At Sunrise the Deer Eat Pieces of the Quiet

• Sunday night's sunset, Chelsea Michigan, substitutes for blark deggalgaze.
• ˙ɹǝızɐbןɐbbǝp 'ɹǝıʞɹɐןq 'ɐǝsןǝɥɔ ɯoɹɟ ʇsɐǝ buıpɐǝɥ 46-ı 'ǝsıɹuns s,buıuɹoɯ ʎɐpuoM

• Planet says the Michigan she lives in gets great sunrises, great sunsets all the time, it's the flat earth, she says, so +1 for Michigan.
• Saturday we drove to Grand Rapids (stopping in East Lansing to drive through Michigan State to kill time before the Indian restaurant buffet much loved by Earthgirl and Air opened) to visit The Frederik Meijer Gardens and Sculpture Park.
• I tweeted some photos of some sculptures @blckdgrd, my new camera only arriving yesterday, it's learning curve will be steeper than I thought, a deserved fuck me.
• Meijer as in the midwest Wal-Marty chain Meijers, we shopped at one in Delaware Ohio often when Planet was in Gambier and we ate dinner once a trip at Buns.
• Much money also donated by the Amway De Vos, I assume Meijer a Club Oligarch fuck too?
• The Frederik Meijer Gardens and Sculpture Park, I want to see it in Spring, see it in Summer, see it again next Autumn but first week of November, see it in snow.
• Constant REMINDER! Every post but two a year tagged My Complicity.
• When in the Japanese Garden at The Frederik Meijer Gardens & Sculpture this past Saturday for a briefest moment I again understood the vanity that feeds my Dark, my Dark getting closer to my calling it by its correct name.

• I owe you links:
• Life in the What-the-Fuck-ocene.
• The Assassination of Donald Trump.
• Your poop is full of plastic.
• The Cult of the Form.
• Demagoguery for me but not for thee.
• Maggie's weekly links.
• { feuilleton }'s weekly links.
• In things I can't talk about, at one point I said, if you're counting on motherfucking Democrats to save you you're a fucking fool, and it was a bonding moment for my son-in-law's father and me.
• I honestly do not know the politics of my son-in-law's father, but now that we like each other I assume they are identical to mine.
• Jim's Adventure, best part.
• Top photo bigger at other place.
• Peanut Butter.
• New Richard Thompson, he's playing Lincoln Theater Nov 8, wanna go?

A FEELING RIGHT BEFORE THE FEELING

Brenda Hillman

At sunrise the deer eat

pieces of the quiet, they eat spaces

between the quiet

    & the sounds—;

         & the numbers on the calendar

lie flat in their boxes,

      they leak through tiny holes

             in the minutes,

            evenly so, so evenly,

 an active sense, before

         the sense was made…

      

There, now, opposite to set down,

            the agreed-upon, the shape

                 of the obvious

        drawn by an earlier

           enchantment before the new

                        anxiety set in:

         the workers are safe;

 the terror stilled for an hour;

a lover’s outline, dreamed or imagined,

       before you read the one-page book

     again, what was that book,

 it had no copyright—

      

& what was before?

         a life, the dazzler, the dark,

             the singing dust, it turned

when you turned, it orpheus-knew

what you forgot when you took the bowl

        of burning time across the room—

      & if the previous is closer

   to you now, should you

look, doesn’t matter if you do,

    you carry the some of it

with it, out into it—

Today in the Breakfast Lounge of the Comfort Inn in Chelsea Michigan

• Earthgirl, Planet, Air and I spent part of yesterday in Ann Arbor, first at Art Hop, a festival of local artists (where I found the cat above), then at University of Michigan's Museum of Art and then the Museum of Archeology.
• My second time in Ann Arbor, it remains the sole location I've visited that thoroughly disorients me north, south, east, west-wise, the primary reason I love Ann Arbor, though I've a few.
• Yesterday morning in the breakfast lounge of the Comfort Inn in Chelsea Michigan two 70+ hunters wheeled in on their walkers and proceeded to each phone their respective deer-dresser and shout, No, says one into his phone, steaks, not burger, no, shouts the other into his phone, tomorrow won’t work, I need you dress it today.
• This morning in the breakfast lounge of the Comfort Inn in Chelsea Michigan two traveling kids ice-soccer teams throw waffles at each other while the coaches and parents heartlessly mumble, Nolan, stop.
• I told the hunters' story to Planet who tells me some of her art students use their love of hunting in their art work, how she need smile despite her own aversion to hunting, noting almost all hunters here eat the meat, many of them out of economic need, which doesn't diminish the joy (they have just sat down, the same two), as in highlight of their year, killing deer.
• (They are bitching this morning about roundabouts, the socialist government of Michigan imposing roundabouts on state highways.)
• I could live in Ann Arbor with that disorientation.
• The TV in the breakfast lounge of the Comfort Inn in Chelsea Michigan, tuned to CNN, shows video of protesters in a Kentucky restaurant yelling at Mitch McConnell and other diners in the restaurant then confronting the protesters in McConnell's defense, and then CNN pivots to video of Trump last night at a rally spouting GOP's 2018 Rallying Cry, Democrats Create Mobs, Republicans Create Jobs, and the ice-soccer children stop throwing waffles at each other and their coaches ignoring them and all start chanting, USA! USA! USA!
• I am the alien in the breakfast lounge of the Comfort Inn in Chelsea Michigan.
• I wish I'd taken a photo of the cards Planet bought from the woman who sold me the cat sticker, two of them I could flash at these ice-soccer fools and hunter fucks, so it's best I didn't take a photo of the cards Planet bought from the woman who sold me the cat sticker, though I didn't have the hunters in mind when I didn't take the photos.

come down jiffy by shake to the tune

• I'm in a hotel in Chelsea Michigan, home of Jiffy Mixes, the flour company, go look on the shelves of your local grocery, remember seeing it in your grandma's kitchen hoosier?
• Chelsea, according to my daughter Planet, who is why I am in Chelsea Michigan, says people who work but can't afford to live in Ann Arbor live in Chelsea, those who work in Chelsea, like Planet, can't afford to live in Chelsea and live, like Planet, next county west.
• As I type this I could be seeing Guided by Voices at Black Cat in DC but chose to be in Chelsea Michigan instead.
• As I type this I could be seeing Lindsey Buckingham at Warner Theater in DC but would have chose to see Guided by Voices who I chose not to see so I can be in Chelsea Michigan.

• This is my third trip to Michigan, my first since Fall 2015 when Planet worked a year at Adrian College as an Art Dept assistant.
• My first impression of Michigan from the first trip is still true: it's fucking flat.
• Between my second trip to Michigan and this trip to Michigan Planet lived in Baltimore for two years.
• I have no other impression of Michigan since the first trip than flat, though I'm told I'll see pretty this weekend.
• This trip is the first trip of dozens and dozens of trips to Michigan for the foreseeable rest of my life.

• Ten typical days in Trump's America.
• Of course she's running in 2020.
• Motherfucking Democrats.
• This motherfucker.
• Let the walls come twombling down.
• Fucked Up! as in the band! I don't have the new one yet, the old four appeared on shuffle in car yesterday, hopefully today and tomorrow and Monday too.
• The Party of Bone Saw Apologists.
• There is no such thing as an adjunct professor.
• The latest from Mr Alarum.
• I *love* Red Shoes. 
• Old, new at the other place, since today is a Proust day, my days now Proust, next Murnane, next Proust, next Murnane....

SONG OF WEIGHT AND MEASURES

Martha Silano

For there is a dram.

For there is a farthing.

A bushel for your thoughts.

A hand for your withered heights.

  

For I have jouled along attempting

to quire and wisp.

   

For I have sized up a mountain’s meters,

come down jiffy by shake to the tune

of leagues and stones.

   

For once I was your peckish darling.

   

For once there was the measure

of what an ox could plow

in a single morning.

   

For once the fother, the reed, the palm.

   

For one megalithic year I fixed my gaze

on the smiling meniscus, against the gray wall

of graduated cylinder.

     

For once I measured ten out of ten

on the scale of pain.

   

For I knew that soon I’d kiss good-bye

the bovate, the hide and hundredweight.

    

For in each pinch of salt, a whisper of doubt,

for in each medieval moment, emotion,

   

like an unruly cough syrup bottle,

uncapped. For though I dutifully swallowed

     

my banana doses, ascended, from welcome

to lanthorn, three barleycorns at a time,

    

I could not tackle the trudging, trenchant cart.

    

For now I am forty rods from your chain and bolt.

For now I am my six-sacked self.

Olney Is Half Hour From Olney

• We dined Tuesday night with SeatSix, Oakton, talk turned to phones, cameras on phones - I like my iphone's camera enough mumble, even with battery pack back-up the phone holds a charge no more than a few hours of not using it. 
• If you live near Gaithersburg, which is next to everything yet is 50 miles from anywhere in Moco (you get from Gaithersburg to Olney, train station to 97/108, five miles by crow, in half an hour), Thai House on Snouffer School, yo. 
• Olney is half hour from Olney.
• If I didn't use my iphone's camera the iphone's battery would last three times as long, the battery pack charger too, which still isn't long.
• I have a colleague at work, a plus-advanced amateur photographer, she tells me her newest superduperest android, while not a hobbiest's camera, is effing excellent.
• SeatSix concurred on android's camera's effing excellence while pointing out my bullshit opting out of google when it doesn't inconvenience me too much makes buying an android problematic.
• I tweeted this sentence last night: They know in their toes but faith is desperate, placed here like I will reread this.
• The best photos I took, and by best I mean in this sentence the best color saturated crispily pixelated sweet mysterious quality regardless the composition of photos by camera I've owned, was Maine two summers ago when I had the lowest end Nikon point-and-shoot. Look.
• I am not buying another phone until this one dies. Revolution, fellow fucks.
• Like all cameras I've owned I loaned last camera to someone who lives/lived in my house and I never see/saw it again, every few months I find an abandoned camera battery charger in a box or on a shelf.
• Earthgirl and I fly to Michigan early Friday morning to visit Planet, I will not have a new camera with me, I am bringing my battery pack and my power bank, which saved me in New York City a month ago and will save me in New York City six weeks from now.
• I did buy a new camera, a Canon PowerShot G7, I will be in Michigan so waiting for next week's delivery won't be so bad.
• Bad news: more photos here, the other place especially.
• Good news: less photos on twitter, the twenty-two in three minutes of a meadow in Virginia.
• Bad news: we're hiking in Michigan this weekend, so probably both until the new camera arrives.
• That I won't read the new camera's manual repeats one of my Stations of the Tablets.
• The person who lives in my house who isn't me can use the new camera on hikes with me, and all I want to do is hike with her, but she can't take it painting by herself.
• You have to take Snouffer School from Gaithersburg to Olney, but depending where you pick it up it might call itself Brink, Wightman, or Muncaster Mill.

Corpse or Carp

• The Khashoggi Show, everything is a work.
• Our Overlords despise and fear your ungrateful ass, will Khashoggi your ass, though I suspect this was just intramural elite ratfucking.
• For argument's sake say the Saudis meant to kidnap Khashoggi and properly torture his infidel ass then kill him, the if that's the case OK our mutual future.
• I think this a pilot of a new Overlord series, Who Disappears Tonight!
• I joke, I give our bludgeoning Overlords too much credit for innovation,
• while this case is a work that (perhaps) went sideways the lesson the Overlords will learn is there's no public backlash for brazenly disappearing people (as opposed to openly disappearing people but denying it), it will be an ad campaign by the 2022 midterms if not sooner, Who Disappears Tonight! theme song, think Ultimate Tax Relief's jingle.
• A last desperate attempt to convince us of the innocence of violence.

• Joe played that and a single from every year from 1949 to 1995, go give money to WFMU, dumdum.
• 20 questions to ask U.S. political candidates because no one else will.
• Campaigning against Iowa's King.
• Crazy Uncle Turdly losing, the schaden won't freunde like once, I hope he loses, he won't.
• Maggie's weekly links (two days late, sorry).
• I am old and still twaaat at my twaaaatter betters.
• { feuilleton }'s weekly links (two days late, sorry).
• A middle finger to precocious young novelists?
• Joe segued into Voice of Beehives from this Kate Bush song, go listen, so good....

HISTORY WILL DECIDE

Anne Waldman

All writing around the sides the persons a galaxy all writing resounds a hot history. All writing is in fact cut-ups history will decide games heated and heated economic behavior. To rise up scene all sounds of Tahrir and inside supply side threatened. A long delineation. Longer than I would be counting. This, a whisper, this the end of whisper time. Rise up and wiser this the streets of the world. Commission overheard in spin a soldiering one. What streets of the world to spin rubric’s yes yes commerce, no, a no, no. Tanks of the blown-off world. He is my beautiful offshore a caw caw of major spills and elsewhere no, no. Cut the dialect the binary the dear word so precious and forbidden. They use the machines to take the streets of the world. Horizon my headwater cut cut the cable my beignets my else an appetite “poor politics, poor poor pols.” Waters of the world in media cut cut the lines manipulate desire and show the word show the Man show the tablets a Paleolithic grab all the twilight fields of discontent that shadow governments rise up people of the world of many wounded galaxies of discontent. And hear you, people of the word. What room? The gray we reach to. Assume that the worst has happened deporting Rom explicit in the gypsy purge meeting with Popes in the streets of the world. Subject to strategy poor poor pol a scrutiny. Its link its drill its Bandars. Condemn Salazar and the interior ministry of fisheries and assume the worst in writing cuts his exterior of life the glib industry, the selves behind the tyrants. My loaves and fishes in deep deep water. Is at some point classical prose, my no, Bulgaria my no Romania my Haiti my Egypt, and gypsy environment come to this coastline America ruptured pipeline to awe caw Gulf Stream is seated cut cut to other fields ripple effect and your domino will fall. And the bomb fall down. Cutting and rearranging factor your opponent your domino history will gain introducing a new parity binary Assange dimension your strategy. Will history decide “caw caw caw.” How many Rom yes yes discoveries sound to kinesthetic a gulf of everyone. She wanted to soldier a gulf of anyone. She wanted to soldier out of here her long delineation longer than would be counting. Cut through this leak of revolution the future will come out. We can deport Rimbaud now produce accident to his color “Voyelles.” Exit the colors you drain me of. And new dimension to films cut cut Sarkozy cut Hollande the senses the place of sands, gambling Rom scene all sounds all colors tasting sounds, France, France smell all streets of the world. Wake up, all colors of all the burqas tasting sounds of the shadow world. Cut cut when you can have the best all: Anthropocene. Welcome to the Anthropocene. Rom the gypsy in everyone. In a collage of words read heard decipher, Rom arise outbreak of military strategy, sound of voice a pitching wail will sear the wall will wall the sound will break the word will suck the variation clear and act accordingly history will decide the streets of the world. Caw caw introduced the cut-up scissored remembered gulf renders the aroma in memory of my despotic elders. Aroma of Rom. Let the dolphins in and act accordingly. If you posed entirely of prearranged cut cut determined by random leaders no Merkel cut cut G-20. A page of written words no advantage to leak from circular Salazar. Interior from knowing into writer predict the move the mood, no go back will step down will will step down. Circumpolar water and denizens within arise. Streets of the world arise. The cut variation images shift Rom sense advantage in processing to sound sight cut cut sound to arise. Visit of memories New Orleans Florida have been made by accidents is where Rimbaud was going with order could live could systematic derangement of the gambling scene, cut cut in with a tea party lullaby then hallucination: seeing and places that arise the streets of the word. A long line’s delineation to random future streets of the world. And they our nuclear future to deny deny. Our man in rendition and cut cut the torture oh streets of the world arise to cut back forms else mammals suffer a dead Mubarak. Rearrange blunt the word and image to other fields Rom, no France France rise to streets the USA the USA of the soldiering world. We’ll see how calm politics will become. G-20 outbreak of temper Germany. Of temper BP. Condemn the masters UK France corpse or carp on it but no longer predict the move, cut cut other fields than cuts your writing Egypt your Yemen your Syria your Libya your Mali.

hopes dance best on bald men's hair

• I've not tried mead though I see it in MOMs, shelves of it, never thought more about mead until I needed to watch a Bud Light commercial before I could post the youtube below last night.
• A kind and benevolent king walks into his castle mess and orders free Bud Light for all his guests, but one Resistance member asks for mead, autumnal mead, mead the new Volvo, the mead-drinker placed in the stocks, Dilly Dilly.
• Earthgirl away painting, I did a long loop by myself at Little Bennett, joined for two miles by

• Chance. He adopted me in the high meadow of This or That Trail, walked with me two miles to where his owner picked him up, Chance's orange collar sharpied with phone number.
• Chance seemed a good guy, well-fed and happy, the owner, what do I know, I could put words in his brain and call it a short story, but all unhappy families....
• E.E. Cummings born 128 years ago today, more poems here.
• While I'm delighted I'm not nagged by moral imperative to post this song as once I'd be, I'm also not embarrassed to post the obvious and never will be:

[as freedom is a breakfastfood]

E.E. Cummings

as freedom is a breakfastfood

or truth can live with right and wrong

or molehills are from mountains made

—long enough and just so long

will being pay the rent of seem

and genius please the talentgang

and water most encourage flame

  

as hatracks into peachtrees grow

or hopes dance best on bald men’s hair

and every finger is a toe

and any courage is a fear

—long enough and just so long

will the impure think all things pure

and hornets wail by children stung

  

or as the seeing are the blind

and robins never welcome spring

nor flatfolk prove their world is round

nor dingsters die at break of dong

and common’s rare and millstones float

—long enough and just so long

tomorrow will not be too late

  

worms are the words but joy’s the voice

down shall go which and up come who

breasts will be breasts thighs will be thighs

deeds cannot dream what dreams can do

—time is a tree(this life one leaf)

but love is the sky and i am for you

just so long and long enough