- All four of my semi-annual Please Confirm Continuing Existence emails I emailed out a week ago last night have gone unanswered. 1 of 4 hasn't answered in three years, 2 of 4 hasn't in two, 3 of 4 hasn't in eighteen months, 4 of 4 hasn't in a year. It's time I cull the blogrolls of the moribund (of which there are more and more), those who haven't posted in at least four months: I move the slumbering if probably dead to Moribund so I notice if they stir. In real life..... loved ones are OK, but they've moved, are moving, are busy to the point of disappearance. I'm as guilty as any, more. Your mileage may vary (if you even drive), but I'm happier with my writing as I've been in a long time, the sad (in this case) and Dark (in general) good fertilizer. Is fucked. Fuck me.
- Keats, fires, droughts, motherfucking humans.
- The Soft Fascism of America.
- Um, unpack this if you want. I'm trying not to.
- Badiou, for those of you who do.
- Mumpsimus expands beyond Mumpsimus.
- David Markson, for those of you who do.
- Tying things together: Sorrentino, for those of you who do.
- So I'm halfway through DeLillo's Players, halfway through his Cosmopolis. I think I've said this before: reading dialogue in DeLillo is like hearing the dialogue on Gilmore Girls (when I'd hear it while trying to read in another room while Earthgirl and Planet - who has moved to Michigan - watched reruns), everyone is so fucking witty with dripping irony (I'm as guilty of that as any, more). Still, it seems to be working of a sorts. A project perhaps
worthwhile(UPDATE!: strike-thru) that I will never undertake: take every DeLillo novel, divide it into twelve, then read section one of each novel then section two etc as if they are all one big novel. Cause they are.
- UPDATE! Thank fucking Baal I used the Library's pencil underlined and highlighted copies rather than investing in new books, this is not going to end well by which I think it may be ending soon, by which I mean it's ended. It IS a fucking episode of Gilmore Girls. I get why I once got and get why I don't now.
- Woke up this morning with Bardo Pond's cover of Eno's Warm Jets, yay me!
You are a ukulele beyond my microphone
You are a Yukon beyond my Micronesia
You are a union beyond my meiosis
You are a unicycle beyond my migration
You are a universe beyond my mitochondria
You are a Eucharist beyond my Miles Davis
You are a euphony beyond my myocardiogram
You are a unicorn beyond my Minotaur
You are a eureka beyond my maitai
You are a Yuletide beyond my minesweeper
You are a euphemism beyond my myna bird
You are a unit beyond my mileage
You are a Yugoslavia beyond my mind’s eye
You are a yoo-hoo beyond my minor key
You are a Euripides beyond my mime troupe
You are a Utah beyond my microcosm
You are a Uranus beyond my Miami
You are a youth beyond my mylar
You are a euphoria beyond my myalgia
You are a Ukranian beyond my Maimonides
You are a Euclid beyond my miter box
You are a Univac beyond my minus sign
You are a Eurydice beyond my maestro
You are a eugenics beyond my Mayan
You are a U-boat beyond my mind control
You are a euthanasia beyond my miasma
You are a urethra beyond my Mysore
You are a Euterpe beyond my Mighty Sparrow
You are a ubiquity beyond my minority
You are a eunuch beyond my migraine
You are a Eurodollar beyond my miserliness
You are a urinal beyond my Midol
You are a uselessness beyond my myopia