Sunday, May 19, 2019

Clearing a Place for a Mailbox




  • Joey born 68 years ago
  • True
  • Maryland's governor wants to build Lexus Lanes on Beltway and 270 because a twelve-lane highway through Beltway roller-coaster already with daily wrecks at eight lanes destroying Rock Creek Park where I walk all the time, including yesterday










IN ANOTHER ROOM I AM DRINKING EGGS FROM A BOOT

Frank Stanford

What if the moon was essence of quinine
And high heels were a time of day
When certain birds bled
The chauffeur is telling the cook
The antler would pry into ice floes
Swim with a lamp
And we’d be shivering in a ditch
Biting through a black wing
There would be boats
There would be a dream country
The great quiet humming of the soul at night
The only sound is a shovel
Clearing a place for a mailbox

Friday, May 17, 2019

Expressions, Editorials, Expugnations, Exclamations, Enfadulations

  • Yesterday was Fripp's 73rd birthday didn't forget didn't didn't get a chance
  • I just tested red fountain pen's red ink and yellow fountain pen's cobalt in beige lighthouse
  • The traditional Egoslavian Fripp story: My Fripp story, posted every Fripp birthday, today being his 71st: Fripp had a touring workshop called Guitar Craft and a performing ensemble, The League of Crafty Guitarists. A bunch of us (Elric, you were there, yes?) got in Phavid Dillips lime-green VW van and drove to an old yellow mansion in West Virginia, not far, past Harpers Ferry, up near Shepardstown. Phavid, who we thought an excellent guitarist - or at least the best guitarist we smoked dope with regularly - had been invited to sit in a circle of other guitarists with Robert Fripp leading the workshop. Incredibly cool actually. Guests were invited to sit in the circle; guess who refused. Afterward, going out for a smoke, I ran into Fripp on a porch and apologized. He asked me why I didn't sit in the circle. I said I didn't want to. He said, then you've nothing to apologize for, and shook my hand.
  • neither bleed through beige lighthouse's paper like both bleed through red lighthouse's paper
  • thought Lighthouse Inc's invoices insist model numbers correspond
  • I know the live Crimson belew I always post, I love it, so fucking tight, hey, belewless, Crimson playing Warner in September, who doesn't want to join me?
  • Red lighthouse's binding than blue's doesn't st
  • retch far enough left, I can't find penstart, look, I rulered this cobalt
  • I'll post Adrienne Rich poems this weekend for her birthday yesterday
  • line (ifyouwanttoseeaskincomments) for left penstart fuck me I like
  • fuck me I need recalculate the rules of freedom again


Wednesday, May 15, 2019

Underneath a Sky That's Always Falling Down

Eno 71 today! click for more
Now through end of May busiest Holy Days of Egoslavia!





  1. Quiet play loud
  2. The last days of July holiest but
  3. end of May busiest Holy Days of Egoslavia!
  4. and, Serendipity Be Blessed, I got Dr Sevrin earsthe busiest Holy Days of Egoslavia the least read, mark the start of Blog Days of Summer
  5. *that* guitar? song below? him tomorrow!
  6. I gauge me every May 15th whether I like the above or the below song most 
  7. Loud play loud


Tuesday, May 14, 2019

too old for vision I must settle for dreams

  • People who think Lynn Cheney writes her tweets and reads the replies and think: my tweet is the one that will shame Lynn Cheney into giving up everything she lives for
  • In great news for me but horrid news for you I fired beige quad lighthouse for orange dot lighthouse (now known as orange dotablet) meaning
  • yellow dot not dead yet though my hand needs reviving
  • A love letter - Serendipity be blessed, I type the first bullet last night and SHAZAM! this morning in Your Fucking Washington Post - a Love Letter to Liz Cheney
  • Said love letter probably went to bed before Cheney yesterday deliberately and with bad faith accused Tlaib of anti-Semitism, not that the Post would accuse its love of bad faith
  • Bang, but not true, the racists weren't misreading
  • New Order's *Low Life* released 35 years ago yesterday (and wait until the birthday run coming, May the birthdayiest month in Egoslavia!)










DIMINISHED GALLERIES

Keith Waldrop


too old for
vision I must
settle for dreams
    
specific forms
of cloud
     
(body surrounded by
body)
    
every sensation con-
ceals a dream
     
fresco
     
figurine
   
sculpture in
low relief
     
(a motor halo a
mental blue)
     
cleft in the
logical space
     
(wilderness or
wrack)
     
we have lived
on a ladder to
the window of a
room to which
the key is lost
     
(words lost

in the music)

Sunday, May 12, 2019

no sense to note not one no none

  • Font for poem at bottom deliberate, font used by poet in excellent sonnet anthology I'm eating where I found the poem, read that out loud please and thanks
  • I did not play the name six lie about one game, but my lie would have been Queen, I never did see live, but below, my favorite Queen song (off an album I otherwise didn't like much) 
  • Culled the blogrolls, moribund to cemeteries, no one deleted
  • as always if you are Kinding me but me not you let me know
  • kind with a K absent me lately
  • I thought this was funny but nobody responded, fine metaphors abound plus 
  • I got Doctor Sevrin ears:









so'net 3

Paul Dutton

onset tense no tone to set
no sense to note not one no none
so one soon tosses on to net
tenses notes tones one soon sees one
to ten tenses soon one's not too tense
one's not sent to see eon's nest 
on stone tenets set to sonnet's sense
one sense sonnets not sent to test
sees no noose set no nonsense no
set one-ness one senses entente not
tense tones no sonnte's set to tone so
tense not testes on notes to one's tot
     noon noses onto sette son's set on
     one not seen to toss stone sonnet net on

Saturday, May 11, 2019

Parabolas of Grace



The traditional High Egoslavian Holy Day Elkin birthday post, 2019 edition (now updated by link to another Elkin birthday post, h/t Dan)

Stanley Elkin, born 89 years ago today, one of my Deserted Island Five even though my Deserted Island Five (any island, any time) has dozens and simultaneously none.

(It's twenty-two years since I wrote my Masters thesis on Elkin, two years since I read Dick Gibson Show, I've failed George Mills and Bad Man since, it's me, not Elkin)

Two excerpts I always use for his birthday, read then out loud, please, do it for you. The first captures one of Elkins's major themes, the second is simply the most beautiful, heartbreaking, paragraph, as stand alone but especially within the context of the novel, I've ever read:

Ben, everything there is is against your being here! Think of get-togethers, family stuff, golden anniversaries in rented halls, fire regulation celebrated more in the breach than the observance, the baked Alaska up in flames, everybody wiped out - all the cousins in from coasts, wiped out. Rare, yes - who says not - certainly rare, but it could happen, has happened. And once is enough if you've been invited. All the people picked off by plagues and folks eaten by earthquakes and drowned in the tidal waves, all the people already dead that you might have been or who might have begat the girl who married the guy who fathered the fellow who might have been your ancestor - all the showers of sperm that dried on his Kleenex or spilled on his sheets or fell on the ground or dirtied his hands when he jerked off or came in his p.j.'s or no, maybe he was actually screwing and the spermatozoon had your number written on it and it was lost at sea because that's what happens, you see - there's low motility and torn tails - that's what happens to all but a handful out of all the googols and gallons of come, more sperm finally than even the grains of sand I was talking about, more even than the degrees. Well - am I making the picture for you? Am I connecting the dots? Ben, Ben, Nick the Greek wouldn't lay a fart against a trillion bucks that you'd ever make it to this planet!

- The Franchiser


And it was wondrous in the negligible humidity how they gawked across the perfect air, how, stunned by the helices and all the parabolas of grace, they gasped, they sighed, these short-timers who even at their age could not buy insurance at any price, not even if the premiums were paid in the rare rich elements, in pearls clustered as grapes, in buckets of bullion, in trellises of diamonds, how, glad to be alive, they stared at each other and caught their breath.

 - Magic Kingdom