Saturday, June 16, 2012

we can't deny them the burlesque show since we've already promised to let them go

Here's a playlist from my friend Mr Alarum. Consider this the initial offering of a new Saturday feature: you too can submit a playlist for a Saturday and/or Sunday. Please send me the links - I'm more than happy to play your list, I'm not going to do your research, please and thanks. Arcade Fucking Fire and The Motherfucking Doors will not be allowed: other than that, all will be permitted until I say it's not. All flavors encouraged!

K's friend A at Thursday Night Pints teaches communications theory at C in Maine, occasionally posts to two or three of the blogs of online journals in Because Left and Feedless, so much bleggalgazing ensued once the motherfuckering of Obama was dispensed with, though the motherfuckering of Obama itself as blog act and blog act as political act was discussed. Whose mind do I think I'm changing, since it's no one's, why do I think I'm yodeling, both me as particular and me as general. The decaying and geriatric state of Blegsylvania, not just blooging but twooting and other digital deadends, not only how it doesn't affect the change I advocate but acts to reinforce the paradigms and hierarchies of what it pretends to protest against and yadda. How we eagerly contribute to our surveillance, I haven't said that enough here lately. Do I see myself blooging a year from now, will it look like what I'm doing now, and yadda. Why I bleggalgaze on dead Saturdays in the deadest weeks of the Blog Days of Summer. Also too etc and yadda.


Lyn Hejinian

while people scream at each telephone call
several fat boys in bed play pinball
and their mothers are summoned to pay a fee

the children naturally want to see
and we can't deny them the burlesque show
since we've already promised to let them go


  1. They'll never take my electric avatar alive.

    I best get crackin' on some Led Fuckin' Zeppelin, huh.

    Serendipitously just got the new Unto Ashes platter in the mail, absorbing as we type.

  2. I enjoy jagging Zep chains, but there are many circles of hell between Zep and Arcade Fucking Fire and The Motherfucking Doors. No, I won't.

  3. I did a serial post on Lispector's The Hour of the STAR if you're interested here:

    I've been thinking about this meh of yours. I wonder if your expectations of what you're hoping to get out of fiction haven't been exalted by the way it affected you when you were younger and perhaps more idealistic.

    What are you reading for? Characters you can identify with? Plot? Theme? Message? Poetry of the language? Revelation? Sympatico politics? Literary pyrotecnics? Form- and/or convention-shatteringness? Radical experimentation?

    It's a question you should ask.