Monday, October 18, 2021

The Grit of a Damp Trowel Explores My Mouth


Yesterday in mocowoods, lots of fall foliage photos upcoming provided I'm not shot by deer hunters, more details below the links I owe you
My new car, or: The Most Privileged and Complicit Motherfucker Ever
Poster Child of motherfucking Democrats
Nazi roots of the neoliberal state
US elites' corruption compares to Opium War?
The problem with America's semi-rich
Why we can't have nice things
Maggie's weekly links
Avedon Carol's occasional links
Attitudes toward the locals
Bicycle ride with Kate Bush song
{ feuilleton }'s weekly links
Tomorrow we Kensington to Frederick to Hancock to Breezewood to Toledo to Ann Arbor to Grass Lake to Munith to the same AirBNB four miles from the house three of the crackers who plotted to kidnap and kill the Michigan governor live, it's peak fall there (and will be peak fall on Pennsylvania Turnpike over and through the Laurel Highlands), if I have to go to Michigan to see my daughter I'm giving myself two springs and two falls
Planet buying us neon orange hats and vests today, every trail on public land in Michigan is open for hunting, hikers get shot all the time, hunters not held responsible, hikers accept the risk, I'll let you know if I'm shot but only if I survive




TO TELL OF BODIES CHANGED

Jana Prikryl

Having desired little
more than the

arrival of the little more
that arrives,

outside our window a cypress
of model proportions.
Its patience seems to widen
the nights we sleep in Rome.

Warm flags draw a tortoise,
it scrapes too near.
Our friends hurry over when they hear,
exclaiming over its mute
resolute
distinctness and helpless slow efforts to flee.

Density pours into swallows and shadows:
spilled with abandon each morning,
begins then the slow work
of receding.

The joints announce their new allegiances.
Metaphors swarm the surfaces of things.

Night broken into, it's the sub rosa
singling out
I ought to have expected
from Fra Angelico's small panel
among others,
the souped-up full-spectrum wings
combined with a mood of reverent submission
in both figures
warning of experience
yet to come.

Starting now she'll reason with herself
deliberately
(imagine bulbs expecting stars
for effort!), aware of being always overheard,
subject to unprecedented measures
of integrity, like an author.

While a substance of landscape, mineral,
leaches into blood vessels
quietly steadily, meaning in this case
nothing is damaged;
extravagance of umbrella pines
propping their fingers under the bonus horizons
of the hills, redundancies
boosting the city's resemblance to itself.

A painter once squared himself against a difficult question
and said no one could just create
a landscape,
but isn't it true
that expectation builds a neighborhood
and there is nowhere else that you can live.

It was possession, turns out, by a force whose intention
touched the first body alone, a body changed
again precisely to its own form,
a very special intention.
 
Alloyed
discretion, the grit of a damp trowel
explores my mouth, at leisure
determining
the candor that cavity
is good for.

Friday, October 15, 2021

Doing the Usual Thing I Can Forget It's Happening



I disc-golfed Monday past with Dr Z at Seneca Creek State Park in Gaithersburg Maryland, my home course (in the town I grew up in), above Hole 12, pin in D (21 of the 27 holes in longest possible pin), I sponsor a hole along with SeatSix 




Was wonderful, beautiful, a blast, I love disc, love love, love, first time at Seneca since before the plague, not because of the plague but because all I've wanted to do is hike with Earthgirl, all I want to do is hike with Earthgirl first. 21 was in C.

When I got there I had no deet to poison my legs, dying by deet better than dying by lyme, my Subaru a piece of shit, all my deet in Earthgirl's car, I only drive my car to work and back usually, and Dr Z exhausted his last deet poisoning his legs, I picked six ticks off me there, one munching my inner right thigh last night, don't be jealous. I can hike with Earthgirl seventeen months in the remotest woods and get no ticks, two hours with Dr Z on my home disc golf course I get seven (and counting?) ticks? 

Dr Z got married during the plague and his daughter asked asylum from rural Minnesota and her Kind dad granted sanctuary during the plague, yay for Dr Z! his disc much improved since last we threw; he throws an Innova Wraith, one of four humans still throwing an Innova Wraith but the only one voluntarily, he throws the right height to get the S-curve and hits fairways, and he rocs his ups better but best still putts Fuck It and I love him for it cause missing low is lame

Dr Z asked me about my Subaru as in Should I Buy A Subaru? and NO! don't do it, I only mention because on drive home from my home course the automatic transmission warning flashed as did the tire and brake and air bag warnings and warnings I've never seen on a dashboard, the Subaru service check-in person reassured me it's just the automatic transmission that's the emergency, it's programmed to turn on every alert on the dashboard to get my attention, he soothingly and patiently explained, so I see the warnings so I've time to prepare to coast to a stop on the Beltway when my transmission clamps down and hope I'm lucky enough to make a soft-landing on a shoulder, though the oil light has been on for six months because the engine leaks oil, the transmission will cost $3K to fix, the engine leak, a direct result of a Subaru mandatory recall in which the engine had to be removed and was reinstalled fucked up will cost $12K to fix and fuck that, I am without a car, Today in My Privilege and Complicity! fuck me

Ticks aren't dumb and know where to eat and everything's a fart anyway. I carried a beast, leopard, roc of course, when in doubt throw a roc when not in doubt throw a roc, a wolf, putted w an aviar, not in my disc bag, that's on Mt Desert Island until next July and not by design, but in a daypack I used on Mt Desert Island when hiking with Earthgirl. The pitch-n-putts in Maine and Michigan, O Seneca Kick My Ass Forever, home course, on the very few throws my mechanics were OK I've lost those muscles and that muscle twitch, Seneca, I can't give the course extra feet, if I get the red basket on 13 in five in my lifetime I will deet my legs against ticks and never buy another Subaru, will let Seneca kick my Noodle Ass Arm Self again and not buy a Subaru again soon even though I circle-nined the hole last Monday



I skipped Lindsey Buckingham's birthday cascade last week because (a) the couple of songs off the new album I'd heard didn't melt me and (b) nothing tastes as good as I remember it tasting and (c) I'm not sure whether anything will ever taste as good as it did or nothing ever tasted as good as I thought it did, death to the either/or of course. But these three songs, especially the first two, feel sorta like the boom I remember or at least the boom I remember imagining I felt once




Ihavedonezerogah
miningandzeromwah
divingMyhelmetball
triggerpulledfarts
andI'mreconsidering
mycompulsorycounts
toseventeensofuck
meThistoday'sgriid




STOIC

Jana Prikryl

I like ordinary days. Needing to be somewhere new
at ten a.m. bothers me. I like ordinary days.
Each juncture where I could miss a connection is trouble.
I like ordinary days. Out of the ordinary
days I live through many times. I like ordinary days.
You only live once and if that's true for you then you win.
I like ordinary days. Doing the usual thing I
can forget it's happening. I like ordinary days.
Living once is excellent and living less is better.
I like ordinary days. I like never having plans
and not seeing my friends. I like ordinary days.
I like my friends a lot when I'm free to think about them.
I like ordinary days. I like running into friends
in the course of my routine. I like ordinary days.
My friends should accompany me on ordinary days.
I like ordinary days. To be accompanied
would be nice once in a while. I like ordinary days.
When friends come by with no real plans I want to get away.
I like ordinary days. I want to be alone so
I can think about my friends. I like ordinary days.
On ordinary days I don't need to think about things.

Sunday, October 10, 2021

It Hoped to Say Nothing Further and Then Was Disappointed



Seneca Greenway yesterday, woods've toggled
The value of nothing: Capital v Growth
Strange days confirmed when I can't read a novel but now find myself reading economic theory and monetary policy and not precisely liking it and certainly not understanding much of it but feeling compelled to finish, the one above is worth your time, some duh is better than others
I might as well type that I've started a novel and not farted out yet and thought don't type that but too late
Beloved Seneca (@ Berryville Road on Greenway)




America's economic divide in two stories
Crackerstan
I blurpt re: Kagan's "The Crackers Are Coming!" column, I blurpt "Their Shitlords Are Shittier Than Our Shitlords," my blurpts, things erode on inexorably incremental but compounding pace, trot to canter, I've been blurpting about crackers since the seventh grade, I've been blurpting about shitlords since the tenth, our shitlords and their Villagers long plan to beat the blurpt out of blurpters slowly eroding my will to blurpt
Latest chapter in shitlords laundering money via European soccer teams
Shitlord embodies dystopian future!
Fresh hellReal cancel cultureMurakami & the Nobel
What if emotions aren't universal?
Maggie's weekly links
{ feuilleton }'s weekend links
Jean Giono, another novelist I never heard of, another novelist I can fail!
On Franzen, another novelist I of course have heard of, I've no recollection of The Corrections except that I did read and finish it but have not read a single word since; I can could take a smart scold writing bad duh and can could take a dumb scold writing good duh but a dumb scold writing bad duh, no
Fine metaphors aboundGRAYSCALE
Prikryl interviews Lerner
MongoLennon born 81 years ago yesterdayMe
The 18 most memorable trees in literature
Been on a listen to every album Sea and Cake bender





GEODES OF THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE

Jana Prikryl

The earth has feelings
some killed others in its mud and it has lots of mud

The earth builds a scrapyard, a sequence of them to tell
of this, a seam on its embalmed glabella future galaxies caress

The earth knows André Breton,
compiles ingenuous personalities in its fevered correspondence

Out of its winding sheet rolodex the earth erodes another name,
your name

Beware, the earth prepares to say one final time, construction
eclipses


It hoped to say nothing further and then was disappointed, its hope
misplaced it knew deep down

Say more,
you say, the earth had hoped you would

Express as little as possible with your furniture, find the little that is
as near to nothing as can be

The monuments unpictured drift up like watermarks through the odor
of the lens

You make things happen all the time, says the earth, take my advice
look the other way