There hasn't been enough Guided by Voices around this shitty blog lately, my apologies. In another offering to your Kindness, I won't tell you about my latest failed attempt to break my novel reading slump and my latest new idea how to break it. White men. no enemies (because they are to the left of me). Winning hearts and minds. Turn off your computers. Dozens of links. Bleggalgazing. Bleggalgazing. Bleggalgazing: like the header? I put them up at night, my night, I'm five hours behind Greenwich (four hours soon, whenever we toggle to Daylight Savings Time), will leave up today because (a) what the fuck and (b) there are signs of life in tablet, woot. I've also decided to lose the >>deleted bleggalgazing<< gag, I'll either bleggalgaze or not bleggalgaze and not tell you when I'm deliberately not bleggalgazing. So, bleggalgazing: Holyfuck, all but half a dozen of you don't want to read about DC United. Season lasts only eight more months. Sexism and Star Trek. The dog domesticated us. Brad reviews the new William Gass. New Coetzee, for those of you who do. A.M. Homes, for those of you who do or, like me, want to. 338 years ago today Vivaldi's mother didn't strangle him at birth, dammit. Stockhausen. Mashayekhi. Harvey. More songs for Hitchcock's birthday yesterday. I must admit, his playing with The Motherfucking Decembrists changes everything - this may be Hitchcock's last mention here. Classical music as story-teller in digital age. I love a genuine rubiness, my heart broken good:
[It Was Jessica Grim the American Poet]
It was Jessica Grim the American poet
who first advised me to read Violette Leduc.
Lurid conditions are facts. This is no different
from the daily protests and cashbars.
I now unknowingly speed towards
which of all acts, words, conditions —
I am troubled that I do not know.
When I feel depressed in broad daylight
depressed by the disappearance of names, the pollen
smearing the windowsill, I picture
the bending pages of La Bâtarde
and I think of wind. The outspread world is
comparable to a large theatre
or to rending paper, and the noise it makes when it flaps
is riotous. Clothes swish through the air, rubbing
my ears. Promptly I am quenched. I’m talking
about a cheap paperback which fans and
slips to the floor with a shush. Skirt stretched
taut between new knees, head turned back, I
hold down a branch,