- Forgive me, I don't love all Beethoven but what I do I love, think everything with a maximum ensemble of four, three better, two better yet, one best, I love. He was born 244 years ago today.
- Send Arthur and his cats the coins in your pocket, please.
- Salaita revisited.
- A depraved population IS the plan.
- Hoback sighting! See, this is why I recommend keeping a Moribund blogroll! I may have, probably would have caught it in a busy blogroll, but maybe not!
- Whatever happened to Zappadan? I'm not the one to start it - I'm a Beefheart guy - but where are all the Zappa freaks?
- UPDATE! A (not mine) bleggalgaze.
- Foucault and neoliberalism.
- Heavy Weather.
- Thank you who sent Kind the past week. I do recognize the echo - someday I'll merge.
- This week in water.
- How did I miss the World Cup of Arm-Folding?
- Breams of the sea-rabbit fiend.
- Rules of VNTY'SJNKYRD.
- Thanking my mother for piano lessons.
- SeatSix sent me this last night, Every Star Trek Episode Ranked. "Inner Light" is two, "Darmok" is five, they should be one/two. I tweeted out last night - I don't know if that's what prompted SeatSix to send the link - that I had just watched an Original episode, "Requiem for Methuselah," one of the stupidest fucking fifty minutes of television ever. I had forgot. In two hours Kirk falls hopelessly in love with Brahms da Vinci's android sex toy. I've watched a few Original episodes since I finished watching DS9 from start to finish. Christ, it's shitty, mostly, and fat with filler. It's true there was less commercial time in the Original that TNG and DS9 - Originals are 50 minutes, TNG and DS9 45, but that five minutes is all bullshit filler.
- New Modest Mouse song. New album out soon. Forgive me, I like Modest Mouse.
IMPLICATIONS FOR MODERN LIFE
The ham flowers have veins and are rimmed in rind, each petal a little meat sunset. I deny all connection with the ham flowers, the barge floating by loaded with lard, the white flagstones like platelets in the blood-red road. I’ll put the calves in coats so the ravens can’t gore them, bandage up the cut gate and when the wind rustles its muscles, I’ll gather the seeds and burn them. But then I see a horse lying on the side of the road and think You are sleeping, you are sleeping, I will make you be sleeping. But if I didn’t make the ham flowers, how can I make him get up? I made the ham flowers. Get up, dear animal. Here is your pasture flecked with pink, your oily river, your bleeding barn. Decide what to look at and how. If you lower your lashes, the blood looks like mud. If you stay, I will find you fresh hay.