Maryland's head coach, who has to be one of the five? ten? highest paid State of Maryland employees, tweeted that black shit is what the Terps will wear against West Virginia this weekend, and I can't go on this way, I may or not post a photo of what terrific to horrific clown suit Maryland wears week-to-week, but I can't waste energy debating the aesthetics of each combination of Maryland uniforms (and debating my debating my aesthetic reaction to each combination of Maryland uniforms) as long as United hasn't eliminated their stupid-ass red third kit. Or rather, of course the fuck I could, but, despite fine metaphors abounding ...
Plus busy, work and real life - I haven't mentioned this and won't beyond this post and won't go into the back-story now, but my mother-in-law has moved north from Florida, and I've some mother-in-law duties to attend to amongst many errands, so songs, links, poems, maybe for a day or three and - Yay Me! - just in time.
- Plus the urge to bleggalgaze is at the overwhelming stage that signals don't, so I'm going to, just somewhere else and analog....
- But here is says.....
- Apres wiener, le deluge.
- Stupid Democrats.
- The meaning of political rituals.
- By the most violent and absurd reasoning.
- Doopty-doo, whoa. That's three blocks from Inner Harbor, seven blocks from Camden Yards.
- Vollmann once, Vollmann twice.
- That Malkmus guitar sound.
- Mining the digital motherlode.
- In case you missed it, new John Cale EP full-streamed.
THE WHITE ROOM
The obvious is difficult To prove. Many prefer The hidden. I did, too. I listened to the trees. They had a secret Which they were about to Make known to me-- And then didn't. Summer came. Each tree On my street had its own Scheherazade. My nights Were a part of their wild Storytelling. We were Entering dark houses, Always more dark houses, Hushed and abandoned. There was someone with eyes closed On the upper floors. The fear of it, and the wonder, Kept me sleepless. The truth is bald and cold, Said the woman Who always wore white. She didn't leave her room. The sun pointed to one or two Things that had survived The long night intact. The simplest things, Difficult in their obviousness. They made no noise. It was the kind of day People described as "perfect." Gods disguising themselves As black hairpins, a hand-mirror, A comb with a tooth missing? No! That wasn't it. Just things as they are, Unblinking, lying mute In that bright light-- And the trees waiting for the night.