Conlon Nancarrow was born one hundred years ago today. A friend asked me this morning what's with the birthdays, here are four reasons: (1) They mark time, (2) people need remembering - would you have thought of Sylvia Plath or Conlon Nancarrow today? (3) they're blogfodder, (4) they are somehow related to my obsession with maps. More Saturday Bleggalgazing: I had a Bryan Ferry birthday post teed up since Tuesday for release yesterday afternoon but I didn't want to so I didn't. This is significant to me and only me on multiple levels including but not limited to both the practice of my personal faith and, more or less significantly depending on what day it is, my blogwhoring. Oh, I deleted Rob Payne from my blogroll, he'd thought he'd killed his blog but no, it appeared twice at top of Because Right blogroll in past week hijacked, spammed, I sent him an email, at his request I've removed the zombie blog from the blogroll. So, the monthly reminder that if you are doing me a Kind and me not you, please let me know, and thanks for reading. Hey! if anyone got my WCW joke yesterday I didn't hear a heh. Here's a hint:
- Throw Arthur the coins in your pocket, please.
- The death of blogging.
- The progressive case against Obama.
- The case for Jill Stein.
- The locus of ownership has nothing to do with it.
- Speaking in memes.
- Krugman, whose obamapostasy will never be ready, taunts Ba'al.
- Richard Mourdock or Abu Hamza?
- Motherfucking crackers.
- Rightwing pig tells you the real problem with drones.
- Sideshow's links include someone I'm not related to but share a last name.
- Mt St Marys is $33K a year?
- Denis Johnson short story.
- Sylvia Plath born 80 years ago today.
- The Theory Generation.
- Throw WFMU the coins in your pocket, please.
- Looking for the Nancarrow I found and remembered this Lutoslawski; clicking on the Lutoslawski I found and remembered the Faure:
I'm a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.
Money's new-minted in this fat purse.
I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I've eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there's no getting off.