- Wall Street is fake.
- Democracy is fake.
- How to continue.
- You just can't satisfy some people.
- Another state subsidy.
- Another day of dread.
- Anticipated stranger.
- The beatings will continue.
- Also, motherfucking crackers.
- Holyfuck, people didn't dig the soccer and Bonnie Prince Billy here the past two days. Expect more.
- An estrangement. BTW, Brad, Mrs Unguentine came in the mail yesterday via ILL. After this weekend.
- The unbearable lightness of acceptable bigotry.
- It's small of me, but it pleases me Maryland Democrats want to fuck Roscoe Bartlett over.
- The future of MOCO?
- To Brooklyn Bridge.
- Why Americans don't win Nobels in literature? Bet you a pint it's Ashbery. Odds are overwhelming someone I've never heard of will be named, but the worse thing that can happen is we have a pint together.
- Why critics praise bad poetry.
- Agnes, Queen of Sorrow.
- Holyfuck, listen again, the best love song you'll hear today. Tomorrow.
- David Thomas makes a playlist (h/t Richard). The Ken Nordine doesn't surprise me, and I like Gem Club's playlist better (though I've never heard of Gem Club).
- Wolf among Wolves.
Alone with our madness and favorite flower
We see that there really is nothing left to write about.
Or rather, it is necessary to write about the same old things
In the same way, repeating the same things over and over
For love to continue and be gradually different.
Beehives and ants have to be re-examined eternally
And the color of the day put in
Hundreds of times and varied from summer to winter
For it to get slowed down to the pace of an authentic
Saraband and huddle there, alive and resting.
Only then can the chronic inattention
Of our lives drape itself around us, conciliatory
And with one eye on those long tan plush shadows
That speak so deeply into our unprepared knowledge
Of ourselves, the talking engines of our day.