Thursday, July 7, 2022

Two Negative Numbers Multiplied by Rain into Oranges and Olives



Olive wants to be adored but refuses to sit still for adoration, she mickmocks for touch but slinks when touched, more mink than cat. People already weary of hating motherfucking Democrats, even those scheduled for obamapostasies tomorrow. Fucker's called Newsom and told him to shut the fuck up or else, I bet you any number of digital pints. Someone tweeted the animated corpse of Bill Reilly raging at a Pritzger, governor of Illinois? possible primary challenger to the corpse of Joe Biden, pretending 2024's election hasn't already happened? Do you know people think John Fetterman will save you? One of my daughter's favorite bands - and I vouch too - has a new single out ahead of an October album release




Crisis historian has bad news for us
The end of sharp, short wars
Military spending after the end of history
How center-left attacks on trans people help facilitate the coming fascist America
Today in Motherfucking Democrats!
Why is the no public sense of a climate crisis?
Could John Fetterman shitpost his way his way to the Senate?
John Fetterman is not going to save you
(Gavin Newman and J.B. Pritzker won't either)
Pandemics: not just for humans
Destroying free public education Goal One!
The logic of misogynyRacist foundation of nuclear architecture
Cruel and unusual nourishment
The U.S. will do anything and everything to defend Israel: Abu Akleh
Pollard interviewI needed post today because I can't tomorrow and Saturday is one of two posts a year not tagged my complicity
The 1972 report that warned about civilization's collapse
The indescribable glory of trains





LIKE TWO NEGATIVE NUMBERS MULTIPLIED BY RAIN

Jane Hirshfield

Lie down, you are horizontal.
Stand up, you are not.

I wanted my fate to be human.

Like a perfume
that does not choose the direction it travels,
that cannot be straight or crooked, kept out or kept.

YesNoOr
—a day, a life, slips through them,
taking off the third skin,
taking off the fourth.

And the logic of shoes becomes at last simple,
an animal question, scuffing.

Old shoes, old roads—
the questions keep being new ones.
Like two negative numbers multiplied by rain
into oranges and olives.

Tuesday, July 5, 2022

What Is Wrong With the Mind Is What Is Wrong With the Poem


Periodic reminder my daughter will be my age in 2056
I stole a cooling rack from home to dry the flags I make
guaranteeing a flag won’t be made tonight, rack shamed
I am reading Diana Seuss’ *Frank* and Blake Butler’s *300,000,000*
screaming better than I can scream apocalypse at me so I won’t at you
2056, I’d be 97, laugh, my dad at 90 in fifteen days
got out what he paid into, my 42 years paid into stolen by 2026
I’d buy a ticket today to 2036 for my daughter


Top 2nd flag (and self-portrait) of one week in 2022, above 3rd flag, slamming the brakes now, laugh
Waiting for the reveal of a gun-murderer's political gender is America's Favorite Game Show!
Imperial narrative control has five elements (number three is underrated, yo)
Oligarchs' tools to disrupt the anti-oligarchs
The American public owns 20,000,000 AR-15s
Ecosocialism or barbarism?
Asynchronous wars & the technology of killing
My hometown helmetball team's owner
American Dragnet: date-driven deportation
L & I were driving north on 270 yesterday morning towards beloved Sugarloaf and watched at least three dozen mococop cars, pick-ups, vans, and one attack vehicle, lights on, zoom south on 270, and wondered the fuck? Here's the fuck
Maggie's weeklyFRESH HELL
Transgressing temporal hierarchies
Local toponymic pronunciations of NW Ohio
"Can there be pure narrative?"
{ feuilleton }'s weekly#1261 Get Out While You Can
The one thing that can save America
The best three hours of 4th of July music ever
RIP, Mike, you big bad bald bastard



(DEATH DOES NOT EXIST IN POETRY)

Diane Seuss

Death does not exist in poetry. A line may fade into the silence past its breaking
but that is not death. No coking sounds in poems, no smell of blood. I can describe
the sounds, the smells, but description is, in fact, a hiding place. There is no nobility
in description. Is there nobility in poems? Let's hope not. Nobility is another place
to hide. "Through all these myriad felt and mostly scorned and disreputable realities,"
Alan wrote in a poem. I hope it is OK that I have quoted you, Alan. It is a poem
about love's nuance but Alan would agree there is no love in poems. There is no love
in a mushroom, in a handmade wedding dress. Not death in a funeral hankie
embroidered with the words "Try not to use it." I looked at the worm and I thought
it was an angel. I looked at an angel and thought it was a storm. What is wrong
with the mind is what is wrong with the poem. It is difficult to ge the news-
boy to be a newsboy. He keeps turning into a girl carrying a fish in a cloth delivery
bag to her grandmother who is really a wolf dressed as a grandmother singing a line
from Ulysses: "So stood they there both awhile in wanhope, sorrowing one with other."

Friday, July 1, 2022

Seeing They Are Umber and Soot and the Color of Melts



New self-portrait, first in a year, ink, pencil, watercolor, salt
It's not done, still working on the words that go inside, what order they will go in and in what medium
Chances are good I'll fuck it up so I timestamp here a thing I made that I like just after I made it before I fuck it up
I forget how much I love this then remember why I stop, I have modest talent in design and color but limited hand skills and have no delusional ambitions (for these or those poems I write) beyond making, especially with good music in my Dr Sevrin ears (update)





Abortion was for the mouth-breathers, gutting the EPA for the shitlords
Up next in Alitoland - eternal crackeristan
THE MATRIX OF PEJORATION!
The Animal Crisis is a human crisis
How do you know you're not dreaming?
The War in Ukraine: another neocon failure
Dred Scott returns, motherfuckers
Eli Valley interviewThe Clientelist Foundation of Contemporary Antiracist Politics
Record-breaking broken records
Avedon Carol's occasional links
Interview: a motherfucking professional Democrat
The DeSantis Thousand Year Reich, coming Jan 2025
Your new cracker curriculum for K-12
Joe Biden has always been anti-abortion
Yes, he signaled he'd set aside the filibuster against his will of course and hours after announcement that Leahy will be out months with a broken hip and Biden has his manchin so this is nothing but posturing and will never happen
In defense of transnormativity
An archeology for a better future?
Eat the documentaryMINGUS
Laugh, it is not by design but certainly not a coincidence my favorite posts often birth themselves for a Friday post before a three-day holiday weekend





BARTLEBY AT THE WALL

Jack Gilbert

The wall
is the side of a building.
Maybe seventy-five feet high.
The rope is tied
below the top
and hangs down thirty-five feet.
Just hangs down.
Above the slum lot.
It's been there a long time.
One part
below the middle
is frayed.
I've been at this all month.
Trying to see the rope.
The wall.
Carefully looking 
at the bricks.
Seeing they are
umber and soot
and the color of melts.
Even counting them.
But it's like Poussin.
Too clear.
The way things aren't.
So I try not staring.
Not grabbing.
Allowing it to come.
But just to the point
where I'd see
the mind gives a little
skip
and I'm already past.
To all this sorrow again.
Considering
the skip between wildness
and affection
where everything is.

Tuesday, June 28, 2022

the underneath livid reaching part



I have started with ink  pen chalk watercolors tablet again but need find my eyes and hands again, above self-portrait from 2019, I woke this morning feeling like that, I have Dr Sevrin ears
SOME OF US HAVE YODELED ABOUT THIS FOR MOTHERFUCKING DECADES AND WERE TOLD WE WERE NUTS AND TO SHUT UP AND BE CIVIL!
FASCISTS IN OUR MIDST
SOME OF US HAVE YODELED ABOUT THIS FOR MOTHERFUCKING DECADES AND WERE TOLD WE WERE NUTS AND TO SHUT UP AND BE CIVIL!
Motherfucking SCOTUS christers are LIARS
Thread: consequences of the end of Roe
ABORTION: up the slippery slope
Criminalization of pregnancy
Biden has been fighting against legal abortions his whole fucking career, people, and is almost certainly personally delighted by the Dobbs decision, dumdum
SHEEYIT, WE ARE STILL BEING TOLD NOT ONLY ARE WE NUTS BUT IT'S OUR FAULT IT HAPPENED, SHUT THE FUCK UP AND BE CIVIL
Republicans are definitely going to set up a robust social safety net now
Judith Butler on SCOTUS and Thomas
Gullibility in an age of scams
Shitlordiness in Shitlordistan
Some stupid motherfuckers here, laugh
Even the magamegaphones wouldn't run with the Rudy's been assaulted false flag attempt
DeSantis and the Rise of Incoherent Cracker Libertarianism
DANGEROUS AS THE PLAGUE!
Capitalizing on Roe versus Wade
InflationHibernationUselessNewsbits
ALL COPS ARE BASTARDS, ALWAYS
Five illnesses spreading in a hotter world
How do you define an "invasive species?"
Maggie's weeklyHistory won't judge
Good god, I can't publish this
Having trouble finding a way to *stay*




BLUES FOR ALICE

Clark Coolidge

When you get in on a try you never learn it back
umpteen times the tenth part of a featured world
in black and in back it’s roses and fostered nail
bite rhyme sling slang, a song that teaches without
travail of the tale, the one you longing live
and singing burn
 
It’s insane to remain a trope, of a rinsing out
or a ringing whatever, it’s those bells that . . .
and other riskier small day and fain would be
of the soap a sky dares
 
                                               but we remand,
that we a clasp of the silence you and I, all of
tiny sphering rates back, I say to told wall, back
and back and leave my edge, and add an L
 
Night is so enclosed we’ll never turn its page
its eye, can be mine will be yours, to see all the people
the underneath livid reaching part and past of the lying buildings
the overreacher stops and starts, at in his head, in
in her rhythm
that knowledge is past all of us, so we flare and tap
and top it right up, constant engage and flap in on
keeping pace, our whelming rift, and soil and gleam
and give back the voice, like those eary dead
 
Step down off our whelm lessons and shortly fired
enter the bristle strum of Corrosion Kingdom
where the last comes by first ever ring, every
race through that tunnel of sun drop and pencil
in the margins of a flare, of higher wish than dare,
the stroked calmings of a line will spin and chime
in blue quicks of a dream blues, the chores
of those whispering gone crenulations
 
To meet a care is to dial redeem
and we limp in the time sound balms
so out of kilter is my name in the sun, and I win
in the moon and you sing in that other spelling of win
the way a blue is never singular

Saturday, June 25, 2022

opened milkweed with no agenda, blew the fluff

  • My mother would have been 88 today
  • I did not type in digital tablet or write in analog tablet or start a link grid or new blagpost since the one post from Michigan near the trip's beginning, I am home now and here I am
  • If the Roe news broke at ten Friday morning I was five minutes into Pennsylvania driving home from a wonderful six days in Michigan listening to an Evil Music Service's shoegazer radio, laugh, I heard or saw nothing about the news until five hours after news broke
  • Remember when Barack Obama was just inaugurated and had a super-majority in both House and Senate and during his campaign he had promised that if elected he would federally codify Roe "first thing" and of course he didn't (but did use his super-majority to bail out Jamie Dixon)
  • Here is the Father's Day gift from my son-in-law I (I think I'm going to have to live with the I thing) with Dogduck and Dino in our front yard



  • I *did* stop at the store where I (me) bought Dogduck and Dino for something new but everything old I remembered why I didn't buy before and only thing new another dinosaur, three feet tall, I have a dinosaur
  • To show their fury at the Roe decision House Democrats gathered on the steps of the Capital and sang God Bless America while elsewhere Nancy Pelosi read a poem of despair by an Arab living in Israel (while Pelosi supports the Israeli apartheid state responsible for the poet's despair) (this the same Nancy Pelosi who used every means necessary to ensure that an anti-abortion incumbent currently in legal jeopardy barely beat out a promising progressive candidate, imagine)
  • Michigan looks different this June than previous two Junes, lusher, darker greens in trees, neon green algae in bogs, woods filled with Jem'Hadar flies, you can deet against them biting but then they relentlessly buzz your head, bonk your ears and cheeks, arms and legs 
  • I needed to bring the rental car to the house to unload and Momcat greeted me, I drove the rental car to Pooks Hill Marriott and dropped off then walked the mile and a half home and Momcat greeted me and I got in my car and got fresh food and when I unloaded the car Momcat greeted me
  • If the shitlords who control this part of the world didn't want these five cult lunatics (it's 9:30 PM EDT Friday night as I type this sentence, imagine the rapturous prayer parties (full of sinful acts Clarence Thomas says should be banned too) these fucks are attending) these (or any other five cult lunatics) wouldn't be successfully fascistically fetishisizing over what you do with your body
  • Here's Tindersticks with advice:



  • I took few photos in Michigan, weird wonderful vacation, I thought and felt, this is a vacation, Napoleon-worry no longer gnawing all-consumingly but also this the first vacation since Bookkeeper's retirement, nobody misses her, this not worrying about work while on vacation what a concept, relaxing on vacation? I had no idea
  • Reminder: rank and file Democrats angrier at you over Roe than crackers, much less shitlords, smack them as hard as you can with your Of Course I Hate Crackers and Cracker-whisperers but Motherfucking Democrats Are the Enemy stick because - and this is important - motherfucking Democrats are the enemy
  • Fleabus sits with me and Momcat and Frankie greet me and Stanley is Stanley and will cut me because he likes me but Olive sits at top of cat-tree and screams mick-mock (and louder at my mick-mocks back) and Rosie hiding under the bed in L's yarn room
  • I can again verify that Michigan weed is three times as good and three times less expensive than the crap weed you can buy in DC - those of you who ordered Durban Poison, Winewood was out, you get Durban Grapefruit instead, I vouch for it's lovely effectiveness
  • Reminder: shitlords don't care what peasants do with their bodies but shitlords DO want peasants to obsess over what other peasants do with *their* bodies so peasants don't obsess about what shittiness shitlords do to immiserate all peasants unto death though rent extraction's side-effects and the main tool of both rent extraction and you're not fighting *that* is your body and what you do with it that other peasants don't want you to
  • This post is a living post until it isn't
  • We go to Maine for two weeks in three weeks, Maine weed wussier AND more expensive than DC week, this will not be an issue, I have no plans to type or not type, write or not write, read or not read, post or not post, I do have plans to watch the sunset in Seal Cove with L and drink local beer and smoke Michigan weed, explore this whole relaxing while on vacation thing
  • From the horrible evil music service's shoegaze channel I was reminded of this small miracle:



CatMeows: a data set of cat vocalizations
When the worse people in the world keep winning
The worse people in the world always win
Crackers are pussiest just after victories
Plants are watchingShitlord profiteering
The Federal Republic of New Normal Germany
FRESH HELLTREES TALK
Ticking off the checklist for mass extinction
Today in my twitter self-surveillance
Helmetball stadium with snipers' nests
Excerpts from the Velveteen Gulag
Megrins, firks, and melancholies
On Armantrout{ feuilleton }'s weekly



SIX UNRHYMED SONNETS

Diane Seuss

1
I drove all the way to Cape Disappointment but didn’t
have the energy to get out of the car. Rental. Blue Ford
Focus. I had to stop in a semipublic place to pee
on the ground. Just squatted there on the roadside.
I don’t know what’s up with my bladder. I pee and then
I have to pee and pee again. Instead of sightseeing
I climbed into the back seat of the car and took a nap.
I’m a little like Frank O’Hara without the handsome
nose and penis and the New York School and Larry
Rivers. Paid for a day pass at Cape Disappointment
thinking hard about that long drop from the lighthouse
to the sea. Thought about going into the Ocean
Medical Center for a check-up but how do I explain
this restless search for beauty or relief?

2
No need to sparkle, Virginia Woolf wrote in “A Room
of One’s Own,” oh, would that it were true, I loved the kids
who didn’t, June, can’t remember her last name, tilt of her
head like an off-brand flower on the wane, her little rotten
teeth the color of pencil lead, house dresses even in 4th grade,
and that boy Danny Davis, gray house, horse, eyes, clothes,
fingertips and prints, freckles not copper-colored but like metal
shavings you could clean up with a magnet. Now Mrs. LaPointe
was a dug-up bone but Miss Edge sparkled, she taught the half-
and-half class, 3rd and 4th grades cut down the middle
of the room like sheet cake, she wore a lavender chiffon dress
with a gauzy cape to school, aquamarine eye shadow, Sweetie,
she whispered to me, leaning down, breath a perfume, your
daddy’s dead, tears stuck to her cheeks like leeches or jewels.

3
I aborted two daughters, how do I know they were girls,
a mother knows, at least one daughter, maybe one
daughter and a son, will it hurt I asked the pre-abortion
lady and she said, her eyes were so level, I haven’t been
stupid enough to need to find out, cruel but she was right,
I was and am stupid, please no politics, I’ve never gotten
over it, no I don’t regret it, two girls with a stupid penniless
mother and a drug-addict father, I don’t think so, I shot
a rabbit once for food, I am not pristine, I am not good,
I am in no way Jesus, I am in no way even the bad Mary
let alone the good, though I have held my living son
in the pietà pose, I didn’t know at the time I was doing it
but now that I look back, he’d overdosed and nearly died,
my heart, he said, his lips blue, don’t worry, I’ve paid.

4
To return from Paradise I guess they call that
resurrection. Don’t remember the black cherries’
gleam, bay shine, mountain’s sheen, blissful
appalling loneliness. Messy foam at sea’s edge,
slurry they call it, where love and death meld
into slop, and unaccustomed birds. Forget all
the way back to where you were before you were
born. When Dyl was a toddler, still finger-sucking,
he said he remembered the sound of my blood
whooshing past him in utero, maybe the first of many
lies, this one with an adorable speech impediment.
I always return, it’s my nature, like the man who
couldn’t stop liberating the crayfish even though
it pinched him hard, that song, that Grand Ole Opry.

5
The best is when you respond only to the absolute present
tense, the rain, the rain, rain, rain, and wind, an iridescent
cloud, another shooting, this time in a shopping mall
in Germany, so this is why people want other people to put
their arms around them, I will walk to the bay where there is
a kind of peace, even emptiness, the barn swallows’ sharp
flight and cry, who now has the luxury of emptiness or peace,
the beauty of thunder in a place where there is rarely thunder,
the mind like a jackrabbit bounding, bounding, my wet hair
against my neck, grandfather’s barber shop, the line-up
of hair tonics by color like a spectrum, the pool table removed
to make a room for great-grandma to live out her years, my
father cutting a semicircle in her kitchen table so it would fit
around the stove pipe, rain, rain, fascism in America is loud.

6
Poetry, the only father, landscape, moon, food, the bowl
of clam chowder in Nahcotta, was I happy, mountains
of oyster shells gleaming silver, poetry, the only gold,
or is it, my breasts, feet, my hands, index finger,
fingernail, hangnail, paper cut, what is divine, I drove
to the sea, wandered aimlessly, I stared at my tree, I said
in my mind there’s my tree, there’s my tree I said in my mind,
I remember myself before words, thrilled at my parents’
touch, opened milkweed with no agenda, blew the fluff,
no reaching for comparison, to be free of signification,
wriggle out of the figurative itchy sweater, body, breasts,
vulva, little cave of the uterus, clit, need, touch, come, I came
before I knew what coming was, iambic pentameter, did I
feel it, does language eclipse feeling, does it eclipse the eclipse