One last thing about blooger's recent rapid enshittification - starting Tuesday this week, each time I open blooger's dashboard blooger's AI bullshitter begs me to use it rather than myself. Fine metaphors abound. Whether related to the improving - more are now updating again but many still fucked-up - blogrolls.... who knows
Rest in Peace, Stanley (after Elkin). As long as we kept the lid up and the bathroom door open he never used the litter box (he would if we left the lid down or accidentally shut the door) until his rapid decline in his old age this past year
Within four years eight of our nine cats died, six of old age, two were murdered, one by an asshole in a car, one by asshole neighbor's asshole dog. Olive still here. Nugget and Spidey arrive from rescue/foster on Halloween
Guess which one's Nugget. Going to Michigan to visit my daughter Wednesday next week, unless something kaboom-worthy, good or bad, happens, or I've forgotten a BLCKDGRD holy day, this will probably be the last post before I leave. I've got myself down to once a week, I did it for you. As always on vacation trips, I have no plans to post and no plans to not post, though being in Michigan weeks before the midterms and Michigan's key and contentious Senate race could be entertaining. Mogwai with Iggy have a good new creepy song?
Blooger isn't fixed but it is a tiny bit less broken. Two of you have reached out, the blogroll updater is still totally broken for some, sorta broken for others, but when anyone clicks the site button they are sent to the front page of the respective site which is current and up-to-date, click on the site title, not the alleged lastest post link. My bandcampis up-to-date and has the new Bonnie Prince Billy live album, released last Friday
Blogger sent me an email last week telling me they had crawled the blog and found four - FOUR - videos on BLCKDGRD that had frozen and deleted them. Subsequently some of the blog updaters updated and continue to and more updaters updated and then seized up dead again, I have no idea whether the two events are related and, surprisingly to me, care less each day. Trying the same diminishing damnlessness on the clusterfuck, nope. This song slays me each and every time
My understanding is you can get one free listen of anything on my bandcamp so help yourself. I can shuffle my bandcamp from my phone but not from my PC, if you know how to shuffle on a PC or chromebook PLEASE TELL ME! This ends the What the Fuck Is Wrong With Blooger programming and returns to its regular, relentless, and futile What the Fuck Is Wrong With Me starring gridofanger and its embedded and not embedded but implied monologues, plus songs, plus a poem
Blooger IS fucked-up, this from reddit last evening:
And others have confirmed via email, thank you. Glad that I didn't break mine, capable though I am even when I've made no attempt to change a thing about the blog except add more people to the blogrolls to make my daily rounds easier and more fulfilling. I did, in a pathetically panicky effort to fix the current fuck-up I knew was blooger's fault and not mine, delete the two cemetery blogrolls, many of those had been dead more than a decade, thinking if any rss codes are constipating the blogrolls it'd be these. If you are still reading here and know your dead blog was interned in the Blogrolls of the Dead and you Rise again to bloglife please let me know, I'll add you to the blogrolls where you will not show up until blooger fixes the feed problem and I bet you unlimited digital pints blooger won't fix the feed problem. Wait, there's new Arab Strap?
Google sheets and forms in my work life and real life sketchy now too, it's not just blooger. Meanwhile, the director of the FBI is defending the hiring of ICE agents with a known history of bestiality while the hick-larping GOP senator from Louisiana demands to know if the animals (whether the dogs were the fucked or the fucker or both is not stated) were disqualified if the agents weren't. Patel assures hick-larper the doggos are good boys. Where I would type the preceding sentence if blooger dies I haven't yet considered beyond knowing it will not be substack and I really don't want to teach myself wordpress though I have an account - a few of you have clicked through to it when I embedded links in the grid - and could replace this blog there. Does wordpress even have blogrolls much less blogrolls that use a feed to self-update? Grids will continue for now, there's a workaround until blooger dies, grids help me process and cope, I do them for me. Have some old Arab Strap
The blogrolls are dead or at least comatose. Not saying that as a result my grids of anger will cease, not saying I'll interpret this as an omen to disengage and quit, am saying fine clustermetaphorfucks abound, the interconnectivity between the multitude too negatively serendipitous (serendipity works to kill as well as chill, yo), too many of them not to be a sign of too many somethings. Work contributes this time of year, but a dark patch be here, and (monologue in (and is) today's grid, cobbled before the blogroll kill-off) this is the first medicine I take to try and brighten
“We, we children, why our lives are circumscribed, circumferential;
Close, too close to the center, we are haunted by perimeters And our lives seem to go in and out, in and out all the time, As though yours were diagonal, vertical, shallow, chopped off
At the root like the voice of the famous gadfly: ‘Oh! Aho!’ it Sits in the middle of the roadway. That’s it. Worry and brown desk Stain it by infusion. There aren’t enough tags at the end, And the grove is blind, blossoming, but we are too porous to hear it.
It’s like watching a movie of a nightmare, the many episodes That defuse the thrust of what comes to us. The girl who juggled Indian clubs Belongs again to the paper space that backs the black Curtain, as if there were a reason to have paid for these seats.
Tomorrow you’ll be walking in a white park. Our interests Are too close for us to see. There seems to be no Necessity for it, yet in walking, we too, around, and all around We’ll come to one, where the street crosses your name, and feet run up it.”
