Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Morbid Curiosity Makes You Watch, Though Warned Being What's Watching You're Watched

This post read yesterday at Sequenza21 reminded me of when I group-blogged at one of two group-blogs I group-blogged at once upon at time, reminded me of one of my dehydrated gags I use when I've run out of ideas for monologues: go look what I was blogging this date last POTUS. First, I'm reminded it's Bob Mould's birthday, his 52nd. Second, here's what I wrote October 16, 2008:

No no no, it's McCain's comprehensive suckitude, not Obama awesomeness, which means an October surprise, especially involving tanks, planes, bombs, and ay-rabs could vaporize Obama's lead in a swift kaboom, though the eerie absence of angrily abscessing clusterfucks internationally is perhaps encouraging, though forgive me if I find the quiet ominous. God-taunting is a habit of faith.

What I've learned: habits of faith are myopic. An African-American is nineteen days from (perhaps) being elected president, an event I frankly thought impossible as little as a year ago, and we are witnessing the potential collapse of the global economic system on a par with, if not exceeding, the Great Depression, and I am so personally invested in both events - and have zero control over either event - that I'm seemingly incapable of stepping outside my parochial self-interest and enjoying the historical import of either from a perspective of wonderment.

Jesusfuck, dig that color scheme which incorporates my beloved noxzema bottle blue (yes, I'll toogle over for a weekend sometime soon just for my sake), look how I keep all photos within the margins like a good boy! And see, nothing's changed: my rube, whatever flavor I claim tastes best on any given day, always trumps enjoying the what-the-fuck. So no, I'll not watch the debate tonight, thanks.


Lyn Hejinian

Some people are ticklish and it's symptomatic of their sensitivity
They are quick, like storytellers, to express experience
There's evidence that the dream and every day the evidence
      is accumulating
They need its services
They cannot concoct without laughing a tthe strength of sheep
Still, the stretch of sensitivity is hard to measure

The senses, inventive, permit us to sleep
They got us into a situation
Among senseless objects, there is still some reality

But senses have objects - everything provides evidence of this
The objects make themselves available and laugh
Suddenly you're one of them

Morbid curiosity makes you watch, though warned
Being what's watching you're watched
As careful as it is to be eclectic you cannot choose
Dreaming of encyclopedias and thumbing backwards - is this
      what it is to have memories?


  1. I shared After The Fire on my Facebook. Thank you for posting it, BDR.

  2. Saw Grant Hart do a solo set at a bar around the corner from where I used to live, and some guy was yelling out "CELEBRATED SUMMER" over and over again not realizing it was a Bob Mould song. Grant wasn't too happy with him!

  3. Saw Mould do Copper Blue at Summerfest this year. It was just as awesome as you would want.