- If two years in a row on April 18th make an Egoslavian tradition, new Egoslavian tradition
- I had written something gratuitously snippy about the NYT's article on Neera Tanden
- I had written something gratuitously snippy about the people giving money to the Catholic Church to fix Notre Dame who flip off beggars at traffic lights on 355
- This is the snippy sentence I write right now about the shitty Mueller kabuki
- 31 miles from my house to Frederick, 52 miles from Frederick to Pennsylvania border, 180 mile from Maryland-Pennsylvania border to Pennsylvania-Ohio border, 185 miles from Pennsylvania-Ohio border to Ohio-Michigan border, 55 miles from Ohio-Michigan border to Chelsea Michigan, so 503 miles from my stoop where Napoleon knew we were abandoning him to the Jiffy Factory on Michigan 52 in downtown Chelsea.
- I was not sitting the in the breakfast lounge of the Comfort Inn in Chelsea Michigan when I wrote last year's April 18 post
- I am sitting alone in the corner of a breakfast lounge with fourteen tables, mine the remotest, in walk a family with three screaming kids, they choose the table closest to me, fine metaphors abound
- Today's plan: Hudson Mills MetroPark with a world class disc golf course and multiple bridges gardens places for Earthgirl to paint and draw, today's weather forecast: Hard Rain All Day
- Tomorrow's plan: drive to Chicago with Earthgirl and Planet and Air and walk to cool places, tomorrow's weather forecast: Hard Rain All Day.
- Saturday's plan: walk to all the cool places in Chicago we couldn't get to Friday, Saturday's weather forecast: Hard Rain All Day.
- Sunday's plan: drive home so we can go to work Monday, Sunday's weather forecast: Sunny, pleasant, mid-60s, fine metaphors abound.
- Here is this April 18th's photo of Olive, light, mirror, taken Tuesday night before I knew there was a tradition April 18th Egoslavian blogpost:
- We crossed the Ohio - Michigan border and shazam, dozens upon dozens of dead woodchucks, raccoons, possum, fox, the animals of Michigan are not stupider or more suicidal, Michigan doesn't remove the car-slaughtered corpses from their roads
- Michigan won't provide clean water to the biped animals of Flint
- The family leaves, I am alone in the breakfast lounge for two minutes, an arguing couple come take the table next to me
- Blegsylvanian rhythms - look at the blogrolls, I know I focus everything through the lens that is me, but Blegsylvanian rhythms are real
- I am telling you three times we train and retrain ourselves
- and can't quit
SONGS OF WEIGHTS AND MEASUREMENTS
For there is a dram.
For there is a farthing.
A bushel for your thoughts.
A hand for your withered heights.
For I have jouled along attempting
to quire and wisp.
For I have sized up a mountain’s meters,
come down jiffy by shake to the tune
of leagues and stones.
For once I was your peckish darling.
For once there was the measure
of what an ox could plow
in a single morning.
For once the fother, the reed, the palm.
For one megalithic year I fixed my gaze
on the smiling meniscus, against the gray wall
of graduated cylinder.
For once I measured ten out of ten
on the scale of pain.
For I knew that soon I’d kiss good-bye
the bovate, the hide and hundredweight.
For in each pinch of salt, a whisper of doubt,
for in each medieval moment, emotion,
like an unruly cough syrup bottle,
uncapped. For though I dutifully swallowed
my banana doses, ascended, from welcome
to lanthorn, three barleycorns at a time,
I could not tackle the trudging, trenchant cart.
For now I am forty rods from your chain and bolt.For now I am my six-sacked self.