Saturday, December 29, 2012

F Coughs

Know what? Barring a KABOOM! I can't ignore in the world I call Motherfucking this bleg is an aargh-free zone until the New Year. I doubt I can make it, feel compelled to try. This is for me, though you may as well benefit too. Songs, poems, lit-links, non-aarghful links, friend's playlists (gimme), birthdays, yes, aargh-free monologues, yes and/or no, arbiter of aargh me. Promised myself a Birchville Cat Motel cascade, today's the day. Hey, William Gaddis was born eighty-five years ago today. This is from The Recognitions:

And then... is it possible? can a man be jealous of himself? Damn it, listen Esther, did you see what she tried to do? she almost kissed me goodbye? Why, she's insane. But she goes out on the street and nobody's surprised to see her, she talks and nobody's surprised to hear her. It's suffocating. Right this minute, she's talking. They're down there right this minute and that woman with the granulated eyelids is talking. You look up and there she is, people... the instant you look at them they begin to talk, automatically, they take it for granted that you understand them, that you recognize them, that they have something to say to you, and you have to wait, you have to pretend to listen, pretend you don't know what's coming next while they go right on talking with no idea what they're talking about, they don't even know but they go right on, trying to explain who they are because they take it for granted you want to know, not that they have the damnedest idea as far as that goes, they just want to know what kind of receptacle you'll be for their confidences. How do they know I'm the same person that... Who are they to presume such intimacy, to... go right on talking. And they really believe they're talking to me!

Of course there will be bleggalgazing. There's nothing but bleggalgazing.

Then there's twitter, which I use to bookshelf links I want to give you, many of the most aarghful links I see first there. Retweeting aargh is no different, in a major sense, than linking out to the site originally seen via tweeting: either way I'm a Relayer. Yes, an old gag, it still makes me smile. So, um, I going to try the 2013 Proustathon. Like a dope, I just dropped $50 on the editions they're gonna use. In my effort to remain hip and current, I've committed 2013 to reading Proust and rereading Olson. Leaving Proust. Three book reviews and a bleggalgaze. Deleuze, for those of you who do. Ruefle reads Ashbery. Unlikely materials. Carnation Instant Non-Fat Karma. Silence as resistance. The three-legged dog at the heart of our home. Free associations. Inherent Vice: The Movie? The Librarian. Sojourns in the parallel world. Drumming. I confess I like the block and alternating link colors now to the bulletpoints, I'll no doubt flip back to bulletpoints soon, but. darkblack's Sunday Overnight. Metal from Randal. Mining the digital motherlode. Sharon Van Etten, who's opening for Nick Cave in March at Strathmore, covers Big Star. News from a friend.


Howard Nemerov

A peels and apple, while B kneels to God,
C telephones to D, who has a hand
On E's knee, F coughs, G turns up the sod
For H's grave, I do not understand
But J is bringing one clay pigeon down
While K brings down a nightstick on L's head,
And M takes mustard, N drives to town,
O goes to bed with P, and Q drops dead,
R lies to S, but happens to be heard
By T, who tells U not to fire V
For have to give W the word
That X is now deceiving Y with Z,
     Who happens, just now to remember A
     Peeling an apple somewhere far away


  1. Put that in your pipe and read it. I should reread it this year, then I can experience this "hip" that The Kids all love. Arsène, seven goals is almost Proustian.