When the Smooth, Voluptuous Moon Falls into the Ocean, Like Bait on Fishing Line, I See Her for the Yo-Yo She Is, & God, Who Is Learning to Walk the Dog

 

Fleabus blogheader returns for at least a few days. This does not mean I am contemplating changing the template. It does mean it occurs to me that the template can be changed. After our hike Saturday on Bull Run Mountain I pulled into the parking lot of the Sheetz in Haymarket VA behind a giant pick-up flying two huge Confederate flags and a Subaru adorned with Obama 2012 and VA Democratic candidates bumperstickers. They parked next to each other and I parked two slots down. In the checkout line I was behind both who were behind a guy in a pro-Israel shirt. The three struck up a conversation - there was only one cashier, the line was a dozen deep. Fuck Hamas, Fuck Gaza, a happy, wholehearted consensus among the three. I said nothing. Today's music via tweet from Fabio.

• Concentrate and exterminate.
• Sweets. Tom's latest on Gaza.
• The Silent Minority: on not saying anything about Gaza.
• Isolating Gaza.
• Israel in the U.S. Empire.
• Behind the myths about Hamas.
• Maps are written by victors.
• Via Anthony, I was reminded of Jonathan Crary's 24/7, which has been sitting on my Kindle for a year. Halfway through now, I'll give you a few quotes in days to come.
• Can someone recommend a reader that isn't Amazon please? I really don't want to give Bezos any more money. And I promise if I send you books in the future in will be from Powell or Politics and Prose. Revolution! bitches, he says on his free google blogging platform.
• Speaking of which, yes, I know the blog is loading slowly, I'll try to go through the blogroll tonight and move the moribund to Moribund and remove the dead - it's the dead feeds that slow loading at times.
• This week in water.
• Skull-blogging.
• Amy Clampitt's The Kingfisher.
• Spoon is fine - I like hearing them when they're on the radio, I don't like enough to buy - but I did not know of the Eno-connection.

PSALM IN THE SPIRIT OF DRAGNET

Julie Maria Wade

Tonight all the stars are just celestial swag
in the moon’s handbag, flashy & overpriced.
All the angels are pinheads, & not even pinheads of light.

 

Here’s what I know: I am good
at déjà vu but bad at karaoke.  I am good
at Magic 8-Ball but bad at bicycle-built-for-two.

 

Axiom, from the Greek meaning “No rebuttals,” meaning “Whatever I    say is true.”

 

For instance, the heart is shaped like a Hungryman dinner,
indestructible as Styrofoam & always divided.

 

Somewhere in the cosmos this moment
the ghost of Jack Webb is asking the ghost of Harry Morgan
for “Just the facts,” & Morgan is laughing his ethereal ass off.

 

Axiom, from the Greek meaning, “No facts, ma’am, only

   interpretations.”

 

When the smooth, voluptuous moon falls into the ocean,
like bait on fishing line, I see her for the yo-yo she is,
& God, who is learning to walk the dog.

 

Speaking of dogs, I decree they all shall be mutts & all named Fido.
All shall have spots & ride starboard, at least once, on a flaming-red

   fire engine.

 

Joni Mitchell shall play on all the jukeboxes in all the coffee shops,

   especially
at the Axiom Diner, from the Greek meaning “greasy spoon,” meaning

   “tops in food.”

 

But getting back to that moon, who can be such a diva sometimes,
who only ever buys her triple-shot mocha frappucinos from Starbucks.

 

It’s a hard job keeping her up all night, that moon.
The baristas are grouchy in their green aprons, swigging their Ethos

   water.

 

Now the weatherperson predicts one hell of a zeitgeist arriving on

   Tuesday.
There is talk of losing all the apostrophes in a bad grammar meteor

   shower.

 

Sometimes the sky is calm & white & pleated with cirrus clouds.
Sometimes the thunder sounds like God driving his old Zamboni

   across a starlit, skating rink floor.

 

The moon has only a few good moves & is never going to nail that

   triple Salcow. 

 

Axiom, from the Greek for “stick the landing.”

 

The moon doesn’t mind.  The moon is already a gold medal.

As for my guardian angel, it’s a toss-up:
I’ll take Elizabeth Montgomery as Samantha from Bewitched,
or Nietzsche, as himself, exactly.