Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Full in the Fat Wallow of Me

  • That's the new Egoslavian flag to be displayed whenever I have been writing about things I cannot publish here. Click, yo. What I have been writing about the past few days that I cannot publish here has nothing to do with loved ones - all there is fine. Let me just say I am glad I have exhausted all possible tuition benefits, I am no longer a sort of indentured servant.
  • There was no point posting links over the second slowest weekend of the Blegsylvanian calendar, have some today (for the Blog Days of Summer).
  • It is not the flag of >>Deleted Bleggalgazing<< though this post does contain a >>Deleted Bleggalgaze<<
  • Arthur Silber checks in, send him the coins in your pocket please.
  • Demonstrating precarity.
  • Manufacturing plausible consent.
  • Vampire Culture.
  • American cynicism.
  • America's culture of hustling.
  • Say goodbye to the Holocene Epoch.
  • The Duggars, sex, and the police. I had never heard of the Duggars until last week.
  • A dipshit from Socialist Worker looks at animal rights.
  • Dan Bejar interview.
  • Krasznahorkai.
  • Robinson Jeffers' Pelicans.
  • Theme Song, Blog Days of Summer:


Kimberly Johnson

Full in the fat wallow of me,
            Even to the marrow—

Blood plumping along in a red swell
                            Of venules
            Blushing my most unabashed

Skinpatches: nosetip, earlobe, wristshallow.  O
                           This mother
              Is a crush of too-muchness,

A malady of my baffled self awash.
             Finally the days, will I find

My bones I lost, will my sharps and edges
                         Hedge this fleshy
              Habit I’ve made of excess?

Already my heartracing startles
                          In another’s
              Twitches, my dinner hiccups

Another’s diaphragm. Already and almost
                           I swear I feel
              The protein creep of me, cell

By splitting cell, into another’s life.
                           This mother-grief
               Sorrows not for the heart-close one

I’ll lose from me at my delivery
                          But for my own
               Soul overboiling, unbound, bound

To a stranger’s groans, undone by his hurts
                          And remorses
                To the third and fourth

Generations. What I’m birthing is my own
                 Never again mere. Never again my own.


  1. Flag ——> [symbolizes]——>empty at its core?

    Interesting sitch re tuition bennies. We've got a similar one arising in 2 years when youngest boy graduates EU. Watching with interest...

    1. Nah, there's a Moleskine that fits perfectly in the blank that's filled with words that won't appear here.