These dark, seething moods are different in flavor and heat than any I indulged when a younger, more optimistic rube. I only speak for me that when I read what I wrote about power when I first started blogging it embarrasses me. I had just graduated with a masters from a (what passes for radical at Hilltop) cultural studies based English program, and none of the professors forecast that by 2011 the idea of societal and economic progress as defined from the Left would be dead, discredited and bankrupt. 2025, maybe 2020, was the concensus.
It was the gigagillionth time being asked why I burn my peat on motherfucking blogging that kindled the dark and seething. It's not blegangst; the seventeens of you, bless you, someday there may be eighteens of you. People get what I'm doing or don't, are Kind or not. And Blegsylvania be dying, yo, though that's hardly cause for dark and seething. I'm not so vain I think I can kill it by myself. Besides, I read and write poetry. Snorkling in dead water for golf claps from other cat owners with garden statuary who argue gleefully about everything is what I do, on-blog or off.
No rube like an old rube. Like an apostate, I've adopted the faith that is the antithesis of the apostate's lost faith. I've mentioned a couple of times that the apostasy ripples out from the young to the old. Now that I've converted my ex-priests of the old faith - now that I mentored my mentors toward my state of despair - why I burn my peat on anything is an accusatory question.
- Not why, but how.
- Jeebus on a tortilla.
- Not a funny post.
- Excellent linkages.
- The good old days.
- Who the fuck uses shitty Star Trek allusions?
- Most peaceful states in America.
- Silver Line!
- My future hell.
- Austerity in Bethesda!
- DC sports pettiness!
- Beckett, for those of you who do, born 105 years ago today. I'm getting there; I understand my resistance, which is nine-tenths of the solution.
- Top ten books American's tried to ban in 2010.
- 40 names of bands before they were famous.
- UPDATE! Suddenly in my head. Be in yours. Not a bad thing.
- New My Morning Jacket!
- George book and documentary coming.
- UPDATE! What you can buy me for my birthday. Black Cat, August 5. Buy one for you too!
- It's you.
- Polly Jean.
- Polly Jean.
MATRIOT ACTS, ACT 1 [HISTORY OF MANKIND]
you no longer believe in anything
movement of train, mauve waves
gets you down or
war at the back and crown of head
PsyOps, o chicken little the sky! the sky!
o the fallen sky an edge of blue
still breathing those colors?
a garden broken & restored many times
how often trying to leave it, bend away
words from that beautiful throat
listen or break or oscillate or
clamor as opposed to "read about"
could you be my model human being
up there on the dais?
o you, she...maybe he's the one
& we came back from the cinema
glow behind our tears
and you saying a woman, a woman!
how tragic to be such slender thread of a woman
where was I being led?
more people thick in space
in constant motion
twisted around a clock
solar wind, solar heat, sociable matrix
it's an atavistic mixed-up dream
and stirs the branches
high in Freedom Park
it was the voice of a desultory fragment
of speech now, talking about "state" and "union"
how darkness turns at the wrist