Thursday, July 24, 2014

How We Picnicked in Pine Forests, in Coves with the Water Always Seeping Up, and Left Our Trash, Sperm, and Excrement Everywhere, Smeared on the Landscape, to Make of Us What We Could

  • I am the bullets: On Gaza.
  • And then the Alien turned towards Zanna: On Gaza.
  • Am I going to die tonight, Daddy?
  • Dehumanization? Here's today's monologue: of course dehumanization is the project, but the project isn't the dehumanization of the other. That shit's already been done. 
  • And it's working. The hate seething through me now scares the fuck out of me. My lizard brain is far too easily stimulated. 
  • Ladies and Gentleman, the wit and wisdom of Fuckface Hiatt, who I daydream of braining with a shovel over and over and over and...
  • The rule of lizards.
  • The grey light of morningAs real as the political subtext was, it’s a mistake to see the myth of progress purely as a matter of propaganda. During the heyday of industrialism, that myth was devoutly believed by a great many people, at all points along the social spectrum, many of whom saw it as the best chance they had for positive change. Faith in progress was a social fact of vast importance, one that shaped the lives of individuals, communities, and nations. The hope of upward mobility that inspired the poor to tolerate the often grueling conditions of their lives, the dream of better living through technology that kept the middle classes laboring at the treadmill, the visions of human destiny that channeled creative minds into the service of  existing institutions—these were real and powerful forces in their day, and drew on high hopes and noble ideals as well as less exalted motives.
  • America.
  • the wearing-out of language.
  • Motherfucking gunfucks fuck with Sugarloaf.
  • Food links.
  • Vollmann in his studio.
  • Drummage.
  • Bosh reminded me of Leatherface last night.


John Ashbery

One died, and the soul was wrenched out   
Of the other in life, who, walking the streets   
Wrapped in an identity like a coat, sees on and on   
The same corners, volumetrics, shadows   
Under trees. Farther than anyone was ever   
Called, through increasingly suburban airs   
And ways, with autumn falling over everything:   
The plush leaves the chattels in barrels   
Of an obscure family being evicted
Into the way it was, and is. The other beached   
Glimpses of what the other was up to:
Revelations at last. So they grew to hate and forget each other.

So I cradle this average violin that knows   
Only forgotten showtunes, but argues
The possibility of free declamation anchored
To a dull refrain, the year turning over on itself   
In November, with the spaces among the days   
More literal, the meat more visible on the bone.   
Our question of a place of origin hangs
Like smoke: how we picnicked in pine forests,
In coves with the water always seeping up, and left   
Our trash, sperm and excrement everywhere, smeared   
On the landscape, to make of us what we could.


  1. I'm sorry, what exactly is wrong with a privately owned firing range on 260 acres of private property in what is, for around here, a pretty remote area?

    1. *Opponents are concerned about the possibility of stray bullets injuring hikers who visit the Purple Trail at Sugarloaf Mountain and also concerned that guns would disturb horse-related businesses across the border in Montgomery, said John L. Ward, Jr., who lives in Frederick County and owns a business, N&S Rentals Inc., in Germantown.

      “There’s a concern for hikers and bikers on that side of Sugarloaf Mountain who use the Purple Trail and also for all the horse-related businesses,” he said.

      “The loud noise from this large, commercial facility will disturb the peaceful enjoyment of homes, farms and historic Sugarloaf Mountain, as well as threaten local businesses like Sugarloaf Stronghold, Sugarloaf Mountain Winery, Comus Inn and farms with horse riding, training and boarding,” according to a posting on the Sugarloaf Alliance website.*

      Plus, it's not like Frederick County lacks for places for gunfucks to fondle their fucking guns.

      There's a great disc golf course in Patapsco State Park in Carroll County. Just outside the park's boundaries is a gun club. The noise is constant, loud, disturbing. It's the primary reason I only play the course a couple of times a year. I don't want to hike to gunfucks' noise, and I certainly wouldn't want to live next to a club of gunfucks.

    2. I saw the quotes. I find them dramatically unconvincing, and in the case of the stray bullets suggestion, aggressively ignorant and misleading. NIMBYs saying bad stuff about stuff they don't want in their back yards is not a compelling argument. There's nothing fact-based in their complaints; it's all speculative and prospective, put forth in an effort to preemptively infringe on others' legal rights. That's bullshit, and my question to them stands. The question to you, on the other hand, stands reasonably answered, and I think that your solution--choosing to limit your exposure to what bothers you--is the right one, although you don't seem to be entirely comfortable with it. That's fine, and I assume that that discomfort is an outgrowth of your objection to private property ownership, and to the Second Amendment. I can only suggest that you take up the first with the state (assuming that the Patapsco range is on private property adjacent to the state park), and take up the second with the slavefucker who wrote it.

  2. from the profile in the new republic

    Most significant for Vollmann’s productivity, and peace of mind, was his studio’s lack of an Internet connection. In fact, Vollmann never uses the Internet. “I tried ordering from Amazon once,” he told me. “I was almost all the way through and then they wanted my e-mail. I couldn’t do it.” Along with the Internet and e-mail, Vollmann also foregoes cell phones, credit-card use, checking accounts, and driving.

  3. Since 'Comments' are off on your next newer post (re: your blegaddy's renewal), I'd just like to take this opportunity to thank you for all the entertaining posts over the years. We're all going to miss you when your joint goes dark. Best wishes!

    1. Thanks & love for Kind words.

      I disabled comments in that post in the hope it will disappear in the morning and I - my bleggal honor code, don't you know - would not have permitted me to disappear a post once a friend has commented. I added the tattoo-not disappearing part after the first posting - I like the three Bleggalgazing Anthems and Official Theme Song.

      I'm still an attention-slut. I doubt I go away.