Still have zero desire to play POTUS 12 (much less the next gnashing of motherfucking congressional chicken). I do feel like playing some John Coltrane, who two DJs told me was born 85 years ago yesterday, a song one of them played.
Hey, did you know Washington DC has a professional soccer team?
- It's true! and run, mekcufrehtor.
- I wonder if DeRossario gacked the PK out of guilt, purposely or not.
- I wish Rush Limbaugh was right about Elizabeth Warren.
- Profoundly stupid. Call me when any senior Democrat with power calls motherfucking lying cracker-baiters motherfucking lying cracker-baiters.
- On the above.
- Here's another Overlord getting it half right.
- Which doesn't mean Hred Fiatt isn't profoundly mendacious.
- Hred Fiatt's proxy tells you to leave millionaires alone.
- Hide your sheep.
- Goats in trees.
- His if he wants it.
- Serendipitously, days after I post a Bukowski poem, Bukowski.
- Yes, yes I have used today's poem before. I like it.
- Yes, yes I have played the song below the poem many times, it's been a month's theme song at least once, and I like it (I like Wire) alone but really like it with that poem in this particular post.
- I remember liking (if I don't remember) a few Whiskeytown songs, and I always liked this song's reverb (though it's two minutes too long), and I remember when Ryan Adams was going to be a superstar.
- Woke up with this in my head:
How much meat moves Into the city each night The decks of its bridges tremble In the liquefaction of sodium light And the moon a chemical orange Semitrailers strain their axles Shivering as they take the long curve Over warehouses and lofts The wilderness of streets below The mesh of it With Joe on the front stoop smoking And Louise on the phone with her mother Out of the haze of industrial meadows They arrive, numberless Hauling tons of dead lamb Bone and flesh and offal Miles to the ports and channels Of the city's shimmering membrane A giant breathing cell Exhaling its waste From the stacks by the river And feeding through the night