Looking for cheap gag for today's monologue I went back to four years ago today to see what I was yodeling. In typepad, since I archived by month rather than weeks, I have to scroll from August 31 backwards. I rarely use the gag - today being an (not the) exception, but I look back often because every one in a while it sparks a Guided by Voices cascade. In fact every Guided by Voices cascade except for Pollard's birthday. Hey, have a complete show which has a serendipitous surprise!
So, August 6, 2008, I posted.... um, a lazyass August Blog Days of Summer linkful placeholder, what a motherfucking attention whore I was am and will always be. Hey, look what I found looking for August 6:
- We all had our stop-drop-and-roll assumptions on the motives of the latest mass American shooter down, especially when the victims are brown, yes?
- Don't try this at home, kids.
- Two faces of the police state.
- The power of propaganda.
- Three stooges.
- Last thing I'll post on Chik-fil-A.
- Commence rightwing shitstorm.... now.
- Late-summer reading list. The Jameson, the theorist, not the whisky, was required text in one and a secondary text in five of twelve of my grad classes. Van Gogh's boots, yo.
- A critique of Polanyi.
- Myths of human nature, part two.
- Please throw Arthur the coins in your pocket then read his reflections on Vidal.
- Maps as public art.
- Maps?YYY haven't aged well, I saddened to say.
- Now! at Whole Foods! There's a Whole Foods in Rocketville? The one in Congressional Plaza moved to what is Rocketville but is rebranded by CoC death threat North Motherfucking Bethesda. Does some Whole Foods spox need eliminating?
- Walking poem.
- Yes, it's that time again.
- 700 cats.
- Glenn Gould, craft witch.
- New Order stash. Not long ago there was always a New Order song in my head. Not so much anymore, I am saddened to say I'm not saddened to say. Still love.
- Prunella's latest playlist.
HELEN: A REVISION
zeus: It is to be assumed that I do not exist while most people in the vision assume that I do exist. This is to be one of the extents of meaning between the players and the audience. I have to talk like this because I am the lord of both kinds of sky—and I don't mean your sky and their sky because they are signs, I mean the bright sky and the burning sky. I have no intention of showing you my limits. The players in this poem are players. They have taken their parts not to deceive you [or me for that matter] but because they have been paid in love or coin to be players. I have known for a long time that there is not a fourth wall in a play. I am called Zeus and I know this.
thersites: [Running out on the construction of the stage.] The fourth wall is not as important as you think it is.
zeus: [Disturbed but carrying it off like a good Master of Ceremonial.] Thersites is involuntary. [He puts his arm around him.] I could not play a part if I were not a player.
thersites: Reveal yourself to me and don't pretend that there are people watching you. I am alone on the stage with you. Tell me the plot of the play.
zeus: [Standing away.] Don't try to talk if you don't have to. You must admit there is no audience. Everything is done for you.
thersites: Stop repeating yourself. You old motherfucker. Your skies are bad enough. [He looks to the ground.] A parody is better than a pun.
zeus: I do not understand your language.
[They are silent together for a moment and then the curtain drops.]
* * *
And if he dies on this road throw wild blackberries at his ghost
And if he doesn't, and he won't, hope the cost
Hope the cost.
And the tenor of the what meets the why at the edge
Like a backwards image of each terror's lodge
Each terror's lodge.
And if he cries put his heart out with a lantern's goat
Where they say all passages to pay the debt
The lighted yet.
* * *
The focus sing
Is not their business. Their backs lay
By not altogether being there.
Here and there in swamps and villages.
How doth the silly crocodile
Amuse the Muse
* * *
And in the skyey march of flesh
That boundary line where no body is
Preserve us, lord, from aches and harms
And bring my death.
Both air and water rattle there
And mud and fire
Preserve us, lord, from what would share a shroud
and bring my death.
A vagrant bird flies to the glossy limbs
The battlefield has harms. The trees have half
Their branches shot away. Preserve us, lord
From hair and mud and flesh.
Babies for sale at Whole Paycheck!ReplyDelete
My stop drop and roll assumptions had nothing to do with the color of the victims. I just assumed it was another white guy with a small penis.ReplyDelete
That Stalin's Moustache "critique of Polanyi" seems a bit... stupid. Ditto his linked-to post criticising Graeber's Debt.ReplyDelete
Sasha, yes, that's the free center bingo square.ReplyDelete
Richard, that was posted for you. It seemed off to me, but you're much more versed in this than I am and I was curious what you thought.
Seen at the Berkeley Springs Food Lion on Saturday (Maryland license cropped to protect the guilty).ReplyDelete
Well, I'm certainly not deeply versed in Marxist stuff or anything, but I have read the two books in question and what he says about them strike me as wrong/uncharitable readings of those books, and often amount to 'book not Marxist enough' or 'book isn't every last thing under the sun including not being Marxist enough therefore I will ding it'ReplyDelete