Something's up with Rosie. She's not eating. She doesn't want touched. Vet tomorrow. Lordy.
Last time I'll urge this upon you: Do the speed limit everywhere. Go four, five miles over, don't watch the countdown clock of the crosswalk and break before yellow, just drive ridiculously by the rules like rubes in the movies of John Harvill's drivers-ed class and watch humans go by, it's like Intro to Hobbes. It's fun.
I was, as Earthgirl tells me when I remark each time hey, look at that asshole, an asshole driver. When driving by myself Kensington to Frederick to Hagerstown to Hancock to Cumberland to Morgantown to Washington to Wheeling to Zanesville to Gambier and back, I'd race the clock, a total dick. Total dick.
So to be less an asshole I need set it up as entertainment via sociological experiment with heavy snark component so I can feel superior. Fuck me, but any road to Kinder is better than no road.
- Holyfuck, I love ▲ song. I now have Lampchop tickets for April 1, 2017 show at U St Music Hall in DC, and so do you if you want.
- Nothing to say.
- Year of Suck, reviewed.
- Trump and the taming of the Oligarchs.
- Fuck work: When I see, for example, that you’re making millions by laundering drug-cartel money (HSBC), or pushing bad paper on mutual fund managers (AIG, Bear Stearns, Morgan Stanley, Citibank), or preying on low-income borrowers (Bank of America), or buying votes in Congress (all of the above) – just business as usual on Wall Street – while I’m barely making ends meet from the earnings of my full-time job, I realise that my participation in the labour market is irrational. I know that building my character through work is stupid because crime pays. I might as well become a gangster like you.
- Islands of the Colorblind. Do.
- The Major Refutation? I was given a Barnes & Noble gift card yesterday.
- News yesterday: Sunn O))) playing 930 on March 13! and I'm like, once I'd have bought tickets on word, now I'm like if there are tickets available March 13 I'll consider it then, what the fuck is wrong with me?
We all walk up and down
and around our block, talking out loud
to ourselves, caring less each year who hears us.
The amputee who runs our newsstand stops,
thinks. He pencils a sign for his shed
and grins like a tommy, then
The crazy lady, 7 foot tall in her space shoes,
swinging her cane at all the small children,
I will have satisfaction!
Why are you such cowards!
Snakes in the grass!
The children and I laugh out loud, like Huns.
The tommy nudges himself,
Fat with insights
sharper than a tooth
I make my Christmas lists.
the coral fan
the polar bear yellowing by the fire
both warm brown eyes long picked,
four mice waltzing
three hens who know what the sky is doing
and you, my two goslings,