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

Peter Gabriel has an album coming out of his orchestral reworkings of his own music. Here, read this, read the track listings, listen to the three sucks provided. Kate Bush did this shit earlier this year. Also this, fuck POTUS 12, also this, motherfucking crackers, also this, motherfucking pwoggles, but also this post and my last post and my next post and your last, now, next posts too. How soon until Google implements a plan to most profitably monetize OWS using heavily leveraged financing, oops, what?.. Here, listen again, the best topical song you'll hear today:

• 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.

LATE ECHO

John Ashbery

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.