- Hitting repeat.
- Adding, I've been offering pint bets on Obama's reelection since I digitally collected pint bets on his victory over John McCain's corpse. I offer 3-1, no, 4-1! odds on Obama's winning this November. Obama wins, as I used to gleefully cackle, by pissing off motherfucking crackers to their storm-cellared souls so foundationally their motherfucking cracker reactions scare the reasonable fuck out of anyone who is not a motherfucking cracker. It's Obama's campaign strategy this election. I bet 4-1 pints it works again.
- She who is as shitty approves of Santorum using his sick daughter as prop for what Santorum considers an honorable withdrawal. Man of his imaginary friend Jesus, that Santorum.
- On luck of the draw and complicity.
- On instant and ever-present communication.
- Olney! Having driven through Olney countless times, I can't verify it exists.
- Speaking of towns that don't exist, Stringtown is deader than its usual dead-self, hence the sparse links.
- I have toxoplasmosis.
- Waiting for Wotan, the never-ending gag.
- More rhetorical devices.
- Mark Strand is seventy-eight today. He used to be held in far more reverence than he seems to be today as far as I can tell, and, as someone who used to read Strand often, it hasn't aged particularly well, though....
MAN AND CAMEL
On the eve of my fortieth birthday
I sat on the porch having a smoke
when out of the blue a man and a camel
happened by. Neither uttered a sound
at first, but as they drifted up the street
and out of town the two of them began to sing.
Yet what they sang is still a mystery to me—
the words were indistinct and the tune
too ornamental to recall. Into the desert
they went and as they went their voices
rose as one above the sifting sound
of windblown sand. The wonder of their singing,
its elusive blend of man and camel, seemed
an ideal image for all uncommon couples.
Was this the night that I had waited for
so long? I wanted to believe it was,
but just as they were vanishing, the man
and camel ceased to sing, and galloped
back to town. They stood before my porch,
staring up at me with beady eyes, and said:
"You ruined it. You ruined it forever."
I can verify that that Olney police substation sits smack in the Giant Food store parking lot. The only thing closer than the Giant is the county package store that is also in the same parking lot.ReplyDelete
Argue validity? Says you, I'm gonna zone out the window at the 2x4s masquerading as ugly new apartments across the street.ReplyDelete
Oh damn, I hope it's never-ending. As penance, 'tis off to Kansas.
There have been remarkable, and disturbing, shots of Fleabus and others. Don't listen to the interwebs.
Olney's always been strange to me, especially when I'm driving through it (which isn't often these days). It's not up-county, not east-county, just strange. There's some personal history in Olney (as in decades ago) which no doubt contributes strongly to this feeling.ReplyDelete