Double birthdays today. Jorma Kaukonen is 72 today. Holyfuck, the memory cascades, this song especially. Hey, there's a new blogroll on the right column, New Here. I'd added a dozen or so sites this month, they so quickly blended into the constantly updating other blogrolls I lost the chance to enjoy the newness too soon. This is solely for me, though there's no reason you shouldn't benefit also; I love you almost as much as I love me, your mileage with me may vary. After a month or so I'll move them to whichever permanent blogroll as is my whim as кнез. As always, if there's someone you think I might find kaboom please send a link, as always if you're Kinding me but me not you let me know, as always, thanks for reading. Hey, Adrian Belew is 63 today.
- Not many links today, it's the weekend before Giftmas, not many people posting, but first and foremost, Merry Giftmas, Hamster, look what I found looking for today's Belew.
- Someone translated me into Lithuanian yesterday (I don't think it had anything to do with me, sssh), here's the not-monologue in Lithuanian: Rick Nielsen yra 66 šiandien. Man patinka trečdalį Cheap Trick dainų, meh kitas trečdalis, neapkęsti likusį trečdalį, jie buvo kasdienio garso takelį prieš tris dešimtmečius, šaudyti man. Štai šiandien monologas. Aš buvau ketinate rašyti, ką rašiau apie pietų vakar su draugu ir buvęs poli / mokslas profesorius, kuris specializuojasi Amerikos politinės kultūros, bet (a) Man reikia pagalvoti apie tai daugiau (b) savaitgalį prieš Giftmas, aš prieš Giftmas dalykų, kad padaryti (c) ji yra savaitgalis, žmonės turi ką daryti ir ir didelis yra ne čia (d) matyti šį Rašyti savo pavadinimą ir (e) diskusija pasuko į argumentą, per mažiau-shittism, nei pakeitė kitos Šalies protas, šūdas, perdirbimas, kad, bent jau šiandien. Been a while - I used to get these fairly often, I'd forgot about them, I guess I assumed new algorithms made old ways unnecessary.
- Police state.
- If this be Socialism....
- I've not said anything about the Loomis Clusterfuck, recusing myself because he wrote the fucking turdliest attack against antilessshittiers I saw so my opinion about the fuckingsmug fuck is, admittedly, biased, so here's one take on the Loomis Clusterfuck, here's another. As for the matter of free speech, I'm sure the smug fuckingfuck has never called for the firing and/or boycotting of ANYONE for exercising his or her free speech.
- A Defense Secretary of Their Own. This was the argument my exprof/friend wouldn't accept: that if there's an a political vacuum that power finds abhorrent - that as the GOP collapses Obama must move to the right for the sake of future elections of Corporate Dogcatcher - there is not more or less shitty, just shitty. I used my Yankees versus Red Sox analogy, that whichever team wins the pennant the league wins. Nope for him.
- Motherfucking Democrats and the fiscal cliff.
- Krugman's obamapostasy will never be ready no matter how close he walks up to the line.
- On killing sprees.
- Learning to speak American.
- I admit, watching Mourinho collapse into the black hole of his ego is entertaining.
- Moby Dick. Serendipitously (this is true, she can vouch), last night Planet asked me what I thought about Moby Dick, she's never read it, do I like it, do I have a copy? Do I have a copy.
- Pathless with untrodden snow.
- Anne Lauterbach.
- Yes, I've posted that James Wright poem below dozens of times, now dozens of times plus one. Happy Giftmas, L.
- darkblack's Weekend Overnight.
- Adrian Belew was lead guitarist for the best Talking Heads line-up ever. That tour, three of the best nights of my life:
Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break