Saturday, April 29, 2017

In a Landscape of Endless Dull Glitter

  • I'm afraid of good moods. Nothing sends me tumbling faster than a good mood.
  • The good never gets gooder, the fall always gets longer.
  • I retweeted an Elkin bump then was asked about an Elkin novel so here. Happy to Elkin.
  • The excerpt from Elkin's Dick Gibson Show at link pertains to this post, Serendipitously.
  • Bookkeeper-pushed but inevitable tumble. 
  • I hate categories, I suck at them, but bad faith's on-time delivery after fake praise offered I understand.
  • Life in the Assholocene, micro, macro: the worse? I fantasize assholeassin payback.
  • I pull into work parking lot, see Bookkeeper's car, think, Fuck, Bookkeeper wasn't driver-side T-boned by a speeding garbage truck. 
  • I think, when the announcement comes Library-wise that Bookkeeper was driver-side T-boned by a speeding garbage truck I need remember, express no glee. Act sad.
  • Book offer in the Elkin link still stands, and I found three copies of Harington's Architecture of the Arkansas Ozarks at a used book store Thursday, if you want one of them let me know.
  • Peak TV Paradox
  • I don't watch TV, I rarely watch movies.
  • This is true: I'm afraid I'd see shit I can take on a page but not on a screen.
  • Each show competing to be the screen I can't take the most.
  • I'm more afraid I'd see shit I think I can't take on the screen and motherfucking enjoy it.
  • I'm afraid if I watched screens and enjoyed I'd stop reading now reading hurts.
  • I stare at self-improvement screens, How to Be Irrationally Meticulous for Petty Meticulous' Sake, by Decree of Bookkeeper.
  • I strongly advise you to pay attention to this one, Jeff, Bookkeeper says.
  • When reading, I move my head back and forth keep my eyes steady, still hurts.


  1. My mother — a voracious reader who's for as long as I can remember sat up in bed at night reading for hours upon themselves, who would check out an audacious stack of books every time we went to our branch'brary —, once told of a dream in which her optic absorption of words was in effect the consumption of calories that led to uncontrollable weight gain. It was a cruel dream, I thought at the time.

    This discomfort of yours is too cruel and real, and I don't like it the same but for real. These analogous considerations of vicarious empathy via proximal familiarity and tenuous sensate memory feed the desire to suggest solutions. A common reaction to such suggestions is annoyance rather than appreciation. This is understandable to me, as I do of course project. So I find myself following up on having said all that with a wondering aloud that the avoidance of the light from the screens is the simplest solution on offer from the simpleton on this side of the virtual sphere. Fine ham, if y'know what I'm saying.

  2. Nothing more than to wish All Good Things, to us all and each. And, More is difficult when, sitting in the shade at Powell and California and wanting only to enjoy coffe and nosh, I'm sitting by a well-spoken schizophrenic with only a large potted plant between me and societally-defined true madness, as he has a long conversation with his internal Greek chorus. There but for the Grease O god; and may your eyesight improve.