The cherry tree in our front yard exploded yesterday. Photo taken last night. My apologies, Nap was in the tree but jumped out just before I could take the photo. Earthgirl, however, earlier in the day, found him in the birdbath.
- Street Art Iran.
- Travesty International.
- Catastrophic sea levels.
- The Gulf of Maine.
- The Rise of the Lone Wolf.
- A statue grows in Brooklyn.
- The lost purpose of school reform.
- An Asshole Theory of Prestige TV.
- Signs Preceding the End of the World. Good thing I have access to a university library's stacks - it's on order, I've got a hold.
- The USB port in the rental this past weekend did not charge so the iPod died early. The car came with Sirius XM which sucks but not as much as local radio. There is a Grateful Dead station - yes, I've had a bit of a Dead revival, but fuck, 24/7/365 Dead? No. Sirius has a station called First Wave, an "80s Alternative/New Wave" and we ended up with that mostly as compromise. It didn't suck but did get repetitive. There is a playlist, not of songs but of bands: every two hours there must be one song by REM, the motherfucking Police, Duran Duran, Depeche Mode, New Order, Cure, Morrissey (Smiths), and - I mean, I get the others, but - Joe Jackson?
- Sirius must make money off promoting tours - almost every mic-break the DJ would mention some act about to be played which is going on tour this summer. For instance, before playing a Style Council song (forgive me, I really like Style Council), DJ Larry the Duck (who names her kid Larry the Duck?), mentioned Paul Weller has a new album out later this month and is touring the US this summer.
- Hey, new Paul Weller! He's playing 930 in June, forgive me, I like The Jam, I really like (forgive me) Style Council, I like Weller's solo music, but I cannot summon the damn.
YOU MUST PRAISE THE MUTILATED WORLD
Translated by Clare Cavanaugh
Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June's long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of rosé wine.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You've seen the refugees going nowhere,
you've heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth's scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes