- Bodah played that Hey Colossus song last night. I know I've played it before, often, will play it again. I like it.
- Jesusfuck, scroll down this link, see, listen to Mark Kozelek TILT! my universe by singing a traditional and crappy Giftmas song (and promising a whole album of them next year).
- UPDATE! I am asked to explain - Mark Kozelek, main force behind Red House Painters, puts out solo albums as Sun Kil Moon, is one of my favorite musicians. His songs have been a constant on this shitty blog since day one. You can see the Sun Kil Moon tag below. It's disconcerting, to put it most politely, to hear a Sun Kil Moon version of a shitty Giftmas carol.
- The culture, or: there is no money, another thing I used to constantly yodel but don't seem to anymore.
- Power is its own reward.
- Another once regularly recurring gag I no longer daily bump is: Your overlords, no matter how big a pipe dream it may be today, are planning (using money that isn't there) for the day you are no longer necessary.
- The Financial Crisis: why no prosecutions, or: the deliberate creation of ever more complex arguments of duh.
- Despicable human scum.
- Thought for the day.
- All of songs today either lifted directly or inspired by Bodah's show last night.
- Metro 2040!
- Drive this everyday. The issue wasn't the traffic calming, the issue was the weird lane shift at Calvert heading downhill that constantly caused accidents.
- My soccer team is about to sign Eddie Johnson. Eddie and Benny: what could possibly go wrong?
- Dentistry for the deceased.
- I had no idea JJ Cale wrote so many songs that I viscerally dislike.
- It occurs to me I'd have skipped the above snark - though it's true - had Mark Kozelek not TILTED! my universe by singing falsetto a crappy Giftmas song and promising a whole album of them next year.
- I never got Neutral Milk Hotel, I've never minded Neutral Milk Hotel when I hear them I'll just never put them on myself, I have friends who like Neutral Milk Hotel, there's a list of gigs on their reunion tour if you've interest.
- Nirvana, Kiss, Peter Gabriel.
- A corner of paradise. If you give a damn, tell me, would you prefer I provide a sort of explanatory caption to these links? I generally try to use the title of the post given by its author, but would you be more likely to click on this bullet's link if I typed afterward something like A Corner of Paradise: on poetry and photography, with gorgeous poetry and photography? Cause the clusterfuck links are usually self-explanatory, it's the non-clusterfuck links I worry I might be under-selling.
- The Speed of Darkness.
- Or rather, The Speed of Darkness, a Muriel Rukeyser poem.
- I've bought myself a good set of headphones for Earthgirl to give me for Giftmas, it's my present to her too. I can't stand listening to what I'm listening to these days on earbuds, she can't stand listening to what I'm listening to when we're sitting around weekend mornings drinking coffee.
- Yes, I've posted the Lisa Robertson poem before. I like it.
First all belief is paradise. So pliable a medium. A time not very long. A transparency caused. A conveyance of rupture. A subtle transport. Scant and rare. Deep in the opulent morning, blissful regions, hard and slender. Scarce and scant. Quotidian and temperate. Begin afresh in the realms of the atmosphere, that encompasses the solid earth, the terraqueous globe that soars and sings, elevated and flimsy. Bright and hot. Flesh and hue. Our skies are inventions, durations, discoveries, quotas, forgeries, fine and grand. Fine and grand. Fresh and bright. Heavenly and bright. The day pours out space, a light red roominess, bright and fresh. Bright and oft. Bright and fresh. Sparkling and wet. Clamour and tint. We range the spacious fields, a battlement trick and fast. Bright and silver. Ribbons and failings. To and fro. Fine and grand. The sky is complicated and flawed and we’re up there in it, floating near the apricot frill, the bias swoop, near the sullen bloated part that dissolves to silver the next instant bronze but nothing that meaningful, a breach of greeny-blue, a syllable, we’re all across the swathe of fleece laid out, the fraying rope, the copper beech behind the aluminum catalpa that has saved the entire spring for this flight, the tops of these a part of the sky, the light wind flipping up the white undersides of leaves, heaven afresh, the brushed part behind, the tumbling. So to the heavenly rustling. Just stiff with ambition we range the spacious trees in earnest desire sure and dear. Brisk and west. Streaky and massed. Changing and appearing. First and last. This was made from Europe, formed from Europe, rant and roar. Fine and grand. Fresh and bright. Crested and turbid. Silver and bright. This was spoken as it came to us, to celebrate and tint, distinct and designed. Sure and dear. Fully designed. Dear afresh. So free to the showing. What we praise we believe, we fully believe. Very fine. Belief thin and pure and clear to the title. Very beautiful. Belief lovely and elegant and fair for the footing. Very brisk. Belief lively and quick and strong by the bursting. Very bright. Belief clear and witty and famous in impulse. Very stormy. Belief violent and open and raging from privation. Very fine. Belief intransigent after pursuit. Very hot. Belief lustful and eager and curious before beauty.Very bright. Belief intending afresh. So calmly and clearly. Just stiff with leaf sure and dear and appearing and last. With lust clear and scarce and appearing and last and afresh.