Get Madge off the top of the page, Violence? You're soaking in it! yo, here're mountain laurels last evening at Rachel Carson, one of two best trails in Moco for mountain laurel (the other being Seneca Greenway between Old Seneca and Berryville Roads which we'll do this weekend), we are four or five days away peak mountain laurel.
Best cat reminder from two evenings ago right before Fleabus partook of leg valley:
Seething: I must have enjoyed it to the point of addiction once, did I ever think seething unto itself a sign of posed righteousness and if yes of what? Duty? When I went to youtube to find the Crumb I had to sit through an ad created since the Uvalde Massacre by motherfucking Senate Democrats asking for donations to their reelection campaigns to help them curb gun violence, fund raising off an event regularly expected (if not each event specifically scheduled) by shitlords to maintain Shitlordistan Exceptionalism: the events themselves may be random but their occurrence planned, prompted, anticipated, profitable! If you're reading this shitty blog, why do I scream this at *you*?
THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS
William Jay Smith
Because I believe in the community of little children Because I have suffered such little children to be slain: I have gazed upon the sunlight, dazed, bewildered, As is a child by nothing more than rain.
Not until I can no longer climb, Until my life becomes the tallest tree, And every limb of it a lint of shame, Shall I look out in time, in time to see
Again those who were so small they could but die Who had only their vast innocence to give: That I may tell them, pointing down to the sky, How beautiful it was to live.
RESPONDING
Julianna Spahr
I
This is a place without a terrain a government that always
changes an unstable language. Even buildings disappear
from day to day.
[gendered pronoun] wanders in this place
[searching
[waiting
the condition of unbearableness is the constant state of mind
for all occupants
we read all day in the village square during the rule of [name
of major historical figure] a book that is so subtle
[its political content goes unnoticed
what is political content?
[the question or the statement
[gender pronoun] creates
[a reader culture
[generic plural pronoun] prefer both
II
realism's authenticities are not the question
the question [role of art in the State
we know art is fundamental to the [New State] as is evidenced
in village scenes, majestic ancient views, masses and
masses of [generic human figures] marching in columns,
swords coded as plowshares, image as spectacle
we kn0w [name of city], [adjective], [name of major composer]
to recode [reduce] it: Linz, ambiguous, Wagner
we know [name of major historical figure] calls, authentically,
for a more total, more radical war than we can even
dream in the language of the avant-garde
we know a commercial promises to reduce plaque more
effectively in this same tone
but sometimes we exceed even our own expectations to
surprise even ourselves
something encloses the impossible in a fable
an unreal world called real because it is so heavily metaphoric
we can't keep our fingers of connection out of it
it is a ride in the country, the car crowded with children
[each child represents a different
ethnicity of [name of nation]
it is a moment of standing with light resonating around [major
historical figure
it is a guiding of the child towards the right path
it is a picnic in a field, the spread is bountiful
[the spread of [name of nation] is represented through the
arrangement of food on the checkered tablecloth
it is [name of major historical figure]'s Art Collection:
figure after figure
each carries spears, lunges, draws the arm back to pull
tight the bow
a ruined plaza has a [gendered human form] at its en
trance
a [generic child] draws a sword under the guidance of
I think this why, when I use my complicit access to Kids in the Hall Season Six (as they call it), though the nostalgia rushes pop and who am I to complain about about recurring gags, the times, they've out run Kids in the Hall (though Motormouth and Melanie I thought A+)
"The United States, as the near unanimous vote to provide nearly $40 billion in aid to Ukraine illustrates, is trapped in the death spiral of unchecked militarism. No high speed trains. No universal health care. No viable Covid relief program. No respite from 8.3 percent inflation. No infrastructure programs to repair decaying roads and bridges, which require $41.8 billion to fix the 43,586 structurally deficient bridges, on average 68 years old. No forgiveness of $1.7 trillion in student debt. No addressing income inequality. No program to feed the 17 million children who go to bed each night hungry. No rational gun control or curbing of the epidemic of nihilistic violence and mass shootings. No help for the 100,000 Americans who die each year of drug overdoses. No minimum wage of $15 an hour to counter 44 years of wage stagnation. No respite from gas prices that are projected to hit $6 a gallon."
The direct correlation between white supremacy (and patriarchy) and American/Western shitlord warlordism, you're soaking in it (who am I to complain about old gags?)
Yinz really don't like it when I rag you about helmetball and your complicit addiction to it, he types into free shitlord blogging platform obsessively
Virginia's Youngkin already cracker-branded a rino forever because he didn't order state police to beat the shit out of protesters outside a scotus house, and my governor, Larry Hogan, a popular Republican in a reliable Blue State with presidential aspirations as The Sane Republican didn't break the Top Ten
I have been asked to serve on *Library Staff Excellence Awards Selection Committee,* it's as horribly uncomfortably judgy as it sounds, the email went out to ten of us, the chair needs three (disclaimer: I like the chair), I wrote back, E, laugh, surely three of the nine will leap to join you but if no then yes, I know that would delight you, I trust you not to deny a third to make me
I Am Small, Season 62, Episode Whatever: The Nationals suck, the Lerners must be bleeding out, while Dave on local pxp still gives a professional fuck, Charlie mailing it in, here's rooting for the Lerner's to bleed out
The local helmetball team relocating to Prince William County will save me in Maryland one-hundreth of a penny on the dollar, bye! it's my smallness, Season 62, Episode Whatever
Jeebus, that's twelve years old, done in the Blog Days of Summer in 2010. Up to you whether this is threat or not, I can tell you that while I fondled my beloved triangular scale architecture ruler last night I did not lay it on paper and drawer a line much less rustle in shoebox of watercolor tubes or wash crusted watercolors off either palette (though decided if and when I'd return to only primary colors) and while this is a typical paragraph (though abbreviated) in a typical bleggalgaze at the start of the Blog Days of Summer I typed it here not inked it in gridded lighthouse first, though I thought about it, up to you whether this a threat or not (ditto embedded haikus in grids). Monkeypox, huh. This is the Official Theme Song of Blog Days of Summer
Old-fashioned shadows hanging down, that difficulty in love too soon
Some star or other went out, and you, thank you for your book and yearSomething happened in the garage and I owe it for the blood trafficToo low for nettles but it is exactly the way people think and feelAnd I think there’s going to be even more but waist-highNight occurs dimmer each time with the pieces of light smaller and squarerYou have original artworks hanging on the walls oh I said editYou nearly undermined the brush I now place against the ball field arguingThat love was a round place and will still be there two years from nowAnd it is a dream sailing in a dark unprotected covePirates imitate the ways of ordinary people myself for instancePlanted over and over that land has a bitter aftertasteA blue anchor grains of grit in a tall sky sewingHe is a monster like everyone else but what do you do if you’re a monsterLike him feeling him come from far away and then go down to his carThe wedding was enchanted everyone was glad to be in itWhat trees, tools, why ponder socks on the premisesCome to the edge of the barn the property really begins thereIn a smaller tower shuttered and put away thereYou lay aside your hair like a book that is too important to read nowWhy did witches pursue the beast from the eight sides of the countryA pencil on glass—shattered! The water runs down the drainIn winter sometimes you see those things and also in summerA child must go down it must stand and lastToo late the last express passes through the dust of gardensA vest—there is so much to tell about even in the side roomsHesitantly, it built up and passed quickly without unlockingThere are some places kept from the others and are separate, they never existI lost my ridiculous accent without acquiring anotherIn Buffalo, Buffalo she was praying, the nights stick together like pages in an old bookThe dreams descend like cranes on gilded, forgetful wingsWhat is the past, what is it all for? A mental sandwich?Did you say, hearing the schooner overhead, we turned back to the weir?In rags and crystals, sometimes with a shred of sense, an odd dignityThe boy must have known the particles fell through the house after himAll in all we were taking our time, the sea returned—no more piratesI inch and only sometimes as far as the twisted pole gone in spare colors
Miss MacIntosh, My Darling. When I was going off to college, I got two copies of this thing, this impossibly neurotic, very strange book by this woman who’d been working on it her whole life, Marguerite Young. What were they thinking?
Laugh, we talked about the cicadas on yesterday's hike
Today is Fripp's birthday, Saturday was Eno's birthday, today is Adrienne Rich's birthday, I found myself writing in tablet over the weekend when I could have tapped a keyboard, we've decided we will not be moving to Michigan, a dog almost adopted us yesterday, woke up with the above Peter Jefferies song in my head, Commence Blog Days of Summer, start overfucking the fuck it here