Monday, March 12, 2012

The Balding Month, the Grey Week, the Blue Morning, the Hour's Routine, the Minute's Passing Glance

My avatar's nemesis' girlfriend (and one of my earliest crushes) is - holyfuck! - SEVENTY-NINE today. It's not an Egoslavian High Holiday, it's Arbor Day-like, though it makes me look at my odometer, and - holyfuck - 99 is 79.


Thomas Lynch

It came to him that he could nearly count
How many Octobers he had left to him
In increments of ten or, say, eleven
Thus: sixty-three, seventy-four, eighty-five.
He couldn't see himself at ninety-six—
Humanity's advances notwithstanding
In health-care, self-help, or new-age regimens—
What with his habits and family history,
The end he thought is nearer than you think.

The future, thus confined to its contingencies,
The present moment opens like a gift:
The balding month, the grey week, the blue morning,
The hour's routine, the minute's passing glance—
All seem like godsends now. And what to make of this?
At the end the word that comes to him is Thanks.


  1. The Groovy Guru!! Thanks, bdr. Could Feldon look more fetching? BTW, work often inspires me to sing this song, making it a Hamster Theme Song.

    Alas, no fights at the NSO this past weekend. The Bartok RAWKED, though.

  2. Guessing that the position of Stringtown Jester's been filled.

    Since none of the big money Eurofuckers are crashing and burning to midtable, glad to see that the NY Soft Drinks have started out on the proper foot.

  3. Balding month... Grey week...

    Would a "Balding Grey" joke be inappropriate? I just swam in from Cambodia, and boy are my arms tired!