Wednesday, August 31, 2011

The Radio Played Ecstatic Static

I never write about work but I want to write about something tangentially related to work but since I no longer write anything about anything just tangentially related to work (though TNP will continue!), I can't talk about...

... and even I'm tired of bleggalgazing though bleggalgazing is all I do because everything is bleggalgazing and everything needs said, re: the tremendous generosity of the Kind, the pettiness of the unKind, the serial categorizers and semantic quibblers, the smart and funny versus Isms' pedantic janissaries, those bullies we hated in seventh grade now grown up and still hellbent on being King of Anarchists, and....

....whatever the fuck I like though I never fully do, and yes, I did also say I was never ever going to post any more gifs without accreditation again. 


D. Nurkse

They were driving into the mountains, suddenly married,
sometimes touching each other’s cheek with a fingernail
gingerly: the radio played ecstatic static: certain roads
marked with blue enamel numbers led to cloud banks,
or basalt screes, or dim hotels with padlocked verandas.
Sometimes they quarreled, sometimes they grew old,
the wind was constant in their eyes, it was their own wind,
they made it. Small towns flew past, Rodez, Albi,
limestone quarries, pear orchards, children racing
after hoops, wobbling when their shadows wavered,
infants crying for fine rain, old women on stoops
darning gray veils—and who were we, watching?
Doubles, ghosts, the ones who would tell of the field
where they pulled over, bluish tinge of the elms, steepness
of the other’s eyes, glowworm hidden in its own glint,
how the rain was twilight and now is darkness.


  1. I'll post a comment when I recover from my seizure.

  2. Where's my goddamn video? I don't come here for change, I've got Obama™ for that.

    I prefer the Planet Hoo-ston.

  3. Dood, all you had to do for all that M+M was hit up my iPod. I know it's tawdry and cheap, but I had no choice.

    My current favorite MoCo crime wave story (yours is awesome in its own right) is that Craig Rice wants the council to do up a law specifically targeted at flash mob crimes. Ooga booga!

    Which is funny, considering that Craig is one of two persons of deep hue on the council (the other being the batshit-crazy union-bashing council supremo, and one other member being less pale than us but finding it difficult to find relevance, even to her hundreds of millions of illegal alien constituents--oops! Have I been reading the comments at the local shove-news-up-your-ass radio station's site again?). Too bad he's in the same district as Wooton.

    And never mind that robbery and conspiracy are both, y'know, illegal. I think Craig should get back to something productive, like raping teachers and cops, don't you?

  4. I'm still in a decline over the notion that Pierre will likely run for governor.

  5. Pshaw, that's easy. Just write in Louie Goldstein.