Kensington to Frederick to Hagerstown to Hancock to Cumberland to Morgantown to Washington (where I'm guessing the reconstruction of the I-70/I-79 interchange is a total clusterfuck) to Wheeling to Zanesville to Bamgier tomorrow, meaning today, Bamgier to Zanesville to Wheeling to Washington (where hopefully PDOT game it's employees Saturday off) to Morgantown to Cumberland to Hancock to Hagerstown to Frederick to Kensington Saturday (meaning Saturday), I said at Thursday Night Pint - no S for any of us, this was a drive-by, we're all busy. On the television Rafael Soriano got the third out top of the ninth for a Nats' save and pulled out his tucked in shirt, all the other Nationals untucked their shirts, and fat lobbyists in the expense account seats untucked their shirts. Can you explain this, asked K. Yes, I said. Don't, ordered L. Did you hear about the Nationals changing their rain-ticket policy on the fly Wednesday? K asked me, she and partner 10-Game season ticket holders, I've a standing invitation. Supposedly, when the Nationals became aware the Wednesday game v Detroit had a better-than-probably chance of a rain-out the Nationals changed their rain-ticket policy from any available seat the rest of the season to today's (meaning yesterday's) make-up game. L said, I read that Dan Snyder defiantly claimed yesterday (meaning Wednesday) that the Redskins will NEVER, in all caps, change their name. Have the Caps choked yet? I asked K. Fuck you, I was told. Google ads, I said, have toggled from promoting free beer night for random strangers at a United game to telling me I'm needed THIS SUNDAY for the Kansas City game. The Kansas City game is a week from this Sunday. So yes, fuck me, it used to be charmingly self-congratulatory to be a zealot not only for the rinkydinkiest operation in town but because it was the rinkydinkiest operation in town. That's gone.
- Crow's return.
- When being gay is outlawed, only outlaws will be gay.
- Radical notions.
- On translations: reading it wrong.
- References provided upon request.
- Purple Line.
- I realize it's illusory, but I can at least imagine I see the fuck-it I'll never obtain better than last time, not as good as next time.
- Milton Babbitt was born 96 years ago.
- This is true: before defaulting Babbitt to the exceptionally generous Atonality, I went looking for Babbitt pieces I know and google via youtube, after the first Babbitt I picked, suggested the top Stereolab song, and shazam, it was - and now is again and will probably not be until it is again years from now - an old gag I'd unforgivably forgot about, but Holyfuck, I never play enough Stereolab here.
Perhaps you covet something of
its emptiness, its uselessness
in matters of yearning or feeling
another's yearn, that it can't
know a damn thing, yet damns
everything it touches: the water
it gathers along its passage,
the air it pushes through,
swallow-like. It is no bird,
though you envy the song
you hear only after it's gone,
even if it sings through paper,
a goat, the neck of a man
wearing a scarf that tufts just as
the rest of him flies out of
his shoes and collapses in dirt.
Or, how it is like the dirt
receiving him, the privilege
or not knowing if he was
kind of unkind, as you
chamber another, waiting for
someone to come for his shoes.