Thursday, July 10, 2014

Counterproductive, as You Realize Once Again That the Longest Way Is the Most Efficient Way, the One That Looped Among Islands, and You Always Seemed to Be Traveling in a Circle

This past Tuesday night. That's Canal to Clara Barton to Cabin John Parkway to Beltway, was supposed to be all the way to exit for Rockville Pike (though the signs on the Beltway call it Wisconsin Avenue - it doesn't change to Wisconsin until a further mile south) but either the iPhone cut it off prematurely, in which case fuck that, or I screwed up and accidentally turned it off, in which case fuck me.

Planet took us out to dinner for our anniversary last night and then I did no link-fishing (and a quick scan of Blegsylvania this morning suggests not much was posted yesterday at least in my Stringtown - though :-p wants to start a band, and Ethan has a mediation on taking scifi as seriously as those who distrust it - it's summer, blogs lay dormant then suddenly love come in spurts). As threatened, have two Kate Bush songs and a John Ashbery poem in anticipation of their Egoslavian Holy Days later this month. Please! send me links to Kate Bush songs you'd like to hear, the rarer the better.


John Ashbery

What name do I have for you?
Certainly there is not name for you
In the sense that the stars have names
That somehow fit them. Just walking around,
An object of curiosity to some,
But you are too preoccupied
By the secret smudge in the back of your soul
To say much and wander around,
Smiling to yourself and others.
It gets to be kind of lonely
But at the same time off-putting.
Counterproductive, as you realize once again
That the longest way is the most efficient way,
The one that looped among islands, and
You always seemed to be traveling in a circle.
And now that the end is near
The segments of the trip swing open like an orange.
There is light in there and mystery and food.
Come see it.
Come not for me but it.
But if I am still there, grant that we may see each other.


  1. Rockville Pike (though the signs on the Beltway call it Wisconsin Avenue - it doesn't change to Wisconsin until a further mile south)

    out where i live maryland 355 is called frederick road, which is probably the name it has for most of its length - my guess is that its briefest name is hungerford drive, in rockville - named after one of the early owners of a tavern where george washington slept - picture and picturesque account at

    there's a wikipedia article about maryland 355, i have just discovered

    I know not what the future hath of marvel or surprise -- John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892)

  2. sh' looks back at his post .. just after noon the next day ,/ she noted.. ports.. wanting to band up now of post last night ,sh' thought about the need of to some how stage in song that is still in others sh' went out on 'er walk last evening ,after getting a feeling of a need to nod 'er still growing out hair fro in the more wooded air like hollis , talk .. . she loves hollis for a moment , /sh' just waved at ethan . in sci f., from sci feminin' .in seeing the link to , /then today of this yester day post sh' pressing on to see how ..this idea of love ..hurts , and blow another ,of richard h. another man like fennesz ..that looks too much like that man at /in ca broad casting with his starring eyes looking for what in that staring from behind his social cig, of shitty photos , painted bodies , un involved takings , a camera carried , for ca .. broad and non broad casting ..on the side , /chr'st am i just finding out at this too young looking fif ty i am of age, .. that i have a type , / the prof up from , wisconcin ,to chigaco on a teaching post giving him a tour of a part of this town that he will be working in for a while.. will not distract from the fact that i have a type ,a type that shares common ground , of able to co'verse with on ,ont. ca, , but that i have nothing in common with of t of ,and the art of living how , /ri chard hell ..another man like him , of the haunting that begins this is not love , what is it .. . said too poetic, not poetry / the ..your fifty wow is what the thirty yr old blurted out after the day of touring , my reply was ..disabled peopl' look different , throwing off your ability to pin an age on them .. . / the hell,hurt not love , from the other .. .