Past years I'd post Television mostly, solo stuff today. I saw Television live twice, Verlaine solo many many times, you've heard lots of Television (and Television is great!), you know how to find Television should you want, so solo Verlaine today for his 64th birthday.
Tooth update? Progressing from cold soft food to hot soft food. This has been too easy. Waiting for the trap door to spring.
- Well fuck, just now (8:30 AM EST, 12/13/13) I see news of the death of Zbigniew Karkowski. Pieces tomorrow.
- RIP Mac McGarry, a DC icon. Once I daydreamed of making Gaithersburg High School's It's Academic team, then I discovered girls and became a stoner.
- Georgetown! (the neighborhood). Shooting down an urban myth: Metro did not put a stop in Georgetown because of neighborhood fears of who would take the train to Georgetown to rob them, Metro did not put a stop in Georgetown because of geography.
- It is a sign of how shitty my soccer team is that signing two washed-up defenders no longer wanted by their previous employer legitimately constitutes a major upgrade.
- A Wedding.
- The Negative.
- Above two a result of finishing half of John William's Stoner yesterday. Second half today. Holyfuck, it's brilliantly crafted, brilliantly devastating. I recognize the fact that I've spend more than half my working life on a college campus makes the novel more personal for me, but kapow.
- Serendipitously posted, the second from bottom bullet here is the phenomenon that both stimulates and paralyzes Stoner.
- An academic bleggalgaze.
- Keep babbling.
- Beckett, for those of you who do.
- Mary Szybist poem.
- Yes, I've posted the James Tate poem below before, more than once probably. (A) I like it, (B) I needed a line from it for this post's title.
- Lyn Hejinian essay.
- The church says the world is flat.
- Piano as drummage, with sound.
Someone had spread an elaborate rumor about me, that I was
in possession of an extraterrestrial being, and I thought I knew who
it was. It was Roger Lawson. Roger was a practical joker of the
worst sort, and up till now I had not been one of his victims, so
I kind of knew my time had come. People parked in front of my
house for hours and took pictures. I had to draw all my blinds
and only went out when I had to. Then there was a barrage of
questions. “What does he look like?" “What do you feed him?” “How
did you capture him?” And I simply denied the presence of an
extraterrestrial in my house. And, of course, this excited them
all the more. The press showed up and started creeping around
my yard. It got to be very irritating. More and more came and
parked up and down the street. Roger was really working overtime
on this one. I had to do something. Finally, I made an announcement.
I said, “The little fellow died peacefully in his sleep at 11:02
last night.” “Let us see the body,” they clamored. “He went up
in smoke instantly,” I said. “I don’t believe you,” one of them
said. “There is no body in the house or I would have buried it
myself,” I said. About half of them got in their cars and drove
off. The rest of them kept their vigil, but more solemnly now.
I went out and bought some groceries. When I came back about an
hour later another half of them had gone. When I went into the kitchen
I nearly dropped the groceries. There was a nearly transparent
fellow with large pink eyes standing about three feet tall. “Why
did you tell them I was dead? That was a lie,” he said. “You
speak English,” I said. “I listen to the radio. It wasn’t very
hard to learn. Also we have television. We get all your channels.
I like cowboys, especially John Ford movies. They’re the best,”
he said. “What am I going to do with you?” I said. “Take me
to meet a real cowboy. That would make me happy,” he said. “I
don’t know any real cowboys, but maybe we could find one. But
people will go crazy if they see you. We’d have press following
us everywhere. It would be the story of the century,” I said.
“I can be invisible. It’s not hard for me to do,” he said.
“I’ll think about it. Wyoming or Montana would be our best bet, but
they’re a long way from here,” I said. “Please, I won’t cause
you any trouble,” he said. “It would take some planning,” I said.
I put the groceries down and started putting them away. I tried
not to think of the cosmic meaning of all this. Instead, I
treated him like a smart little kid. “Do you have any sarsaparilla?”
he said. “No, but I have some orange juice. It’s good for you,”
I said. He drank it and made a face. “I’m going to get the maps
out,” I said. “We’ll see how we could get there.” When I came
back he was dancing on the kitchen table, a sort of ballet, but
very sad. “I have the maps,” I said. “We won’t need them. I just
received word. I’m going to die tonight. It’s really a joyous
occasion, and I hope you’ll help me celebrate by watching The
Magnificent Seven,” he said. I stood there with the maps in my
hand. I felt an unbearable sadness come over me. “Why must
you die?” I said. “Father decides these things. It is probably
my reward for coming here safely and meeting you,” he said. “But
I was going to take you to meet a real cowboy,” I said. “Let’s
pretend you are my cowboy,” he said.
Sorry to hear of your oral misfortune...speaking of which, perhaps you should embrace Ms. Pelosi's advice and "Embrace the suck!"ReplyDelete
Verlaine/Lloyd counterpoints are a highlight of my musical listening life. Three magical albums.ReplyDelete
If you could legitimately use the word "sublime" for a rock guitarist, TV might lay claim to it.
Yup! Post some, please!Delete