Wednesday, October 31, 2018

nemesis nation

  • Out of Murnane's *Barley Patch,* still in Proust's *Budding Grove,* I need read something else when reading Proust but
  • different days abound
  • regular Stations of Re-Readings don't
  • work
  • fuck re-reading,
  • picked up *Mill on the Floss,* Eliot's English peasant dialect dialogues, no, not at this time, no.
  • Earthgirl is reading the new Murakami and begging me to read it too, I.....
  • so walked yesterday to Bridge Street on Pennsylvania, bought this, BAX worth buying every year,

  • poem below from.
  • Of course I will attempt the Murakami when Earthgirl finishes, I'll love it or hate it, will know by page 30 (more often hate than love but Murakami love is great).
  • The yard signs in my neighborhood split evenly between the Communist Elrich and the Developers' Tool Floreen, a good omen if you hate Floreen more than Elrich like me.
  • A friend who lives in Aspen Hill tells me Elrich signs outnumber Floreen 3-1.
  • How Trump is winning the midterm elections, or: motherfucking Democrats.
  • The satisfied mind of American Fundamentalism.
  • Fat, unhealthy, poor.
  • Toxic tropes.
  • What to read at the end of the world.
  • Hiking past Sunday with Earthgirl I saw the leaf colors subtle but early, she saw them dull and late, so that's different too.
  • The Frederick Post celebrated some fuck who shot a bear then propped dead bear's head on a log then posed with it, hand on rifle, the motherfucking walking shit-sausage.
  • Yes, I jinxed myself yesterday, I'm Olive knocking pipe-cleaners down the basement stairs.
  • Grace Slick turned 79 yesterday.


Norma Cole

for Tom Raworth, from his poems

quill whales sail rig waves crowns hum sound body chips hythe saxophone faces earshot ration leaves moments deck potatoes animal memoirs kindling roses tulips lily oyster leg history panther chimneys sheep red lentils monkey granite amber pennies eyes threads shit tin tomato meat time liquid song tag hailstones nemesis nation mist lemon sill moist philosophies bosom midnight horizon flames wind toy voyage chemicals bubble orange smoke embers beach tunics splendour mushroom night tip state organs worker worlds store swan dream dark porch gravel universe curtain thought coffin miner method tension surface breeze coast apples ashes crew home news food yellow bag days rhythm bomb paper heroin brain maggots love lightning stanzas smile submarine summer gale questions couch alcohol playground boy hole devil label wires ink orchard rim work gangways glitz skin gesture armour band mercury wheel clothes walls experiences boxes gas balloon hair belt wreckage empire valves weeds germ ice‐cream root tune oils window stairs stars moon disguise place object pavement flesh strategy women children lorries train clock sites sleep pasture ground animal shelter heart years body drops country forest tissues green fruit food basket eyelids fabric pebbles machines power blood war nature wood snow glass bird feather footstep exit sky library book name vision


  1. In The City, held a door open for Grace once upon a time. She said, "Thanks."

    I think there might be enough "flesh-creeping menace... tightening like a clammy hand around your throat" out there in the "real world".

    So: as we slouch towards Dystopia, I'd suggest Ben H. Winters' 'Last Policeman' trilogy -- wherein a youngish Concord, NH patrol officer is promoted to Detective just about the time that astronomers determine a large asteroid will collide with Earth, an extinction-level event, within roughly seven months. Each novel in the trilogy is essentially a police procedural story -- a murder, a disappearance, and another murder -- each connected, and embedded in a world where everything and everyone is breaking down into their component parts as the countdown to collision continues.

    And, Winters' Underground Airlines is nothing short of brilliant -- but I'm only a Dog, and am impressed by stuff you can smell on sidewalks. I like to think that helps.

  2. it seems my previous comment disappeared - if so i think it worth repeating this last part

    a word i didn't recognize in norma cole's list of ordinary things was 'hythe'

    Hythe (/ˈhaɪð/) is a small coastal market town on the edge of Romney Marsh, in the district of Folkestone and Hythe on the south coast of Kent. The word Hythe or Hithe is an Old English word meaning haven or landing place.

    i read the whole wikipedia entry, and have formed the intention to go to hythe if i am visiting kent in the next few years