Saturday, November 3, 2012

The Mind Loves Blackouts More Than Those Dusty Bins of Grain at the General Store

Saturday bleggalgazing - I emailed Me and Mine member Jim (you can be a Me and Mine member too: shake my hand) to get him to confirm his continuing existence. He's been silent not only over at his blog but in comments here and elsewhere. He's fine, he's "running like a fiend" and "writing ferociously" which sounds like a damn fine midlife crisis to me. He says hello to everyone who know him to know his hello. Also, yesterday a very Kind blogfriend bumped this post at three high traffic places, thanks very much, it's quite the coffee-snorter to have looked at stats at 6:30 AM and again at 8:00 and KABOOM!!! Mentioned just to say it was fascinating watching, this bleggal shit fascinates me, I used to say that all the time, I assume it's just assumed via bleggal osmosis by people here since I used to say it all the time (or at least so explicitly). Mentioned also so that if I happened to link to you in past two days and you had a mini-kaboom from me to you it's not because I'm suddenly anybody. Also too, Kurt's show yesterday. Also too, unless something really extraordinary occurs, I'm gonna stop posting political links until --- who the fuck am I kidding. I am, however, acknowledging the correctness of what L said Thursday night: no one is going to change anyone's mind in the next four days. Hey! Did you know Washington DC has a professional soccer team?

Hey! via WFMU station manager Ken, have these links just after you've thrown them the coins in your pocket. Sorry for the color, it's how they c/ped.

Also too, this is the third time in the past eleven months I woke up with this in my head:


Ira Sadoff

Sometimes I'm so lachrymose I forget I was there
with my darling—I call her my darling to make her
more anonymous, so she can't take up all the space
in my brain. But please, can I continue, or must I
look away from such openness, those spools of light
bringing red and fine threads of silver to her brunette hair?
Or is she an instant, a car ride, a little post-it, last month's
no particular town? Can we shine a little first? First
there was a dust storm that made everyone invisible,
then a thunderstorm where each drop of rain painted a ringlet
on the road like haze around the moon. I'd already
deserted what crumbled there. The mind loves blackouts

more than those dusty bins of grain at the general store,
or the little hand-shovel you'd use to fill muslin sacks
with feed for animals you'd later bring to slaughter.
Then they were cementing over the childcare center.
The shell of state offices were still standing:
buried in the rubble, well there was no rubble...
Are we all so kinetic that on the highway
we;re always communicating? We're cacophonic,

colossally bored, it takes many simultaneous tasks
to keep our souls busy. The breeze makes the ash leaves blur,
they're almost silver in the light, like confederate money.
Or I'm driving by the Chinese Pistache, the lacebark elm,

brushing my teeth, taking notes for a morning meeting:
is there no one here to calm me? I don't remember
the whippoorwill, the leaf brown male, if I ever knew one.
I can't decide how this parallels our current situation:

So I take a few minutes' cigarette to see how this
razes all of us. Have you ever been lax, insufficient, prolix?
Weren't you ever particularly sorry? This may be entirely
personal, but once I was driven, exemplar, sheltered

from earthly business—now I keep burying and eclipsing,
more obscuring, suppressing with murmurs what's under duress.


  1. Heh, I changed somebody's mind yesterday. I'll be looking for one today too.

  2. Very happy to hear the great news about Jim. Thanks so much for reaching out to him.

  3. For the love of all that is holy or unholy, will you please learn to use fucking chickenlips? You're a fucking walking insult to information presentation, and you giggle about it. You don't care if people read, yet you obsess over your stats, yet you put fucking Duke Blue type on a fucking Timbers Green background. Unconditional love, unconditional love, unconditional love...fucking blasphemer! Unconditional love.

    I hope that as punishment, you have to touch a giant mildewed corporate emblem six or eight times, starting in about three hours. That'll fix you up real fixity.

  4. Hey there, thanks for the link but, um, it seems you liked it so much it's there twice and, um, so there's no such page and, uh.... ::cough::

    So if I might:

    Larry's links