Thursday, June 7, 2012

He Wanted to Get into the Club, the Club He Was Clubbed Outside of

That's my and SeatSix's home course, Seneca Creek State Park in Gaithersburg MD. Those golfers are Premiership, I'm not even Conference South. SeatSix, Dr Z, and I played 27 this past Sunday afternoon, all throwing north of 100. Dr Z said, we should just consider, when pins are all in C or D, par 4 per hole, not to make us feel better but to make the in-your-head math easier: since four is the most likely score for chumps like us, keeping track of deviations from four is less finger-counting than deviations from three, which is traditional par in disc regardless of tee played or pin placement.

New tablet rules is/are new tablet rules as I detail how I fill a new tablet with page after bleeded into/out of new pieces on new rules on how I kill old rules. No matter how we change the scoring the winner and losers remain the same though both the differential between up and down grows wider as what we define as moral victory slides relatively. New problems rush to fill the vacuum of deleted fixed rules. The project will appear in full here and partially here. I mean, verily, fuck it. As always, fine metaphors abound.


D.A. Powell

That pip in the pear is a blackbird. Tussle on the grass a grackle.

     It is officially spring. Watch:

Some kids pulling up BURIED WATER PIPE flags. And next to

     them the little violets. Rain violets. The flags are blue.

The sycamores are just greening. "The world in fact is just,"

     Chaos said. And we believed him, who called himself

the most difficult thing he could think of. He wanted to get into

     the club. The club he was clubbed outside of.

Later, it'll matter that there's no marker. Before he was Chaos,

     Robin he was, because he stole. Was blank before.

A bronze angel thoughtfully placed for all who grieve a child.

     Of course a child. What else might you have lost.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

United 1, Chester 2

See if you can see us between seconds eighteen and twenty-three. There's a good story re: the flare, I'm hoping this guy posts it (UPDATE! Shazam!), he was most exercised by the Park Police response, so loudly in fact some Richie Cunningham-looking cop came over and gave him a "you talking to me" piece of bullshit. After seeing the cops rifle through unattended jackets looking for more flares and other evidence he declared, 4th Amendment my ass, motherfucking police state, to which I said, Black helicopters. Good times, quadrupled by quadruple by Planet's presence. One of dozens of best nights of my life.

As we were walking to the cars after the game I was raging, here, let St Benny of Olsen explain why:

We’ve been asking for this loss. We’ve got to realize that’s not a good enough performance. Too many guys were on their own page. We were cute all over the field. We thought it was going to be enough to step out here and beat a team because they’re a little down on their luck. Maybe it’s a good thing because this really does show us we’re not as good as we think we are. All of the little things that got us success up to this point, we forgot about tonight. There were signs we were forgetting about that over the last couple games and we’ve been squeaking by. Tonight we didn’t squeak by.

United was outworked, out hustled, won less than a third of 50-50s, looked shockingly unfit, played lazy, nonchalant, sloppy, disinterested. Bad touches, bad passes. Brandon McDonald and Emiliano Dudar were both walking clusterfucks in central defense, Robbie Russell at right back not a clusterfuck but a motherfucking grandpa, so old, so slow. If United does make changes during the window and those changes don't address central defense (and please, Ba'al, not washed-up ex-gods from New Zealand) then Kasper Payne needn't bother making any changes at all. And speaking of window, this was a game for the two Balkan DPs to demonstrate why the $$$ and fwwt - neither played poorly, neither played well. But holyfuck, is Salihi slow and his touch heavy, and holyfuck, Boskovic flunked the audition, and holyfuck, yes United is this DeRossario dependent, and if/when he's damaged long term rather than just away temporarily on stupidass Canadian national team duty, United is dead in the water.

I've got more video, photos, won't be able to download/upload the rest until tonight, will post, or not - the stanchion porn requirement for Germantown games has been met. Have this too:

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

So Is Your Judgment Shown Presumptuous, False, Quite Vain, Merely Your Own Sadness for Failed Ambition Set Outside, Made a Philosophy of, Prinked, Beautified in Noble Dress and into the World Sent Out to Run with the Ill It Most Pretends to Rout

Psychedelic Furs Dumb Waiters by Celtiemama

Hey! Did you know Washington DC has a professional soccer team? It's true! and they play a US Cup 4th round game in Germantown tonight against the Chester Nowaks and here's what St Benny of Olsen says:

Both teams will play as good of a lineup as they think they have. That’s exciting. It’s exciting for the people who come out and watch in Germantown, where they are right on top of you.

Also too, from the same Goff article:

United finished training Monday by practicing penalty kicks (they struck a few crossbars/posts) -- the deciding factor if the clubs are level through 120 minutes. “Hopefully it doesn’t come down to that, hopefully we can do the job before that, but we’re capable,” Olsen said. Last year, in an Open Cup qualifier against the Union at SoccerPlex, Hamid made a critical save during the 4-2 shootout victory.

Planet's coming (so that guarantees 120 minutes then PKs), square pizza at this guy's house first, SeatSix will meet us at SoccerPlex, so woot, plus simply the best soccer experience, year after year, I've ever.

Also too, why would Your Fucking Washington Post use that photo for a story about the growing potential I might need to actually Fuck-Me-Jig? When you read the story, do you have any doubt that if I do Fuck-Me-Jig it will be in front of my seat in an end zone? 

Also too, Richard Butler is fifty-six today:

Psychedelic Furs - Run and Run by fery1

Yes, blegweary. Hear how I bitch about the death of LOUD SIDE! before the birth of LOUD SIDE!s demise? I stand by my statement that Friday's jobs statement jarred the needle out of soundtrack into predictable grooves, no more so than here of course. I know a joint where folks in comments are measuring their dicksizes on their competing theories on evolution and education against a sardonic poetic trope, another where folks in comments are measuring their dicksizes on their competing theories of motherfucking objects, Badiou if you do. Standard acknowledgments of my full and contributive complicity apply, see another Furs song for details.

Psychedelic Furs All That Money Wants by Celtiemama


Stevie Smith

Do not despair of man, and do not scold him,
Who are you that you should so lightly hold him?
Are you not also a man, and in your heart
Are there not warlike thoughts and fear and smart?
Are you not also afraid and in fear cruel,
Do you not think of yourself as usual,
Faint for ambition, desire to be loved,
Prick at a virtuous thought by beauty moved?
You love your wife, you hold your children dear,
Then say not that Man is vile, but say they are.
But they are not. So is your judgement shown
Presumptuous, false, quite vain, merely your own
Sadness for failed ambition set outside,
Made a philosophy of, prinked, beautified
In noble dress and into the world sent out
To run with the ill it most pretends to rout.
Oh know your own heart, that heart's not wholly evil,
And from the particular judge the general,
If judge you must, but with compassion see life,
Or else, of yourself despairing, flee strife.

Monday, June 4, 2012

Saturday, June 2, 2012

& if that's not enough (he says to himself in the voice of a black-and-white actor whose name is a moth that keeps avoiding the tip of his flaming tongue) to bring you home, well, there it is again, already exhausted by your efforts to make it comfortable enough to stay

Had conversations with three good workish colleagues and two email yaps with buddies, lifelong Democrats all and devout -.06%ers still, who each for the first time expressed to me genuine shock and fear Obama might actually lose to Romney. I still offer 4-1 pints on Obama's victory, there's three months of daily shitstorms to go before the conventions and Labor Day and the true beginning of the shittiness, plus he's running against a gaffe machine made out of a cardboard box, plus he can move the country further to the right by 2016 than Romney ever could, which Corporate is more than aware. My reassurances didn't assuage. The jobs news of yesterday morning (and please remember the numbers were cooked, as all administrations cook numbers, to be the rosiest possible without stinking of tilt) (made Obama's cockswording - and all he has is his Muslim-killing cred, the sole issue trending up in his campaign's internal polling - seem even more puny, cowardly, craven) made five obamapostles (and numerous bloogers and pundits) squirm to a revealed possibility the motherfucker just might lose and, most interestingly, each entertained the possibility the motherfucker is in fact a lame motherfucker. 


Paul Grant

Just a shadow. Hardly that. But audible.
Coming out of the woods, whispering
Happily Ever After.
Even in that light—
stars with the skeletons of animals
and old friends—
to the eye behind the one always
left open on the east side of the house,
downhill. Where the coffee trees
and hemp and the graves of old dogs lie,
buried themselves in leaves and left
to the sputtering wind of memory.

& if that's not enough (he says
to himself in the voice of a black-and-white
actor whose name is a moth that keeps
avoiding the tip of his flaming tongue)
to bring you home, well, there
it is again,
already exhausted
by your efforts to make it
enough to stay. Impatient,
already headed
back down into the woods, whispering
Once Upon A Time . . .

Friday, June 1, 2012

The Spurious Pours Forth as Fish and Circuses

I would have thought, said L at Thursday Night Pints, that the Kids in the Hall Fine Ham Abounds would be the most posted video at BLCKDGRD, responding to my claim yesterday that The Guy Under the Seats, Episode 9, Roosevelt: A One-Man Show is the most posted. I said, I'm sure the KITH is the most linked to, though I very infrequently post it. I was then asked multiple questions about the blooger, why this, where that, what next, and I wallowed in the bleggalgazing, thanks all! we'll see where it ends, but yes, thanks for the Kind. Did you see Thiessen's column, asked D as I sat down after buying a round, his laughing at liberal hypocrisy over Obama's war crimes? D, said K, you buy rounds the next two nights, we'd dared each other walking in, whoever first brought up motherfucking Obama bought rounds the next two Thursday Night Pints. Most profitable half hour of bleggalgazing, on multiple levels, ever.


Rae Armantrout


Tense and tenuous
grow from the same root

as does tender
in its several guises:

the sour grass flower;
the yellow moth.


I would not confuse
the bogus
with the spurious.

The bogus
is a sore thumb

while the spurious
pours forth

as fish and circuses.