Monday, February 8, 2016

No One Knew Why Horses Were Dying


Members of the Ubu Projex bands shall be informed three months after the event, not before, and will at that time receive an instruction pack. No one else is to be informed, including record company and agents. 
David will continue to 'answer' his email and all social media will be regularly updated - if anything there should be an uptick in posting frequency. All interviews shall be by email - since the questions rarely change there is a sufficient backlog of answers that can be cut and pasted. 
A Pere Ubu album shall be produced. Keith Moline is to be in charge of assembling lyrics and vocal performances from pre-existing material. A tour will be booked to coincide with the album release. At an appropriate point a band photo with David's replacement shall be released. 
Someone is bound to ask, 'Where's David?' 
The response shall be 'Oh, he died two years ago.' 
Q. 'What happened?' 
A. His body stopped working. 
Q. 'What was the cause?' 
A. 'Death.' 
Q. Why didn't you say anything?' 
A. 'It's none of your damn business.'

  • I have no fucking idea about THE DAVID THOMAS DEATH PROTOCOLS. It showed up in my twitter time line at eight this morning via Pere Ubu facebook via twitter.
  • Had a dinner and a movie date with Earthgirl last night - if there's ever a time to rest assured a movie theater will be empty, it's Motherfucking Helmetball Fuck Yeah America Day! 
  • Fuck your Motherfucking Helmetball Fuck Yeah America Day!
  • We saw Hail, Caesar, the new Coen Brothers' movie. I've seen Lebowski, of course, and wiki tells me Raising Arizona and Fargo and Oh Brother Where Are Thou are Coen Brother movies, I've seen them, the first and third I liked, my only memory of the second and fourth is my relief the movie was over and I could leave the theater.
  • Cause theaters - arenas, stadiums too to a far lesser extent - trigger panic attacks in me. I hate sitting in movie theaters before a movie, all my flee instincts light. It's why I don't go. Every second year I try again, but....
  • And when I'm at home I'd rather read. Not a moral stance, just the way I am. I see lots of film theory syllabi at work, they spark my interest, I start to watch a movie of great repute and.... I'd rather read.
  • Hail, Caesar - it seemed a homage to Hollywood in general and a era in particular and no doubt was bursting with allusions to movies that flew over my head. So, when I say the movie sucked, that after ten minutes I couldn't wait for it to be over, and that the hour and a half took three weeks, I am unreliable.
  • No direction home.
  • Trump left-flanks Clinton.
  • Berniebros and category collapse.
  • Dear Clinton campaign - deploying neoliberal evilfuck Bill to yell at me ain't gonna work, yo.
  • Boys 2 Men.
  • Infinite Jest at 20.
  • Frances has a new gig.
  • { feuilleton }'s weekly links.
  • Bad Goth.
  • Any excuse to play some of my favorite Pere Ubu songs a good excuse.


Thomas Lux

No one knew why horses were dying — two from two farms over,
one in town, three at the poor farm (not in great shape,
anyway, so no
concern at first), then the mayor’s son’s pony,
then three stalls in a row
at the local sulky track. The vet sent blood to the State Police,
who sent it to Boston for “further analysis.”
Meanwhile, two more died.
One so old it was no surprise,
and another mistaken for a deer and shot.
Some people wanted to make a connection,
but the errant hunter was cousin to the sheriff
and was known as too dim to pull off
a string of horse poisonings.
There were no more suspicious deaths
in the county for two months. Then three, lying down
next to each other, seen first by my cousin Freddy
at dawn in the town square.
He delivered newspapers.
Horses rarely lie down flat
unless they’re sick, or dead.
Test results came back
from Boston and, Freddy said, also the Feds.
Inconclusive, though each necropsy
showed that the poison
was delivered with the aid of a carrot
or a sugar cube in a carrot.


  1. speaking of death, and horses, here's something speaks of a horse, and birth.

    James Tate

    Vale of the White Horse

    That’s where I first met my bride. She was standing under a chestnut tree during a summer shower. I stopped my car and offered to give her a lift. She didn’t seem to hear me. I got out of the car and walked up to her. Her skin looked and felt like porcelain. Are you okay? I asked. She blinked her eyes as if coming out of a trance. “I was looking for the white horse,” she said. I drove her to a hospital where the doctor diagnosed her as being my bride. “There’s no doubt about it, she is your bride.” We kissed, and thus the Trans-Canadian Highway was born.

  2. "summer porcelain...bride" remind me of the song "million dollar baby" - here's bing crosby singing it

    what often appears as the intro to a song of that era occurs in this arrangement as an interlude

    the picture of bing here is the spitting image of j.r. "bob" dobbs of the church of the subgenius

    if you're in a different mood maybe you'll appreciate the "beating a dead horse" reference in dylan's "man in a long black coat" - people don't die or live, people just float