- It's 8:20 PM EDT as I type this bullet. This tweet appears in my timeline - the fucking Washington Racist Slurs invited geriatric Navajos to pose on the sideline in Racist Slur garb. Shortly afterward, I saw Andrew's post below re: boredom, and when I youtubed the Iggy song the mandatory youtube advertisement was a fifteen second screed against Iran and the new Iran nuclear deal that showed celebrating Iranians in 1979 and asked, How can anybody trust Iranians? Meanwhile, on twitter, defenders of Greenwald and his deal with scummy billionaires battled defenders of NSFW and their deal with scummy billionaires over which side was purer of heart.
- I wrote more about each. I threw each away. I then wrote again about why of the three the fucking local helmetball team pissed me off the most. It's still a work-in-progress.
- Fuck Hollywood too.
- I should follow my own advice:
- Decoding the ideological bullshit of a bourgeois simpleton, part two.
- When the world was square.
- Who owns history? and other annoying questions.
- An unquestioning frame of mind.
- Our aesthetic categories.
- A 1991 BBC documentary on Don DeLillo. Been thinking of DeLillo since I wondered why his Libra wasn't mentioned on the litblogs I visit in the run-up to the 50th anniversary of JFK's assassination in particular, and not much anywhere recently. Accepting that out of sight out of mind is at work, I remember when DeLillo, who I read diligently, dutifully, with neither hate or love, was once a big deal. I went to stacks to find White Noise, it's gone, forgot about it. Tried Libra, lasted ten pages (and I didn't like it when it came out). I can see Underworld in my mind's eye on my bookshelf in the basement, fuck that. Next time I'm in a used book store I'll look for White Noise (the one I'll attempt a rereading if I attempt a rereading) if I remember.
- It wasn't easy to create an all-consuming blobmonster.
- Her dog, the cyborg.
- Krasznahorkei, for those of you who do.
- Gass, for those of you who do.
- Bodeh read a Hejinian poem on his show last night.
- A bibliography of boredom. Andrew asked for suggestions on literary works that explore concepts of boredom, and of course the first one I thought of was:
His song remains secret.
He worked too hard to read books.
He never heard how Sherwood Anderson
Got out of it, and fled to Chicago, furious to free himself
From his hatred of factories.
My father toiled fifty years
At Hazel-Atlas Glass,
Caught among girders that smash the kneecaps
Of dumb honyaks.
Did he shudder with hatred in the cold shadow of grease?
Maybe. But my brother and I do know
He came home as quiet as the evening.
He will be getting dark, soon,
And loom through new snow.
I know his ghost will drift home
To the Ohio River, and sit down, alone,
Whittling a root.
He will say nothing.
The waters flow past, older, younger
Than he is, or I am.