. Also, serendipitously, looking for a paperback copy of Vineland four days ago in a used book store, between Crying and V was the one Ishiguro novel I hadn't read, An Artist of the Floating World, the exact laxative needed for my page 600 blockage of Littell's The Kindly Ones. The view from my carrel:
- Goonstruck: the mysterious mind of modern progressives.
- Snake and stone of spiritual abundance.
- The annual report to shareholders.
- SOTU, so what?
- Circling the jerks.
- Pastor Sanctimonious wrote this Monday.
- The World's Most Sledgehammerable Human wrote this Monday.
- To be fair, E.J. Dionne wrote this Monday.
- To be fair, Eugene Robinson wrote this Monday.
- Parade of pigs.
- Ponderosa Parlour.
- Table games.
- Robbie Keane?
- Novels of the frivolous now.
- Crises averted.
- Silliman's always generous litlinks.
- NBCC finalists. I've read none of the novels, though Skippy Dies is on my desk. Of the poetry, I can recommend the Carson, the Hayes, and !!!!! C.D. Wright. That said, it's a sillyass award.
- Pumping ugly muscle.
- I don't believe you.
- Super duper rescue heads.
- Lucinda Williams is 58 today.
ON THE TERRACE
The lonely breakfast table starts the day, an adjustment is made to understand why the other chair is empty. The morning beautiful and still to be, should woo me. Yet the appetite is not shared, lost somewhere in memory. How lucky the horizon is blue and needs no handwriting on its emptiness. I am written on thoroughly, a lost novel found again. I remember the predictable plot too late, realize the silly, sad urgency of moss.