Tuesday, November 12, 2019

And the Loaf

  • Old gags (as in bound mouth, choking, stupid joke) like comets looping back every eon or two
  • Yesterday was Andy Partridge's 66th
  • Partridge's "Stupidly Happy" is the shitty blog's Theme Song Nine
  • This constitutes a bleggalgaze though I anticipate a >> deleted bleggalgaze << next post, it (not deleted) already started in red tablet (the above
  • deleted bleggalgaze started in beige tablet then amputated out of beige piecemeal then trimmed like pork and cut and pasted into orange tablet)
  • I last did this almost a year ago, I can't remember current Ten Theme Songs and if I could I couldn't remember the order beyond one, two, and three, so, revised:


  • Newly designated in 2018, I can't believe I had no Beefheart, fixed that.


  • I no longer put XTC on though I still listen when comes on radio or shuffle



  • New last year, replaced Robyn Hitchcock's "I Want to Destroy You," permanently ruined when used as bed music for a Subway commercial regardless whether Hitchcock gave permission or song was out of copyright


  • NEW! this year, replacing Grinderman as I find I just can't Nick Cave any more, he has a new album out this year, it sounds exactly like I thought it would and I can't listen to any of the previous albums that sound exactly the same.... I...
  • I still listen lots to all the Macs, and speaking of this shitty blog's gags, here's my new favorite, what a great happy angry happy song:



  • Also official Egoslavian Bleggalgazing Anthem and the single youtube posted more than any other on this shitty bloog all versions by a factor of many:


  • Theme song of Kind, constant reminder I'm not, should be, or at least try more
  • Not that trying to pretend to Kind is a gag here any more






C.D. Wright

I back the car over a soft, large object;
hair appears on my chest in dreams.
The paperboy comes to collect
with a pit bull. Call Grandmother
and she says, Well you know
death is death and none other.

In the mornings we’re in the dark;
even at the end of June
the zucchini keep on the sill.
Ring Grandmother for advice
and she says, O you know
I used to grow so many things.

Then there’s the frequent bleeding,
the tender nipples, and the rot
under the floormat. If I’m not seeing
a cold-eyed doctor it is
another gouging mechanic.
Grandmother says, Thanks to the blue rugs
and Eileen Briscoe’s elms
the house keeps cool.

Well. Then. You say Grandmother
let me just ask you this:
How does a body rise up again and rinse
her mouth from the tap. And how
does a body put in a plum tree
or lie again on top of another body
or string a trellis. Or go on drying
the flatware. Fix rainbow trout. Grout the tile.
Buy a bag of onions. Beat an egg stiff. Yes,
how does the cat continue
to lick itself from toenail to tailhole.
And how does a body break
bread with the word when the word
has broken. Again. And. Again.
With the wine. And the loaf.
And the excellent glass
of the body. And she says,
Even. If. The. Sky. Is. Falling.
My. Peace. Rose. Is. In. Bloom.