Thursday, January 19, 2012

I’m Sitting Here Dialing My Cellphone with One Hand, Digging at Some Obscure Pebbles with My Shovel with the Other

I don't really daydream of braining Dis Chrodd with a shovel, though I do hope to give him the finger someday. This is true: I do work for his brother who teaches at Hilltop, an urbane and respectful guy (relative to the coordinates on power's grid he and I, um, occupy vis a vis me and other powerful dickweeds I need deal with*). I'll introduce you to my brother, he told me when I'd told him in 2004 I was driving to Harrisburg on election day to canvas for Kerry, He genuinely appreciates loyal Democrats like me, Dis Chrodd's brother told me. So when I say I daydreamed of braining Dis Chrodd with a shovel I really don't daydream of braining Dis Chrodd with a shovel, nor do I daydream of braining me, the rube of the story who I was implying truly deserves braining with a shovel: Dis Chrodd is still happyfat being Dis Chrodd. He was that happyfat when I'd have voted for him in 2008 instead of McCohn Jcain.


John Ashbery

That night the wind stirred in the forsythia bushes,
but it was a wrong one, blowing in the wrong direction.
“That’s silly. How can there be a wrong direction?
‘It bloweth where it listeth,’ as you know, just as we do
when we make love or do something else there are no rules for.”

I tell you, something went wrong there a while back.
Just don’t ask me what it was. Pretend I’ve dropped the subject.
No, now you’ve got me interested, I want to know
exactly what seems wrong to you, how something could

seem wrong to you. In what way do things get to be wrong?
I’m sitting here dialing my cellphone
with one hand, digging at some obscure pebbles with my shovel
with the other. And then something like braids will stand out,

on horsehair cushions. That armchair is really too lugubrious.
We’ve got to change all the furniture, fumigate the house,
talk our relationship back to its beginnings. Say, you know
that’s probably what’s wrong—the beginnings concept, I mean.
I aver there are no beginnings, though there were perhaps some
sometime. We’d stopped, to look at the poster the movie theater

had placed freestanding on the sidewalk. The lobby cards
drew us in. It was afternoon, we found ourselves
sitting at the end of a row in the balcony; the theater was unexpectedly
crowded. That was the day we first realized we didn’t fully
know our names, yours or mine, and we left quietly
amid the gray snow falling. Twilight had already set in.


  1. Oh for fuck's sake, just give in to your anger and join us on the Dark Side. Why should you fucking quibble and mince about being pissed off at Chris Dodd, a ginormous corporatist whore who's painting himself with diseased feces in support of Soapy/Pippy?

    I mean, it's wonderful that you respect his brother, fine. Hitler's mother was probably nice (mine is, if you never asked her for a Pepsi). That doesn't obviate Dodd's loathesomeness, and it shouldn't fucking obviate your well-earned anger. Give in, young Jedi. Join us. Just this once, even. Refuse to apologize for your righteous anger at bad people.

  2. What Landru said.

    Also. The public option is far from dead. If the Supremes rule against buying health insurance your head will spin with how fast it is not dead.

  3. Daydreaming of braining isn't the same as braining. I mean, once I daydreamed that I forced someone to watch C-Span, does that make me Hitler's mother?

    If you start thoughtpolicing yourself now, that's gonna make it no fun for The Man once he starts doing that via implants.

    Link thanks, but jeezus, my blog sucks.

  4. I think young Skywalker was being, shall we say, metaphorical, no? Censoring himself while railing against censorious legislation. Or something. I think he does that shit sometimes, but I'm kinda' dense and prosaic and miss it unless it's pointed out to me and all.

    Don't go over to the darksyde, Luke. I'll go ahead and tell you the truth, which I should've done in the first place so you wouldn't have to and get your fuckin' hand chopped off to find out: Landru is your Father, Luke. And Sasha your twin sister. May the farce b w/ u.

  5. I've got a picture of me taking a picture (without me being in the picture, because remote control, that's why).

    That's sort of like bleggalgazing, isn't it?

  6. I don't know if it's bleggalgazing, though I can say, with love and admiration, your comment is awesome blogwhoring!

    I'll put the is metaphotography on a blogging platform bleggalgazing to a vote tomorrow.

  7. Don't I lose points for not linking to my own post?

  8. Jim H, you couldn't be more wrong.

  9. True that, though I think he was just pushing a lame metaphor from that dumb Buck Rodgers show on NBC back in the 80s.

  10. @Sasha: Oh yes I could. You just don't know me very well.