- Chastised yesterday by Bookkeeper for not being dick enough badgering underlings.
- It always works for me, said Bookkeeper, badgering me for not badgering underlings.
- Bookkeeper's souls.
- I keep floating cemeteries so when old friends float to top I see them.
- Clusterfuck by design.
- UPDATE! Decorum, fellow motherfuckers. Do the fucking Kabuki.
- The Clusterfuckerers.
- Loyal Bookkeepers will thrive in the Clusterfuckocene.
- UPDATE! The Death of the MBA. Good.
- Krasznahorkai on the Clusterfuck.
- Reminder: xymphora daily for important links.
- Helmetball and Pimpdom.
- That which we call a rose.
- The toggle from black & white to color.
- Jim's Icelandic adventure, the finale.
- Not sure what holiday blogging will be, but since no one will read there's sure to be some.
- Though it might just be adding new links here - I'll use a different color for links.
- For instance: Best concert I ever saw in Frederick Maryland.
- UPDATE! To the Infinity.
- Everything's better with googly eyes.
- UPDATE! Other place - a threat I hope to enjoy.
- On the books he keeps.
- UPDATE! Penderecki is 83 on the 23rd.
I went for a walk over the dunes again this morning
to the sea,
then turned right along
rounded a naked headland
along the inlet shore:
it was muggy sunny, the wind from the sea steady and high,
crisp in the running sand,
some breakthroughs of sun
but after a bit
the walk liberating, I was released from forms,
from the perpendiculars,
straight lines, blocks, boxes, binds
into the hues, shadings, rises, flowing bends and blends
I allow myself eddies of meaning:
yield to a direction of significance
like a stream through the geography of my work:
you can find
in my sayings
swerves of action
like the inlet’s cutting edge:
there are dunes of motion,
organizations of grass, white sandy paths of remembrance
in the overall wandering of mirroring mind:
but Overall is beyond me: is the sum of these events
I cannot draw, the ledger I cannot keep, the accounting
beyond the account:
in nature there are few sharp lines: there are areas of
more or less dispersed;
disorderly orders of bayberry; between the rows
irregular swamps of reeds,
though not reeds alone, but grass, bayberry, yarrow, all ...
I have reached no conclusions, have erected no boundaries,
shutting out and shutting in, separating inside
from outside: I have
drawn no lines:
manifold events of sand
change the dune’s shape that will not be the same shape
so I am willing to go along, to accept
thought, to stake off no beginnings or ends, establish
by transitions the land falls from grassy dunes to creek
to undercreek: but there are no lines, though
change in that transition is clear
as any sharpness: but “sharpness” spread out,
allowed to occur over a wider range
than mental lines can keep:
the moon was full last night: today, low tide was low:
black shoals of mussels exposed to the risk
and, earlier, of sun,
waved in and out with the waterline, waterline inexact,
caught always in the event of change:
a young mottled gull stood free on the shoals
to vomiting: another gull, squawking possession, cracked a crab,
picked out the entrails, swallowed the soft-shelled legs, a ruddy
turnstone running in to snatch leftover bits:
risk is full: every living thing in
siege: the demand is life, to keep life: the small
white blacklegged egret, how beautiful, quietly stalks and spears
the shallows, darts to shore
to stab—what? I couldn’t
see against the black mudflats—a frightened
the news to my left over the dunes and
reeds and bayberry clumps was
fall: thousands of tree swallows
gathering for flight:
an order held
in constant change: a congregation
rich with entropy: nevertheless, separable, noticeable
as one event,
not chaos: preparations for
flight from winter,
cheet, cheet, cheet, cheet, wings rifling the green clumps,
at the bayberries
a perception full of wind, flight, curve,
the possibility of rule as the sum of rulelessness:
the “field” of action
with moving, incalculable center:
in the smaller view, order tight with shape:
blue tiny flowers on a leafless weed: carapace of crab:
pulsations of order
in the bellies of minnows: orders swallowed,
broken down, transferred through membranes
to strengthen larger orders: but in the large view, no
lines or changeless shapes: the working in and out, together
and against, of millions of events: this,
so that I make
no form of
orders as summaries, as outcomes of actions override
or in some way result, not predictably (seeing me gain
the top of a dune,
could take flight—some other fields of bayberry
could enter fall
berryless) and there is serenity:
no arranged terror: no forcing of image, plan,
no propaganda, no humbling of reality to precept:
terror pervades but is not arranged, all possibilities
of escape open: no route shut, except in
the sudden loss of all routes:
I see narrow orders, limited tightness, but will
not run to that easy victory:
still around the looser, wider forces work:
I will try
to fasten into order enlarging grasps of disorder, widening
scope, but enjoying the freedom that
Scope eludes my grasp, that there is no finality of vision,
that I have perceived nothing completely,
that tomorrow a new walk is a new walk.