Friday, September 24, 2021

The Cry of a Lost Soul Clowning Yet Meaning It




Chromebook annointed with woof-moo and GbV. Shitty weeks at work, writing evaporated for now, barely reading, call this a filler post but here are mostly angry links I've been gathering, have them before they're stale
The year of prophetic desire
The state is dead, long live the state!
The ritual of capitalization
Profits of the American War Machine
Infectious diseases and authoritarianism
Killing environmental activists
The wages of embarrassing shitlords is death
The death of free market ideology?
An immense and damning failure of all of America's liberal institutions
The world is unsatisfactory
Man from Elephant and Castle
Ever in search for balance
New Julie Doiron!Old Julie Doiron!
Albert Pinkham Ryder?
*Lots* of RHK songs from all of his projects for a generous RIP
Richard H Kirk, 1956-2021
Richard H Kirk in ten records
I don't post enough Portistatic here, I don't post enough Superchunk here, but here, the new Mac McCaughan is wonderful






LIKE REAL PEOPLE

Tom Clark

The cry of a lost soul clowning yet meaning it
Shatters the silence of the planetarium
But the sky isn't falling. No wolf's at the door.
Still there's that echoing voice. Watchman, what of the night?
It's spherical, inky, and as big as Kansas.
The moon is not quite round. Several starts come out
of the backdrop and simulate topology,
Boring as old photos are yet absorbing as
They also are - potentially embarrassing 
Like real people, who, when they confront themselves
With the dolorous anthems of that humdrum
Self-awareness tolling in the middle distance,
Dismiss its alarums as mere background noise,
The cry of a lost soul clowning but meaning it.

Monday, September 20, 2021

gradually diminishing into nothing, cool, lightweight

Saturday I completely rebuilt the best tree knot I've discovered at Little Bennett. I found better fitting and flatter stones, cleaned them off, then super-glued each of three layers to each other. On Friday, in the science library with my friend in her second to last hour, I asked her if she wanted the plastic bulldog we remarked on each time together in that library or would she rather I tree hole shrine it, shrine it, she said, dog's feet now super-glued Saturday to the stone floor, I'll remember A each time I walk by it if it survives, after someone destroys it



Years ago I started this shitty blog's first purgatorial mortuary for blogs I thought dead but hoped hibernating. At that time my free shitlord blogging platform dramatically slowed loading this shitty blog if each blogrolls' feedreader hung on the dead or possibly hibernating and I found if I dumped the dead or possibly hibernating into one blogroll (and deleted from the others) the slow-loading problem got solved. This was when I did research.
I keep the mortuaries, two now, at one time my free shitlord blogging platform put a limit on how many blogs could be on a blogroll, when the first one filled up I opened a second, I don't do research anymore, I just dump the slumbering fucks into purgatory two, untormented, no fuck given by me, now and then some float to the top, I might not notice otherwise
Some months ago my free shitlord blogging platform changed the procedure for maintaining blogrolls, I missed the memo, and I mentioned it onblog not in my  normal freak the fuck out but because I *wasn't* freaking the fuck out, and when friend davidly, linked below, explained to me weeks ago where to do it even then I didn't do it until after I rebuilt the best tree knot I've found at Little Bennett and super-glued A's plastic dog into it
Yes, Tom Clark and ::: wood s lot ::: , both of them stay on blogrolls of the living, it's been three years since Tom's death, five since Mark's, some of you are here because they were Kind to me
I may be he first person to weed a blogroll in seven years but if you are Kinding me, thanks, if I'm not Kinding you back please please please let me know



Counteracting Corners
Humans infect everything
The microsolidarity of identitarian autohypnosis
Occupy Wall Street changed everything?
Solution without a solution
What happened to the *dirty break*?
Our shining future!
Fuck - and it can't be over-emphasized - FIFA
Maggie's weekly links{ feuilleton }'s weekly links



SUBJECT

Tom Clark

distrusts all pasts
conditionals and perfects
future continuous too

suffers
fallibility of memory, senses
history is compound
of minute particles, questions
whether event exists
if recorded, hears noise

of one small plane
passing over rather high up
gradually diminishing into nothing,
                                         cool,

lightweight

Friday, September 17, 2021

Useless as a Barking Dog, the Meow of a Cat, Closing in on the Chapter, Vibrant Once. Threaded Now.




Go to Bandcamp and add this to your collection, one of my favorite albums of 2021, so good. For the fuck of it I did reset my dying laptop to confirm whether the issue was windows or the laptop, latest, shittiest version of windows loaded, the machine will still not clean shutdown or clean turn on and runs just as slow if not slower than when first palsied on my birthday in August. I have figured out that on a chromebook if the option available to run a program either on chrome as a webpage or on chrome as an app always choose the app. Yes, the Ashbery below is another excerpt from the new post-death collection of long unfinished poems. Today is the last day of my friend in the department, I have been writing about work more than once I would but for this, for the few of you reading this who know of what I speak, I simply say fuck every single person up my chain of command, the question of more stupid than malicious or more malicious than stupid doubly rhetorical. I hope Alexa bought the new guitar, Alexa, listen to these songs. Seethed sideways versus seized sideways no, seethed sideways and seized sideways unfortunately yes, it fuck





Reminder: professional Liberals think you are the enemyFuck the owners of Wizard of OzThe excellent taste of our benefactorsHow a woman becomes a piece of furnitureOccupy memory
All cops are bastardsGuru shit100% cracker for crackersReminder: professional Liberals think you are the enemyLack of belief in good
What animals think of deathReminder: professional Liberals think you are the enemyContemporary fiction's slow abandonment of literary voice
Reminder: professional Liberals think you are the enemyWhat's the matter with book reviews?New Atticus Lish novelReading RedburnSceptical credulity



DOG OVERBOARD!
(excerpt from THE KANE RICHMOND PROJECT)

John Ashbery

Why haven't I told you? Here, it's you mess, you finish it. Americans are everywhere in America and some places, though in lesser quantities, like when you're longing for somebody and that person longs for you, but for that to happen may be different. That other dark day, eleven years.... Other days will be chilly. Strange bugs appear.

All's a revival, she said. Some four-flusher may try to pinion you in the garden. Pay no attention, it will unbalance his pretense. Yet you had no business being there. His love will be of some use, to him, but of short duration. The cloud-like fingers will materialize over the recycled water. And I've got to go. Down there some dog may be fighting for his life. I'll risk that, take a chance on leaving you until the dusk comes again with its secret aromas. There is no time for meddling. How I wish I could take you with me to the piano, but one of us has to stay here; the other must guard the precinct. Excuse me? The instinct I meant to say, the others must gasp at their instincts and will be gone tomorrow too. Like a gypsy's painted cart the future trails off in the distance, useless. Useless as a barking dog, the meow of a cat, closing in on the chapter, vibrant once. Threaded now.

Wednesday, September 15, 2021

Particulars Evaporating in a Kind of Silence

WoulditsurpriseyoutolearnthatGuided
byVoiceshasreleasedanothergreatnewsong



I've ordered a new GbV black and white rune sticker to put on my white chromebook, a black and white woof-moo dog and cow sticker on the lid already
For what I guess is the sixth or seventh time have I mentioned Guided by Voices and all Pollard music now a permanent seat in My Sillyass Deserted Island Five Game, I only listen to the other two on their birthdays, lazy fucks not putting out six albums of primo a year, this is the greatest one minute song ever, it goes on for hours
My friend Alexa Alarum deciding between quitting or investing - death to the either/or - when odds of applause as acknowledgment of your significant artistic achievements a professional bettor would bet against despite millions on the penny odds
In my head I say I should quit this but my laptop death-burps and I buy a high-end chromebook to help me make these fucking posts?
I realize windows knows I'm typing this but not using windows o my savior shitlord google, signed jinxboy
Beloved, you like making things. Make things




DOG OF THE LIMBERLOST 
(excerpt from THE KANE RICHMOND PROJECT)

John Ashbery

With a can of spray-dust
a walk is easily taken
on the leaves of the book laid powerfully parallel
though this book isn't the storehouse of might
you dreamt up in the middle of the storm-tossed night
where tattoos end in particulars evaporating
in a kind of silence that continues on above
chimney pot and shards of roof
on that particular fall.
Seven hedges encircle the man who is dancing
to the tune of an eternal bug-eyed conception
not one of his ancestors knew about
any more than he
the one doing the dancing
amid others becomes part of the dance
welling up in his hips.
The radio was on.
Some of the men were listening
and began to do an idle dance
below the ceremonial that is prepared.

One animal received the presentation.

I listened to it on the radio
wondering why nothing stops the serial
free to go on inventing itself
through fire through thunder through blisters of time
and the world. Nothing much comes to cheat us
of this vapor.

Cheese __ at the moment? Nutcases.
The night you saw Screwy Squirrel
When I went over to him I said I'm sorry.
We respect these.

William Biggs died some years ago.

Monday, September 13, 2021

You're What's Being Decided On, and That Weakness Is Your Peculiar Strength, Provided It's Carried Through, to the End and Its Abominable Consequences, the Jackals Laughing at the Moon Till They Cry

Today in my complicity I am typing on my new chromebook, my buyer's regret easing already, and I will never miss windows, and trading one shitlord self-surveillance operating system for another shitlord self-surveillance operating system reminds me of when I took off a wristwatch I'd been wearing for years and replaced it with a shitlord surveillance device, lost weight, felt guilty for a month, I got more complicit with that act, yes, but betrayed an inanimate object I thought I loved, and I'm sure there's a built-in app on another of my self-surveillance devices that could do what the self-surveillance device on my wrist does but the once-beloved watch is busted, *isn't* it Olive, I can't put the watch I took off back on, but I'm just switching ogres here, and I never loved my dying laptop like I ever loved my dead watch I abandoned after promises and Olive killed before I wouldn't've made good


The new first collection of John Ashbery's posthumous unfinished and/or abandoned poems arrived yesterday, five long poems (compared especially to the poems in his late books), I've read two, they work of course like most Ashbery poems until I attempt to assign more anything to his uncanny intimations rushing over me than simply enjoying the rush


On the above
Reminder that 9/11, Jeff types into his new shitlord self-surveillance operating system, freed the crackers
Paying respect to the defaulty towers of the collective recollection of history
Falling manFucking google, Jeff types into his new chromebook
The politics of abstraction
Our shitlords will go to Category 5 Cracker and fucking Category 6 before they sell that seventh yacht
Fascist baby talkShitlord utopian cities
First draft of my sentence about Ashbery in tablet, with my favorite indigo ink with my favorite coral pink pen, knew Earthgirl wanted to paint somewhere on the hike, I typed the second and all drafts from tablet's first draft, was looking for something here from last year and saw it's now thirteen months since my divorce from inkpentablet, 55 years *over* just like that, was love, not going back or back anytime soon.
{ feuilleton }'s weekly links
Thalia Field onceThalia Field twice
Having written in tablet for the first time since Maine and for the first time used something I wrote in it *here* in at least four months, tablet and pen are now back in backpack, Jeff types into his brand new shitlord self-surveillance operating system



THE ART OF FINGER DEXTERITY

#17 - MINOR SCALES AT HIGH SPEED

John Ashbery

Otherwise you can turn around,
go back, I mean. Sure, others
will see it as defeat. They'll even
be right. "You take it right home
with you, boy." It isn't necessary,
though, to have your mind read by them.
You're what's being decided on, and that
weakness is your peculiar strength,
provided it's carried through, to the end 
and its abominable consequences, the jackals
laughing at the moon till they cry.


They grow up so fast.
Besides, they'll end up moving back in.
Nothing much can be done to sweeten
that state of affairs. Nor would you want to,
given the ambiguity that tails us.