Sunday, October 22, 2017

which we must nibble on as if nibbling on donuts, by which I mean rubrics, glittering rubrics in the dry heat of an empty test bank

  • Earthgirl's blazes.
  • Beloveds and Mocomofos, she has a show opening next month, check your mail for postcard. 
  • Alternatively, email me, I'll send info.
  • We were supposed to do a long hike yesterday in Shenandoah, but my direct report, who works weekends, fell down, went boom, broke ankle Friday. I worked most motherfucking yesterday.
  • Fuck work, fuck being a boss, and for more, see previous post.
  • New Pere Ubu:

  • I remember the year I started United season tickets, not the year I quit.
  • After the 2013, 2014, or 2015 season? 
  • It was midway through a season I knew there would not be another season.
  • It was before the new stadium was a done deal, when I was convinced there would never be a new stadium - I quit when something that would have made me quit seemed an impossibility.
  • See Fuck-Me Jig tag in bumper. 
  • That this distinction is dear to me speaks to how small I am. 
  • Was there for this.


Daniel Borzutzky

Ain’t nothing more beautiful than a French diplomat in an
Italian suit discussing the intimate ties between
poetry and constipation with a United States
Senator in a discount blazer from the Men’s Wearhouse bought
especially for the occasion of proposing the
Anti-Chimera Act, a prime indicator that if children were
once the future, they are not the past, which is growing
hairier every moment, so as to keep us from
penetrating its insides, which we must nibble on as if
nibbling on donuts, by which I mean rubrics, glittering
rubrics in the dry heat of an empty test bank full of
raccoons with flexible snouts and long tails that
materialize in the shrubbery as thick-set stocky
fraternity brothers suicide bomb colleges full of free
thinking mavericks with tuning forks in their ears and rubber dicks
in their pockets, a veritable cure for loneliness and
its side effects, including the desire to fantasize
about mythological genitalia in the pants of
pundits who declare that to be alive is
fundamentally okay as long as poets test their
verses on guinea pigs before submitting them to us
humans as we exit the amalgamated marshland of
surplus value and enter an ordinary evening on
which ordinary people dream of lubricated condoms
for dogs, of mules who practice the pull-out method, of birth
control pills for cats, of floating trousers that haunt city squares
in search of red-walled boutiques where silk stockings and boot-cut
chinos fight for the attention of disembodied legs
while merchants masturbate, aroused by visions of painless
castration, aroused by hands without arms scribbling conjunctions
into dusty ceilings, aroused by hands without arms stirring
infinite bowls of soup, aroused by module-makers who
insist only on the metaphorical value of money
as represented in the hieroglyphics painted on the
walls of financiers who accumulate capital through the
unjustified sexual behavior of adulterous
women who appear asymmetrically—legs over heads, hands
coming out of butts—in public ceremonies in which
syringes suck out erroneous feelings from their bodies
while suits and ties stuff bones and ears into decorative
bottles and jars.



  1. Hiking the stacks is not the same as hiking Shenandoah. (Broke "ankle", btw. ;-). )

    I hope EG is taking notes. Thanks again!

    1. Hah, I was fixing that when you were commenting!

      Guy is out at least three weeks. My upcoming Saturday gone before it happened.

  2. Earthgirl is a very talented painter. Hope her show goes well. Right now it's 85 degrees out here in Paradise, not bad walking weather. Having missed one hike think about how much you'll enjoy the next hike!

  3. Hot damn; nice painting. Like the textural, and the color notes (particularly especially the trail marker, as was intended) pops right out: The exclamation point of Nature.