Saturday bleggalgazing - I emailed Me and Mine member Jim (you can be a Me and Mine member too: shake my hand) to get him to confirm his continuing existence. He's been silent not only over at his blog but in comments here and elsewhere. He's fine, he's "running like a fiend" and "writing ferociously" which sounds like a damn fine midlife crisis to me. He says hello to everyone who know him to know his hello. Also, yesterday a very Kind blogfriend bumped this post at three high traffic places, thanks very much, it's quite the coffee-snorter to have looked at stats at 6:30 AM and again at 8:00 and KABOOM!!! Mentioned just to say it was fascinating watching, this bleggal shit fascinates me, I used to say that all the time, I assume it's just assumed via bleggal osmosis by people here since I used to say it all the time (or at least so explicitly). Mentioned also so that if I happened to link to you in past two days and you had a mini-kaboom from me to you it's not because I'm suddenly anybody. Also too, Kurt's show yesterday. Also too, unless something really extraordinary occurs, I'm gonna stop posting political links until --- who the fuck am I kidding. I am, however, acknowledging the correctness of what L said Thursday night: no one is going to change anyone's mind in the next four days. Hey! Did you know Washington DC has a professional soccer team?
- It's true! and as is the tradition, Blackout tonight. Well, in 232 it's blackout every game. Can't wait.
- The moral case for silence.
- The election as marketing spectacle.
- The Economic Whore.
- Krugman's obamapostasy will never be ready.
- Rove hones the post-election spin.
- How do you spell Extinction Event?
- Larry's links.
- Language, texting, being.
- Write like Hilary Mantel!
- Nocturne Militaire.
- Users guide to physical debilitation.
Hey! via WFMU station manager Ken, have these links just after you've thrown them the coins in your pocket. Sorry for the color, it's how they c/ped.
- No one knows how much money musicians are making now
- Columbia Magazine has a nice article on Laura Cantrell
- Lamin Fofana's African Inspired Techno is Dutty
- "Guns and Roses" at Neil Young's Bridge School Benefit recently
- Here is the first ever recording of a musical performance Or is it? The oldest recording of someone singing Or maybe it's this one Contender for the earliest known musical recording.
- Keep WFMU's Rays from Penetrating Your Body
- Watch a guitarist quit his band while onstage
- Learning to Love Yoko Ono
- Turning Weapons into Instruments
- Fun Fake Facts About Science
- Giorgio Moroder posts remixes and rarities on Soundcloud
- Lou Reed's Radio Show on BBC
- Stacked Images from the International Space Station
- Pop Songs Funeral Favorites
- Dick Clark archives up on Youtube
- Documentary about the Icelandic Phallological Museum
- Steampunk Guitars
- Giant Cardboard Radio
- Neneh Cherry covers "Dream Baby Dream" to awesome effect
- Artist draws himself after taking almost every drug known to man
- Scientists Grow Bacon from Stem Cells
Also too, this is the third time in the past eleven months I woke up with this in my head:
OKLAHOMA CITY: THE AFTERMATH
Sometimes I'm so lachrymose I forget I was there with my darling—I call her my darling to make her more anonymous, so she can't take up all the space in my brain. But please, can I continue, or must I
look away from such openness, those spools of light bringing red and fine threads of silver to her brunette hair? Or is she an instant, a car ride, a little post-it, last month's no particular town? Can we shine a little first? First
there was a dust storm that made everyone invisible, then a thunderstorm where each drop of rain painted a ringlet on the road like haze around the moon. I'd already deserted what crumbled there. The mind loves blackouts more than those dusty bins of grain at the general store, or the little hand-shovel you'd use to fill muslin sacks with feed for animals you'd later bring to slaughter. Then they were cementing over the childcare center.
The shell of state offices were still standing: buried in the rubble, well there was no rubble... Are we all so kinetic that on the highway we;re always communicating? We're cacophonic, colossally bored, it takes many simultaneous tasks to keep our souls busy. The breeze makes the ash leaves blur, they're almost silver in the light, like confederate money. Or I'm driving by the Chinese Pistache, the lacebark elm, brushing my teeth, taking notes for a morning meeting: is there no one here to calm me? I don't remember the whippoorwill, the leaf brown male, if I ever knew one. I can't decide how this parallels our current situation: So I take a few minutes' cigarette to see how this razes all of us. Have you ever been lax, insufficient, prolix? Weren't you ever particularly sorry? This may be entirely personal, but once I was driven, exemplar, sheltered from earthly business—now I keep burying and eclipsing, more obscuring, suppressing with murmurs what's under duress.