In No Way Winces from Its Storms of Generosity

Last mention for this year of Blogroll Amnesty Day, saved for a Saturday, the slowest day of the week, at least in my hollow of Blegsylvania. Because I am incapable of abandoning thoughts about blogging when blogging is one of this blog's primary obsessions, I try blogging them on Saturdays because I love you: I try (but fail) to obsess only on the day you are most unlikely to read. You're welcome.





Did you know that one of the leading proponents and advocates of Blogroll Amnesty Day, who once blogrolled me, who I twice donated pocket change to, dropped me from her blogroll? I can't let that go, though it was two years ago, though at this point I wouldn't read her anyway if I was discovering her for the first time, that's how much my politics have moved. And then there's the guy who... well, never mind.






Here's blogroll (and blogging) truth, at least in my experience: they are merit badges of respect amongst like and Kind readers, not tickets to readership. It's rare I get a ping off someone's blogroll, I've other blogs on my blogroll that never get pinged from the blogroll. This isn't complaint, it's an observation: I use my blogroll as my bookmarks, others made their blogroll the day they created their blogs and haven't weeded or added since. Acts of unKindness are rare too; even I don't give so much of a shit that I'll remove you for a heresy.





I'm sorry, that was unKind. Plus I'm almost out of archived gifs (I can't find the Dole bananaman!). Again, if you are being Kind to me and me not you, please let me know. There are new additions to blogrolls left and right. I solicit suggestions for new toys for my eyes and and ears and brain. I'm not hopeful this post takes care of this gah until next year's Blogroll Amnesty Day, but I need more than one reminder a year to post whatever the fuck I want. I'm small this way.

And while I'm deeply aware that Kind is as much a cane to bludgeon you with as meanness, thanks very much for taking your beating.





THE CITY LIMITS

A.R. Ammons

When you consider the radiance, that it does not withhold
itself but pours its abundance without selection into every
nook and cranny not overhung or hidden; when you consider

that birds' bones make no awful noise against the light but
lie low in the light as in a high testimony; when you consider
the radiance, that it will look into the guiltiest

swervings of the weaving heart and bear itself upon them,
not flinching into disguise or darkening; when you consider
the abundance of such resource as illuminates the glow-blue

bodies and gold-skeined wings of flies swarming the dumped
guts of a natural slaughter or the coil of shit and in no
way winces from its storms of generosity; when you consider

that air or vacuum, snow or shale, squid or wolf, rose or lichen,
each is accepted into as much light as it will take, then
the heart moves roomier, the man stands and looks about, the

leaf does not increase itself above the grass, and the dark
work of the deepest cells is of a tune with May bushes
and fear lit by the breadth of such calmly turns to praise.