Laziest-ass post ever. I cede to Fleabus reruns. No, can't let it go there. Had discussion over coffee yesterday afternoon with He Who Does Not Want to Be Named (though he owns that pseudonym), the obamaphile professor of a Discipline He Doesn't Want Me to Name at the University We Both Work at He Doesn't Want Me to Name. He is proud of Obama for the deal to avoid the Fiscal Cliff, proud that Obama supposedly intends to spend major political capital over the nomination of Chuck Hagel for War. I asked, Why do you think Obama chose the fight of nominating a Republican senator to run the Drone Corporation as rallying cause to energize the American Left? I'm too cynical, I'm told. I said, I have tried being less of a scold, not saying it's working. Shirking responsibility. Understanding Obama's strategies. Motherfucking New York Times. On that fucking NYT article. Obama versus physics. Magical surpluses. Happy 8th Blegday! I finished my Week One Proust assignment - it can be laugh-out loud funny. Bristol Road, Birmingham. Pynchon and decadence. Dutilleux Cello Concerto. Albums that are now 20 years old. Bowie's birthday is Tuesday, if you give a fuck-enough and want to hear a song, let me know.
1-2-3 was the number he played but today the number came 3-2-1;
bought his Carbide at 30 and it went to 29; had the favorite at Bowie but the track was slow—
O, executive type, would you like to drive a floating power, knee-action, silk-upholstered six? Wed a Hollywood star? Shoot the course in 58? Draw to the ace, king, jack?
O, fellow with a will who won't take no, watch out for three cigarettes on the same, single match; O democratic voter born in August under Mars, beware of liquidated rails—
Denouement to denouement, he took a personal pride in the certain, certain way he lived his own, private life,
but nevertheless, they shut off his gas; nevertheless, the bank foreclosed; nevertheless, the landlord called; nevertheless, the radio broke,
And twelve o'clock arrived just once too often,
just the same he wore one gray tweed suit, bought one straw hat, drank one straight Scotch, walked one short step, took one long look, drew one deep breath,
just one too many,
And wow he died as wow he lived,
going whop to the office and blooie home to sleep and biff got married and bam had children and oof got fired,
zowie did he live and zowie did he die,
With who the hell are you at the corner of his casket, and where the hell we going on the right-hand silver knob, and who
the hell cares walking second from the end with an American Beauty wreath from why the hell not,
Very much missed by the circulation staff of the New York Evening Post; deeply, deeply mourned by the B.M.T.,
Wham, Mr. Roosevelt; pow, Sears Roebuck; awk, big dipper; bop, summer rain;
Bong, Mr., bong, Mr., bong, Mr., bong.