Saturday, August 10, 2013

We Were Entering Dark Houses, Always More Dark Houses, Hushed and Abandoned

  • Dance!
  • Non-aargh links seem to be far less read than the aarghful links.
  • Have this aargh one: The Obama years have given us an America that looks something like a bad Kurt Russell movie from the 80s: a weird, garish dystopia, where the president runs a death squad out of the White House, wages robot wars in foreign lands, operates a techno-panopticon sucking up every message, musing and secret desire of the populace, and lets tens of millions of citizens sink into poverty and despair in their gutted communities and crumbling infrastructure while he doles out trillions of dollars to rapacious elites gleefully bleeding the country dry... Add to this such things as the corporate-backed ALEC movement stifling the ability of the people’s elected representatives to pass measures on matters of vital importance to their communities, such as gun violence, pollution, collective bargaining, etc; the return of Jim Crow laws openly designed to rob the dusky races (and poor white trash) of access to the ballot box; the incarceration of a greater percentage of its own population than any regime in human history; the reckless sell-off of public services, public lands and the environment itself to frackers, venture cap vultures and other corporate profiteers; and the relentless persecution of any government employee who dares to inform the people of even a few of the sickening crimes being done in their name. It ain't incrementalism, and it ain't to the left.
  • Found it looking for something else, started rereading for WTF, been a decade or more, the horse killing dream of Raskolnikov, lordy. And it's been such a while since I've read something that's beams and pillars and joists are so right-squared and obvious, is weird, like discovering a new form. Anyway, he's just axed the pawnbroker and her step-sister. The pages and pages of polyphonic splaining are coming, I'll see.
  • OK OK OK, one more: Martin O'Motherfucking O'Malley (trademark claim) campaigns for Cory Motherfucking Booker.
  • UPDATE! OK, one more: Obama thinks you're stupid.
  • Ornery.
  • Fortunately I sat down to consolidate the blogrolls and realized fuck that. There are a couple more new places that were added.
  • A hubristic flea.
  • Creative tyranny.
  • What you can buy me for my birthday
  • Summer at Blue Creek, North Carolina.
  • I like Tanya Donelly's new song better than Neko Case's new song but it's nice to have both.
  • On Benjamin Britten's new biography
  • Gubaidulina.
  • Summer Song.


Charles Simic

The obvious is difficult
To prove. Many prefer
The hidden. I did, too.
I listened to the trees.

They had a secret
Which they were about to
Make known to me--
And then didn't.

Summer came. Each tree
On my street had its own
Scheherazade. My nights
Were a part of their wild Storytelling.

We were
Entering dark houses,
Always more dark houses,
Hushed and abandoned.

There was someone with eyes closed
On the upper floors.
The fear of it, and the wonder,
Kept me sleepless.

The truth is bald and cold,
Said the woman
Who always wore white.
She didn't leave her room.

The sun pointed to one or two
Things that had survived
The long night intact.
The simplest things,

Difficult in their obviousness.
They made no noise.
It was the kind of day
People described as "perfect."

Gods disguising themselves
As black hairpins, a hand-mirror,
A comb with a tooth missing?
No! That wasn't it.

Just things as they are,
Unblinking, lying mute
In that bright light--
And the trees waiting for the night.


  1. of my ..never leaving ont. verse ..of the arg h above , of where i walked again with my father last after noon with the old willows of shade , by the sunny side pavili on by the lake here ,ont. ,.. in through the courts.. with our quiet grace ..gracing , in and of a.. public space .. that should never be ..let .. ,to be a place of private gatherings ,of weddings to the sun bed tanned young ladies that were in the wash room where i went in to wash my hands of our quiet under the willows lunch and sand , of their too high of cost for all ways . of wrongly gathered wealth no grace ,stop filling ,places of grace that should never not be public ,with your self important ways .. . said the swan with her father .. . ,pluck / .. . still reading ...

  2. and .. A photo essay of a family in mourning
    Perforated ever-so-slightly
    to better let the light seep through

    Sunday traffic clears a path
    We float inches above the road
    Close our eyes and drive so slow
    Like we never need to get home

    To clear the doorstep of flowers
    Throw open the blinds in his empty room
    Avert our eyes from his fingerprints
    Is there something I'm forgetting?

    Fall to my knees in the hospital parking lot
    On the way in arms full of branches
    I am dead fall, dead fall

    Last time I came here to visit him
    I ran sunburnt through the halls
    My arms full of tiger-lilies
    I don't remember this
    I was told to go home
    Clear the doorstep of flowers
    Throw open the blinds in his empty room
    Avert my eyes from his fingerprints
    Is there something I'm forgetting?

    Why, when you know you should go,
    is it so hard to leave?

    Why, when you know you should go,
    is it so hard to leave?

    Why, when you know you should go...

    Came this far to say goodbye to set things right
    Instead I fiddle with his blankets fetching coffee
    No one will drink
    I am not prepared

    Through the hush of debts and the roar of engines
    We'll struggle to recall
    This is how it ended
    This is how it endsHome,
    turn the key in the door and pause
    For what seems like an awfully long time
    There's something I'm both remembering and forgetting
    A name on the tip of my tongue

    Why, when you know you should go,
    is it so hard to leave?.. . -c.fellows,verterbrae