Thursday, May 19, 2011

All His Island Shivered into Flowers

  • More Planet art.
  • I've given our tickets - mine, Landru's, Ilse's, Seat Six's - to this Sunday's friendly versus Ajax (I feel no moral obligation to attend friendlies) to friends at work, fucking hipsters all! born in the mid to late 80s. Last home game I turned to Landru and asked him if he thought there is a cultural distinction between DC fucking hipsters and Baltimore fucking hipsters, and he performed the ritualistic snort admirably.
  • As for this shitty blog, my hiatusitus is deepening and Blegsylvania be dying, so links, poem, music for today. I'll see about tomorrow.
  • Jack's day.
  • Newt Gingrich — he’s labile like a motherfucker.
  • Sean and Newt.
  • Republicans are depressed.
  • Better them than us.
  • Itsy bitsy.
  • Obamabots.
  • Heh.
  • A country without libraries.
  • Quick question.
  • There will be no bridge over the Potomac.
  • You've probably heard Roth won Mann Booker. I confess, until recently I read every Roth because I thought I had to. I liked Zuckerman, neither liked or disliked most. What's interesting to me is remembering Updike v Roth debates, when novelists, within a tiny circle, were celebrities.
  • Pynchon.
  • Lord knows best.
  • While searching for today's song I typed There are no accidents.
  • Women who love men who love drugs.
  • Play this loud, please.
  • A good man is easy to kill.
  • The Northern Appointment. Irwin's played them two weeks in a row - they sound like a cross between Sea and Cake and Pinback. Can't find any to post. Click on the pop-up player then click on the song. Like.
  • Listen to Irwin's whole playlist, but if you haven't time, click both Amanda and Bleachy.


Trumball Stickney

Live blindly and upon the hour. The Lord, 
Who was the Future, died full long ago. 
Knowledge which is the Past is folly. Go, 
Poor, child, and be not to thyself abhorred. 
Around thine earth sun-winged winds do blow 
And planets roll; a meteor draws his sword; 
The rainbow breaks his seven-coloured chord 
And the long strips of river-silver flow: 
Awake! Give thyself to the lovely hours. 
Drinking their lips, catch thou the dream in flight 
About their fragile hairs' aerial gold. 
Thou art divine, thou livest,—as of old 
Apollo springing naked to the light, 
And all his island shivered into flowers.


  1. Very nice sculptures, again!

    I haven't mustered the enthusiasm to put up a post yet, meself.

  2. Man, those are seriously cool. Too bad Old Man Simic doesn't realize that he'll soon be able to download any book at any time on any screen from the magical cloud because who has time to waste browsing the stacks in fact gimme this pill to mimic the effects of coffee because who has time to drink it.

  3. Man Booker International for WANKING ????

    Planet rocks.