Monday, April 12, 2021

Death Is Comprised of Deep Blue Tortures



Woods have toggled to Spring, blue bells blooming



That's my team's crest and kits colors, home: periwinkle shirt, pink shorts, yellow socks, road: white shirt, pink shorts, periwinkle socks
We are two weeks from peak young Spring green woods, usually BAM! about May 1st at 39-16'18'' N, 077-17'14'' W, but Spring kabooming early. Though yesterday first O Yeah, Sweat hike of the season, the ground never froze solid last Winter, ground warmer than usual, Brood X will be out early too
Photo of course though at moment I don't plan the standard Anthony Hecht green poem or the standard Brian Eno green song that goes with it
American InterregnumChina has billionairesGaslighting scienceShitlords dropping acid
Working in an Arlington VA Safeway during the plague
How natural is numeracy?
Maggie's weekly linksAvedon Carol's occasional links{ feuilleton }'s weekly links
Despite entrenched certainty why I require faith and will never accept faith if it ever walked up and hugged me I will always want a team to root for that demands periwinkle as primary color and will successfully endeavor to keep looking while ensuring I never find it if it smacked me in the face
My Bloody ValentineBad Brains
New TINDERSTICKS



DEATH POEM ONE

Michael McClure

 DEATH IS COMPRISED OF DEEP BLUE TORTURES
                                and filled with dark chocolate cake.
                                   Birth has gone with the losses
                                         of endless imagination.
                               A round brown leaf whirls at the tip
                                            of a spider thread.

                                                                           I
                                                          n

                                                          l
                                                          a
                                                          t
                                                          e

                                                                Winter
                                                I will study
                                   the whiteness of plum blossoms
                                 and look for knots in an old trunk
                                    at the edge of the forest fire
                                          near some deer bones.

Friday, April 9, 2021

should I destroy the nation-state or should I take a nap


That made five years ago, had seven reasons I can find so far why I dreamt about it last night including six I can't tell you and the one is my eyes, sideways not sideways so sideways or sideways says eyedoc
Histories of Violence: Apocalypse Now
Scientists or Experts?
The Woke MeritocracyEmpire's dark vision
Reducing the waste from our digital lives
The poetics of non-space
What he wanted to tell you about the wind
Why bumblebees love cats
Dear Professor, ______(I love) fermented foods
I did not know of Frank Walter's art, go lookJRGassAbandoned 575Uncle Tupelo
3 new Borzutsky poems, 3 new McSweeney poems
WokeupwithMaryTimonyinheadtoo


 

RISK MANAGEMENT

Daniel Borzutzky

we look at our verbs and feel apathy and remorse

we look at our nouns and feel apathy and remorse

there is a mood of terror in the capitals of the industrialized democracies

we’ll jump off that bridge when we get there

the economic war against the industrialized democracies is not about how many soybeans the hegemons are going to buy

the economic war is not about steel or coal or aluminum

you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it shit in the woods

the economic war can only be won in the deep verticals of state capital

the Wall Street and Washington juntas will interrupt the unification of the world’s highest-performing economies

love is a sexy kind of regulatory apparatus

and when you cut off its capital and make your lover play by the rules then everybody can feel like an economic superpower

there is a mood of terror in the marketplace

should I destroy the nation-state or should I take a nap

should I destroy the foundations of our liberal democracy or should I take a nap

a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush

there is a mood of terror in the center of the city

he could not decide if he wanted to take a nap or dominate the fields of artificial intelligence industrial espionage and supercomputing

we could not decide if we wanted to take a nap or dominate the field of financial derivatives

there is a mood of exhilaration among the taxpayers

the economic war is being fought one democracy at a time

there is a mood of hunger among the proletariat

you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it destroy the means of production

there is a mood of restlessness among the political elite

the economic war is being fought one reluctant consumer at a time

you can dominate the fields of artificial intelligence and industrial espionage if you cultivate a growth mindset and develop some political grit

there is a mood of fear in the industrialized democracies

the rising price of crude oil does not concern me when I am playing with a dog or a baby

it is not possible to give water to a horse who will not drink of its own accord

the parents who refuse to vaccinate their children     are afraid of living and afraid of dying

they think they understand how to manage their risk

there is a mood of exasperation at the Centers for Disease Control

the rising price of crude oil does not concern me when I am lifting weights or having an orgasm

it is a mistake to believe the next economic downturn will look just like the last one

there is a mood of consternation among the bankers

it is a mistake to believe the next emotional downturn will look just like the last one

there is a mood of consternation among the lovers and the investors

earnings estimates have plummeted but sales revenues continue to reach all-time highs

this is an emotional poem that communicates feelings of consternation exhilaration exasperation terror panic remorse apathy and as such it reaffirms the justification of the continuation of our lives

there is a mood of desperation among the investors

I suspect there will be more volatility but the most important thing is that we have remained in a secular market

according to Camus the only serious philosophical question is suicide but he couldn’t see the forest of long-term spiritual profit because it was blocked by the short-term trees of existential panic

there is a mood of deregulation among the lovers

if you change something on the policy front     if you and your lover make a big expenditure then decide to tighten your belts       the economy will languish and we will all be back in the muddle

there is a mood of fear among the investors

I don’t think we’re heading toward a recession but if we continue on the same path then we’ll end up in a downward spiral from which we will never be able to recover

there is a mood of resignation among the investors

love is a sexy kind of regulatory apparatus that profits in the boldest of markets

I am tired of faith but I still believe that God can communicate through the broken mouth of a broken child

you are tired of faith but you still believe that God can communicate through the broken mouth of a broken child

we are tired of faith but we still believe that God can communicate through the broken mouth of a broken child

faith is a thing with feathers

there is mood of hostility among the regulators

there will be more volatility but we will welcome the short-term pain if it leads to long-term gain

there is a mood of resentment in London and on Wall Street

should I strengthen my portfolio or should I destroy the nation-state

should I pursue my blood debts or should I destroy the nation-state

should I have brunch or should I redistribute the wealth

it is a mistake to underestimate the degree to which bland word choice can undermine the effectiveness of your messaging  

Wednesday, April 7, 2021

Even the Prick of the Thistles

  • An email will go out today from the Committee to Restore Hoopla for Our Demoralized Workers in response to a staff survey during plague in which the overwhelming take away is that everyone thought their boss gah before the plague, holyfuck is the fucker GAH! during the plague
  • The Committee has commisioned a *Wow! Look at *This* Worker's Exceptional Processing of Book Orders and Removal of Ordered Books from Delivery Boxes and Getting the Books to the Metadata Librarian* digital bulletin board on the staff wiki because pitting underappreciated workers against each other to see just who IS the least appreciated a time-proven remedy for bad morale in the servants
  • Not only bigs can praise littles, littles can praise littles too, and littles in one department can praise littles in other departments, if this happened in your work universe you can immediately imagine which littles will be keeping score (and which littles will oil bigs)
  • The email announcing the upcoming email to all staff disclosed to those of us with direct reports, we've a schedule set up, each of us one nice thing to say about one of our direct reports minimum per assigned week, BUT THESE ARE TO APPEAR TO BE SPONTANEOUS AND THE SCHEDULE IS TOP SECRET!
  • I shit you not
  • The Kudos Board, as it's christened, not moderated, one must log-in and touch an app on one's phone, but no rules of behavior will be listed in the email, and the three people who would have blown up the board left the library, one of them, an acquaintance told me, in jail for his basement's unlicensed armory
  • Creating a board in which the implicit but unwritten rule demands I say only nice things about others is kindergarden, and so am I
  • If you know of what and where I speak I hope you enjoyed this enough my trust in your discretion certain 
  • The message is: share the kibble or no more kibble for you, reducing your kibble as an exercise in Fuck You! an eternal shitlord wetdream
  • I just started the obvious pantoum, will or won't be here later, abandoning more here now because I love you and also found the Kids in the Hall *Hoopla* sketch, gah, gags



No, actually, censorship isn't goodYou and the moonPostcolonial criticism
The coal plant next doorToday in duhserving power
Each American Covid death was worth $4,268 to America’s billionaires
How to be animalMy war with John AshberyHeathen's EasterPantoum
Pauline OliverosAnselm Hollo
Amy GerstlerAnnea Lockwood



IN PERPETUAL SPRING

Amy Gerstler

Gardens are also good places
to sulk. You pass beds of
spiky voodoo lilies   
and trip over the roots   
of a sweet gum tree,   
in search of medieval   
plants whose leaves,   
when they drop off   
turn into birds
if they fall on land,
and colored carp if they   
plop into water.

Suddenly the archetypal   
human desire for peace   
with every other species   
wells up in you. The lion   
and the lamb cuddling up.
The snake and the snail, kissing.
Even the prick of the thistle,   
queen of the weeds, revives   
your secret belief
in perpetual spring,
your faith that for every hurt   
there is a leaf to cure it.

Sunday, April 4, 2021

Out Where the Sunset Ends, They’ve Installed a Graveyard and Where It Rises, Some Automatons Bash Together Mellifluous Metal Tubing Imparting a Festive Contusion to the Usual Calm Disaster of Getting Out of Bed

I built this shrine yesterday



within twenty yards of this shrine not built by me


or this shrine, not built by me



and fifty yards from this joint I did not build


though I did build this shrine yesterday mile and a half west of the above



Mocowoods yo. All of these on Sidewinder Trail in Little Bennett. The shrine with the American flag built within weeks of the opening of Sidewinder just over two years ago. Whenever I see the flag my first thought is that some of the people building shrines in Mocowoods no doubt would find my political views as repugnant as I would find theirs as we all build shrines to trees. I have never been tempted to remove the flag (much less touch anything of another's installation). Whenever I've needed to fix an installation I've found the object at tree's bottom, knocked out of tree knot by weather. I've not seen an installation deliberately vandalized. The shrine with the flag, the antlers with flowers, both installed months before Mocoparks installed a bench on the trail less that six weeks ago, surely Mocoparks aware of these - and others throughout the county now (I've installed now on every trail in Little Bennett, Black Hills, Seneca Greenway, Seneca Bluff, Muddy Branch Greenway, Blockhouse, Bucklodge, Rachel Carson, Rock Creek, Goldmine) - and seem chill. I think this a miracle of sorts and must fight the temptation to find hope for humans and I will be building new ones (and hopefully discovering others' installations I've not seen before) today




Liberalism & classDebunk and discredit
Can the world get along without natural resources?
Avedon Carol's occasional linksFuck mindfulness
Essentialism: the disciplined pursuit of less{ feuilleton }'s weekly links
It's complicatedMachine intelligence
WojnarowiczKilling Joke



HUMAN LOT

Dean Young

I’m amazed we haven’t crawled off by now.
Later we could go back and cross things out,
that way we wouldn’t know where we came from,
the shapes we asked to be bent into.
Sinatra’d be okay again,
mother the same distal approximation,
the sea still trying to spit it out.
Sometimes your sleep is different than mine.
I can’t catch up.
I don’t know—there are voices tangled outside.
Wind wants to make me correct something,
the refrigerator says something needs to be pushed
further from the sun.
Out where the sunset ends, they’ve installed a graveyard
and where it rises, some automatons bash together
mellifluous metal tubing
imparting a festive contusion
to the usual calm disaster of getting out of bed.
To find out why life has this glass sparkle
at the end of a dark hall.
To find out why the paper skeleton holds its hands
demurely over its crotch. Did it fall that way?
To find out how we fell.
There is a name to wake into and music to sleep through.
To find out where the blood comes from on the towels.
Old friends, I believe your betrayals were inadvertent.
To find out if my heart is unruined.
Father, are you out there
or was your corpse accurate?
Something happened to me when I was young
that I don’t want to happen again
but I remember the first smell of ocean
when the family got out of the car in Jersey
to buy peaches. Spark thrust, spark dust.
The road was sand.

Thursday, April 1, 2021

And Turnip Fields Became Just Another Highway

I dreamed two nights ago that US highway shields in Florida are not just black and white, each route number had its own designated color. I remember them from trips to Florida with my parents as an elementary aged kid, there are those who read this that can vouch about me and maps and highway shields. I asked a digital bud in Florida if they still were and he said, Huh, no, and when I think back to when I had to Gainesville and Crescent Beach a week with the mother-in-law each summer twenty or more years later I looked for but only saw one, as in a singular one, Route 1's red in Bunnell, but they did exist once!

 


To get to the property we just bought in Michigan the fastest route is 23 north from Toledo to Ann Arbor, I can vouch. We were on 301 in Maryland the day I got my second shot and we drove to the Prince George's County Park on the Patuxent River. 301 ends in Fart Delaware. 19 ends in Erie Pennsylvania. 29 is the carotid artery of East Moco, ends ignominiously at Maryland 99 insultingly five miles west of Baltimore. 41 ends in Cooper Harbor Michigan, the Upper Penisulas northern most point into Lake Superior though I've only driven on it in Chicago Illinois. 1 is 1, and when you leave Mt Desert Island you necessary must drive 1. Earthgirl and I hiked Sky Meadow Tuesday, you can't get to Sky Meadow without 17, ten miles east of it's end in Winchester Virginia. Never been on 27, 90, 92, 98, 129, 192, 221, 231, 319, 331, or 441

US Route 41, which starts in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, terminates further east in Florida than US Route 1, which starts in Fort Kent Maine at the Quebec border, 1250 miles apart east to west via the Trans-Canada Highway, which I have not yet driven


Reminder that 355 was 240 before 70S changed US 240 to MD 355. It deserved at worse a two-digit designation when demoted from the second branch route of US 40, and stranger, US 140 was renumbered MD 140, 240 is a better route number than 355. 9 was available, as was 37, 44, 48, 52, 54, 61, 69, 83, 87, and 89 (I understand not using available 70s and 90s because interstates 70S and 95). Three digit state route numbers for third tier state routes, 355 an insult. When eight years old I posted route numbers on telephone poles in the residential streets of Deer Park, Gaithersburg, Rolling was 1, Woodland 2, Hutton 3, Oakton 4, Tulip 5, Gaither 10, Dogwood 20, Peony 100, Holly 200. Yes I changed my twitter avatar and banner, I am banned from changing format here, and yes Earthgirl bought me dozens of new objects for tree knob installations, we'll drive US 240 to today's hike




The dilemma over how to reproduce the elite
Requiem for the American CenturyRice and beans in the Outer Darkness
Fear of fairy talesObscene it all
Liberalism and classGlobal police state
To get to the building I work in a take old 240 as far as Mass Ave
I workin aBrutalist buildingmost people on campus think it's ugly, I think it's gorgeous
Gaddis' failureThe long friendship of Elizabeth Bishop and Jimmy Merrill
This is the third timein two weeksI saw mentionof Agustín Fernández Mallo'sNocilla Trilogy
Luckyfor methe brutalistbuilding I work inis a library



A WORLDLY COUNTRY

John Ashbery

Not the smoothness, not the insane clocks on the square,
the scent of manure in the municipal parterre,
not the fabrics, the sullen mockery of Tweety Bird,
not the fresh troops that needed freshening up. If it occurred
in real time, it was OK, and if it was time in a novel
that was OK too. From palace and hovel
the great parade flooded avenue and byway
and turnip fields became just another highway.
Leftover bonbons were thrown to the chickens
and geese, who squawked like the very dickens.
There was no peace in the bathroom, none in the china closet
or the banks, where no one came to make a deposit.
In short all hell broke loose that wide afternoon.
By evening all was calm again. A crescent moon
hung in the sky like a parrot on its perch.
Departing guests smiled and called, "See you in church!"
For night, as usual, knew what it was doing,
providing sleep to offset the great ungluing
that tomorrow again would surely bring.
As I gazed at the quiet rubble, one thing
puzzled me: What had happened, and why?
One minute we were up to our necks in rebelliousness,
and the next, peace had subdued the ranks of hellishness.

So often it happens that the time we turn around in
soon becomes the shoal our pathetic skiff will run aground in.
And just as waves are anchored to the bottom of the sea
we must reach the shallows before God cuts us free.