- Out of nowhere, I woke up with ▲ Hula in my head.
- My sister-in-law (is that the correct term for my brother-in-law's 2nd wife? not the mother of my not-blood niece and nephew?), yesterday at lunch, in a noisy restaurant, wanted to scream about Trump. Aren't I terrified both morally and practically? We were at Black Market Inn in Garrett Park, one of many expensive and mediocre restaurants owned by Jeff Black (Old Dirty Bama - are you here? - can tell Jeff Black stories), with one saving grace - it's next to a busy railroad. Before I could continue not answering her demands, a long freight barreled by, by the time it passed so had the conversation.
- So I didn't have to say, motherfucking Obama, motherfucking Democrats: Obama the candidate ran on allowing bankruptcy judges to cut balances on primary mortgages; Obama’s administration actively whipped against the policy. Obama’s transition team earmarked up to $100 billion in funds appropriated through Bush’s bank bailout to mitigate foreclosures; eight years later only around $21 billion has been spent. Obama the president promised 4 million mortgage modifications; to date less than a million have been successfully achieved. No Republican sign-off was necessary for Obama’s Home Affordable Modification Program (HAMP). The Treasury Department alone decided to run it through mortgage companies that had financial incentives to foreclose rather than modify loans. Treasury never saw the program as a relief vehicle, but a way to “foam the runway” for the banks, allowing them to absorb inevitable foreclosures more slowly. Homeowners were the foam being crushed by a jumbo jet in that scenario, squeezed for as many payments as possible before ultimately losing their homes.
- Here was to be a video of a train shot after lunch as we were standing outside the restaurant saying goodbye, it works beautifully and in full screen on Windows Media, is cropped and shitty in youtube, so.....
- Light from another world.
- Mourning has broken.
- Teaser and the Firecat (1971) was one of the first albums I bought with my own money, I was eleven, I bought it at Zayres, corner of Veirs Mill and Randolph. It's a giant Asian grocery store now.
- On Syria, use your own principles.
- It's my indoctrination.
- We are all trolls.
- A no-nonsense Machiavelli.
- Against fake paradox.
- The Trumptini.
- XTC history.
- Dan reviews another novelist I've never heard of. Past experience has taught me to check the novelist out.
- Charles Olson was born 106 years ago today.
- As the Dead Prey Upon Us.
- Maximus, to Himself.
I, MAXIMUS OF GLOUCESTER, TO YOU
Off-shore, by islands hidden in the blood
jewels & miracles, I, Maximus
a metal hot from boiling water, tell you
what is a lance, who obeys the figures of
the present dance
the thing you’re after
may lie around the bend
of the nest (second, time slain, the bird! the bird!
And there! (strong) thrust, the mast! flight
(of the bird
o kylix, o
Antony of Padua
sweep low, o bless
the roofs, the old ones, the gentle steep ones
on whose ridge-poles the gulls sit, from which they depart,
And the flake-racks
of my city!
love is form, and cannot be without
important substance (the weight
say, 58 carats each one of us, perforce
our goldsmith’s scale
feather to feather added
(and what is mineral, what
is curling hair, the string
you carry in your nervous beak, these
make bulk, these, in the end, are
(o my lady of good voyage
in whose arm, whose left arm rests
no boy but a carefully carved wood, a painted face, a schooner!
a delicate mast, as bow-sprit for
the underpart is, though stemmed, uncertain
is, as sex is, as moneys are, facts!
facts, to be dealt with, as the sea is, the demand
that they be played by, that they only can be, that they must
be played by, said he, coldly, the
By ear, he sd.
But that which matters, that which insists, that which will last,
that! o my people, where shall you find it, how, where, where shall you listen
when all is become billboards, when, all, even silence, is spray-gunned?
when even our bird, my roofs,
cannot be heard
when even you, when sound itself is neoned in?
when, on the hill, over the water
where she who used to sing,
when the water glowed,
black, gold, the tide
outward, at evening
when bells came like boats
over the oil-slicks, milkweed
And a man slumped,
against pink shingles
o sea city)
one loves only form,
and form only comes
into existence when
the thing is born
born of yourself, born
of hay and cotton struts,
of street-pickings, wharves, weeds
you carry in, my bird
of a bone of a fish
of a straw, or will
of a color, of a bell
of yourself, torn
love is not easy
but how shall you know,
New England, now
that pejorocracy is here, how
that street-cars, o Oregon, twitter
in the afternoon offend
a black-gold loin?
how shall you strike,
o swordsman, the blue-red black
when, last night, your aim
was mu-sick, mu-sick, mu-sick
And not the cribbage game?
your birds and fingers
new, your roof-tops,
clean shit upon racks
with others like you, such
as faun and oral,
satyr lesbos vase
o kill kill kill kill kill
who advertise you
in! in! the bow-sprit, bird, the beak
in, the bend is, in, goes in, the form
that which you make, what holds, which is
the law of object, strut after strut, what you are, what you must be, what
the force can throw up, can, right now hereinafter erect,
the mast, the mast, the tender
The nest, I say, to you, I Maximus, say
under the hand, as I see it, over the waters
from this place where I am, where I hear,
can still hear
from where I carry you a feather
as though, sharp, I picked up
in the afternoon delivered you
it flashing more than a wing,
than any old romantic thing,
than memory, than place,
than anything other than that which you carry
than that which is,
call it a nest, around the head of, call it
the next second
than that which youcan do!