- Was going to add these links to yesterday's mostly unread post - it was a weekend day in Blegsylvania, what with the East Coast snow - but fuck that. Lots of good reads there. And with a weekend day in Blegsylvania, link paucity abounds, so not many linkages today. Also too, fuck it, the inching closer.
- The Intercept: notes on media, capitalism, imperialism.
- On the wrong side of history.
- New MOCO animal shelter. Go rescue the best decision you'll ever make.
- Locating the "heart" of Bethesda.
- Black metal is sublime.
- Roubard interview, for those of you who do. I'm gonna try Great Fire of London again, I was not in the right frame of mind when I tried before.
- Hejinian essay: The End of Closure.
- Can't say I fell asleep listening to Renaldo and the Loaf, but I did hear a song of theirs this morning. Which reminds me I haven't played any Residents here in a long time.
THE UNRULY CHILD
There is a company called Marathon Oil, mother,
Very far away and very big and, again, very
Desirable. Who isn’t? Back connecting pure dots,
Fleecy intelligence lapped in explanatory sound
The faces make difficult.
Learn the language.
That beautiful tongue-in-cheek hostage situation:
My mind, up close, in pjs, and I use it.
Wanting to fuck an abstraction nine times in a row,
Continuous melismata, don’t stop, don’t stop, no name, no picture.
There is a series of solids, mother,
Called people, who rise to the transparent obtainable
Solo windows, mornings, afternoons,
And there are military operations called
Operation Patio, Operation Menu.
It is the individuals who finally get the feel of the tenses.
So that it may snow, has to snow on the muddy corpse.
There is a boundary, mother, very far away and very
Continuous, broken, to interrogate civilians, the self,
The text, networks of viewers found wanting a new way
To cook chicken, why not?, to kill while falling asleep.
There is the one language not called money, and the other not called explosions.